Swiftly slipping her arms into her dressing gown, she stood up and hurried behind the screen. She’d waited last night till John’s deep and steady breathing indicated he had fallen asleep, then quietly had a sponge bath and laid out a fresh black traveling gown for the trip this morning. She was grateful the rogue was a sound sleeper and was hoping he’d sleep just as soundly this morning while she dressed and arranged her hair.
As Amanda went about the tedious chore of doing up all her buttons, she pondered the events that had made her night so restless. Just having to share a bedchamber with a man was enough to disturb a maiden lady’s rest, but John had talked in his sleep again. She’d gone to his bedside more than once to lightly lay a hand on his forehead and test his temperature. She had been greatly relieved that there was no fever, but his disjointed and agitated murmurs disturbed her.
The man was obviously troubled about something … something that plagued him in his sleep and disappeared from his memory during waking hours. She couldn’t help wondering what worried him so.
Buttoned into her severe gown and with her wavy hair forced into the usual tight coil at the nape of her neck, Amanda felt back in control. But as she came out from behind the screen, her eyes were drawn immediately to the bed and the man in it. She released a relieved sigh when she observed that he still slept; she’d have time to locate Theo and send him in to help John dress.
Amanda was beyond worrying what Mrs. Beane would think about giving over her nursing duties to a mere coachman. Since the stranger had regained his consciousness and begun to tease and question her so persistently, Amanda felt less and less able to cope with him. Besides, they were leaving that morning, and it no longer mattered what Mrs. Beane thought of her aristocratic guests.
Amanda went to the door but lingered there for a moment before leaving. John looked so appealing while he slept. His hair was tantalizingly rumpled, his thick black lashes shadowed his chiseled cheeks, and his mouth was nicely molded and firm, not gaping open like her father’s used to do when he snored.
Yes, it was very nice that John didn’t snore. Now, if only he didn’t talk in his sleep! But, thank goodness, last night was the last time she’d have to worry about John’s sleeping habits.
Theo was easily found and only too eager to make up for his disrespectful behavior of the previous evening by hastily agreeing to anything Amanda asked him to do. While Amanda strolled and lingered in the grassy field behind the inn, Theo attended to John. After nearly an hour of this purposeful loitering, Amanda grew hungry for her breakfast and returned to the room.
When she discreetly knocked on the door, John’s deep voice called out “Come!” and she hesitantly entered, not entirely sure why she suddenly felt so shy. But as soon as she clapped eyes on John, she knew her nervous uncertainty was justified.
Previously she had only seen the stranger lying down or sitting up. Seeing him now, standing by the fire in a nonchalant pose with one elbow carelessly propped on the mantel, she was more than a little intimidated.
John was taller than she imagined, and looked much bigger and more masculine in an upright position. And with his burgundy jacket and light gray trousers cleaned and pressed, his boots polished, his hair brushed to glossy perfection, and his snowy neckcloth arranged in an elegant style fit for Almacks, he was quite impressive. Amanda felt her jaw loosen and her knees go weak.
“Good morning, Miss Darlington,” said John, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.
As Amanda was sure John’s smile reflected his amusement at her dumfounded expression, she quickly gathered her composure and answered with prim civility, “Good morning to you, sir. You look as though you are feeling more yourself today. Is it too much to hope that you actually
are
more yourself … that you have regained your memory and can tell me your true identity?”
“Ah, I wish I could tell you who I am, Miss Darlington,” he said with a dubious show of regret. “But, alas, I know no more today than I did yesterday. I’m afraid you’re going to have to put up with me a little longer.”
“But only so far as Chichester,” she said decisively, taking satisfaction in replacing his confident look with one of displeased surprise. “If you are strong enough to stand and walk, and travel in a rattling carriage for fifty miles or more, you are well enough to be given over to the authorities. They will have means to identify you and get you safely back home. I haven’t the slightest doubt that once you show your face in London, you’ll be instantly recognized. If I had the time, I’d take you there myself, but—”
“I won’t be sent to London!”
