by C. J. Archer
"No-o." Lucy looked to the rafters. How to explain it? "The very first time I met Nick, before the incident that robbed him of his memories, he was quite different to what he is now. He was ill-mannered and evasive. He didn't want me to see his face. Then to be set upon in such a cruel fashion… it's as if someone wanted to hurt him deliberately, perhaps even… " Bile rose to her throat. She swallowed and looked past Susanna's head to the colorful tapestry depicting a blooming garden hanging on the wall. It didn't calm her like it usually did.
Susanna reached out her hand and Lucy took it. "My dear," she said softly, "has it occurred to you that it's better for him if he doesn't remember?"
Lucy closed her eyes. "Yes. Most assuredly yes. But he doesn't want to live half a life, and I don't want that for him either. He needs to remember the good and the bad and come to terms with it so he can move forward."
"What if the bad is something he can't move forward from? What if he is the bad?"
"Don't be absurd. Nick is a good man, I know it in my heart, and good men don't do terrible things."
Susanna's fingers trailed across her belly as if she were stroking the babe within. "If Orlando told Nick how they met, and Nick hasn't told you, perhaps he's not ready to. Give him time, Lucy."
Lucy shook her head and rubbed her temple. "Curses."
"I know," Susanna muttered. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm not at all happy with Orlando for the way he's handled this." She smiled grimly. "I'm sorry, Lucy, but it's Orlando's wish that you not be told the details of their friendship. For now. But don't worry, I'll work on him. He's not very good at denying me anything, especially lately."
Despite her melancholy, Lucy laughed. "If you cannot tell me what they spoke about yesterday, then perchance you can tell me what Nick was like before his accident."
"I only met him twice, both times only briefly. Indeed, our first meeting was under very trying circumstances." She looked away, and Lucy winced.
"My cousins?"
Susanna nodded. "He was reticent then and again two days ago when I saw him for the second time."
"In what manner?"
"When he spoke it was with great care, as if he considered every word first. Not only that. He never smiled even when Orlando joked with him. Most odd."
"That's not at all like him now. He laughs all the time. Indeed, his mouth is always curved in some sort of smile. It's very—" She caught Susanna's own not-so secretive smile and blushed to her roots.
"I'm pleased to see you and he have become, er, friends already, no matter what Orlando says."
"What does Orlando say?"
Susanna waved her hand. "Nothing that I take very seriously. I'm beginning to think he didn't know Cole as well as he thought. He certainly didn't know Cole was the son of a baron until yesterday."
"It's almost as if Nick is two different people."
"Perhaps. Or perhaps not as much as you think." She reached into a sewing basket near her chair. Tucked into the side next to a woolen baby blanket with an unfinished design embroidered into it was a wooden rattle. She handed it to Lucy. "He gave me this."
Lucy caressed the main branch carved into the handle with her thumb. Each leaf springing from it was different in size, shape or the way it bent. They looked so real, right down to the tiny raised veins. "It's beautiful," she said on a breath. She rattled it and the balls tumbled around the hollow larger one. "How did they get inside?" she asked, holding it up to the light.
"It's ingenious, isn't it?"
"It must have cost a considerable sum."
"That's the thing. Cole didn't buy it. He made it."
"Really?" Lucy inspected it anew. She'd never seen carving like it. "He's very skilled."
"When he gave it to me, he let me believe he bought it. It wasn't until after he was gone that Orlando told me Cole made it himself."
"Why did he wait?"
"Because Cole would be embarrassed, he said, but he didn't have an answer as to why." She shrugged and accepted the rattle from Lucy. "It seems Cole is as much a mystery to Orlando as he is to me."
"But they're friends."
"According to my husband, men can be friends without knowing every detail of each other's lives." She rolled her eyes. "I tried to argue that point with him, but I'm afraid I lost. He said he may not know how such a fearsome man as Cole can carve such a beautiful thing for a baby or why he never smiles, but he does know he can trust him not only with his own life, but with mine and this child's as well." She placed the rattle back in the basket. "There was nothing else to say after that."
