“There you go!” Derrick opened his book. “If you ever decide to lose your memory, you’ll know just how to act.”
“Indeed I will,” Mother said, smiling ruefully. She glanced at Harriet. “Derrick and I are going to the barn to see if Stephen has returned with the hay cart.”
“I thought Derrick was going to fetch the hay?”
Derrick didn’t look up from his book. “I was, but Stephen apparently wanted it done quicker than I was able to get to it. When I went to the barn, he had already unloaded the ewes and left.”
Mother sighed. “And I daresay he’s angry about it, too. Come, Derrick. He should be back. I hope he didn’t injure his leg with such a prank.” She crossed the foyer and out the door, Derrick slouching behind.
Harriet turned toward the stairs. She held the steaming bowl in one hand, then gathered her skirts and began the slow, steady climb up the narrow stairs.
That was one thing she’d change if she had the money, the main stairs. They were treacherously steep. The front hall was large enough to hold something more impressive, not to mention safer.
But that change, just like the others she dreamed of, would have to wait. Though hopefully not for long. Harriet paused halfway up and moved the bowl to her other hand, her fingers stinging from the heat. The door to the guest chamber was ajar and two soft voices trickled into the hallway.
“Well, I think he’s handsome,” came Sophia’s breathless voice. “I don’t know how you could think otherwise.”
“I didn’t say he wasn’t handsome,” Ophelia replied in a sulking tone. “I said he was striking, which means he’s handsome, only a little more so.”
“Oh. Well. That’s all right, then.”
Silence reigned as if the two were considering something. Harriet continued her climb.
“The doctor said he could awaken at any time,” Sophia said finally.
“I hope so,” Ophelia answered.
There was another second of silence, then, “Ophelia, do you think he might awaken quicker…with a kiss?”
Harriet, her foot over the top step, almost stumbled.
Ophelia, however, seemed intrigued. “Like in that play you did last year?”
“Exactly,” Sophia said with obvious excitement. “Let’s try it, the both of us! I’ll go first. Then, if he does not awaken, you may try.”
“Why should you go first?” Ophelia said, outrage in her now-ringing tones.
“I should go first because I’m older than you.”
“By only eleven months! That hardly counts.”
Harriet hurried down the hall to the first doorway.
“Ready?” There was a strained silence, then a smothered cough.
“Oh for goodness sakes, Sophia!” Ophelia burst out. “That’s no kiss! Let the poor man breathe!”
Harriet shoved the door open. “What is going on in here?”
There, on either side of the stranger’s bed, stood her sisters. Sophia hastily straightened, her face pink. She met Harriet’s gaze and flushed darker. “Why…nothing is going on. Nothing at all. We were just…talking.”
Ophelia stood on the other side of the bed. A fierce frown marred her round face. “Talking? You call that talking? It’s a wonder he didn’t expire!”
Sophia’s hands curled into fists. “The problem is that you’ve never seen a real kiss.”
“Neither have you! You nearly smothered the poor man!”
“Enough!” Harriet said. “Both of you!”
Ophelia eyed the bowl of steaming water in Harriet’s hands, her eyes suddenly alight. “Are you coming to bathe him?”
Sophia brightened as well. “Oh good! Ophelia and I would be glad to assist you.”
“I daresay you would,” Harriet asked, setting the bowl of water on the side table, the china clinking loudly. “But I don’t need your help. I am just going to wash his face and arms.”
Ophelia’s shoulders slumped. “Well. That is unfortunate.”
Sophia sighed her agreement. “I suppose if you don’t need us, we’ll go to the barn. We’re working on A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”
“I’m Puck,” Ophelia said proudly.
Harriet eyed her sisters for a moment. “While you’re down in the barn, why don’t you see if Jem needs help with the milk cows. He was going to move them to the eastern pasture today.”
Ophelia clapped her hands. “I’ll be a real shepherdess!”
“You can’t be a shepherdess for cows.” Sophia’s brow wrinkled. “You’re a…Hmmm. What would you be?”
