Page 10 of Once More, My Darling Rogue
No, but she didn’t bother to voice the word. She was certain his question has been rhetorical. How did she know that word? How did she know any words? How did she know that it was wrong for him to remove her clothes? How did she know him? In what capacity? What was he to her? What was she to him? And why was she not certain she wanted answers?
She plowed her fingers into her hair, stilled when she encountered something sticky that caused her skin to crawl. “What is this?”
“Mud. I was striving to wipe it off but you seemed to prefer that I not touch you.”
His voice contained a hard edge, as though she’d offended him. She was not up to determining his moods. She barely understood her own. Yet she became incredibly aware now of the muck on her face and neck. Holding out her arms, examining her hands, she saw the black filth clearly. “A bath. I must have a bath. See that it’s prepared immediately. Hot water, a shade past warm.”
He arched a dark brow. “A shade past warm.”
Yes, that was how she liked her baths. She knew that. What else did she know? “My clothing. Have someone scrape off the mud and get it dried as quickly as possible. As you seem to know who I am, I assume you can see me to my residence.” She glared at him. “Why are you still standing there? Tend to matters posthaste!”
His shadowed jaw tautened and a muscle jerked in his cheek. “As you desire.”
Her stomach quivered. He’d said those words to her before. Dark and dangerous, a promise that had her looking away. What was he to her? A lover? Why else would he seem so comfortable with her being naked in his bed? Why was she so comfortable with it? Why wasn’t she trembling and shaking?
She was acutely aware of his footsteps echoing through the sparsely furnished room. Heard the rustle of fabric as he swept up her clothing from the floor. The slam of the door as he exited.
No, he wasn’t her lover. If he had been, he would have held her hand, caressed her brow, wrapped his arms around her, and held her close. He would have done all in his power to comfort her. She would have been grateful for his touch. She wouldn’t have implied anything else.
She rubbed her brow. How could she know all of that, but not knowwhoshe was? It made no sense whatsoever. What was she doing in the river? Did she know how to swim? Yes, she believed she did, but the windows revealed the darkness beyond. Why was she out alone at night? Had she been alone? Had there been someone else?
The pain in her head sharpened, was like a knife jabbing, jabbing, jabbing. She didn’t want to think about it, try to figure it out now. It would come to her eventually. She was certain of it. Once she was returned home, ensconced in familiar surroundings, wrapped in the bosom of her family—
Another sharp pain at the thought of her family. Family, family. Who were they? Were they out looking for her? Did they care? Of course they cared. She was loved ... wasn’t she?
Everything would be answered soon enough, once he took her home. All would become clear and make sense. She wouldn’t have this dark void of nothingness, she wouldn’t feel as though she were moving through a dense fog. Her head would cease its abominable throbbing.
Casting aside the covers, she felt a shiver course through her as she caught sight of her legs, caked in mud. He had put her in the bed filthy, dirty. What sort of man was he not to care about basic cleanliness?
And how was it that she supposedly knew him but had no memory of him?
He did not strike her as someone easily forgotten. Nothing about him appeared soft and gentle. She suspected he was a hard man. He had been quite short with her, at first anyway, until he’d realized that she was having difficulty remembering. Then he’d been a bit more sympathetic until she’d asked for the bath. She didn’t understand him, wasn’t certain she wanted to.
She crossed over to the wardrobe and opened the door. It contained hardly anything at all. Was he a beggar, this man? No, he possessed a residence, knew her. She would not consort with someone of a lesser station.
Stilling, she wondered where that thought had come from. Lesser station. Who was she? A princess? A queen? Perhaps he was a guard. He’d rescued her from the river because he was required to do so. It didn’t matter who he was. It only mattered that she arrive home as quickly as possible and strive to figure things out.
From a hook, she removed a coat. A large, heavy coat. His coat. She slipped it on, and it provided immediate warmth, made her feel as though she were now shielded. Gliding over to the fire, she welcomed the heat toying with her toes. She could hear activity in the next room. The servants no doubt preparing her bath.
She tried to latch on to an image of servants, but she couldn’t. Some things she seemed to know, to instinctually understand. Why couldn’t she recall everything about her life?
Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back. She would not cry. She was not allowed to cry. It indicated weakness, allowed others to take advantage. She’d not cried in years, not since—
Oh God, her head. That horrid insistent throbbing again. Exhaustion suddenly claimed her. But there were no stuffed chairs, no sofas for curling in. Spotting a hard-backed wooden chair against the wall, she dragged it nearer to the fire and sat with a heavy thud. Not at all ladylike to drop down like a sack of flour.
She didn’t want to think, didn’t want to question the things she knew and the things she didn’t.
She focused instead on the man. He was quite beautiful, in a rough and rugged sort of way—like the Cornish coast. How did she know the Cornish coast?
She fought down the fear that threatened to bubble up and consume her. She mustn’t show fear—ever. She knew that much as well.
Be strong. Never show any weakness, any doubt, any shortage of confidence.
Concentrating on the writhing flames, she struggled to regain her bearings. A masculine scent wafted around her. She’d been near it before, surrounded by it. It elicited a strange fluttering in her stomach, a wild pounding of her heart. Lifting up the collar, she pressed her nose against it. Drake. What was he to her that she could be at once wary and yet trust him implicitly?
She wanted to remember his role in her life. He seemed the only tangible thing at the moment. Why was he taking so long to return to her? A thousand questions were popping up in her mind. He could answer them all.
A quiet rap sounded at the door. Slowly she rose, drew back her shoulders, and angled her chin. She refused to display in any manner that she was frightened. That this big gaping hole where her life had been was threatening to swallow her. “Come in.”
