by Danice Allen
“I’m very sorry I snapped at you,” she said, dabbing the refreshing cloth here and there on his face, “but I’m very tired, you see. I was up half the night tending you through a fever. I’m extremely untidy this morning, too,” she continued, self-consciously pushing back the tangled hair that fell in abundance over both shoulders. “And that always puts a lady out of sorts.”
“You look fine to me,” he murmured.
“Apparently so,” she said, rosy spots appearing on both cheeks. “When I woke up, I noticed you were … er … touching me.”
“I beg your pardon for that,” he answered awkwardly. “I was confused. I thought you were … someone else.” He couldn’t very well tell her he’d mistaken her for a lightskirt.
She looked thoughtful as she redipped the cloth in a basin of water, wrung it out, and bathed his neck. “Considering your condition, I’m surprised you had the strength to attempt … well, you know,” she commented shyly.
Jack smiled. “Men are surprisingly resourceful when it comes to finding strength for … well, you know.”
The woman blushed again, then apparently decided that she’d had enough improper conversation and assumed a businesslike mien. She returned the cloth to the basin and stood up, elbows out, hands clasped loosely together at her waist. “You are doubtless thirsty and hungry, sir. Is there something you drink besides liquor?”
“I drink tea,” he answered, amused by the contrast between her prissy language and her disheveled, almost wanton appearance. “And I’m famished. Have the proprietor of this establishment send me up a roasted chicken or something.”
“You’ll have weak tea and barley water, sir,” said the woman, talking down her pert nose. “And nothing else till the doctor says otherwise.”
“Damn the old sawbones,” muttered Jack. “All doctors are quacks.”
“Excuse me while I tidy up,” said the woman, ignoring his surly comment as she stepped to a nearby mirror and picked up a brush. “I’ll just make myself presentable, then order your tea. In the meantime, I suggest you rest.”
“I don’t want to rest,” Jack said irritably. “I want some answers. I want to know how I got here and where I am.”
“I have questions for you, too, sir,” said the woman, brushing out her tangled hair. “But you’ll feel much better after you’ve had a little nourishment. You might not wish to admit it, but you’re in a rather weakened condition just now.”
Jack wanted to argue, but he was too tired. So he simply lay in the bed and watched her rhythmically pull the soft bristles of the brush through the long wavy length of her hair. Watching was mesmerizing, comforting, relaxing. He thought he must have always enjoyed watching women brush their hair, but for some reason he couldn’t recall a single experience doing so, nor even conjure up a single female face that was familiar.
It was all very odd, thought Jack, growing drowsy despite himself. His thoughts seemed so scrambled, and images that he should be able to easily grasp hovered just out of reach. Perhaps after he’d eaten something his thoughts would fall into a logical order and his memories would quit being so damned elusive. And perhaps if he closed his eyes for a moment …
While the stranger slept, Amanda stoked up the fire, gave herself a hasty sponge bath behind a folded screen, changed into a fresh black dress, fashioned her hair into a neat coil at the nape of her neck, then ordered tea and breakfast from the chambermaid who scratched on the door at the stroke of seven. It seemed that after interrupting Amanda while she was undressing the stranger yesterday, the maid was cured of entering without knocking first.
While Amanda waited for the tea and the breakfast tray, Theo showed up. Realizing that the stranger would need to take care of personal matters, Amanda asked Theo to wake the gent and help him with the chamber pot while she took a morning stroll. She felt she was already too intimate with the man, and she had no desire to embarrass either of them by taking on all the duties of a nurse.
When Amanda returned to the room, the maid had arrived with the breakfast tray. As the maid prepared to leave, Amanda remembered that the stranger’s shirt needed to be laundered, and she handed it over with instructions to make it fit to be worn as quickly as possible. She had no desire to be confronted with the stranger’s bare chest any longer than necessary.
With Theo hovering at the end of the bed with a scowl that could scare off bears, Amanda simultaneously ate her own breakfast while helping the stranger manage his.