Lucy's throat hurt, and she blinked rapidly. "No, I suppose not."
CHAPTER 10
Nick found the bloodstained patch of grass easily enough. He'd been dazed when Lucy found him, but he remembered being near a hedgerow in a meadow to the west of the farmhouse.
If only he could remember something about his attacker. Anything would suffice—hair color, voice, size. Or better still, the reason for the attack.
Then again, that part might be easy to explain. If what Orlando Holt said was true—and Nick still wasn't convinced on that score—someone wanted to kill him in revenge.
Except they hadn't.
It was likely his attacker had fled before finishing the task when he saw Lucy approach. If only she'd seen who it was.
No. He took that back. If she'd seen him, she'd have been his next victim.
A wave of nausea gripped his insides and his head swam. He crouched near the bloodstain and squeezed the bridge of his nose until it passed. It was the most violent reaction he'd had in two days. After the initial dizziness subsided sometime during that first night, he'd only had to put up with the headaches. The tonic Lucy had given him helped ease their severity.
Lucy. An apt name for her. She was a beacon of light in a confusing, strange world. If it weren't for her, he'd be completely alone and perhaps even dead. But she was more than merely someone to talk to, she was… she was…
There were no words to describe what being with her felt like. When she was in the room, it brightened. Her smile made his headaches lessen and when she touched him, they faded altogether. She occupied his mind when he was awake, made him hot all over when he lay in bed. He'd never felt like that about anyone, including during the forgotten years. Memory or not, he would just know if there'd been a woman who'd roused him as much as Lucy Cowdrey. How could a man not?
Man, youth… what in God's name was he? He felt like an eighteen year-old, but he looked much older. His face was more defined, his chest and chin hairier, and he had bulges in places he didn't know muscles formed. He was bigger everywhere.
Lucy had walked in on him as he'd inspected his cock under the covers that first afternoon. He'd almost burned up from embarrassment. She was so beautiful, so lovely and sophisticated, and he was a childish fool by comparison. From that moment on, he'd tried to act like the twenty-nine year-old he apparently was and not the youth he thought himself to be. Not an easy thing. It didn't take long to realize he'd lived a closeted life compared to most his age.
His bloody father. When Nick saw him again, he would find out why in God's name he kept his sons hidden from the world. He'd never doubted his father's authority before, not until those dreams of the beatings. Nick shuddered and part of him wished those memories had never returned, yet the other part knew they were something he needed to accept. If only he could remember what had happened after the second beating and in the following years, it might help complete the muddled picture of his life.
One thing was certain. When he was well enough, he'd travel back to Kent and confront his father. Then he'd get Thomas as far away from Coleclough Hall as possible, if he wasn't already.
Nick scrubbed his hands over his face and stood. Enough reminiscing. He'd come to this spot to see if he remembered more about the attack. He inspected the area. There were no overhanging branches and few hiding spots except for the hedgerow, but the ground was grassy and soft. Footfalls would be n
ear impossible to hear, especially if he'd been sound asleep.
Odd that he should be aware of those things. Observing his surroundings seemed to come naturally to him, as instinctive as breathing. He always knew when someone was near, particularly Lucy, and his hearing seemed as acute as Brutus's. He could wield a knife with skill too, he'd found, and when he'd snuck out of the farmhouse, it had been easy to do so without being seen except by Lucy's dog. All traits of a good assassin. And he'd been good, so Holt claimed.
He rubbed his forehead, but it pounded harder than ever. Too full of wild thoughts, that was the problem. The only time he'd been able to forget Holt's claim was when Lucy had given him his first experience with a woman—or the first that he could recall.
