by Lauren Smith
“Oh, I understand, my lord. But the lady’s life and safety matter more to me than your bloody English pride, or references,” the footman snapped back.
Ashton, as always, knew when to intervene.
“Hartley, I can assure you that no harm will befall Anne. There has been a grave misunderstanding. A letter had been sent, filled with lies and slander that your master unfortunately had reason to believe. Lord Sheridan now knows the truth of the matter and of Anne’s innocence. She is safe with him, and you cannot imagine the guilt that he feels, which you are not helping. Now, can she be moved?”
Sean still seemed reluctant. “Yes.”
Cedric drew Anne into his arms and buried his face in her hair. Her orchid scent was faint, as though mirroring Anne’s fading life force. He whispered soft words of love and prayers for her to forgive him, hoping to coax her into fighting for survival.
“Please, my heart, fight for life. Please.” The depths of his wretched despair brought a rawness to his voice that had never been there before. Part of him expected her to move, to stir and open her eyes. But when Anne continued to lie motionless in his embrace it shattered his last bastion of hope.
Immense, wracking sobs scraped his throat and burned his lungs. Never in his life had his grief been so great. Not even the loss of his parents had wrought such intense suffering. This time, he had brought it upon himself.
Cedric needed time to grieve, to cope with the loss of his last hope.
* * * * *
Warmth. Soothing softness in a dark cocoon of safety. Rivers of gentle heat poured over her skin. Pinpricks of sudden coolness disturbed the embrace of that dark heat. Points of pressure smoothed away the sting of those cold spots. A continuous rumble of noise in the distance tickled her senses. She wanted to slide back into the darkness, but something in those sounds disturbed her, upset her. Blinding white light seared her face, her eyes, bringing with it a sense of body again.
What happened? The voice in her mind spoke; it was familiar, but no name emerged from the gloom of her terrible lethargy. The deep sounds that had been teasing her ears paused. She fought to speak with the maker of the words…yes. Someone had been speaking to her. She now fought to create words of her own.
“Help…”
She hoped the other person could understand her plea. Something warm and firm drifted over her mouth, then her eyelids, enticing her to respond. Icy coolness trickled between her lips, a liquid filling her mouth, easing a discomfort she hadn’t realized she’d been suffering.
“Drink up. Good girl.” The words had meaning now. An action, an offering of praise. For some reason she felt like smiling at that, but the effort required was too great.
“Please open your eyes. Just allow me one more glimpse of heaven.” The words brought equal amounts of warmth and pain to her.
Must try. Another struggle, less effort to speak. Her eyes cracked open, revealing a blurry world. As she batted against her heavy lashes, things finally settled into focus.
A crowd of men were ringed around her bed. A grim elderly man was studying her every move. A young footman stood by a wall to her right. Wariness was etched in his handsome face, as was a strange intensity. A tall ash-blond-haired man rested one shoulder against the left bedpost of her bed. He was elegantly attired, and his bright blue gaze was mesmerizing, but even he could not hold her attention when pitted against the man who crouched by her side of the bed. This man meant something more. Much more.
Something clenched tight in her chest as she studied his strong patrician features, the cultured appearance of a gentleman mixed with the casualness of a man who could have anything he wanted just by raising a brow. He was so beautiful it hurt. But she dared not look away, especially when she noticed something in him was flawed, or rather missing.
There was a strange vacantness in the brown depths of his eyes. A flash of pain lanced through her as she looked into them, like the wooded forests of an ancient land. A memory? She knew the man who held her hand so fiercely now was vastly different from the owner of those cinnamon brown eyes in that single memory.
“Anne, sweetheart, how are you feeling?” The sightless man spoke, his voice a gentle rumble that vibrated with concern. His face bore such a look of pain that she wondered if he should not be abed instead of she.
“Who are you?” She should know the answer. It was scratching at the back of her mind. Her question sent the room into a state of silent chaos built on shuffling steps, heavy sighs and furtive glances.
The elderly man approached her again. “I feared this might happen.”
The rest of the men waited silently as he asked a series of questions she vaguely knew the answers to. What year was it? What country was she in? Those came naturally, but who she was and who the men around her were did not rise to the surface.
“Well, I must say, I am amazed at how well you are handling your condition,” the elderly doctor said. “Most women in your place would be terrified, I would think.”
“I see no point in that,” said Anne. “Simply tell me what I must do to become better.”
The old man smiled and nodded, explaining to her what might best assist her, much of it involving rest. When the doctor and the footman finally departed and the blond man agreed to see them out, she suddenly felt anxious about being alone with the blind man who still clutched her hand.
“What a fine pair we make.” He muttered the words so softly she almost missed it.
“Who are you?” she asked again.
“I am Cedric Sheridan, Viscount Sheridan. Most importantly, I am your husband.”
“Husband?” The word felt foreign on her tongue. “How long have we been married?”
“Barely a few days.”
“Oh.” The relief that swept through her was immense.