“It’s very rude of you to eat that in front of me,” the stranger said peevishly, swallowing the last dregs of his barley water.
“Eggs would only make you sick,” said Amanda, dabbing a napkin to her mouth. “By this evening I daresay you’ll be able to eat something solid.”
“I certainly intend to,” he said in a tone that implied he’d brook no opposition. He pushed himself to sit taller against the pillows, and as he scooted up the bedclothes fell away to expose a goodly portion of his chest. Amanda felt her color rising—remembering just how much of his body she’d seen last night—and she resolved to look him straight in the eye and nowhere else.
“You look as though you’re feeling better,” Amanda said bracingly. “There’s color in your cheeks. Does your head still hurt?”
“Not as much. But I’m dizzy.”
“I’m sure it will pass. The doctor will be here soon.”
“I have some questions—”
“So do I. And I must insist that I ask at least one of mine first. I am on a rather urgent journey and cannot linger here any longer than necessary. So, if you’ll just tell me who you are and how I can contact your nearest relative, we can send word immediately. I daresay there’s a great many people—and perhaps someone in particular—who will be very glad to know you are safe—”
Amanda stopped speaking. The stranger had turned deathly pale, his expression a mixture of panic and astonishment.
“Good heavens! What’s the matter?” she asked him, bending solicitously forward. “Are you going to be sick?” Theo rushed forward with an empty basin.
The stranger impatiently pushed aside the basin and ran a shaky hand through his disheveled hair. “I’m not sick,” he said.
Amanda’s brow wrinkled in puzzlement. “Then what is it?”
The stranger lifted his eyes to hers. They were brown eyes, dark as a gypsy’s but with surprising flecks of gold. And the expression in them was one of startled disbelief. “You see,” he began, giving a soft, slightly demented laugh, “I just realized that I can’t tell you who to notify about my accident.”
“Why not?” asked Amanda, on a rising note of panic.
“Because,” said the stranger, a small, daft smile tilting his lips, “I don’t know who my relatives and friends are.”
“Good God!” Amanda’s voice trembled. “You don’t mean …?”
“I’m afraid I do,” he admitted wonderingly. “Damned if I don’t have the slightest idea who I am!”
Chapter Five
“This is terrible!” said Amanda, pacing the rag rug in front of the fire and wringing her hands in a frantic fashion that would rival Aunt Prissy’s finest technique. “What are we going to do with you?”
“I’m very sorry that my amnesia interferes with your schedule, madam,” the stranger said caustically. “But I can’t help it.” He crossed his muscled arms over his bare, broad chest and frowned, looking for all the world like a king of some uncivilized country with no one to behead.
Amanda stopped pacing and stood at the foot of the bed. “No, of course you can’t help it,” she said resignedly. “But I can’t help being disappointed.” Her tone turned imploring. “If you only knew how urgent it is that I leave soon to rescue my—”
Amanda bit her lip, almost wishing she could bite off her traitorous tongue! She was certainly not going to confide in this stranger about her illegitimate sibling. She had plans that she did not wish to be overset by a gossipmonger spreading rumors.
By his fashionable
appearance—and all his other worldly recommendations—Amanda had no doubt that her disgruntled patient was a regular in the London set, and perhaps even an icon of the ton. If he found out why she was going to Thorney Island, he might later use it as an amusing on-dit at some social function, thereby ruining her sibling’s chances of ever making a respectable marriage—particularly if the sibling turned out to be female. Everything was harder for a girl!
“So, you’re off on some rescue mission, eh?” said the stranger, looking as though he thought she were foolish beyond description. Then his brows drew together in puzzlement. “But where is your escort, madam?”
“My escort?” she repeated stupidly, just as she had when the doctor inquired about her “husband’s” name.
The stranger waved an elegant hand. “Are you traveling with your father?”
She shook her head.
“Your brother?”
She shook her head again.
He began to look incredulous. “Your … husband, perhaps?”
