Page 15 of When the Marquess Was Mine
“Yes, vicious ones.” She turned again to the doctor, who was hovering at the foot of the bed. “Dr. Elton, the broth,” she urged.
“Where?” he demanded. That explained the pounding in his head and the ache in his entire body, but why the devil had he been robbed? What had he been robbed of? Where the bloody blazes was he?
“Between here and Maryfield,” said the doctor, ignoring the lady’s attempts to prompt him toward the door. “You were struck repeatedly on the head. It may be some time before your brain recovers enough to remember it, if you ever do.”
“What?”
“Shh,” said the woman, touching his shoulder as he started trying to climb from the bed. “Please stay calm. Dr. Elton, fetch that broth!” There was a sharp tone of command in her last words.
“Tell me,” he demanded, even though the weight of her hand was enough to hold him still. It felt like he’d tried to scale a mountain instead of merely sit up. “Where am I? Why? Who are you? I don’t remember any of this!”
“You’re at Osbourne House, my lord,” said the doctor. “To visit your fiancée.”
“Who?” he barked again.
The doctor blinked. “Lady Georgiana.” He gestured at the woman. “Your fiancée.”
He stared at her in shock. If asked, he would have sworn he’d never seen her before in his life.
She jabbed at the pillow. He sucked in his breath as a spasm shot through him. His head was not ready to move. “Dr. Elton, you have been telling me he will need beef broth when he wakes,” she said forcefully. “Do fetch it at once!”
“Of course, ma’am. Rest, Lord Sterling,” said the doctor again. “It will come back to you. But you should know she saved your life.” The man gave him a smile clearly meant to be encouraging.
His brain felt like a boulder inside his head. He had a fiancée... whom he did not remember at all. He was at a house he’d never heard of... for reasons he couldn’t remember. And the doctor kept calling him...
“Sterling,” he said. At the door, his hand on the latch, the doctor paused. “Why do you keep saying that?”
For the first time, the doctor’s smile faded. “Do you not know who that is?” The subtle change to his voice was deeply alarming.
Instead of replying he looked to the woman, who had been tugging the blankets into place but now stopped and raised her head to stare. Her perfect pink mouth formed a circle. Shocked.
“No,” he said slowly.
The doctor adjusted his spectacles and came a step nearer. “No?”
“He’s raving,” she said in a rush. She put her hand on his forehead, nearly covering his eyes. Her palm was soft and cool against his skin—comforting. It also blocked some of the blazing sunlight. “Doctor, he really should rest!”
“But he doesn’t remember his name.” Now frowning, the doctor returned to the bedside. “Do you not recognize your fiancée, Lady Georgiana?”
He looked up at her, at her beautiful, fearful green eyes. “No,” he said tensely.
“And do you not know your own name?”
“Of course I do,” he said. “It’s...”
“He’s disoriented,” said Lady Georgiana sharply. “Doctor, you are making him upset!” This time she took the doctor’s arm and almost dragged him to the door, closing it behind him with a loud bang.
He lay still, staring at the ceiling, suddenly wishing to fall asleep again and not wake until his head and everything else around him reverted to normal. She had spoken over him, but it didn’t hide the fact that he had no idea what he would have said to the doctor.
He didn’t know his own name. There had been nothing on his lips, and if she hadn’t leapt into the breach, it would have been obvious.
“There.” She was back at the bedside, a bit breathless. “He’s gone. He’s been nattering about broth for two days, hopefully he won’t come back without it. You must be starving...”
“Two days,” he repeated. That was a long time, but it was actually somewhat reassuring. He’d clearly got a pounding; surely his brain would settle back into place in a few hours. “Have I been asleep for two days?”
She paused without meeting his eyes. “Three, actually. Do you truly remember nothing of what happened?”
That was less reassuring. He’d got a verythoroughpounding, it seemed. “No.”
