Authors: Denise Patrick
Finding her wrists bound together once he got her outside had rekindled his fury. It was fortunate Vincent was already dead. He would have killed him then and there.
Reaching out, he pulled her into his arms, resisting the urge to tighten them. Her breath was soft against his chest and he allowed himself to relax and drift into sleep, the first real sleep he’d had since bringing her home.
When he awoke, she was gone.
Quelling his rising panic, he sat up, scanned the room, then rose hurriedly, threw on his dressing robe, and nearly ran into the sitting room, only to stop abruptly just inside the door, tying the sash on his robe as he did so.
Corinna stood before the balcony doors, the weak morning light outlining her figure beneath the thin lawn of her nightdress. For a few moments, he merely watched her, savoring the sight before him, and reassuring himself that she was there. He moved to join her. She turned just as he reached her and looked up at him.
Her eyes lit up at the sight of him and she moved into the circle of his arms.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” she said, lifting up on her toes to kiss him. Her stomach grumbled loudly as she did so, and she giggled. “I don’t remember eating dinner last night,” she said. “That must be why I’m so hungry and tired this morning.”
Marcus frowned. Of course she hadn’t eaten dinner last night. She hadn’t eaten anything for the last two days. They had been lucky to get some broth down her throat.
She turned and headed back into the bedroom, leaving him frozen in place.
Something wasn’t right. He wasn’t sure what he expected when she finally awoke, but the way she was acting wasn’t it. He stood staring down at the garden below, remembering her warm, open expression. She acted as if nothing had happened. Not only that, she was extremely cheerful and spry for someone who had been at death’s door only three days ago. Was she trying to forget?
Sighing, he turned and headed for the bedroom as well. They could go down to breakfast together. Felicia and Brand would be glad to see her up and about.
He entered the bedroom and found a stand-off. Corinna sat at the vanity, half dressed. Irma stood before her, a pot of salve in her hands.
“I don’t need that,” Corinna was saying. “What are you doing with that?”
“But, my lady, I just need to put some on your arm. His lordship said I should do this every day.”
“But there’s no need for it,” Corinna said in a clearly puzzled tone. “Just bring me my dark-green wool.”
Irma looked up as Marcus came into the room, confusion in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as he approached.
“She won’t let me put the salve on her arm,” Irma told him. “I’m supposed to put it on every day.”
“But why? I’m not hurt.”
Marcus looked down at the bandage that circled Corinna’s forearm. There was an identical one just above her ankle. Both covered burns. In addition, there was bruising on both wrists. He reached down and picked up her left hand. As she watched, he unwrapped the cloth, revealing an angry red, puckered patch of skin.
She looked at it in wide-eyed confusion. “How…?”
“You don’t remember hurting yourself?” he asked.
She shook her head. “When did it happen?”
“A few days ago,” he answered. “You hurt your leg as well.”
“I did?” Lifting both legs, she stared at the bandage wrapped around her left leg just above her ankle. “At the same time?”
He nodded.
“Oh.”
“Felicia’s brother, Jonathan, brought over the salve for them and gave Irma instructions for applying it.” Her stomach growled again, and he gave her a lopsided smile. “Let Irma finish and we can go down and feed you before you waste away.”
She responded to his smile with one of her own, then allowed Irma to attend to the two injuries and finish helping her to dress while Marcus went into the dressing room. When he emerged with a cane, she noticed his bandaged foot for the first time.
“What did you do to your foot? Did you hurt it when I hurt my arm?”
“Yes.”
They left the room together, moving slowly down the hall.
“How?”
He glanced down at her as they reached the staircase.
Rescuing you.
The words were on the tip of his tongue, but something about the way she looked at him stilled them.
She did not remember! The thought staggered him. The drugging, the kidnapping, the fire, Julianna, Vincent, Diana. She remembered none of it. So, how was he to explain their injuries?
“It’s a long story,” he prevaricated. “I’ll tell you later.”
The breakfast room was empty. Marcus seated her then sent the footman for a pot of tea for her and coffee for himself. He was filling a plate for her when the butler entered to check the contents of the sideboard. Setting the plate before her, Marcus bent down and brushed his lips against her cheek.
“I’ll be right back,” he murmured and left. Hurrying down to the library, he dashed off a quick note to Lord Wynton, then hastened back to the breakfast room, encountering Wharton in the hall. Handing him the note, he asked that it be delivered to Lord Wynton at Kent House posthaste. Then he reentered the room.
They ate in companionable silence until Felicia entered. Seeing Corinna, she stopped, surprised only momentarily before exclaiming, “It’s wonderful to see you. Are you fully recovered now?”
“Recovered from what?” Corinna asked as Felicia approached the sideboard behind her.
Felicia looked up, startled, her eyes meeting Marcus’s over Corinna’s head.
“Her arm obviously feels much better,” he said. “She had forgotten she injured it.” He emphasized the word
forgotten
.
Corinna laughed. “It must have hurt dreadfully when it happened, but I don’t remember. And it doesn’t hurt now. I didn’t understand why Irma had the salve jar this morning.”
Felicia seemed to understand and, after seating herself, changed the subject to ask about their plans for St. Ayers Place. Corinna responded as if it had only been a few days, not over a week, since they had visited the house. She talked about drapers, described patterns to Felicia, and explained the layout of the house when asked. All in all, she acted as if the last four days had not happened.
When Lord Wynton arrived, he found Marcus in the library seated before the fireplace, his foot propped up on a stool.
“Doesn’t remember?” he said in surprise. “Are you sure? Have you asked her?”
“Not directly,” Marcus admitted. “I thought she was trying to deliberately forget. But when you look at her and talk to her, you just know she has no memory of the last four days.”