Harriet dipped a scrap of linen into the water and wrung it dry. “What you would be—and are—is a pain. Now off with you both. And don’t come back until Jem says he’s done with you.”
Sophie nodded though she didn’t move away from the bed. She trailed her fingers over the edge of the blanket that covered their guest, her blond curls framing the dreamy expression on her face. “Don’t you think a kiss would be a perfectly lovely way to awaken a man? Just one touch of your lips to his and—”
“Sophia!” Ophelia cast a sharp glance at Harriet. “That’s enough.”
Sophia gave Ophelia a smug smile. “You’re just upset because you didn’t get to kiss him.”
Ophelia stiffened, her glasses sliding a notch down on her nose. “I would have if you hadn’t thrown yourself over him and practically smothered him until he coughed and—”
“He coughed?” Harriet asked, looking at Sophia. “I thought you coughed?”
Sophia tossed her hair. “He coughed a little. But I did not smother him. I mean…I suppose I might have leaned my elbow into his ribs a little. But only a little!”
Harriet closed her eyes. “You are both going to drive me mad. Go to the barn and help Jem.”
Reluctantly, the two left the room, defending themselves as they went. Harriet waited for them to leave, then she closed the door.
Stifling a sigh, she approached the bed and looked down at the patient. He seemed sound asleep, no movement on his face, his breathing even and deep. “Sophia’s being melodramatic.” Harriet took the cloth she’d dipped in the water and sat on the edge of the bed.
If he’d been handsome before, he was dangerously handsome now that he’d been cleaned up a bit. She frowned again. Was he really asleep? She tilted her head to one side, leaned over and peered closely at him, her nose only an inch from his.
Nothing happened. She breathed a little harder, letting her breath fan over his mouth. Again, nothing happened. His breathing never altered, his lashes didn’t tremble, nothing.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, what am I doing? If he was awake, he would open his eyes, ask for something to eat, want to know where his horse was—something other than lie there dead to the world.
Relaxing a bit, Harriet straightened, though she found herself smoothing back the man’s hair. Thick and soft to the touch, the black waves slid through her fingers. He remained deeply asleep, his lashes on the crest of his cheeks, his lips slightly parted…
Harriet looked at his mouth. Heaven had never made such a perfect pair of lips. Never.
Sophia had kissed those lips. Harriet wondered for just the barest moment what it had been like. Heaven knew she hadn’t ever kissed such a beautiful man. She supposed she never would.
Harriet’s heart lowered. It was a pity there was no real Captain John Frakenham. If there had been, she’d want him to look just like this man, with his dark hair and blue eyes…She sighed, admonishing herself for her silliness.
Still, somehow her fingers found their way through the man’s hair, and then traced the line of his brow to his cheek. His skin was warm beneath her fingertips, his skin shadowed by a day’s growth of facial hair.
If this really were the captain, she could kiss him with impunity. Kiss him because he was a man and because he was hers. The idea made her tingle, and, without another thought, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.
For an instant, a warm shiver shot through her, raising the fine
hair on her arms and tightening her chest. It was as if she’d stepped through a blast of hot air, her body absorbing the warmth.
Then something happened. The heat intensified. Harriet opened her eyes and found she was right. She had indeed stepped into a blast of heat—one that emanated from his blue, blue eyes. The man was no longer asleep.
Just as in the story, Prince Charming had awakened with a kiss.
Chapter 4
I found a four-leaf clover last week and suddenly women find me irresistible. Never believed in such nonsense before, but now…just last Sunday Miss Hobbinton told me she liked my hat and then on Tuesday Lady Danbury “accidentally” dropped her kerchief right in my path and I stepped on it. But the best was yesterday evening, when I trod on Lady Whistelsmithe’s left foot while trying to waltz and she didn’t even yelp, just teared up a bit. Lud, yes, I’m feeling quite the thing now.
