“I would. There you were, acting as if I was your—”
“Fiancée,” he said smoothly. “Which you are, according to your mother.” He lifted his brows. “Isn’t that what you are? Or did I miss something?”
She choked. “That isn’t what I was speaking of. You don’t remember who you are, and yet you came in here and…and…took liberties!” Yes, that described what he’d done. He’d stepped far over the bounds of propriety. Even now she could feel where his hand had rested on her hip, his fingers warm through the thin material of her dress.
That touch, so simple and yet so possessive, had caused a reaction that lingered still. She smoothed her hands over her skirts, wondering if he’d felt that same flare of heat. If his body had also shivered with sudden—
She caught his gaze and colored, certain he could tell her thoughts. “Your actions were totally unnecessary.”
“You may not have needed a visible reminder of the fact that you are supposedly betrothed to me, but it seemed that Mr. Gower did.”
“He didn’t believe there was a Captain Frakenham.”
A faint smile touched the stranger’s lips. “Yet here I am.”
Harriet eyed him a moment. Oh yes, there he was. Six-foot-plus of whipcord muscle and solid sinew, of hard blue eyes and breathtaking handsomeness, all wrapped into one unknown, yet very dangerous, man. Even lying on the couch seemingly at his ease, he emitted a sharp-edged, almost lethal quality. “Tell me, sir, do you still not remember who you are?”
“Not clearly, no.” He touched the bandage that wrapped about his head. “But your mother says I am Captain Frakenham, so…” His eyes met hers. “Who am I to question such a thing?”
Harriet opened her mouth, then closed it again. As mad of an idea as it had been to convince the stranger that he was Captain Frakenham, they were stuck with it for the moment. Especially since Gower had met the man and would be looking to prove him false.
Harriet clamped her teeth closed over a rather unladylike expression. What a horrid tangle.
The stranger raised his brows. “Now that I think about it, the fact that you and I are engaged to be wed puts our relationship in a whole new perspective.”
“A whole new perspective?” she said pleasantly enough, though it was difficult to keep her teeth from clenching. She didn’t care for the way he was regarding her, as if he thought her a specially baked pastry.
He pushed himself upright on the settee, his coat stretching briefly over his muscled arms. “And since we are to be married, then we are free to act as couples who are to be married do.”
“Oh piffle! What nonsense is that? Before you knew we were engaged, you hauled me into your lap and kissed me. What would you ask for now?” She held out a hand when he opened his mouth as if to answer. “No. Don’t say a word. Just know this; I will not tolerate such inappropriate behavior.”
His lips quirked. “You’ll have to excuse my earlier behavior. I didn’t have my memory, nor did you attempt to enlighten me of my true identity.” A frown rested on his brow. “As a matter of fact, why didn’t you tell me who I was and what we were to one another?”
Mainly because she didn’t have one-tenth of her mother’s imagination. “I didn’t tell you who you were because I thought it would be nice if you remembered it yourself. Not that it matters. Whether we are engaged or not, you do not have the right to be overly familiar.”
“Overly, no. But as your fiancé, I would assume I’m allowed certain liberties.”
“Liberties?”
The braggart waved a hand. “Touches, kisses, and such.”
She didn’t like the sound of that “and such.” But the other two…the touches and the kisses, those caused definite reactions in her traitorous body. “I want no touches, no kisses, nor any ‘and suches’ from you, thank you.”
His brows rose thoughtfully. “You know, I wouldn’t think a sea captain would be a timid lover. Yet somehow, you have the air of an untouched maiden.”
Harriet stiffened. She took exception to his tone, to his expression, to everything about him. But she could hardly protest his calling her “an untouched maiden.”
Piffle! This entire situation was untenable and it was all Mother’s fault. First she’d dreamed up the too-handsome Captain John Frakenham, then she’d given him life and made him into a walking, talking nightmare. But her worst act had been to leave the lout stretched out on the sitting room settee for Harriet to deal with.
