Danice Allen (9 page)

“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 5

“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. “Please, 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.

He laughed. “You’re a saucy wench. I don’t remember, of course, but I rather think I
like
females of your spirit.”

Much against her will, Amanda was reluctantly pleased by his flirtatious compliment and turned away to hide her blush.

“Why don’t we compromise?” he said to her back.

“Compromise?” She turned around. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll call you Miss Darlington if you’ll call me something ordinary … like John or Jack or Joe. Don’t you think a plain name suits me much better than Demetri?”

Amanda didn’t think there was anything plain about the stranger, but she did see the sense in calling him something simple. “I’ll call you John,” she said. “Will that make you happy?”

“John” smiled. He had a delightful smile that showed off straight white teeth and a single dimple in his left cheek. “It’s a start,” he said. “Now, before we get sidetracked again, please tell me how I got injured. Perhaps if you acquaint me with the circumstances surrounding the accident, I may remember something. We can then send word to my friends or relatives—”

“Your
wife
, perhaps.”

The smile disappeared. “I’m quite sure I don’t have one of
those.
I’d certainly remember that.”

Amanda ignored the way her heart skipped a beat and continued on. “So, you
do
remember some things?”

“I seem to remember everyday things, like my preference for strong coffee and tea—two lumps of sugar, no cream—eggs over easy, sunshine instead of rain, gray horses instead of black, etcetera.” He paused and threw her a teasing leer. “And since I like
you
, Miss Darlington, it goes without saying that I like beautiful women.”