Page 53 of Once More, My Darling Rogue
“When I had forgotten everything else, I’d have remembered that? Are you that arrogant?”
“I’m that good of a lover.”
She was finding it very difficult to draw in air. How had the conversation gotten off course? “Why St. James?” she asked, striving to sound nonchalant, not to give the impression that she was on the verge of asking for a nibble. “Why are we going there?”
“Some of your references came from people who lived in the area. I don’t know the exact residences but I thought perhaps you would see something that would spark a memory.”
Taking a shaky breath, she wondered why she was suddenly dreading what she might discover.
It took everything within Drake not to yell up to the driver to release the blasted doors so he could leap out and run until his muscles ached, until he collapsed in exhaustion, until he was too tired to be so acutely aware of the woman next to him. He’d never been coiled so tightly in his life. She didn’t have her perfume and yet he could still smell the orchids. Her thigh, her hip were pressed to his. When they hit a rut in the road, his arm brushed up against her breast. When she had mentioned taking care of his needs, his mind had raced up a path that it should have steered clear of. He’d almost taken that lobe that was visible—because her hair was pulled back in a braid—and worried it between his teeth until she was moaning for him to never stop. The Ophelia he knew would have slapped him for his innuendos but Phee—Phee, bless her—was too innocent to know better.
He had no business talking to her as he had.
Until she regained her memories she was too naive, too easily taken advantage of. For all of Ophelia’s harshness, she was no fool. She knew how to stand up for herself. Until he knew for certain she would be safe, he couldn’t return her to Somerdale. He had considered taking her to the Duchess of Greystone, but a part of him wasn’t yet ready to let her go. She was in no danger as long as she was with him.
With her there, his residence echoed less. He found himself beginning to like the woman who was in the hansom with him. Perhaps being with him was dangerous after all—dangerous to them both.
They traveled through random streets. He didn’t feel that he could very well point out the home in which she resided with her brother because then he would have to explain about her brother and she would no doubt want to go inside. Nor could he point out Mabry House where she had often visited with Grace. Pointing out anything at all meant explaining. If she remembered on her own, he would release her. If not—
She cooked one hell of a pheasant.
“There’s a park near here, isn’t there?” she asked, dragging him from his thoughts.
“Yes. Do you remember it?” He wanted to help her remember, and yet he experienced a tinge of disappointment that perhaps tonight he would return her home. That her fragrance would no longer be wafting through his residence, that she would no longer smile at him. That everything between them would return to what it had been.
“Not really. But can I see it?”
He called up to the driver to take them to St. James Park. This time of night it would be fairly empty. When the cab came to a stop at the park’s entrance, she simply sat staring at it, not moving a muscle, and yet he was acutely aware of the tenseness vibrating around her as though she dreaded regaining her memory.
What the bloody hell had happened?
Finally she released a long slow breath through slightly parted lips. “Perhaps it would help to walk for a bit.”
Her voice was faint and he wondered if she was hoping he wouldn’t hear her.
“We can if you want to,” he said. “Or we can carryon.”
She turned to him. The streetlamps provided enough light that he could see the well of tears in her eyes. His chest tightened painfully. He didn’t want to see her as vulnerable. He didn’t want to see her scared.
“I’m not certain I want to remember,” she said softly. “Yet I don’t want to be a coward. For some reason, it’s more important to me not to be seen as cowardly. I think I’ve done things before that I didn’t want to do, but I did them because I was told that I must.” He heard her swallow, saw her nod. “I must go into the park.”
Her resolve astounded him. Had she always possessed it? “I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Whatever demons you think you might face in there, you’re not going to face them alone. Besides, my legs are cramping from these close confines. They’re in need of a stretch.”
“Why do you strive so hard not to appear kind when you are indeed very nice?”
Because he had spent a lifetime living in a world where he had feared revealing his true self. With her especially he’d put up an additional wall. It kept threatening to crumble and he had to re-erect it. Rather than answer her, he knocked on the roof and the driver released the latch holding the doors secure. Drake stepped out, handed her down, then grabbed the lantern. Without thought he offered her his arm. Without thought she took it.
Phee took it. Ophelia never would have. Where did one lady end and the other begin? Were memories so crucial?
They walked in silence for long moments. He assumed she was drinking in her surroundings. He wasn’t concerned that the people they passed would recognize her. She was not dressed as a lady. He was not dressed in aristocratic finery. No one would give them a first glance, much less a second. Besides, most of the aristocracy would be at some dreadful ball or boring dinner tonight. Her absence would be noted. Her brother would explain she was in the country.
He should have had Gregory check with a servant on the health of the aunt. He supposed he could send him back. Or he could wait and see if she remembered.
He enjoyed walking beside her, this woman who did not hold her posture so stiffly and yet she did not slouch. He imagined she had spent long hours walking with a book perched on her head. A slackness characterized her gait as though she knew she wasn’t on display, being watched. She had no need to put on airs. He wondered if he’d ever known the true Lady O. He’d questioned why Grace would hold her as a dear friend. Perhaps they each saw a different side of the same woman.
