Falling for the Pirate by Amber Lin Page A

stood out in her mind—the very first night he’d come to her after their conversation on the roof.
    He had turned away and stared out the window. “You can’t recall your name?”
    She couldn’t remember anything. A blast of freezing water. Dark, wavy shadows. Sinking, drowning.
    Nervousness fluttered in her belly. He had been true to his word and hadn’t locked the door. She had no reason to doubt his sincerity when he said he wouldn’t turn her over to the authorities. But the topic flooded her with unease, nonetheless.
    “I’m sorry,” she’d said in answer.
    “Do you know some thieves…or those who wish to masquerade as someone else… they choose a name similar to their own? That way, they can still answer to it naturally, and are less likely to forget it.”
    “And you think…you think I did that?”
    “Julian,” he said in a musing tone, as if she hadn’t spoken. “What names are similar, do you suppose?”
    She considered it. “Julia?”
    He turned back briefly, flashing the white of his smile. She had the sudden image of a wolf in the woods, of bared teeth in warning. But his voice was mild. “Yes, indeed. Julia would be very close to Julian. Should we call you that, then? Julia?”
    He already was calling her that, and one name was as good as another. Embarrassment heated her that she couldn’t remember. Of all the things not to know…her own name. It made her feel stupid and useless—as if her complete dependence on him weren’t enough to accomplish that.
    “All right,” she said softly. “Julia.”
    She told herself later that it was the harsh lighting. She told herself she’d imagined the hint of hatred in his eyes. Why would he hate her? Why would she matter at all?
    It unnerved her enough that she inquired to Mrs. Wheaton the next day. “How long have you worked for Captain Bowen?”
    The older woman was quiet as she bent to stir the fire. It remained lit almost constantly, keeping her bedroom warm through night and day. It struck her as an extravagance for the modest house. The only night it had been cold, Nate had been waiting for her on the roof, and she understood now it had been a trap, leaving the chimney unlit so she could climb up.
    Mrs. Wheaton straightened and tucked a strand of pale blond hair behind her ear. “Long enough.”
    Julia didn’t take offense. She had learned that the housekeeper was a woman of few words.
    “Does he often have guests?” she asked, before realizing what sort of guests a bachelor might entertain. “I mean, of a charitable nature?”
    “Captain Bowen doesn’t believe in charity, Miss.”
    “Oh.” She struggled with how to ask the question in her mind. Can I trust him? But it would never be that simple. Guilt had been her constant companion. Guilt that she had stolen from him, or at least tried to. Guilt that she was using his hospitality.
    And most of all, guilt because she could not bring herself to trust him completely, despite the kindness he had shown her.
    Mrs. Wheaton paused by the door. “If someone were to ask me, I’d say there were no finer man than Captain Nathaniel Bowen.”
    Juliana breathed in pure relief. Where Nate was stormy waters, Mrs. Wheaton was a calm pond. Julia could trust her.
    “Thank you. That does ease my mind.”
    “Although…”
    “Yes?” she asked hopefully. Advice from this woman would be like a life raft, something to hold on to in a turbulent sea.
    Mrs. Wheaton’s pale blue eyes softened. “Worry about gaining your strength back. Captain Bowen will attend to everything else.”
    …
    Julia did as the housekeeper bade her, sleeping long hours and reading the books that Nate brought her. A doctor by the name of Richards came on the third day after she’d awakened and pronounced her mostly healed.
    “No strenuous activities,” he said with a faintly disapproving note. Clearly, he had some idea of what strenuous activities an unchaperoned woman might do in a strange man’s house.
    However, he