The Secret Life of Miss Anna Marsh (10 page)

“Then I insist you call me Harry.”

“Very well, Harry it is. It suits you.”

“I must be honest and tell you, I don't know if it fits me at all.” He couldn't believe the strong urge he had to confide in her. “I'm having a slight problem with my memory.”

Her steady blue gaze met his. She nodded.

Harry forged ahead. “I was in a shipwreck a couple of years back, and I've only recently started to remember my past.”

“It happens,” Emma said calmly. “Trauma seems to bring it on. Once you begin remembering, your memory will return faster. When you are once more surrounded by the familiar, more quickly still.”

Harry glanced out the window, then back to her. “Part of the problem is I have not been around anything familiar. The clothes I was wearing didn't appear to belong to me, not even the boots. I had nothing from my past. It became a game to guess who I was.” He paused and drew in a breath. “We figured out I must be a gentleman, because of my manners. A gentleman used to the country, and educated, but beyond that, nothing.”

“I'll not be sorry for you,” she said bracingly. “You will discover your life. And you had the rare opportunity to marry a woman you truly loved.” Emma took his hand. “That, I will tell you, does not happen to everyone. I only wish I'd married Adam before he died. If I'd known—well, if I'd known how precious life was, there are so many things I'd do differently.” She sighed. “But I can't rewrite my past. All I can do is look to my future.”

The landlady came over to them, glanced at Harry, and addressed Emma. “Miss, we have a nice mushroom soup, a mutton pie, roasted lamb, some haricot vert tossed in butter, escalloped potatoes, and an apple tart for dessert.”

Emma addressed Harry. “Mr. Marsh, do you have a preference?”

“Miss Spencer-Jones, I would prefer the roasted lamb over the mutton pie.”

“We shall have the roasted lamb, and the rest.”

The landlady eyed Harry again. It was all he could do to keep from scowling at her. “We would also like a bottle of claret if you have it.”

The landlady huffed and walked off toward the back of the room.

“I do not understand why I'm receiving such looks here.”

“Probably because of your clothes.”

He glanced down at himself. “My clothes? What's wrong with them? They're warm and serviceable.”

Emma giggled slightly. “But not fashionable. We must be close enough to London for people to take notice.”

“Therefore, I am to be treated with gross impertinence due to my raiment?” Harry asked, offended.

She put her hand over her mouth and choked. “Yes, I believe so.”

For two years, he had not worried about what he wore. “Then it behooves me to find a tailor and buy a couple of new rigs before I go home. But where?”

“I believe London will be the place to replenish your wardrobe. I am under orders to go to a Madame Lisette the minute I arrive. Are you traveling to London as well?”

He hadn't been. “I am now. Do you know someone who could direct me to a tailor?”

Emma leaned forward. “I have been reliably informed that the staff at Grillon's is very knowledgeable. I am sure they could help you.”

“As no one knows I'm arriving home,” Harry said, “and I don't wish to appear at the door looking beggarly, I suppose there is no harm in spending a few days in London. I don't know that I've ever been there, but if I have, it might jog my memory some more.”

Emma sat back. Her eyes warmed as she looked at him. “I think that's a wonderful idea.”

Harry reached across the table and covered her fingers. His palm tingled pleasantly at the touch. “Thank you. Other than my in-laws, I've not had another person with whom I could speak of this.”

“I think we have the loss of a loved one in common. I wasn't married to Adam, but I'd known him all my life and loved him dearly.”

A fragment of memory floated just out of reach. Harry suddenly tightened his hand on hers. “Say that again. Please.”

Emma's eyes lit up. “I think we . . .”

“No, the second part.”

“I wasn't married, but I'd known him all my life and loved . . .”

“Yes, there is something. Oh God, why can't I remember?” He ran a hand over his face. “She loved him, but was unhappy. Why?”

“Who, Harry?”

“My sister. I think. I've recently remembered that I have a sister. I–I recall her saying she'd love him all her life, but I don't know who.” He sat back and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It's no use. I can't recollect.”

Emma turned his hand in hers and tightened her grip. “You will remember. You must trust that you will.”

