by Candace Camp
“What did you do then?”
“I—I was hungry.” She smiled faintly. “How very mundane at a time like that, but I was. So I bought some roasted chestnuts from a man with a cart. That’s when I realized that I had some money—a good bit of money, or at least it seemed so to me.” Her gaze sharpened. “So clearly I do remember some things—I know a five-pound note from a shilling, and I knew that there would be hacks outside the station. I knew I was peculiarly dressed. I knew I was going to see...someone. It’s just me that I know nothing about.”
“Did you recognize Paddington?”
She looked thoughtful. “No. I just saw its name on the signs. I... Really, I don’t remember much about the station. I was in a fog. But nothing looked familiar, and when I went outside, I didn’t recognize anyplace—none of the streets or buildings. Perhaps I’ve never been here before. Or perhaps that’s just something else I’ve forgotten.”
“You said you had a locket. Let’s start with that.”
“Yes.” Sabrina reached behind her neck and unfastened a clasp, pulling a chain from beneath her shirt.
Alex reached out his hand, and she laid it in his palm. It was warm from lying against her skin, and he found it unexpectedly arousing. He closed his hand around it and stood up, moving back to Con’s chair behind the desk. It would be better if he were not so close to her. Besides, it gave him a little more time to hold the locket and focus his full concentration on it.
The longer he held an object, the more likely he was to feel something from it. Only very strong remnants of emotions or events leaped out to him immediately—which, fortunately, made it a good deal easier to live normally. The best way to use his skill was to hold the thing tightly and close his eyes, blocking out all other sensations, and home in on the target.
But that would look far too strange to do in front of a stranger. Especially in front of a beautiful girl whom he did not want to think he was insane. Fortunately, the sensation from the locket was strong. It was warm and loving and feminine. He had never noticed before that he had been particularly able to pick out a sense of gender, and he wondered for an instant how far his ability could go. He had never wanted to try.
The strongest thing he felt from the locket was the same sense of her that emanated from Sabrina. And love; the locket had been given and received with love. Unfortunately, none of that helped him to identify her.
Sitting down, he laid the necklace on the desk and studied it. It was quite small and in the shape of a heart, on a delicate golden chain. Inserting his thumbnail into an almost invisible crack, he sprang it open. On one side was written a date and on the other the name Sabrina, as she had told him.
He looked back up at her. “Do you think this is your birthday?” She would be twenty-one soon if so—four years younger than himself. It seemed the right age for her.
She shrugged helplessly. “I wish I knew. Then I’d know two things about me—my age and my first name.”
“We also know that it’s a nice little piece of jewelry, not extravagant, but I’d wager expensive enough. And given the way you speak and your manner, I would venture to say that you’ve been raised as a gentlewoman.”
Sabrina grinned. “I fear that doesn’t narrow it down much.”
“No.” Somewhat reluctantly, Alex handed the locket back to her.
“Maybe something else would help.” She began to dig in her pockets and pull out various items and set them on the desk: a pocket watch on a chain, a leather pouch that clinked when she set it down, a card, a dainty feminine handkerchief, a torn scrap of paper and, finally, a gold ring.
Alex felt as if his heart had flipped in his chest. “A wedding ring?” He reached out for the ring. “You’re married?”
“I don’t know.” She frowned. “I don’t think so. I don’t feel as if I’m married. It was in my pocket. I wasn’t wearing it.”
He picked up the ring, set with a cluster of diamonds in the shape of a flower. “Perhaps you merely took it off to suit your disguise.” He could sense some sort of strong emotion from the ring, but it was muddled, and the whisper of her presence was faint, not permeating it like the locket she’d worn. It could have come just from her carrying it in her pocket. Adding to the confusion was the sense of someone else. It wasn’t necessarily hers.
“Maybe.” She was looking at the thing with a certain disfavor, which Alex found made his chest feel lighter.
He set the ring aside and picked up the handkerchief. It was clearly expensive and feminine. In one corner was an embroidered monogram of a large B mingled with an S and an A. “This S would support your name being Sabrina. A last name beginning with a B.”