She pressed her fingertips to her brow. She had no time for this. There was shearing to worry about, and then packing the wool for market. And then the actual selling. If they didn’t get a good price, all would be lost.
All would be lost, too, if “Captain Frakenham” recovered his memory at an inopportune moment. Harriet had little doubt the man would be furious—and who could blame him? If, of course, he’d really lost his memory to begin with. She eyed him suspiciously but could tell nothing from his guarded expression.
Heavens, it was a complicated coil! And it was probably all for naught—if Gower hadn’t been suspicious before, he was now that he’d seen Mother’s horrible rendition of Captain Frakenham.
For lack of an acceptable target for her frustrations, Harriet rested her gaze on the supposed captain. “If you’re waiting for me to bring you your luncheon, you’ll starve.”
A sudden smile crossed his face as he pushed himself upright, his boots hitting the rug with a muffled thud. “You are a prickly thing, aren’t you?”
“I’m just far too busy to wait on you hand and foot.”
He stood, stretching as he did so. “What you are, my love, is difficult.” His gaze flashed over her, lingering on her face. “But tasty, for all that.”
Harriet couldn’t help but note that he was amazingly trim, power emanating from his every move. With his dark hair falling over his brow in startling contrast to the white bandage, his blue eyes shadowed by long, black lashes, he almost took her breath away.
Almost. She still had enough calm, orderly logic to remember that just because he looked like a prince, he was probably anything but. “I’m not trying to make anything difficult. You simply do not understand our position.”
“Ah, but I do. Your mother explained everything. The bank is breathing down your family’s collective necks for the final payment on Garrett Park, and the only thing that has kept them from being even more demanding is the hope that I, the good captain, will arrive with a cargo of gold coins.”
“One good coin might do us. We don’t need that much,” she lied.
“That’s good to hear,” he said dryly, clearly unbelieving. “Your mother told me how important it was that Gower didn’t suspect anything was wrong. So I simply pretended that I remembered things. Frankly, I thought I did a damn fine job, considering how little I had to work with. Your mother was none too forthcoming with any useful details about, ah, my past.”
Harriet sighed. “Mother is rather vague about most things.”
“So I’ve gathered.”
“And I suppose…I suppose I owe you a word of thanks for your efforts.”
He grinned, sexily impish. “Not if it’s going to cause you to rupture something.”
Oh, piffle. Why did he have to suddenly become so engaging? She preferred it when he was being an asinine jackanapes and her irritation could find an outlet. “Thank you for your efforts, but did you have to make up so many details? The name of your ship, the port where she’s berthed?”
Chase shrugged. She was a sharp one, Miss Harriet Ward. He hadn’t meant to say anything so specific, but Gower’s pompous certainty had needled him. “Details make the lie all the more believable.”
“You seem to know a lot about lying for someone who has no memory to lie about. In fact, you do it so well it seems to be a natural-born talent.”
“Don’t all sailors tell sea yarns?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t know about all sailors, just one. And that one is one too many.”
Th
at did it. Chase was hungry and his head ached abominably. Worse yet, he was being harangued by a tiny sprout of a woman with a mouth so soft and full that it was all he could do to keep from tasting her then and there. “You don’t seem to hold me in a very loverlike esteem. Did we argue like this before I hit my head?”
“I can’t think of a time we didn’t argue.”
“How depressing.”
Her lips quivered, then widened into a grin, a deep chuckle tickling the air between them. It was the most sensuous laughter he’d ever heard. A heated shudder raced through him and he vowed to hear that chuckle more often.
Her gaze drifted slowly over him. “Did Mother show you all of the clothes we gathered from the forest?”
“Yes.”
“Did you recognize anything?”
“Recognize?”
“Your belongings.”
He opened his mouth to answer when he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to remember who he was. “No. Of course I didn’t recognize anything. Not that there was anything of value left other than my clothing. The thought rankled, and he had a sudden memory of his mother’s ring, flashing in the sun.
