Page 31 of Once More, My Darling Rogue
“Warmer?” he asked.
“Yes. But I’m still waiting for the story. Tell me something from when you were a boy.”
Those tales would satisfy the Brothers Grimm. “As I mentioned earlier I began my life on the streets. I survived by skill, cunning, and quickness. But still food, clothing, warmth were scarce. I remember the first time I ate until I was full. I was eight at the time. Meat pies. Then I promptly brought them all back up.”
“Ew! I think I would rather hear the cobbler’s tale.”
“I thought you might.”
She was quiet for a very long time. He thought perhaps she was drifting off. Then she said, “I can’t imagine that my life is very happy. I can’t seem to feel any joy in being here.”
An awful thought jarred him. Had she deliberately jumped into the river intending to do herself harm? Had his kiss so repulsed her—no, her plunge in the river had nothing to do with him. Nor with her wishing herself harm. If he knew anything at all about her, it was that she thought too highly of herself to deny the world her existence. Her loss of memory was simply disorienting to her.
“You take great pride in your place,” he said. True, even if it was her place in the aristocracy to which he referred.
“Do I?”
“Yes. You are well versed in your duties. You carry them out with extreme diligence. You’ve set an example for others that few can imitate.” Again, all true, although he’d never considered the merits of them, but they were there even without his recognizing them.
“Are those words from my letters of reference?”
“Only my observations.”
“Did you bring the letters?”
“I seem to have misplaced them, but I shall find them.”
“Why did you return early?”
“Because I was ... concerned for you.” Because she was driving him more mad without her memory than she ever had with it.
“I’m warm now,” she said. “No longer shivering.”
He supposed that was his signal to leave her. He should be incredibly relieved. Instead, he found that he enjoyed holding her, inhaling her unique scent, speaking low with her—even about nothing of significance—while shadows danced around them. Disturbing her as little as possible, he eased off the bed.
With her head on the pillow, she tucked a hand beneath her cheek and regarded him. “I like this bed better. It’s more comfortable.”
“You may use it when I’m not here.”
“But you’re here now.”
“Yes, but I won’t be sleeping.”
He stood there until he was relatively certain that she had drifted off. Then he pulled over the chair, sat, and began his vigil.
Only because she was Grace’s friend, and his sister would never forgive him if something awful happened to her. His remaining had nothing to do with the glimpse she’d given him of a lady he had never before met.
She awoke disoriented on sheets that weren’t quite as soft as those to which she was accustomed. The pillow was harder, the mattress firmer. She tried to latch on to what she could barely recall, but it was like trying to capture fog and it slipped through her grasp. Everything had slipped away, all of her memories, and yet...
The man was familiar. His scent, the strength in his arms. He was sitting in one of those awful hard chairs, his head tilted to one side, his eyes closed, long lashes resting on sharp cheekbones. His legs were outstretched, crossed at the ankles, his arms folded across his chest. She marveled that he hadn’t toppled to the floor. His neck would no doubt ache when he awoke. She would massage it when she washed his back.
Because he hadn’t left, because he’d kept watch as he had promised.
He shouldn’t have returned until after dawn, and yet he’d arrived last night when she needed him. It seemed he was always there to rescue her: when she was drowning, when she was cold and frightened, when dreams terrified her. How many other times had he been there? How many other times might he have consoled her and eased her fears?
He opened his eyes, and she found herself staring into the dark depths. So black that they should have been unsettling. Blacker than his hair, darker than the shadow on his jaw. Nothing about him was light or carefree. Everything had a dangerous edge to it, and yet she knew she was safe with him. Had she always known that or had she once been afraid?
He didn’t say anything. He simply studied her as though he wasn’t quite certain who she was or how she might respond to his presence.