“You don’t like me then?” His wry tone made her flinch. That hadn’t been her intent.
“It isn’t that. I was worried we’d been married for some time and that all of my memories of you were gone.”
“We’ve known each other for years, Anne.”
“Anne. Is that my name?” A ghost of memory flittered past a vacant window in her mind. Anne, darling. Someone had called her that once, she was sure of it.
“You are Anne Chessley, daughter of the late Baron Chessley.”
“Late… He no longer lives?” The words trembled from her lips.
“He died just over a week ago.”
Something inside her broke. A wall of strength she hadn’t realized she’d still been holding on to. A father she could not even remember was dead.
“Did I miss him?” Tears welled in her eyes at the thought of the faceless man who was no longer in her life.
The viscount was there for her, securing her in his arms as if she’d been molded from the same body as he. The achingly perfect feel of being nestled in his embrace was terrifying. She knew nothing of herself except that she had always been strong, and yet in this man’s arms she felt vulnerable. The last vestiges of her strength were gone and she was unable to pull away, unable to put distance between them.
When the tears started to soak his waistcoat, she found herself mumbling an apology in the groove of his neck and shoulder. Lips, warm and comforting, touched the crown of her hair as he shushed her and rocked her body in slow motions. Her tense shoulders eased as a wave of exhaustion, emotional rather than physical, took over.
“I wish I could remember you,” she breathed against his neck.
“I think you would hate me if you could remember, Anne. It is my fault that this happened to you. If not for my callous nature and frail pride, you would be safe and we would be enjoying the delights of a newly married couple. Instead…” The viscount sounded confused as to whether he should be angry at himself or disappointed.
She stroked his cheek, wanting to return the warmth he’d given her. He
pulled away, as though her touch had burned him.
“Don’t! I don’t deserve your comfort.”
Anne felt a sudden fierce protectiveness toward him and wrapped her unbound arm firmly around his neck, locking herself against him. Her sling made it cumbersome, but the embrace was so important to her. She desperately needed to remain attached to him, even as he sought to push her away.
“Offering love and comfort is never about whether the receiver deserves it.”
“Love?” Cedric’s eyes widened in surprise. “Do you love me?”
Anne frowned as she considered this. “I must have. I can’t imagine I would have married anyone unless I did.” She was secure in her belief there. Love was vital for marriage, at least for her.
“How can you know that if you cannot even remember your name?” His skepticism cut her more sharply than she’d expected.
“I suppose I know it the way I know I do not like pickled eggs or salmon. It’s instinctive, too deep to be removed from my mind.” Loving him felt that way, bone deep, carved into the essence of her soul. “Do you love me?” The words were out of her mouth before she had a chance to think.
Her husband, the familiar stranger, merely flashed a charming smile.
“Well? Do you?”
“How about I tell you a story instead, Anne. Two years ago a man was at a ball with his closest friends. He knew that he had all he thought he could ever want from life: money, property, titles, companions tried and true. But there was an emptiness inside him, vast as the sea and ravaged by the winds of suffering and solitude. He laughed at others who claimed to love, or to be in love. But in fact he was jealous of them. On that night, surrounded by dancers, a young woman came to him. Against all propriety, all decency, she proceeded to gawk at him like a darling baby chick just out of its shell.”
“Do not tell me I am this baby chick.” She cut in with a tentative but teasing smile.
Cedric ignored her and continued speaking.
“When the man turned around and found her before him, all the world seemed to fade from existence. The very spark of life flickered like a flame in his body against the force of her presence. He responded as any man would when presented with such beauty and innocence. He flirted with her, promised her passion with his gaze. But when he learned just how innocent she truly was, he feared he would taint her with his presence. He forced himself back, to become cool, distant. But his friends encouraged him to try to win her, unworthy though he was. One dance was all this man wanted, all he could ever hope to deserve. One waltz and he could walk away with the memory of her body in his arms, a memory that could sustain him the remainder of his lonely life.”
“And did they dance?” Anne was enthralled with his words, the emotions within her stirring as memories battled valiantly toward the light of her conscious mind.
“No. Another took her from him. The man reacted badly. Anger and jealousy raging inside him. He found another woman, someone easy to please and agreeable. He made that woman his, however briefly, instead of the one he yearned for. It was a mistake he would forever regret. But the woman he truly cared for gave him another chance. She saved him.”
Anne winced as flashes of memories, sights and sensations plagued her. A beauty laughing as she demanded harsh love from the familiar stranger, and the tearing and rending of her own innocence at the fumbling hands of another man. Hurt, jealousy, despair. She could barely breathe.
“I’ve upset you. For that I am truly sorry.” Cedric looked ashen, as though her reaction caused him more pain than she realized.
“No. I am glad you told me.” Her arms dropped from around his neck, her body sagging in defeat. The truth lay between them now, an insurmountable obstacle that rendered her immobile.
“Would you like me to leave you alone to rest?”