His heart sank. How could he tell his brothers that he’d lost Mother’s most prized possession? Perhaps he could return to the spot of the attack and look for it?
“Did the thieves take everything of value?”
“So it seems.”
A flicker of a smile touched her lips. “Wait here a minute.”
She spun on her heel and left the room, the sound of her skirts swinging around her filtering back through the open door. Chase listened as her footsteps crossed the hall. A door was opened; silence followed, but only for a moment until she returned.
“That was quick.”
“I had this in the library. I almost forgot about it.” She walked toward Chase where he stood by the settee, her hand held out before her.
Chase glanced down, then froze. There, lying in the center of her palm, was the St. John talisman ring. The silver circlet gleamed as if it had been polished.
His heart thundered in recognition. His mother’s ring. Safe. It was more than he’d dared hope. Thank God it hadn’t been lost. Chase reached for the ring, but then he caught Harriet’s knowing gaze.
He paused. “Oh. Isn’t…isn’t this mine?”
She lifted her brows, daring him to make a claim. “Is it yours?”
Damn it! She was playing games with him. Chase dropped his hand back to his side. “I thought it must be mine, or you wouldn’t have offered it in such a manner.”
Her fingers closed over the silver band, a faint smile on her lips. “We found it near where you were injured. It could be yours, I suppose.” She regarded him from under her lashes. “But then again…” She lowered her hand and dropped the ring into her pocket.
Chase had to fight to keep his expression blank. The little minx! Well, there was more than one way to get something out of a woman’s pocket. If he had to, he’d divest the prim Miss Ward of her entire dress, pocket and all.
Yes, he decided, two could play at this game. And who knew? Maybe they both would win.
Harriet’s face creased. “I suppose I’m not being very gracious. You…you did help us.”
“Nonsense. I did nothing more than come in here, allow that imbecile from the bank to gawk at me, say enough to assure the man that I was indeed a real person and in charge of all my faculties, and then made certain he knew you, my love, were off bounds.”
Her gaze caught his. “Off bounds?”
“I saw the way he was looking at you.” Chase realized he hadn’t liked it at all. Funny how just pretending something could make it seem real. “Your mother didn’t tell me the banker had a liking for you.”
“She doesn’t know. In fact, I didn’t know until today.”
Chase frowned, noting the downturn of her mouth. He had a sister, himself, and his protective instincts leapt to the fore. “An unpleasant shock, was it?”
“Just…unexpected.” She caught his gaze and colored. “Not that it excuses your behavior one bit. There was no need for you to be so…earthy.”
“I like earthy.” And he had. He realized that in some way, living in London and being a St. John had removed quite a lot of earthiness from his life. “Perhaps I let myself get a bit carried away. I cannot remember what it was like to be a sea captain, much less an engaged one. I had to improvise.”
“For your information, Captain Frakenham would never have made such a spectacle of himself.”
“No?”
“Never. He is a real gentleman.”
“He?”
She colored. “I meant, you.”
“Perhaps this bump on my head has loosened my inhibitions.”
She gave an inelegant snort. “You’re incorrigible. You do realize that Mr. Gower will try to disprove all you told him. And when he discovers it’s not true—”
“Then I will tell him I was mistaken. It’s not inconceivable that I might misremember something.”
“Something, perhaps. But for a captain to forget the name and location of his ship?”
She had a point. He touched the bandage. “But I hit my head. Very, very hard.”
“Yes, but we cannot afford to raise his suspicions where the captain is concerned or he’ll guess—” She clamped her mouth closed and glared at Chase as if he’d done something horrid.
Chase straightened. She’d almost said it…almost. He closed in on her, wondering if perhaps he could get the truth out of her yet. “Gower will guess what?”
Her jaw tightened. “Nothing.”