Sabrina nodded. “Yes. But I’ve tried and tried to think of a name beginning with a B that might seem familiar, but none of them do. This is the bag of money.” She opened the pouch to show him the contents.
Alex raised his eyebrows. “You’re right. That is a good deal of money to be carrying about, especially for a young lady.”
“It seems suspicious, doesn’t it? A woman dressed as a man, traveling alone, no baggage, carrying a lot of money. I think I must be running away.” She raised troubled eyes to him. “But from what?”
“Do you feel that you’re running away or is it just the evidence?”
“Yes.” She paused. “I don’t know. I’m frightened. Coming over here, I felt that I must get here as fast as I could. But maybe that’s because I don’t remember anything about my life. That’s rather terrifying, all on its own, and of course I’d want to find out who I am as quickly as I could.”
“There are your bruises. Something happened to you.” He was immediately sorry he’d mentioned it, for the fear in her eyes increased. Hastily, he added, “Of course it could have been that you were in a carriage accident.”
He didn’t believe that for a second. A carriage accident would have involved others, at least a driver. They wouldn’t have let her just wander off, dazed and bruised. Nor did it explain the amount of money she carried or the fact that she had dressed up as a man. It seemed far more likely that someone had hurt her...and could right now be pursuing her. Thank heavens she had come here and wasn’t out wandering around, lost and alone.
He turned his mind away from that picture and reached for the piece of paper. It was torn across the top, and the rest of it was filled with elegant copperplate handwriting:
...do say you’ll come. We shall have the most wonderful time. I am already planning a shopping expedition. My aunt has been so kind as to agree to accompany us.
This was followed by a detailed description of a hat that the writer had recently purchased, and it ended, as it had begun, in the midst of a sentence.
“Clearly it’s a letter,” Sabrina said. “But that’s all there is of it. I’ve read it over and over, and I cannot glean anything from it. There’s no salutation, no signature. She doesn’t even say her aunt’s name. I suppose it’s from a friend or a relative, but why wouldn’t I have brought more of it? And why is the page torn in two?”
Again, the letter held a trace of Sabrina, but he also sensed another person, perhaps more. It could have been handled by several people, for all they knew. What Alex could sense, quite distinctly, bothered him. As soon as he’d touched the paper, he’d felt a brush of anger, even rage...which would fit with the paper being ripped in half.
He turned to the pocket watch. There was no inscription inside or on the back. It was clearly a man’s; both the style and the feeling that emanated from it told him that. There was also a whiff of emotion—sorrow? He wasn’t sure. But with it, far more than with the ring, Sabrina’s presence clung to it. He thought perhaps she had carried it for a long time.
A picture of a house flashed through his mind and was gone. Alex froze, his fingers closing around the watch. But across from him, Sabrina said, “What? Did you find something on the watch?”
“What? Oh, no.” He smiled and shook his head, setting the watch back on the desk. Later, perhaps, when Sabrina was not there to see it, he could hold it longer, concentrate on it harder. There had been something there, he was certain.
“I don’t think this will be any help,” Sabrina said as she handed him the last item, a card. “A boy in the train station handed it to me. I think it must be some sort of advertisement, though I’m not sure for what. A milliner’s, perhaps?”
Alex took one glance at the card, and his eyes widened. The piece of paper featured a photograph of two elegantly dressed young women in charming straw hats. They were facing away from the camera. On the other side was printed an address and the words “Come see us from the front.”
“Uh...no, not a milliner’s.” He cleared his throat, aware that his face was turning red.
“Oh.” She sounded a little disappointed. “I thought one of the hats was quite attractive.” She peered at him. “What is it? Are you all right?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” He had the feeling his smile was unnatural. It would certainly fit how he felt at the moment. He tried desperately to think of some way to turn the conversation, but his mind was a blank. Well, not a blank, really, but what was there was completely inappropriate.
She waited for a moment, then asked, “Then what sort of business is it? I don’t understand.”
“It’s one that, um, well, isn’t the sort of thing a lady usually receives. It’s a...a man’s sort of, um...”
