Page 33 of The Girl Out of Time
He turned his head to the side. Her accent was strange, but her English was perfect. How much could he trust her?
“Very little. I was wounded.” That seemed like a good, neutral enough answer.
“Yes, you were. We have to work out that story.” She lowered her voice as she glanced at the door.
He narrowed his eyes. “Go on.”
“I told them you were my servant—before you say anything, it’s the best for both of us. They wouldn’t have helped you otherwise, and as for me … well …” She waved her hand. “The important thing is, you’re fine now.”
Hewasfeeling better. But why was that so important toher?
“Where are we?”
She tilted her head. “You truly don’t remember anything?”
He remembered enough. He just didn’t feel comfortable saying it.
“We’re in Dorset. Near the coast.”
Dorset. He was inEngland? He scrambled to get out of bed, nearly overturning the glass on the bedside table in the process.
She gently touched his shoulder. “Please, don’t exert yourself. Mrs. Atkins said you still have to rest.”
He couldn’t afford to rest. Everything was wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be in England—well, not yet. And where was Jean-Baptiste? What happened to the ship?
The storm. The cannon fire from the frigate …
Nausea brewed inside him, turning into dread.
The woman inspected his face, but not with suspicion. With … sadness?
“I apologize,” he said. “Thank you for taking care of me, but I need to leave.”
“No!” She leaned in closer—much closer than a stranger, or even an acquaintance, should. Theo didn’t know why he was drawn to look at her lips—or why, for a split second, a desire awoke within him. He shook it off. He was probably still befuddled from whatever his ordeal had been.
“I know who you are,” she whispered. “I found you on the beach, nearly drowned. I’ve seen your uniform. The others have found it, and all kinds of rumors are spreading around, but they don’t know it’s yours.”
“Is that why you told them I was your servant?”
“Kind of. It was before—well, it doesn’t matter.” She scooted an inch closer. “I won’t tell them who you are, I promise. Will you support my story in turn? I can’t explain yet, but please, just for now?”
Mrs. Atkins had called her ‘my lady.’ She looked like nobility, too: a well-made dress, sleeves bordered with lace, and a simple but precious pin with a single pearl tucked in her hair. Perhaps she didn’t exactly behave like an aristocrat, but she spoke like one.
Why would she drag him into some ridiculous story? Was she bored?
“All right.” He still didn’t know enough about his situation. Playing along might be the best option for now. “What do I do?”
“Recuperate. That’s all. Then we’ll talk.” She gave him a smile, rose, and headed for the door.
“And what do I call you?” he asked.
She turned around. “I suppose the appropriate name would be Miss Grey,” she said. “But you can call me Emmeline.”
Emmeline.It didn’t stir a single memory, but it did sound nice. Poetic.
“Theo,” he said. Nothing wrong in giving his name, although he made sure he pronounced it the English way.
“Theo.” She repeated it as if she was learning the name itself for the first time. “All right. Have a good rest.” And she left.