From his superior vantage point, he couldn’t see into her eyes, so he placed his finger on her chin and tipped her face up. “Miss Ward, why do I keep getting the feeling that neither you, nor your mother, is being honest with me?”
She took a step back, breaking his contact, her brow lowered. “If you feel that way, ’tis most likely because of that bump on your noggin. I daresay you’ve addled your brains a touch.”
He took another step closer. She matched him move for move, backing away, her expression guarded. Her gaze flickered to the door.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said softly. “Running away will solve nothing.”
She stopped moving then, standing firmly in place, her chin in the air. “The Wards never run,” she said with a decided air of hauteur. “Though if I was thinking of making a dash for it, you couldn’t do anything about it.”
“Couldn’t I?” He advanced again, only this time, he moved slightly to one side. She responded by stepping in the opposite direction—and ended up backed against the edge of a small table, hemmed in by a large chair on one side, and Chase on the other.
“Piffle!” Her full mouth thinned. “Please move out of my way.”
She had the most engaging eyes—large and appealingly shaped, with a delicate sweep of lash and brow. “Tell me something, Miss Ward, am I really Captain John Frakenham?”
She didn’t even blink, the little jade. “Yes. You are.” Harriet leaned forward then, her gaze narrowed, an earnest expression on her face. “And you cannot disagree, unless…”
“Unless?”
“Unless you believe you are someone else.” Her brows rose. “Are you?”
It could have been funny. And perhaps it was, in a way. She didn’t believe him when he said he didn’t remember who he was. And he didn’t believe her when she said he was Captain John Frakenham. In order to prove her wrong, he’d have to admit his falsehood. In order for her to prove him wrong, she’d have to admit to her falsehood.
It was a quandary of the highest order.
Chase, of course, knew damn well who he was, but he couldn’t tell this woman. Not without potentially causing a maelstrom of gossip that could possibly alert his brothers to his location. This was a small community, he reminded himself, thinking of all the tales that had apparently gone ’round involving the nonexistent Captain Frakenham. He could only imagine what they would say
about a real, live, flesh-’n’-blood St. John.
He simply couldn’t risk it. All he really knew about Harriet Ward was that she was very, very good at lying. Almost as good as he was. “If both you and your mother say I am Captain John Frakenham, then that’s who I am.”
Some of the tension left her frame, and she nodded approvingly. “Indeed you are.”
Chase didn’t know whether to laugh or shake the wench until her teeth rattled. She was a bold piece, this little sparrow who dared cage a lion. It was possible…extremely possible that Miss Harriet Ward might make for a very delightful dalliance despite her prickly exterior.
He rubbed his chin as he considered her from head to foot. “Hmmm.”
“What?”
“You are a curvaceous thing, aren’t you?”
She flushed. “Stop that!”
“Surely you’re used to me looking at you. And touching you, too.” Urged on by some imp of madness, he threaded his fingers through one of her curls where it lay against her shoulder, having escaped her bundled and bunched hair.
She immediately jerked away, and the soft silk tress slid from his fingertips. Unbound, he thought it would drape over her shoulders and down, curling possessively along the taut lines of her back. She was so small, without an ounce of plumpness to her except for the seductive curves of her breasts and hips.
He eyed her breasts for a moment. They were small, but well-rounded. They would just fit in his hand. His fingers curled at the thought, and he had an instant image of her naked and pliant beneath him—
She plopped her hands on her hips. “Look, Mr.—”
“Captain,” he corrected softly, forcing himself to meet her gaze.
Her cheeks stained bright red, her eyes flashing. “Whatever you are.”
“Don’t you mean whoever?”
“No,” she said flatly. “Whatever you are, you are being quite rude, staring at me as if I was a cow you were thinking of purchasing.”
“I was trying to remember you, of course. I keep thinking that there must be something”—he deliberately glanced back at her breasts—“that might trigger my memory.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I can assure you that you’ve never seen that much of me.”
How to Treat a Lady Page 10