John’s insouciant attitude entirely disappeared. He pushed away from the mantel and paced the floor, a grim, distracted expression on his face and both hands curled into fists. She noticed he had a slight limp.
“Why not? If you frequent the usual haunts of the
ton
, if you belong to Whites or use Weston as a tailor—which seems quite likely to me—London is the most logical place to find acquaintances.”
“I don’t know why I have an aversion to the city, but I do,” John said gruffly, still pacing. “And, furthermore, I have no desire to embarrass myself by being displayed like a shop-window dummy for all and sundry to gape at till someone recognizes my face.”
“I’m sure the constabulary has more discreet means of finding out one’s identity.”
He stopped pacing and turned on her, glowering. “If you mean those likenesses they nail to trees and distribute amongst the rabble, I don’t fancy that method, either. I would rather remember who I am and where I belong on my own, thank you very much.”
“You cannot do it on your own, John,” Amanda reminded him. “But you won’t go to the authorities, you won’t stay with Mrs. Beane, and you won’t go to London. That leaves only one alternative … that you remain with me, which I don’t mind telling you has thus far proven to be dashed inconvenient!”
“If you’re itching so badly to be rid of me, Miss Darlington,” John said with asperity, “I could rack up in a room somewhere … but not
here!
I daresay in time I would remember something.”
Amanda felt herself relenting. Her anger was really only a defense against her attraction to this man, and she had no desire to place him in danger just to make herself more comfortable.
“Dr. Bledsoe said you were liable to have bouts of confusion,” she said, reluctant to voice her own concerns for John’s safety but perfectly willing to repeat the doctor’s. “ ‘Tis out of the question for you to stay in rented lodgings alone. Besides, I
am
partly responsible for the fix you’re in, so—”
“So why are we having this conversation?” John asked, brightening as it became obvious that he was winning his point. “Though you won’t confide the particulars to me, I know you are anxious to get somewhere quickly. We’re wasting time arguing, so why don’t we climb aboard the carriage and be off? If we still feel inclined to argue, we can do it just as well en route.”
Amanda could not argue this point, so with stiff dignity she directed Theo, Harley, and Joe in the loading up of her portmanteaux. Then she played the dutiful wife by escorting her injured husband—who certainly needed no escort, as he was as strong as a horse and as steady as a teetotaler!—down the stairs and to the front door. There she waited while John paid Mrs. Beane quite handsomely out of his own purse.
When they were finally aboard the carriage and on their way, Amanda turned her face to the window and pointedly ignored her traveling companion. Thankfully, John took the hint that she was feeling too prickly for conversation and did not utter a single word.
If nothing good could be said for the circumstances of her life in the last two days, Amanda supposed she should at least be happy that the weather was conducive to a journey that morning. It was a beautiful day. The sun was strong, and only a very gentle breeze stirred the gold and russet leaves of the trees that lined the country road they traveled on.
They were passing over the South Downs, a section of England known for its proliferation of prehistoric settlements, quaint medieval villages, and ever-changing natural scenery as the land undulated toward the sea. As they left the village of Horsham, which was situated in a deep woodland, the aspect from Amanda’s window opened up to bracken-covered heath-land filled with deer and other wild field animals.
They were headed southwest toward Arundel, which Amanda hoped they would make by noon, then on to Chichester for dinner and lodgings for the night.
But in the meantime, she was encapsulated in a very small space with a very large man. Amanda was sure she’d not be able to ignore him all day, especially if he did not choose to be ignored. Her neck would get a painful crick in it if she continually faced the window, but conversation was dangerous. John could tell her nothing about himself … and he was too dashed curious about
her!
Amanda was beginning to think that another lie would be necessary to appease the fellow. For example, if she told him that she was going to Thorney Island to pick up … say … her
nephew
for a short visit, his curiosity would probably be satisfied.
Yes, Amanda admitted to herself, it would be better to tell another lie than to have him continually after her to ’fess up about her “secret rescue mission.”
She turned toward the stranger, fully expecting him to be staring at her and one of his wicked brows lifted imperiously. But he was asleep … his head lulling against the soft squabs of Amanda’s comfortable carriage.