“I can boast no such connections, sir,” Amanda said loftily. “And even if I did, I shouldn’t need them to mollycoddle me about the countryside as if I were a green girl! After all, I am three-and-twenty and perfectly able to take care of myself!”
The amnesiac, who had apparently not forgotten how to argue, opened his mouth to retort when there was a scratch at the door. Theo was walking over to open it when Mrs. Beane waltzed in without an invitation.
“Good morning, milady,” she said courteously but with her habitual sour expression. At the mention of “milady,” the stranger turned his gaze back to Amanda and raised a brow in inquiry. He had very expressive brows, that one.
“How does your husband fare this morning, pray?”
Now both black brows lifted, and a hint of wicked amusement glittered in his eyes.
“He … he … fares much better, thank you,” Amanda stammered nervously. She moved to the side of the bed and took the stranger by surprise by grabbing hold of his hand and squeezing it very hard. “Lord Thornfield has a headache and—most regrettably—a memory lapse, which we naturally hope will be of short duration.”
She smiled gamely at Mrs. Beane, then gazed down on the stranger with an expression she hoped would pass for fondness. However, it was hard maintaining her devoted pose when the stranger returned her look with one of pure devilish intent. Amanda sincerely hoped he’d not say or do anything to embarrass her or expose her lies to Mrs. Beane.
Mrs. Beane tsk-tsked about his lordship’s loss of memory, but Amanda was quite sure the old hag wouldn’t lose sleep over it as long as the earl didn’t forget where he kept his purse when the time came to divvy up the ready. “What a shame,” she said, then moved right on to business. “Will you be stayin’ a few more days, then?”
“I don’t—” Amanda began, but was interrupted by his lordship himself.
“My wife and I will be leaving tomorrow,” said the stranger, smiling dulcetly at Mrs. Beane and lifting Amanda’s hand to his lips to kiss it. The pleasant sensation that shot up her arm at the touch of his warm mouth kept Amanda speechless as the stranger continued. “Although I am unable to remember precisely what it is, we have urgent business to attend to … do we not, my darling?”
“Well, yes, I … that is … we do,” Amanda said weakly, surprised by the stranger’s sudden participation in her charade and thoroughly unprepared for the effect it was having on her. To be called “my darling” by such a man, even in the most mocking tones, made her spinster’s heart race like a thoroughbred.
“Are ye sure ye’ll be well enough, milord?” asked Mrs. Beane, who had probably hoped to keep the well-heeled earl and his entourage under her roof for at least a week. “You’ve not yet seen the doctor today.”
“Naturally I’ll submit to the doctor’s examination and consider all precautions he suggests. However, I’m absolutely certain that despite my indistinct memory of her more tender qualities, should we leave the inn this instant I have complete faith in my wife’s abilities to take prodigious good care of all my needs.” He squeezed Amanda’s fingers nearly as hard as she’d squeezed his, then smiled up at her like a mooncalf.
If he was trying to pretend he was fond of her, Amanda was quite sure he was overdoing it and Mrs. Beane would see right through his exaggerated sentimentality.
“Well, stay as long as you like,” said Mrs. Beane, backing toward the door with a disappointed expression. “Are there any special requests for luncheon?”
“Yes,” the stranger said, sitting forward eagerly and wincing as if it made his head hurt to move even slightly. “I’d like a nice kidney pie, a roast chicken, cream cheese and bread, potatoes—” He stopped to ponder, then added, “Do you have beer, Mrs. Beane?”
“Dearest, you know you can’t have beer,” Amanda interrupted in a soft tone but with a look that spoke volumes. Then she turned to Mrs. Beane and asked, “Do you know how to make a nice beef broth?”
“I should say I do,” said Mrs. Beane a little defensively.
“That’s all the earl will be having for luncheon today. Well, and perhaps some weak tea and a small crust of bread. By dinner he might be able to dine a little more heartily.”
“I should hope so, or I’ll bloody well starve,” said the stranger under his breath, just loud enough for Amanda to hear him.
