and out of consciousness ever since they returned you to us.”
“Returned me from where?”
“You really don’t remember, do you?” Sighing dolefully, Laura plucked at the row of silk rosettes adorning her bodice to avoid looking him in the eye. “The doctor warned us that it might be this way.”
“And what doctor would that be?”
“Why, Dr…. Dr. Drayton from London. You see, Arden doesn’t have a physician of its own, although Tooley Grantham, the blacksmith, has been known to lance a boil or pull an abscessed tooth if the occasion demands it. So it was this Dr. Drayton who told us that it wasn’t uncommon for a man to experience some degree of memory loss after suffering such a traumatic injury in the woo—” She barely stopped herself from saying “wood”—“in the
war.”
“The war?” he repeated softly. “I remember the war.”
“You do?” Laura forgot to hide her surprise.
He had slumped against the wall again, his eyes clouding as if with the smoke from a distant battlefield. “I remember the smell of the gunpowder, the shouting … the thunder of the cannons.”
“You … you were with the infantry. You were quite the hero, we’ve been told. Which is why you stormed up that hill at Waterloo and tried to capture one of the French cannons after its fuse had already been lit.”
He straightened. “Are you sure I was a hero? That sounds more like the action of an addlepated lackwit.”
“Oh, it was very brave! Had the impact occurred another foot to the left, you would have been blown to bits instead of being thrown clear of the worst of it. Of course, you might have escaped injury altogether if youhadn’t … hadn’t… landed on your head,” she finished quickly, pained to discover that she possessed a talent for lying that might actually exceed Lottie’s.
He massaged his brow with those long, elegant fingers of his. “I suppose that would explain this devil of a headache.”
Laura nodded cheerfully. “It certainly would. We were beginning to wonder if you’d ever regain full consciousness.”
“But now I have.” He lowered his hand.
“Yes,” she agreed, unnerved by the contrast between the silk of his voice and the predatory glint in his eye.
“With you.”
“With me,” Laura echoed, backing into a three-legged occasional table. How on earth was he managing to stalk her without taking a single step in her direction?
“Whoever the hell
you
are!” he suddenly thundered, making her flinch.
The table behind her teetered dangerously. She turned to steady it, stalling for time. It had taken negligible effort to lie about
his
name. So why was she finding it nearly impossible to tell the truth about hers? She toyed with the items on the table, trailing her fingers over a satin pincushion and a pewter thimble. When her hand absently came to rest against the worn leather cover of Lady Eleanor’s Bible, she nearly snatched it back in shame. But a surge of defiance stopped her. She had asked God to send her a man and He had. How could it be a sin to keep him?
Swallowing the last of her misgivings, Laura turned and met his burning gaze with a cool aplomb that surprised even her. “Don’t you remember me, darling? I’m Laura Fairleigh. Your betrothed.”
His rugged jaw and regal cheekbones could have been cast in granite. He didn’t even blink. “We’re engaged?”
Laura nodded.
“To be married?”
She nodded again, this time with a doting smile.
He closed his eyes and began to slide down the wall.
Laura made a small sound of dismay. She hadn’t expected her lie to strike him a fatal blow. All the gold drained from his skin, revealing just how much the effort of staying on his feet that long had already cost him. This time he didn’t protest when she came rushing to his aid, although he did muster enough strength to pry open his eyes and glare at her through his lashes.
Laura caught him before he hit the floor, no easy task considering he must have
“Returned me from where?”
“You really don’t remember, do you?” Sighing dolefully, Laura plucked at the row of silk rosettes adorning her bodice to avoid looking him in the eye. “The doctor warned us that it might be this way.”
“And what doctor would that be?”
“Why, Dr…. Dr. Drayton from London. You see, Arden doesn’t have a physician of its own, although Tooley Grantham, the blacksmith, has been known to lance a boil or pull an abscessed tooth if the occasion demands it. So it was this Dr. Drayton who told us that it wasn’t uncommon for a man to experience some degree of memory loss after suffering such a traumatic injury in the woo—” She barely stopped herself from saying “wood”—“in the
war.”
“The war?” he repeated softly. “I remember the war.”
“You do?” Laura forgot to hide her surprise.
He had slumped against the wall again, his eyes clouding as if with the smoke from a distant battlefield. “I remember the smell of the gunpowder, the shouting … the thunder of the cannons.”
“You … you were with the infantry. You were quite the hero, we’ve been told. Which is why you stormed up that hill at Waterloo and tried to capture one of the French cannons after its fuse had already been lit.”
He straightened. “Are you sure I was a hero? That sounds more like the action of an addlepated lackwit.”
“Oh, it was very brave! Had the impact occurred another foot to the left, you would have been blown to bits instead of being thrown clear of the worst of it. Of course, you might have escaped injury altogether if youhadn’t … hadn’t… landed on your head,” she finished quickly, pained to discover that she possessed a talent for lying that might actually exceed Lottie’s.
He massaged his brow with those long, elegant fingers of his. “I suppose that would explain this devil of a headache.”
Laura nodded cheerfully. “It certainly would. We were beginning to wonder if you’d ever regain full consciousness.”
“But now I have.” He lowered his hand.
“Yes,” she agreed, unnerved by the contrast between the silk of his voice and the predatory glint in his eye.
“With you.”
“With me,” Laura echoed, backing into a three-legged occasional table. How on earth was he managing to stalk her without taking a single step in her direction?
“Whoever the hell
you
are!” he suddenly thundered, making her flinch.
The table behind her teetered dangerously. She turned to steady it, stalling for time. It had taken negligible effort to lie about
his
name. So why was she finding it nearly impossible to tell the truth about hers? She toyed with the items on the table, trailing her fingers over a satin pincushion and a pewter thimble. When her hand absently came to rest against the worn leather cover of Lady Eleanor’s Bible, she nearly snatched it back in shame. But a surge of defiance stopped her. She had asked God to send her a man and He had. How could it be a sin to keep him?
Swallowing the last of her misgivings, Laura turned and met his burning gaze with a cool aplomb that surprised even her. “Don’t you remember me, darling? I’m Laura Fairleigh. Your betrothed.”
His rugged jaw and regal cheekbones could have been cast in granite. He didn’t even blink. “We’re engaged?”
Laura nodded.
“To be married?”
She nodded again, this time with a doting smile.
He closed his eyes and began to slide down the wall.
Laura made a small sound of dismay. She hadn’t expected her lie to strike him a fatal blow. All the gold drained from his skin, revealing just how much the effort of staying on his feet that long had already cost him. This time he didn’t protest when she came rushing to his aid, although he did muster enough strength to pry open his eyes and glare at her through his lashes.
Laura caught him before he hit the floor, no easy task considering he must have
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