So, thought Amanda, despite the fellow’s inherent physical strength and stubbornness, he could not completely escape the fatigue occasioned by a nasty bump on the head and several hours of unconsciousness, fever, delirium, and forced bed rest. Like all mortal men, he needed time to recuperate.
Amanda smiled to herself, very well pleased to discover that however Adonis-like the stranger appeared, he was only mortal after all.
Mrs. Beane had just finished her noon meal and a strong cup of tea. Now she was settled in her kitchen, quite alone, with her feet propped up on an opposite chair. Though she was a bit disappointed that the earl and his small entourage had not stayed longer and spent more money, she was well pleased with the payment he’d made for little more than a day’s worth of grudging hospitality.
She hated being an innkeeper; it did not suit her solitary disposition at all. But when her husband was so disobliging as to turn up his toes, she’d had no choice but to carry on with the business or go hungry. That morning all but one guest had left the premises, and a nearly empty house suited her excellently. Besides, it would fill up again soon enough … though not with the likes of Lord Thornfield or some other rich nob. They rarely saw his sort at such a modest establishment as the Three Nuns. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the chair.
“Mrs. Beane? Sorry to disturb ye, mum, but there’s a gentl’man out front wishin’ to speak to ye.”
Mrs. Beane opened her eyes and glared at the timid chambermaid, hovering just inside the door. “If he wants a room, Sally, go ahead and take ’im upstairs. ‘Tis too early in the day fer me t’ want to gabble with the customers.”
“Oh, he don’t want a room, mum,” said Sally, wide-eyed. “He wants particular to speak to you.”
Mrs. Beane scowled and sat up, lifting her feet from their comfortable prop and dropping them to the floor. “What about?” she demanded shortly.
“I don’t know, mum.” Sally nervously plucked at her apron front, then added earnestly, “But he don’t look like the type o’ man what’s accustomed t’ bein’ refused.”
“What rubbish you speak, girl!” Mrs. Beane’s curiosity was piqued, but she hid her interest behind a sour face as she stood up and stalked to the door. “People get refused all the time. I’m sure this bloke’s no different than the rest.”
But when Mrs. Beane entered the parlor where the stranger awaited her, she was forced to admit that Sally was right. This man
was
different. In fact, she couldn’t imagine anyone ever saying no to such a commanding-looking gentleman.
Mrs. Beane kept the inn clean and in good repair, but the stranger’s imposing height, his fine patrician features, his elegant clothes, and his haughty demeanor made the small room look dingy and shabby by comparison. Though she was admittedly impressed by rank and swayed by money, Mrs. Beane was almost never truly intimidated. However, she’d never before clapped eyes on someone who so perfectly personified English highborn breeding as this man did. Convinced she was face-to-face with no less than a duke, Mrs. Beane was rendered speechless. She simply stood and gawked.
The gentleman raised a tawny, gracefully arched brow. “Are you the proprietress of this establishment?”
His voice was deep, assured, perfectly modulated.
Mrs. Beane cleared her throat. “Aye.” Her own voice sounded coarse and unpleasant to her ears after hearing his. “Yes, sir, I am. What … what can I do for ye?”
The stranger crossed his arms over a broad chest outfitted in a superfine jacket of deep Devonshire brown, worn over a waistcoat of palest butter yellow. Buff trousers and tall black boots encased the gentleman’s extremely long legs, and for the first time in her life, Mrs. Beane found herself staring lustfully at a man’s limbs.
Her reeling wits were righted, however, when the gentleman spoke again, his cool authority and aristocratic accent ready reminders of the differences between them. “I need some information, madam.”
She hadn’t the slightest idea of refusing him. “Indeed, sir, what sort of information?”
“I’m looking for someone who may have come this way recently. A man of two-and-thirty, exactly two inches shorter than myself, well dressed, and very dark. He has a scar on his right cheek.”
Mrs. Beane immediately recognized her recent guest, the Earl of Thornfield, in this description. “You must be talking about Lord Thornfield,” said Mrs. Beane, happy to be of service to such an impressive man … and, by the looks of him, he could afford to reward her generously for her trouble.