The landlady and a servant brought their meal. Harry gave the landlady his most charming smile, and she snorted. When he glanced at Emma, she hid a laugh with her hand. His heart lightened. “I suppose I should get used to it until I'm able to buy new clothing.”

Her eyes widened. “No, why should you? Anyone with eyes and a brain can see you're a gentleman.”

“Thank you again.”

“For what? Reminding you what you should already know?”

He sat back and stared at the fireplace. “Yes. I'm sorry.”

Emma shook her head. “Harry, it will come. We have many shipwrecks in the islands. I've seen cases like yours before. Once you start remembering, your memories will come faster. Maybe in bits and pieces. Sometimes with a fragment of a sentence, but the more you recall, the more you will remember.”

Harry closed his eyes. Her hand was strong and warm. Her voice reassuring. He gripped her hand like a lifeline. Calm and certainty amid his jumbled thoughts and emotions. He could remain here with her all day.

Then she let go.

“Let's eat. I still have to get to Basingstoke today.”

Harry smiled. “That's where I'm going. The Crown?”

Emma smiled delightedly. “Yes, the Crown.”

A
nna toyed with her food, taking a bite of egg. For the past two weeks, she'd spent at least part of every day with Rutherford. Frowning, she scowled at a piece of toast before biting into it. Something had changed. It wasn't only the stirring of the strange feeling in her body. She couldn't quite put her finger on what it was that seemed to be elementally different between them. Or was it only her? Still, as long as he held to his beliefs about what he wanted in a wife . . . She sighed and sipped her tea.

“You look to be in a brown study.”

The deep drawl made her look up. “I am rather. There is something I'm having a problem with.”

Rutherford walked into the breakfast room and took a cup, holding it out to her. Anna poured absently, then smothered the gasp as their hands met.

“Is it anything I can help with?”

She studied him as he took the chair next to hers. “Maybe.”

Perhaps she should just tell him that she'd overheard him speaking with Marcus. What if he didn't truly regard her as an adult, capable of making her own decisions? She took another sip of tea. “When you think of me, do you think of me as a child?”

Rutherford had just taken a sip of tea and choked. He quickly brought his serviette to his mouth, before meeting her gaze. “No, I most certainly do not think of you as a child. I remember you as a little girl, but I think of you as a woman. Why?”

“Oh, no reason. I'm probably thinking too much.” Anna speared another piece of egg and brought it to her mouth. His gaze was steady on her. Lately, when she was with him, all her senses were heightened. She had trouble not looking at his well-formed lips and wondering what they'd feel like pressed against hers. Anna gave herself an inward shake. As long as he wanted an obedient, complacent wife, just the thought of kissing him would take her down a slippery hill. She had no intention of allowing herself to be trapped into a marriage that would be unhappy.

Rutherford grunted as if he didn't believe her.

“I think it's something I need to settle for myself. I'm not sure anyone can help.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I'm more than willing to try to assist you.”

She shook her head slightly. “No, I'll either figure it out, or I won't.”

“How soon will you be ready to go?”

“Give me a few moments to fetch my hat, and I'll be with you.” She gracefully rose and left the room.

When
had
he stopped thinking of her as a child? Not too long ago, actually. When she'd refused to marry him, he'd had to take another look at her. He found the woman to be enticing indeed, and he'd fallen in love with her. It surprised him that he'd not expected it to happen. All thoughts of a marriage based on mutual liking to a woman he could easily manage had fled. If he could only make her see him as something more than a chum.

Rutherford walked into the main hall as Anna descended. His hands itched to hold her. He glanced around and realized they were alone. Someone should be here to chaperone, but they'd been alone in the breakfast room as well.
Damn
. Either no one was concerned about her, which he knew wasn't true, or they didn't view him as a threat to her virtue.

The devil
. Neither she nor her family saw him as a man who wanted her. That would have to change. “Come on. We need to go,” he growled.

She glanced up at him, looking confused. “Rutherford, what's happened? Why are you so angry?”

“I'll explain later.” Much later, after he'd kissed her and run his hands over her perfect form. The thought of his lips on hers caused his body to harden. He took her hand and pulled her toward the door.

Anna struggled to keep up with him. “Rutherford, what are you doing? Why are you in such a hurry?”

