“There’s more.” She folded down on the far end of the bench. “I learned different little rituals from Granny Rose. Simple ways of concentrating on what one wants or needs. I woke up one night desperate, so I decided to perform a wish ritual, asking for a solution to my problem with Burke.” She smiled wryly. “Granny Rose used to say her rituals were like prayers with herbs added.”
“So you wished for a husband.”
“I didn’t mean to be that specific. But as I burned the incense out in the gazebo, I found myself yearning for the…the husband of my dreams. Someone not like Burke. After the ritual, I felt at peace and dozed a little, and then I woke up hearing an urgent voice in my head that sounded just like Granny Rose. She said I must go down to the shore.” She glanced up at him. “That is when I found you.”
“I have trouble believing I looked like anyone’s dream husband then.” He sat on the opposite end of the bench, as far from Mariah as he could get. His sense of identity had shattered into hopeless confusion. He wasn’t Adam Clarke. He was nobody.
He’d assumed he loved Mariah because she was his wife, so of course he loved her. Belief had been easy, given her beauty and kindness. But everything between them was based on a lie. They were strangers, and he no longer knew how he felt about her.
She continued, “I didn’t connect you to the wish ritual at first. I just wanted to get you ashore and safe.” She fell silent for a dozen heartbeats. “When I asked if you remembered that I was your wife, it was almost like Granny Rose was speaking through me. But I can’t blame her. I said the words, and I didn’t withdraw them later.”
In a weird way, he understood how circumstances could make something seem right and logical even if it wasn’t. But—she had lied about a critical fact that had become his anchor. Now that anchor was gone. “My appearance must have seemed fated. But why didn’t you reveal the truth after Burke left?”
“I wanted to, but you seemed very happy to think me your wife.” She looked down at the balled-up scarf. “I worried how you would react if you realized that you were alone, with no memory of who you are.”
She had been right to worry, but he thought it would have been easier to accept that they didn’t know one another at the beginning. From the moment he woke up, still damp around the edges, he had embraced her statement that they were married. Soon he came to feel that he needed to know nothing else.
Now much that was mysterious made sense. No wonder she was so ignorant about his past, his family, and his occupation. Perhaps it was the blow on his head that made him so accepting of her explanations. Looking back, he was amazed that he hadn’t questioned her harder. “Why did you call me Adam?”
“He was the first man, and you seemed comfortable with it.” She sighed. “I kept hoping your memory would return and I could confess. If it had been only a day or so, it wouldn’t have mattered so much that I had lied. I could have come up with a reason that would have seemed somewhat plausible. But the longer my pretense went on, the harder it was to tell the truth.”
So he was a nameless stranger living on the charity of a woman who had needed protection from a rascal. He looked at his calloused hands. Not the hands of a gentleman. Knowing he might be a gardener or sailor didn’t upset him unduly. Not knowing who he was did. “I’ll leave tomorrow, though I’ll have to borrow clothes since I have nothing.” He gave a harsh bark of laughter. He had nothing, knew nothing, was nothing.
“No!” She stared at him, horrified. “I would be happy to supply you with clothes and money, but where would you go? What would you do?”
“I have no idea. But I’ll be damned if I’ll stay on as a beggar at your table,” he said bleakly.
“You’re no beggar!” she exclaimed. “You’re my…my friend. You are welcome here always.”
“Your friend.” The numbness that had started in his middle was spreading, dissolving the strength and happiness he had known with Mariah. “I had thought I was so much more. But now I understand why you avoided my bed.”
“I…I was trying to be wise,” she whispered.
He studied her face. “Why did you change your mind today? It was careless of you to give away your virginity to a stranger.”
“You are no longer a stranger.” She flushed scarlet. “And today I wanted you so much that I didn’t care about the consequences.”
Her remark was flattering, but it still chilled him. “And if the consequences include a baby?”
The blood drained from her face. “I…I wasn’t thinking of anything beyond how much I wanted you.”
“Babies are a standard consequence of intimacy. In fact, they’re rather the point.” He looked across his garden, which was no longer his. “If you’re with child and I’ve gone away, you can tell the neighbors I’m dead. That would make you a respectable widow. I promise I won’t return to complicate your life.”
“I don’t want you to leave!!” Tears glinted in her eyes.
He studied her face again. Perhaps he should be outraged at her lies, but mostly he felt deeply sad. He could see how she’d started with one small, expedient lie that had spun out of control. Now her anguished face was transparent with honesty. Certainly her passion had seemed real. Yet he had trusted her without question before, and that simple trust was no longer possible.
But he still desired her. He clasped her left hand. Her cold fingers clutched hard. “If you want me to stay, we could turn your lie into truth. It’s not far to Gretna Green.”
She bit her lip. “I would like nothing better, but what if you already have a wife?”
Adam felt as if he’d been struck a mortal blow. He might be married to another woman? “I…I haven’t had time to think of that.”
“You settled into the role of husband so naturally that I wondered if you’re married.” Her mouth twisted. “That is more likely than you being single. You are too handsome and kind not to have had girls setting their caps for you. If you’re married to a small blond like me, I might even have seemed familiar to you.”