He smiled, closed his eyes and pictured her naked in his bed. It made him hard again. She was perfection. Her skin was soft and her curves fit his body as if she'd been made for him. Just him. He'd not expected her to respond to his touch with such abandon, such pure enjoyment. He didn't think women were supposed to like the act, merely endure it. But then, his brother had told him everything he knew about coupling, and Thomas was probably as naïve as Nick.
Thank God he'd somehow known what to do to make her react like that. It would have been too humiliating to be a bumbling fool. Instincts again, he supposed. Powerful things.
She would be back soon from her visit to Susanna Holt's house. He wanted to be there for her return and since the meadow hadn't shaken loose any memories of the attack, he whistled for Brutus. The hound bounded across the grass and fell into step with Nick as he headed along the track to the farmhouse. He kept vigilant, his senses tuned to any strange noise or movement. Just like an assassin.
It seemed more and more likely that Holt had not lied to him as Nick had first thought. Holt told him they'd been friends, although they saw each other rarely since he'd left the Assassin's Guild. His wife knew about his past, he'd said, but Lucy did not. Nor would she. There was no need to darken her world with such knowledge. No need to change her opinion of either Nick or Holt. They had agreed on that score.
Besides, Nick wasn't going to be an assassin anymore. As soon as he was well enough, he was going home to Coleclough Hall, and he was taking Lucy with him.
***
Brutus greeted the cart by barking and circling round and round on the spot. It was his way of showing enthusiasm without getting too close to the horse. The driver brought the cart to a halt near the house and Lucy hopped down. Brutus approached with apparent calmness, but from the whip whip of his tail it was obvious it took him a lot of effort to restrain himself around the horse as he'd been trained to do.
"Good boy," Lucy said, bending down to ruffle his ears. He put his paws on her shoulders, almost knocking her over.
"Steady," said Nick, suddenly beside her. He caught her elbow and helped her to stand.
"Where did you spring from?"
"Just over the way," he said.
"Which way?"
His hand slipped down to grasp hers. Their fingers entwined. "I'm glad you're back safe and sound."
"Why wouldn't I be?"
He shrugged and looked down at their linked hands.
It seemed he didn't want to answer any of her questions. Well, that was too bad for him. She'd had quite enough evasiveness for one day. "Where have you been?"
He looked up. "Why do you think I've been out?"
"Your boots are dusty."
"I'm sure they're always dusty."
"Matilda cleaned them this morning. I saw them in the storeroom tucked out of the way."
"You're very observant."
She pulled her hand out and stamped it on her hip. "Answer the question."
He sighed. "I walked over to the meadow where you found me."
"Nick! You shouldn't exert yourself. Widow Dawson said no activity until your head wound has healed."
"There was nothing to do once you were gone."
"I only left because you insisted." She took his elbow and drew him toward the house. Brutus ran ahead, turned once to see if they followed, then took off again. "You shouldn't have gone alone. You're not well enough."
"I wasn't alone. I had Brutus."
"What if you'd collapsed? How would you get back?"
"Brutus would raise the alarm."
"Much good that would do you if you'd opened up the wound and bled to death in the meantime."
He nudged her shoulder. "Worried about me?"
"Yes, you big fool."
He stopped. Stared at her.
"What is it?" she said, frowning.
"You really are worried about me?" The soft wonder in his voice took her by surprise.
"Of course I am."
"Because I'm your patient?"
"No. Is that what you think you are to me? After last night?"
"Forgive me for my bluntness." His gaze turned smoky, warm, and he sported the most curious smile. "I know nothing about the ways of the heart, or women for that matter. I had to make sure." He leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips.
She gasped and pulled away. "Someone might see."
He stepped back as if she'd pushed him. His face paled. " I–I'm sorry. Forgive me, Lucy. I thought… " He pressed the heel of his hand into his eye. "I'm a fool."
He turned to go but she caught his arm. "Stay. I'm the one who should be sorry." What in God's name was she doing? They liked each other, and a kiss wasn't the same as being ravaged behind the oak tree. Indeed, she wouldn't mind in the least if Nick took her behind a tree, or in a bed, or in the barn with straw poking her in tender places. She'd have him anywhere. There would be no need for the persuasive tactics Edmund found necessary.