“We need to go.”

He reached the stable where her horse was ready and threw her on to the saddle. She gasped. His muscles bunched. Confounded woman. As soon as he had a handle on the smugglers, he'd deal with her.

Rutherford took her booted foot and placed it in the stirrup. Her leg trembled, and fire shot up his arm. He flung himself on to his horse and rode out of the stable yard. Anna followed and drew alongside him.

“Tell me what happened. Did one of the servants insult you?”

“Give me time. I'll explain in a while.”

“Very well. I just don't understand.”

He grimaced. No, of course she didn't. She really had no idea how he was feeling. That she was so oblivious to his feelings didn't calm him. They rode on through the forest, now almost bare of leaves, then on to the cliffs before he reined in.

“Anna, I have some things I must deal with, and afterward we need to talk. Until then”—he took a deep breath—“I don't want to say anything.”

“If you're sure?”

“I am. Do you want to go into town again today?”

“Yes, I must. Lizzy and Aunt Lillian gave me commissions. I even have money today,” she laughed.

His bad mood disappeared. At least he was the only man spending time with her. “I should allow you to pay for the coffyns, but I'm becoming rather used to being responsible for feeding you.”

“I don't at all mind paying my fair share. . . .”

“No.” He smiled. How to explain to her that he wanted to be responsible for her? He wanted to be the one she came to. “No, it's my pleasure.”

Anna frowned. “Rutherford, you are acting very strangely today.”

He shrugged.

“Well, if you're not going to explain, we may as well go.”

They were leaving the inn's stable yard when Percy accosted them.

“Rutherford, I demand satisfaction.”

Rutherford rolled his eyes. “Percy, I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“You pushed me into the fountain.”

“What?”
The man was clearly delusional.

Anna stepped in between them, and stared up belligerently at Percy, then poked him in the chest hard enough for the man to step back. “Percy Blanchard, I put you in that fountain, and you know it. Don't blame it on Rutherford. Have you told the lie so many times you believe it yourself? Or are you not man enough to admit you were bested by a mere female? If you want satisfaction, I'll be happy to give it to you.”

“Impossible, you couldn't have punched me that hard.”

Her eyes glittered dangerously. “I'll do it again if you say another word or repeat your slander to anyone else.”

She took Rutherford's arm and led them out of the yard. His lips curved up.

“Don't laugh. It's not funny.” She scowled. “No wonder his mother doesn't allow him in London. He's out of his mind.”

Rutherford tried not to chuckle, twined his arm with hers, and said gravely, “Thank you for defending my honor.”

Anna glanced up at him with suspicion.

“Word of a Rutherford.”

Her face relaxed, and she smiled a little. “Well, he ought not be telling such Banbury tales.”

“No, but then again, he never was very brave, nor very smart.”

“No, he wasn't.”

Anna finished her shopping, and they indulged once again in coffyns.

“Will you come to the Priory for luncheon?”

Anna turned a wide-eyed gaze on him. “Do you think it wise? I mean, would your family get the wrong idea?”

“Hmm.” His family might get the right idea. He'd have to drive his mother over to the Hill for tea. “I take your meaning. It's just that I have some work I should do, and I won't be able to dine with you.”

He took her hands. “I enjoy the time we spend together.”

Anna's eyes warmed. “I like our time as well. There will be other days, and I should really work with Papa on the Hill's accounts and alike. Shall we meet again in the morning?”

Rutherford tried to keep a pleasant expression on his face. “Yes.”

They passed through the gates to Marsh Hill and galloped the last mile to the house. A groom came out to help her down and take her horse. Rutherford begrudged him the task and left.

He took the way through the meadows to the Priory. Once there, he gave orders that he was not to be disturbed, and ordered luncheon to be brought to his study. If he had to listen to talk of love matches at the table today, he'd go mad and might even throttle someone.

 

Anna reached her room, washed, and dressed in a light cashmere day gown. There was a note on her dressing table from Kev. The meeting with the London gentleman was set for midnight. She sat down at her desk and played with the feather of her quill before responding. She wanted Kev to bring the man to a different part of the beach from where their shipments arrived. She rang for Lizzy.