Edmund Valmont to the Duke of Wexford at a chance meeting on St. James’s Street
Chase wasn’t sure what was fantasy, what reality. One moment, he’d been floating in a sea of darkness, an ache behind his eyes as he struggled to find his way to the surface. The next moment, he was being summoned forth by a pair of soft, feminine lips.
His gaze dropped to those very real lips now. Full and moist, they were amazingly sensual in a face that was otherwise rather plain. Indeed, the little servant or housemaid who had just kissed him wasn’t his usual fare.
For one thing, she was far too thin—completely without the beguiling plumpness and lush curves he usually sought. She had brown eyes, brown hair, even her skin was brown, as if she spent a great amount of time outdoors. Nothing about her appealed to him.
Still…she was close. Within reach, in fact.
He slid his hands up her arms and down again, the cap sleeves on her linen gown crisp against his fingers, the fresh sweet scent of lemon tickling his nose. Chase didn’t hesitate—despite the nagging ache behind his eyes, he pulled her across his lap.
She gasped and struggled, her eyes widening in surprise, but he held her firmly. Chase wasn’t sure who the chit was, but he had to admit that she affected him. His body was warming by the second, his manhood stirring as if he held a prime morsel in his lap and not a plain mouse of a maid. It was a lovely distraction from his rather annoying headache. He must have drunk too much port the night before.
“Let me go,” she said, her voice pitched low, the sound both soft and unyielding.
Something about that voice tickled the back of Chase’s memory. He wasn’t sure where he’d heard it, but he had. All he knew was that if the woman now lying across his lap was half as seductive as her voice, he was in for a hell of a night.
Wherever he was, he might as well take advantage of all the amenities. He pulled the little maid against him, holding her imprisoned to his chest. Servant girl, daughter of the house, he really didn’t care. He wanted to taste her and b’God, he would.
“You—what—” she sputtered. “Let me u—”
He kissed her. Hard. Pressing his mouth against hers, halting her words, and capturing her breath in his mouth. She didn’t fight him, but lay stiffly in his arms as if suffering his touch.
Chase paused. Most housemaids pretended to resist, but only for a second. Most of them wanted to be romped as much as he wanted to romp them. But this woman offered no encouragement. None at all. In fact, she was unbending, stiff, anything but pliant.
His interest piqued, Chase deepened the kiss, covering her mouth with his. He ravaged, plundered, took, and demanded. She stiffened in his arms, and then…slowly, ever so slowly, she relaxed and let him do his worst.
And Chase’s worst was good. Better than good—his efforts were masterly, and he knew it, had worked to perfect them. He might have failed being a St. John in many ways, but never in the bedroom.
He’d pleased and tormented, seduced and fulfilled more women than he could remember. And he took pleasure in their pleasure—took satisfaction in the realization that none would ever forget him or their time together.
He’d sampled beautiful women aplenty and usually found his delights in the more sophisticated connections. Yet here he was in the middle of the godforsaken country and a slip of a woman, this rather unremarkable housemaid, not only had an astonishing effect on his senses, but she also was not responding to his caresses. At all.
It was a challenge of the first order.
He applied himself with increased ardor, getting even more aroused as he did so. His head hurt like the devil, but that was nothing compared to the maelstrom of heat that swirled through his veins and pooled in his loins while holding this woman. B’god, he’d teach her a lesson or two.
Chase deepened the kiss, lengthened it, stretched it across time until he forgot all of his aches and pains and remembered nothing but the hot, sweet warmth of the woman in his arms. Of her taste and her scent and the heat of her skin beneath his fingers.
For her part, the little maid began to move restlessly beneath his ministrations. Soon, she was busy kissing him back, though not in a particularly satisfying way. She was hesitant, almost shy. As if perhaps she’d never—
Bloody hell, he was kissing a virgin! The thought cleared his muddled senses and iced his ardor. Chase would never know how he was so certain of that fact, but he’d have staked what was left of his life on it—the woman had never been kissed. Never been held in this manner. Never been anything.