“What was that, milord?” inquired Mrs. Beane, only too ready cater to a rich earl’s every whim.
“Nothing, Mrs. Beane,” said Amanda, stepping forward to graciously hurry her out the door. “You have been extremely hospitable. Thank you, but that’s all we’ll be needing for now. Do send the doctor up as soon as he arrives, if you please.”
When Mrs. Beane left, doubtless sorry that the earl’s wants were so moderate, the stranger looked eager to take Amanda to task. Knowing how protective Theo was, Amanda asked her devoted servant to leave them alone. He pulled a mulish face and scowled as hard as he dared at the stranger, but he finally left.
“So, you don’t need a husband or any such superfluous male presence as escort when you travel, eh, madam?” the stranger inquired with malicious enjoyment.
“No, I do not!” Amanda insisted.
“Then why did you tell Mrs. Beane that you and I are married?”
Amanda folded her arms over her chest and walked to the window, looking out on a wet courtyard and a gray, somber day. “Because she wouldn’t give me a room till I told her you were my husband,” she admitted grudgingly. “There, are you satisfied?”
“Not hardly,” he said drily, as if just warming to his subject. “This is a small room, indeed … for an earl.”
Amanda turned to face her interrogator. “It was the only room left and not easily acquired. Mrs. Beane is a grasping old witch much impressed by titles and even more so by money. Therefore, not only did I give you a prestigious title but I brandished a plump purse.”
He raised an interested brow. “Is the purse mine?”
“No, it’s mine. But you do have a rather heavy purse of your own, which we found in your coat pocket.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Amanda said huffily. “I don’t ordinarily pilfer through gentlemen’s coat pockets. My servants and I were trying to find something that would give us a clue as to your identity.”
“I never supposed you were out to rob me,” he said. “If that was your motive, you’d have left me to die instead of nursing me through the night.”
Amanda lifted her chin. “A fact for which you’ve yet to thank me!”
The stranger shrugged his broad shoulders and managed to look contrite. “You’re quite right, and I do thank you.”
Amanda was a little flustered by his bluntly and sincerely expressed gratitude. “Well … you’re welcome. I’d have done it for anyone, you know,” she disclaimed awkwardly. “And as I felt partially responsible for your injury—”
“Indeed?” said the stranger, raising those wicked brows again. “Pl
ease, madam, don’t leave me in suspense. Explain why you feel responsible for this goose egg on my head!”
“I only said partially responsible,” she amended.
“Partially, then,” he said in a beleaguered tone. “But before you begin, perhaps you could tell me your name? I do not think it would be inappropriate to do so, as we are, after all, husband and wife … or at least pretending to be! I’d introduce myself first, but as you know, that’s quite impossible.”
Amanda assumed a prim pose. “You may call me Miss Darlington.”
The stranger’s lips twitched. “That’s a rather long form of address to have to attach to the end of every sentence. For example, ‘Will you plump my pillow, Miss Darlington? Can I please have some real food before I faint, Miss Darlington? Do you think it shall rain, Miss Darlington?’ ” He grinned. “Do you see what I mean … Miss Darlington? I’d rather just keep on calling you darling.”
Flustered, Amanda said, “But I’d rather you didn’t.”
His eyes gleamed with mischief. “But as long as I’m masquerading as your husband, I daresay you shan’t refuse me the convenience of doing so … at least not in the presence of others.”
Amanda’s jaw tightened. She raised a haughty brow. “Then you won’t object to me calling you Demetri.”
“Demetri?” The stranger looked aghast. “Is that how you referred to me in front of the others? It sounds like something out of one of those gothic Radcliff novels!”
“Demetri was the only name I could think of at the time.”
“I doubt that very much, darling, but I have no desire to argue about it. I’m sure I’ll get my memory back by nightfall, and I’m counting on your sense of fair play to call me by my correct name when we … er … both know it.”
“By nightfall there’s no telling what names I might wish to call you,” she murmured.