Anne had never felt such confusion before. How could she want to drag him back into her arms and demand that he hold her for eternity, yet also never want to see him again? The conflicting emotions made no sense and only served to destroy the temporary reprieve of her aching head.
“Yes. I think it would be best if you left…for now.”
She watched him untangle himself from her body with a cold detachment. But her heart flared to life when he eased her back into the mountain of pillows and tucked her sheets up to her chin, as though she were a precious child he only sought to care for.
“Rest now. If you have need of anything, this cord by the bed will summon the servants.”
What if I have need of you?
“Goodnight, Cedric.” His name on her lips seemed to bring her a measure of peace, but her throat tightened all the same as she fought off the urge to cry.
“Good night, Anne, darling.” His response seemed so natural, so right, that Anne had to fight the desire to call him back to her that instant. It was the hardest thing she had done yet, to let Cedric Sheridan walk out of her bedroom door.
The solitude of her room was punishing, but she needed it. There was much to think about, much to understand about herself and her husband before she could figure out what she should do about the future, their future…if they had one.
Chapter Fifteen
Cedric slumped heavily in his chair at breakfast the following morning. He’d barely slept last night. Regret and remorse had beat about him incessantly, resulting in a rather nasty headache, causing pinpricks of light in his otherwise sightless vision, as if to mock him as well as inflict pain. The soft click of the dining room door alerted him that he was no longer alone.
“How was last night?” Ashton’s asked in a soft voice.
Cedric almost smiled. When he’d first become blind, people often raised their voices at him, as though his hearing had been destroyed and not his sight. Yet the sense most improved after the accident had been his hearing, by a fair margin. He heard even the smallest, lightest sounds now.
There was the low whir of a bumblebee as it butted against the dining room window behind him. There were the creaks in the old manor house, each groan of wood and protest of stone like an elderly man’s weary sighs. Without any visual vibrancy, Cedric saw the world in a way he never had before.
“Dreadful,” Cedric said, answering his friend’s question. “She didn’t remember her father, or that he’d passed away so recently. When I mentioned it she burst into tears as if it had just happened. Then she claimed she must have loved me if she married me and I couldn’t say it back. I told her the truth about what happened the night we first met. After that she sent me away.” Cedric’s hands fumbled about for his morning tea, and he cursed when he spilled it.
“Ah. It does appear that you stepped in it, then. Rather deeply.” Ashton placed a gentle hand on Cedric’s shoulder, keeping him in his chair so he could not rise. “I will get you another cup.”
“Thank you,” he grumbled. “Did you sleep well?”
“Very well, all things considered. Some problems back in London to consider.”
“Care to elaborate, Ash?”
“It is of no real consequence. I am merely having trouble with Lady Melbourne.”
“Still?” Cedric couldn’t believe his friend had failed to deal with her as he did with his other rivals. She should have been neutralized by now.
“I warned her against any further meddling, but she seems intent to rebel against my command to stay out of my affairs. I’ve never met a woman more ruthless. If I wasn’t so furious, I’d have to admit I almost admire her for challenging me.”
“Imagine that. There exists a woman in this world who does not buy into the famous Lennox charm nor surrender herself to your demands.” Cedric meant the last part only in jest, but Ashton’s tea cup rattled sharply.
“What have you heard?”
Cedric was puzzled by his tone. What nerve had he struck? “Nothing. Only that it is a rare man who will not back down to you and a rarer woman
still.”
“You make it sound like she’s as rare as a unicorn.”
“Rarer. You should marry her before she returns to the land of fairy stories.”
“Certainly not.” Ashton’s tone was far too cold. Cedric sighed as he realized his old friend was concealing his true emotions.
“Why not?” Cedric was unhappy and at such times had an inclination to poke at his friend until he too was upset. Misery does so love company.
“I cannot marry a woman I cannot trust to come to heel. My wife must be ready to agree to whatever course of action I deem best. Without such trust, empires and dynasties collapse. As do businesses. Also, Lady Melbourne seems to delight in provoking me.”
Cedric toyed with his cup on the table. “You do not seem to have learned anything after abducting Emily last year.”
Ashton huffed indignantly. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“All women tend to do as they please, and often it is our meddling which makes matters worse. If Godric had told Emily that he loved her sooner, she might have been safer that night at my townhouse. Instead, they quarreled and she was kidnapped right from under our noses. And if I had let Anne explain herself…” The words darkened Cedric’s spirits even further, to the point where he couldn’t finish his own thought.
Ashton’s only response was a grunt as he sat down next to Cedric.
“Have you seen Anne this morning?”
“I haven’t. I was thinking of bringing breakfast to her. The doctor advised that she be under constant supervision. If her memory starts to return, it could be painful.”
“May I offer some advice?” Ashton posed carefully.
“I suppose.”
“Take this time with her, just as she is. Woo her properly. Let this be the courtship neither of you had. Should her memory return, she may not find the past weighs as heavy on her opinion of you.”
“Woo my wife? What a novel idea.” Cedric smiled wryly. “I hope it is possible, for both our sakes.”