More flattery, but he couldn’t get beyond the realization that in practical terms, he hadn’t a penny to his name, or a shirt to cover his back. He rubbed his throbbing temples. The blood vessels felt on the verge of bursting. “The thought of another wife is more than I can grasp.”
Mariah crushed the scarf in her free hand. “I keep imagining a wife waiting for you, despairing of your return. And perhaps children. How could I marry you knowing that another woman might be breaking her heart over your absence? Not only would it be bigamy, it would be wrong.”
He felt almost ill. Children were another subject he hadn’t considered. Yet it wasn’t unreasonable that he might have a young family. “If I have children, of course I could not knowingly abandon them. But what if I never remember who I am? Must I live my life alone?”
“I’ve thought about this rather a lot.” She smiled unsteadily. “It hasn’t been that long since your accident. The fact that you’ve been having dreams that might be memories implies that soon you might remember who you are.”
He thought of those dreams. Somewhere in his mind, the truth of his identity must still exist. All he had to do was find it. “How long should I wait before it would be safe to move forward with my life?”
“I think a man must be missing for seven years before he’s presumed dead,” she said hesitantly. “If at the end of that time you still don’t know who you are or where you came from, it should be safe to assume your new life is the only one you will have.”
“Seven years,” he said flatly. “That’s a very long time. Much can happen in seven years.”
“Do you think you could ever learn to trust me again?” she whispered. “Or if not trust…at least forgive.”
“I hope so.” He studied her delicate features and her sensual, perfectly proportioned figure, wishing he could have seen her unclothed. He supposed it didn’t mean much for an amnesiac man to think she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, but more than beautiful, she
was…very dear. Trust and desire didn’t have much to do with each other. “But it’s too soon.”
She nodded, unsurprised. “I wish there was something I could do to help you remember. You’ve already helped me so much by getting rid of George Burke. Now that he thinks I have a man to protect me, he hasn’t bothered with a lawsuit.”
“It would have been better if you’d done less. But I’m glad that Burke has ceased troubling you.” He sighed as he gazed at the water spilling from the fountain. “If you’re with child, I think you’ll have to marry me. Then if I wake up one morning and remember that I have a family elsewhere, I shall leave and you can mourn my untimely death. At least the child will not bear the public stigma of illegitimacy.”
“That seems…reasonable,” she said in a choked voice.
Though he couldn’t trust her, he couldn’t bear to see her misery. He slid across the bench and crushed her in a hard embrace, thinking how quickly he had gone from passionate joy to equally passionate sorrow.
She clung to him, shaking at first, but gradually she relaxed. He stroked her shimmering hair, sliding his fingers into the golden mass. He wanted to pull her down on the soft grass and make love to her again. This time should be slow and sensual, with all garments removed so they could lie flesh to flesh.
But now that he knew they were not married, passion no longer had the upper hand. If they hadn’t made a child today, they must not risk it happening when so much was uncertain.
He buried his face in her hair, and wondered what would happen to them.
That night they each slept alone. Or perhaps didn’t sleep.
Chapter Seventeen
Hartley, Northern England
The days were getting longer as spring advanced toward summer. Will Masterson was glad for that, or he would have been riding in the dark. Not wise when traveling on strange roads in wild places.
He rode into the courtyard of the Bull and Anchor, Hartley’s only inn, as the light began to fade over the Irish Sea. The place was small, but it looked well kept. He hoped they had a room for him, but given his present level of fatigue, he’d willingly accept straw in the stables if it was reasonably clean.
He was in luck. Three of the inn’s five rooms were available, so if Randall and Kirkland showed up the next day as planned, there should be space.
For tonight, Will was glad to be alone. The taproom had decent boiled beef and beer. He considered asking the landlord if any bodies had washed ashore in the previous weeks but decided to wait until his friends joined him. He didn’t need more bad news. So he ate in silence, knowing that Hartley was the end of their quest.
After finishing his dinner, he took advantage of the long northern dusk to walk down to the town’s little waterfront. Half a dozen fishing boats were tied to the small docks. The splash of waves and the mournful cries of gulls were soothing.
Though his friends thought him an incurable optimist, he had known there wasn’t much chance of finding Ashton alive. Still, he’d hoped they would find a body that could be taken home. Ash deserved the dignity of a proper burial. Though he had enemies because of his position, he had far more friends because of the man he was.
The chances of that proper burial were now slim. After this much time, the sea was unlikely to give up her dead. As Will gazed at the after sunset sky, he made his peace with that knowledge. Ash had loved the sea, and it was not a bad resting place for a man’s bones.
But that still left the matter of how Ashton had died. Will had lost friends to battle and disease and accidents, and one damned fool who couldn’t keep his breeches buttoned had been shot by a jealous Spanish husband.
But he’d never lost a friend to cold-blooded murder. The search for Ashton’s body was over. The search for his killer would never end until the bastard was found.
The next morning, Will was pleased to learn that the inn served quite a decent breakfast. The landlord’s pretty young daughter, Ellie, arrived with a large tray that held a steaming mug, a basket of fresh-baked bread, and a plate piled high with sausage and eggs, fried potatoes and onions.
