Lovers Forever by Shirlee Busbee Page B

position, she tried to fight her way clear of the thick cobwebs that seemed to clog her thoughts. She glanced around again to get her bearings. The hedgerows and gently rolling, tree-dotted fields told her nothing. As she sat there, her thoughts moving sluggishly through her aching head, a tiny niggle of unease began to gnaw at her. She looked at her clothing, at the sodden black velvet habit and the crumpled black cloak, but the sight of them did nothing to still a growing sense of numbed disbelief. Not only did she not know where she was, but she had absolutely no idea who she was or how she had come to be lying here!
    She closed her eyes and fought off the sheer terror that raced through her slender body. Of course, she knew who she was, she was . . . A horrible blankness filled her mind. She swallowed. Well, maybe this was just a dream—a very bad one! If she lay here quietly for a few minutes, this queer feeling of utter emptiness would pass and she’d wake up and everything would be normal. But as she lay there and the minutes passed, she came to the unpleasant conclusion that she was not asleep, had not been asleep, and that she certainly wasn’t dreaming. She didn’t know where she was, who she was, or how she came to be lying on the ground in the middle of the afternoon.
    Her stomach rumbled loudly, reminding her that she was hungry—and that if she didn’t want to spend another night in the rain, as she obviously had last night if the condition of her clothing was anything to go by, she had better get moving. Except she had no idea where she should go....
    After a painful struggle, she stood upright, bracing a hand against the oak tree for support. The ache in her head was excruciating, and she swayed dizzily for several seconds before the worst of the pain lessened and she was able to look around without the world tilting at an odd angle. Obviously she couldn’t remain here. As she stood looking around uncertainly, hoping desperately to catch sight of something that would trigger a memory, any memory, she became conscious of a strong sense of urgency. To run. As far and as fast as she could.
    Instinctively she began to move, fighting her way through the hedgerows to the narrow lane that lay beyond. Half staggering, half walking, she continued down the muddy road, increasingly aware that it was imperative to keep moving, that some nameless dread stalked her, and that if she did not remove herself from this vicinity immediately, she would come face to face with a nightmare worse than any she could imagine.
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    Tess was not the only one to awaken that Wednesday with a splitting headache. It was nearly three o’clock that same afternoon before Avery awoke from the liberal dose of laudanum the aunts had put in his wine the previous evening. His tongue thick, his head feeling as if it were going to split, he lurched from his bed and impatiently rang for Coleman, his valet.
    The man presented himself promptly, a silver tray laden with various food and drink to tempt his master’s appetite carried in his hands.
    Clutching his aching head, Avery glared at his valet and growled, “What the hell happened last night? What sort of damnable swill did that rascal Lowell find in the cellar to serve me?”
    Putting down the tray on a carved mahogany table near the silk-hung bed, Coleman replied sourly, “Don’t believe it was anything that Lowell served you. Think something havey-cavey went on last night.”
    Avery’s pale blue eyes kindled with wrath. “Of course! The aunts! I should have known they’d guess what I was about and try to protect their lone chick.” Shrugging into his elaborately embroidered silk robe, he said tightly, “They may have been able to postpone my plans, but they will not be able to protect her indefinitely.” His handsome face twisted. “And if they want a roof over their heads, they’ll damn well stay out of my