Reluctantly, Chase lifted his head and looked down at her. For an instant, she remained where she was, a bemused look in her brown eyes, her lips parted and moist. She was a taking thing, he decided, mildly surprised to discover that she wasn’t nearly as plain as he’d first thought. Up close, he could see that she was delicately made, her nose perfectly drawn, her eyes thickly lashed, her body whip thin, but gently curved.
She was, in fact, quite fetching. It was a pity she was a virgin. Chase avoided innocent women like the plague; they were far too prone to nervous twitters for his liking. He loosened his hold, and she instantly scrambled out of his arms and off the bed. Her feet thumped on the floor, and she whirled to face him, her eyes flashing fire.
She was even prettier mussed and upset, he decided. Her eyes shone with indignation, the velvety brown depths sparkling gold. Her skin, an unfashionable tan, was now touched with pink.
For some reason, Chase found himself grinning. “That’s enough pleasantries for now. I am, after all, a wounded man.”
“Pleasantries?” She sounded as if she was about to choke. “You call that a pleasantry?”
“Among other things.” He nodded a greeting. “’Tis time for an introduction. Who are you?”
“I was going to ask you the same question,” she said. “Who are you?”
“I asked first,” Chase said gently. “So you have to tell me first.”
She smoothed her skirts, the gesture amazingly calm, considering she was a virgin and had just been sitting in his lap. By his reckoning, she should be…upset. Instead, she eyed him with something ridiculously near disgust, even though her lips were still plump from his kisses. “I am Miss Harriet Ward. And you, sir, are in Garrett Park, my home.”
So she wasn’t a housemaid, after all. Garrett Park…the name meant nothing to him. “Where is this place?”
“North Walton. Near the coast.”
The coast. His memory came flooding back. He’d been on his way to catch a ship. He’d left his home, his family, everything. Not because he’d wanted to, but because he’d had to. Because he’d lost the right to be a St. John.
The thought tightened his throat, and it was with difficulty that he managed to say, “How did I come to be here?”
“We found you, in the forest.” Her gaze flickered to his forehead and back. “Remember?”
Chase touched his forehead gingerly. It felt curiously tight, almost as if—his fingers found the bandage. He closed his eyes and let the thoughts flood over him. The attack. The robbery. The sight of Mother’s ring falling to the ground?
??
He opened his eyes and found his companion watching him narrowly. What was her name? Ah yes. Harriet. Harriet Ward. Miss Harriet Ward.
Her voice broke his musings. “Do you remember?” she asked again, softly insistent.
Chase opened his mouth to answer, then stopped. If he told this woman who he was, considering that his brother Devon owned a house somewhere around here, word was bound to leak out. And the last thing he wanted was the sight of his brothers, all four of them, arriving to bundle him back to London. He’d made his decision and he was not about to waver, even with this little setback.
He glanced from under his lashes at the woman who stood beside the bed. She gripped her hands together, her body erect, her shoulders set. She looked as if she was ready for the firing squad, though he detected the faintest tremble to her soft lips. A smile tickled the corner of his mouth at the sight. Inexperienced she might be, but she possessed her own passions.
“Well?” asked Miss Harriet Ward, her silken voice edged with a shred of prickly lace. “What is your name? I gave you mine.”
Chase leaned back against the pillows, aware that besides a great ache in his head and a general overall weariness, he really didn’t feel all that unwell. “Miss Ward, I would tell you my name if I could, but I cannot.”
A flicker of disbelief crossed her face. “You don’t know your name?”
“I don’t remember it.”
“Oh. Do you…do you know where you came from?”
He paused a moment, as if thinking, then said, “No, I don’t know that, either.”
Her gaze narrowed. She was a tough one, he realized with a faint sense of appreciation.
“Do you remember where you were going?”
Chase pursed his lips as if he could almost remember that. But then, after a moment, he shook his head. “No.”
“Are you married?”
“No! I mean,” he added hastily, “I don’t think so.” Damn, I have to be careful or she’ll figure me out.