As Ellie set the food down, she asked, “Is there anything else you’d like, Mr. Masterson?”
“This should do nicely.” After a swallow of tea, Will decided it was time to ask the question. “A friend of mine was lost when his ship sank north of here. I and two other friends have been searching to see if his body has turned up anywhere along the coast. Do you know if any drowned men have been found in this area in the last two or three weeks?”
She shook her head. “There was Mrs. Clarke’s husband who washed up here while on his way to her, but he’s alive. No bodies, Lord be thanked.”
Startled, Will asked, “This Mr. Clarke. He’s well-known locally, I presume. He had a boating accident?”
“You’re right about the accident, but he’s new to Hartley,” Ellie replied. “His wife just inherited Hartley Manor and Mr. Clarke was coming to join her when his ship went down or some such.” She frowned. “No one in town here knows exactly what happened.” Clearly the lack of information irritated her.
“Have you seen Mr. Clarke?” Will asked, suddenly having trouble breathing. When the girl nodded, he continued, “What does he look like?”
“Oh, he’s a handsome fellow, and ever so much a gentleman,” she said warmly. “I’ve seen him ride through Hartley several times. Not over tall, but a fine figure of a man. Dark coloring, except that his eyes are a rare shade of green. A blessing that he didn’t drown.”
Will swore under his breath and leaped from his chair. Almost before Ellie had finished speaking, he was on his way to the stables.
Chapter Eighteen
Mariah spent a restless night wondering if Adam’s shocked numbness would turn into anger. The misery in his face when she’d confessed had made her feel ill. And despite her guilt, she missed having him in her bed. Though they had slept together for only a few nights and made love only once, his absence ached like an amputated limb. She could hardly bear the thought that they might never be physically close again.
There was some comfort in waking to find Annabelle standing on her chest, the furry black and white face earnest in the faint light. The cat usually stayed in the kitchen by the fire, but perhaps she sensed Mariah’s distress. Whatever the reason, she was glad to have the sleek black and white body settle next to her.
Mariah was nervous when she got up and went downstairs. Adam wasn’t in the breakfast room when she arrived. Her imagination immediately produced an image of him packing up in the middle of the night and fleeing on horseback to get away from her lying, untrustworthy self. Sister Sarah would not have found herself in such a situation.
He appeared when she was pouring tea and gave a faint smile as he accepted the cup she poured for him. “Did you sleep well?”
“Honestly? No.” She smiled ruefully. “Annabelle kept me company.”
“And Bhanu joined me.” He buttered a piece of toast. “It was…not an improvement on what I had come to expect.”
They shared a wry glance. She almost melted with relief. It might be impossible for them to be together in the future, but it mattered tremendously that he didn’t hate her.
Feeling a dangerous desire to kiss him, she reminded herself sharply that at any moment, Adam might recall a life that had no place for her. “Try some of the blackberry preserves. Mrs. Beckett’s daughter made them.”
“Thank you.” He scooped out a heaping spoonful. “I think it best if we continue to act as we have in the past. Up to a point.”
And she knew exactly where that point was. He hadn’t touched her since that last, desperate embrace in the garden. He was a wise man. Wiser than she. “I agree. I much prefer being on friendly terms with you.”
“And I with you,” he said softly.
They were chatting amiably, almost like they had before her confession, when the downstairs maid entered the breakfast room, her eyes round with excitement. “There is a gentleman here to see Mr. Clarke
. A Mr. Masterson. He’s waiting in the drawing room.”
Granny Rose had sometimes had flashes of certainty that she said were like being splashed with ice water. For the first time, Mariah experienced that chilling sensation.
Adam rose and said, “Likely it’s someone from the village looking for employment. He should have gone to Cochrane, but he might not know we’ve hired a steward. I’ll talk to him. I like to get the measure of men we…” Adam hesitated, then continued, “Men you might employ.”
Heart pounding, Mariah also rose. “I’ll go with you. Perhaps I’ll recognize him from church.” As she walked beside Adam, she wished she could grab his hand and run away, but she knew in her bones that whatever fate awaited could not be avoided.
They entered the drawing room, and she immediately understood why the maid had said “gentleman.” The tall stranger, Masterson, stood by the window, his broadly built body tight with tension. Brown haired and gray eyed, he wore power and authority as easily as his well-tailored clothing. He was around Adam’s age, and while not as handsome, his wide-cheekboned face looked designed for laughter.
As soon as they entered, he stared at Adam, riveted. “Ash!” he breathed.
Pain stabbed through Mariah. Disaster had arrived.
Masterson rushed over and grabbed Adam’s right hand with both of his. He didn’t even see Mariah. “My God, you’re alive! We were all sure you had drowned!”
Mariah felt shock blaze through Adam. Shock, but also eagerness. He asked, “You know me?”
“Anytime these last twenty years.” Masterson’s brow furrowed and he released Adam’s hand as he realized something wasn’t right. “Don’t you recognize me?”
“I’m afraid not.” Adam closed the door. “We must talk. Why did you think I was dead?” He took Mariah’s hand and led her to the sofa, his clasp numbingly tight.
Loving a Lost Lord Page 13