"Don't apologize," he said, looking down at his shuffling feet. "I thought… " He shook his head. "I'm not used to this. God's blood."
She slipped her hand inside his, and he peered at her through his long lashes. He was maddeningly adorable when he did that and she wanted to throw her arms around him and kiss him all over.
"I don't know why I reacted like that," she said. "It's just that I'm afraid Henry will send you away if he finds out."
His fingers tightened around hers. "So it's not that you don't like me?"
"Oh, Nick, you really are a big fool. Of course I like you." And more, but she didn't think he was ready to hear how much. She wasn't sure she was ready to tell him. Time. That's what she needed. Time to get to know him better, and time for him to remember himself.
"Then why would your brother object? If I tell him my intentions toward you are honorable, wouldn't that keep him happy?"
"My brother is a lawyer, or he almost was. He works with truths and certainties. He wouldn't believe that two people could care for each other after such a short time, nor would he like it that much of your life is shrouded in shadows. He doesn't know your family or friends, and he has no proof that you are indeed who you say you are. Not even Orlando knows your past."
"When you put it like that, I sound like a mercenary. I'm sorry, Lucy, I didn't think of it from his point of view. If I were responsible for a younger sister, I'm not sure I would have allowed me in the house at all."
She drew in a deep breath. It wasn't fair for him to blame himself. It was time to be honest. Otherwise, it would always stand in the way. "Especially when you know that younger sister's history."
"What do you mean?"
"Do you remember I told you that I was betrothed to another man? Or I thought I was?"
"Ye-es." He trailed a finger down her cheek to her chin, tracking the path of tears she'd once shed by the barrelful over Edmund Mallam. "Does he still claim a piece of your heart?"
"No! Good lord, nothing like that."
His chest rose and fell with his deep breath.
"The thing I didn't tell you, Nick, was that I gave myself to Edmund. He promised to marry me if he could have my maidenhead. Fool that I was, I believed him."
His mouth worked, opening and closing several times as if he wanted to spea
k but thought better of it. At least he didn't stalk off, but this reaction was little better.
"I should have told you," she muttered. "Before…"
"No. Don't."
"But you're angry with me."
"Angry? Lucy, no. Never." He threw his hands in the air and let them fall on his hips. "I'm not angry at you, don't think that. I just wish I'd known." He shook his head. "Then again, perhaps it's best that I didn't."
"Oh?"
He glanced around as if checking to see they were alone, or perhaps he was simply avoiding her gaze. "I don't know if I like being less experienced than you."
She tried hard not to laugh. She really did, but it just burst out of her like a fountain. "Oh Nick, last night could not have been your first time. You knew exactly what you were doing."
"I'm sure it's something I would remember. It was very, er, interesting. Not the sort of thing I'd forget."
She rolled her eyes. "You'll just have to accept that I'm right, and you're wrong. Not easy for a man, I know, but there you have it." She hooked her arm through his and they walked toward the house. "Perhaps you don't remember because last night was nothing like those other times," she said quietly. "It wasn't for me."
"What do you mean?"
"It's not something I can explain. Perhaps when your memories return, you'll understand the difference."
"Returning to the topic of kissing you, what if—"
"Mistress!" called the lankier of the two grooms, trotting up to them. "Mistress, there's a lad here. Matilda let him wait in the barn for you. He says he's lookin' for work."
"What kind of work?"
"Laboring, mucking out stalls or the milkhouse, whatever he can get." As he spoke, a boy of about fifteen emerged from the barn, blinking in the bright light. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes as he looked at Lucy.
"Henry's in need of help," she said. "The lad's arrival is timely. Give him something to do until my brother returns. He can decide what to do with him then."
He nodded and walked back to the barn, shouting an order at the newcomer.
"Henry's not happy here, is he?" Nick asked.