“Oh, miss, why didn't you call for me sooner? I'd have come to help you change.”

“I didn't need help this time. Here, take this to Kev. I've made some changes.”

Lizzy bobbed a curtsey and left. Anna went to her father's study. “Papa, I've come to help work on the accounts.”

Her father's face brightened when she spoke.

“Here, I'll give you these.” He pushed some of the ledgers from the stack toward the chair in which she sat and handed her a sharpened pen.

They spent the rest of the afternoon quietly working.

“I'm going to retire early this evening,” she said.

Her father looked up briefly. “Very well, my dear, go and dress for dinner now.”

Anna bent to kiss him on the cheek. “I'll see you in the drawing room. Don't forget.”

He patted her hand. “I won't.”

Anna reached her room and stared out the window. The incident with Percy still occupied her mind. She'd almost punched him, again. It wasn't Percy's knavery that had upset her as much as the threat to Rutherford. Not that Percy could best Rutherford in any match, just the thought was laughable, but Anna discovered she had an overpowering need to protect him.

She shook her head. Rutherford wasn't the only one hard to understand these days; she was as well. If only Phoebe were here to talk to.

Without Rutherford, dinner was a quiet affair. She excused herself from tea and went up to lie down. The late nights and early mornings were beginning to take their toll. She tried to will herself to sleep, yet her errant mind focused on Rutherford's face, his lips actually. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him, then frowned. She'd thought of that for years, yet something was missing, or rather something else was there now. Anna no longer wanted the chaste kisses she'd imagined before. She wanted something more. If she only knew what.

Lizzy woke her at half past ten. Anna was soon on Thunderer galloping toward the cottage. Once there, she scrambled into her men's clothing and hurried to the cliffs above the meeting spot. She planned to be there long before the gentleman arrived to keep an eye out for anyone else who might try to join them. She was sure Harry would approve of her caution.

 

A note arrived telling Rutherford about a meeting to be held that night. He decided to leave a little early and ride along the cliff toward the usual meeting place. Not far from his property line he saw the smuggler leader slip off his horse and tie the reins to a nearby tree.

Rutherford stopped as the man dropped to his stomach at the edge of the cliff, as if looking for someone. He moved closer to a large bush, taking cover. This was the third time Rutherford had seen him.

The man was rather short, with a slight frame. At first, Rutherford had thought he was a youth, but the confidence in the small man's steps, and the obvious respect the smugglers had for him, made Rutherford decide he was older. Tonight was the first time he'd seen him on this stretch of the cliff. Perhaps it was time to introduce himself to the mysterious man. It was time to find out what the smuggler knew about the possibility of French agents being brought into England.

Rutherford slid quietly from his horse and made his way over to the gang leader who was still watching the beach below. Rutherford was almost on the man when he looked swiftly around and jumped up to run.

Grabbing his shoulders, Rutherford lifted the man off the ground. Even for his size, he was light. His head jerked back in an attempt to make contact with Rutherford's nose. Rutherford cursed and dropped to the ground, landing on top of the smuggler.

“Try anything like that again,” Rutherford growled, “and I'll put your lights out for you.”

The small man was panting and squirming underneath Rutherford. He started to search for weapons and slowed when he reached the narrow waist swelling out into hips. He flipped the person face-up and found a band wrapped around the chest. Binding. A woman's breasts.

One light swipe across them told him he was right. A woman, not a man. The muffler hiding the lower part of her face loosened.

He pitched his voice low and gravelly. “Keep it up and you'll get more than you were expecting.”

She tensed, and her body all but hummed with sensual tension.

He answered.

Then his mind froze for a moment. Only one woman made him respond like that.
Damn it to hell.
It couldn't be. He pressed his face against the side of hers and breathed in. Lavender and mint. That explained his growing erection. What the devil was she doing here? And dressed like that?

He brought his urge to rail at her under control. Instead of scaring her, it would have the opposite effect. Different tactics were needed for Miss Anna Marsh. He touched the tip of his tongue to the outer whorl of her pretty ear and traced it, before moving his lips across the sensitive skin of her jaw. Nudging her head back, he found the pulse at the base of her throat. Finally, she sighed.
Not quite good enough
.