“Hmmm.” The earl’s green eyes took on a faraway expression for a moment. “I don’t know much about amnesia,” he finally confessed. “I’ve read papers on this sort of thing, but never have I known anyone who has experienced it, nor do I know anyone who has had a patient with it. I’m not sure how much damage we might do if we just come right out and ask her.”
“So what do you recommend? Sooner or later, someone is going to say something. One of the staff, perhaps. This morning she asked how she hurt herself, but I told her it was a long story and she hasn’t asked again. She seems to have just accepted that she did, but doesn’t remember it.”
“Do you think the experience was so horrendous that she is trying to forget? I’ve heard that sometimes a person might forget a specific incident if it is triggered by fear or terror.”
“Possibly,” Marcus agreed. “She has a fear of open flames brought on by a childhood incident where her dress caught fire. It is more than likely the fire exacerbated it. I hadn’t actually given much thought to the effect of the childhood incident until I began to notice she never goes near fireplaces.” Marcus closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the horror of standing in front of the burning structure knowing that Corinna was inside. “I don’t know that I ever again want to feel as I did, standing before that burning hut, and suddenly remembering that childhood incident. I think I realized then that if the smoke didn’t kill her, the fear might.”
They sat in silence for a time, each deep in their own thoughts. Finally, the earl said, “I suggest we act normally. Answer questions as they come up, but don’t initiate conversation about her ordeal. Perhaps forgetting is for the best.”
Marcus couldn’t remember ever having a more stressful week. Felicia, Eliza, Amanda, Charity and even Letty, all called and kept Corinna busy. They shopped, they rode in the park, they visited museums, and even went to a balloon ascension. Marcus used the excuse of his foot to keep her home in the evenings, where they read or played cards.
Everyone was careful not to make too much of Corinna’s injuries, not wanting to be the one to bring up how she acquired them. In unspoken concert, the family closed ranks around her and Marcus, shielding them both from the curiosity of the
ton
.
Society’s curiosity, however, was as intrusive as ever. It was noted, and commented upon, that Corinna did not attend Diana’s funeral, and she did not seem to be in mourning for her sister. And, while no connection was made between Diana and Vincent, it was also noted that Corinna did not attempt to journey to Brookside, despite that she and Lady Barber had become good friends.
Chapter Nineteen
I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Should you ever need assistance, please do not hesitate to ask.
Corinna, Countess St. Ayers, to Miss Therese Ridley of Miss Ridley’s Academy for Genteel Young Ladies
“Do you think Corinna would agree to retire to St. Ayers?” Eliza asked.
Letty and Amanda had taken Corinna to a museum. It hadn’t mattered which one, the object had been to get her out of the house so Eliza could talk to him in private. Seated in the drawing room at Waring House, his foot propped on a stool, a glass of whiskey beside him, Marcus regarded his sister moodily.
“She might,” he answered, “but why?”
Eliza took a sip of the sherry Wharton had left on the small table beside her. “People have unfortunately noticed that not only did she not attend Diana’s funeral, but she also does not seem to be in mourning.”
Marcus grimaced. Even if Corinna remembered her ordeal, he wasn’t sure Corinna would, or should, mourn Diana. If Vincent and Diana had succeeded, neither would have mourned her.
“I see.”
Eliza rolled her eyes.“I’m sure you do,” she said. “But we have all tried to ensure no one connects Corinna with Diana’s or Lord Barber’s deaths, and act normally as well. Since Corinna doesn’t seem to remember anything, we can’t rely on her cooperation in fending off the gossips, so it’s up to the rest of us to ensure no slurs are cast against her. Unfortunately, sooner or later, someone will say something to her and who knows what will happen then.”
He slumped further in his chair, weariness settling over his shoulders like a wet blanket. “I actually do understand, Eliza,” he sighed. “But I do not want Corinna to be punished for something she did not do. Removing her from London when she is enjoying herself will seem like that to me. I promised her a season, and I do not like to deprive her of what’s left of it.”
Eliza left Marcus deep in thought. He had not been putting Eliza off when he said he understood. Scandal was a staple in the diet of the
ton
, and he did not need any more possible scandals to be laid at St. Ayers’ door. Not going into mourning for a sister who wanted to kill you was minor considering the other possibilities in St. Ayers’ history, but it could just be the final straw.
His thoughts wandered to Corinna. They weren’t very far afield these days. He still wasn’t sure he knew what love was, but he did know that almost losing her had transformed what he thought he felt for her significantly.
He found himself listening for the sound of her voice, watching her when she wasn’t looking—and sometimes when she was. Touching her, holding her, savoring the feel of her body against his. He wondered if he wasn’t becoming obsessed.
Yet, along with this newfound obsession came contentment. He was relaxed and comfortable around her. The camaraderie that began to develop between them while at St. Ayers had grown and become part of their lives. Often he could tell what she was thinking before she voiced it, and she seemed to sense his moods, frequently lapsing into silence or drawing him out when he needed it most.
In short, they had become attuned to each other in a way many couples never achieve, but seemingly in the same way he had observed Felicia and Brand interacting. His parents’ marriage had been his benchmark for so long, and discovering it was not the union he thought it to be had been devastating. But now he had a whole host of good examples right before his eyes. And, he discovered, he and Corinna seemed to fit right in.
Perhaps he needed to stop trying to think it through, and listen to his heart instead. Even before he knew who she was, his heart had drawn him to her side. He had felt a connection to her, a responsibility for her that made no sense under the circumstances. And maybe, just maybe, he thought, that’s what love was. An unconscious link between two people—stronger than friendship, more durable than lust or desire, and built on unconditional trust and acceptance.