Her eyes widened. “You mean it’s a house of ill repute?”
“Well...yes.”
“Oh, my.” Her blush was even deeper than his as she snatched the card back and examined it. “They look so...ordinary.” Again she sounded disappointed, so much so that he had to smile. “I thought they would wear something more, well, you know.”
“Yes, I know.” It was bizarrely titillating to be sitting here talking about bordellos with this girl, all the while remembering how her springing curls had felt beneath his fingertips. The fact that she was dressed as a man somehow only made it more tantalizing. His flush had started from embarrassment, but it was quickly turning into something else altogether. “I believe the intimation is that if one saw them from the other side, they would be more alluring.”
“Oh. I see.” From the way she was looking at the card, he suspected that she did not, but he refrained from saying so. Sabrina went on, “Have you gotten cards like this, too?”
“Well, yes, now and then.” He cleared his throat. “Now, perhaps we might continue.”
Her eyes glinted with amusement as she put the card back into her pocket. “Oh, here’s the ticket.” She pulled her hand out of the pocket, extending the piece of paper to him. “But all it says is Newbury to Paddington.”
“Well, at least we know you came to London from Newbury.”
“I suppose that is where I live,” Sabrina said doubtfully. “It doesn’t seem familiar...though, of course, nothing does.”
“That gives us something to work with.” He leaned back in his chair, thinking. “I know nothing about Newbury, other than it’s west of Reading. I think. Wish Con was here—he’s a wizard with geography.”
“Who’s Con?”
“My brother.” Alex straightened suddenly, his eyes lighting. “That’s it. I know where we should go.” He turned and started for the door.
“Where? What are we doing?” she asked, following him.
“I’m taking you home.”
Chapter Three
“WHAT?” SABRINA STIFFENED, her eyes flying to his. The nerves in her stomach had died down since she had been here; she felt safe. Until this moment. Now warnings about strangers and wild stories of white slavers darted through her head—and, really, why could she remember things like that and not have any idea of her own name?
“No! I didn’t mean that,” he said hastily. “It’s not my home—well, I mean, it is, of course, but what I meant is, it’s my parents’ home. My family’s. My mother and father will be there and...and lots of other people. I promise you, it’s perfectly respectable.”
He looked so flustered she had to laugh. “I see. Very well.”
“I do beg your pardon,” he went on as he ushered her out the door. He offered his arm, and she automatically reached to take it before both of them recalled the attire she was wearing and they moved apart. He continued, “I should have explained my reasoning first. I realized that we could get help at the house. Megan will know if there’s been something about you in the news or she can learn it. We’ll call on my sister Kyria—if you’ve gone to a party in London, she’ll recognize you. And, of course, the most important thing is that you need to be someplace safe.”
“You think I’m in danger?” Alarm rose in Sabrina again.
“I don’t know that you are.” Alex hailed a passing cab, and once again they went through the confusion of his reaching to hand her up, then remembering she was dressed as a man. Inside the vehicle, he went on, “Perhaps there is some other explanation for your bruises and your loss of memory and your disguise, but I don’t want to take the risk. Do you?”
“No, you’re right. But, Mr. Moreland—”
“No, please, call me Alex. Or Alexander if you would like to be formal. It seems wrong that I should call you Sabrina and you call me Mr. Moreland.”
“All right. Alex. But surely you don’t want to bring danger into your parents’ home.” Sabrina looked up at him. He grinned, and it lit up the angular planes of his face in a way that made her stomach flutter.
“Don’t worry. They wouldn’t even notice.” When she raised her eyebrows doubtfully, he laughed. “You’ll see. Anyway, I’d back our butler to keep anyone out the door. He has a paralyzing stare.” He raised his head, looking down his nose as if he had detected an offensive smell, and Sabrina had to laugh.
It was strange that she could feel so at ease with a man who was, really, a complete stranger. But when she met him, she had immediately thought she knew him. It had so startled her that she’d gasped and stopped. For a wild, hopeful instant, she had thought he would say her name and everything would fall into place. But it had quickly become clear that he didn’t recognize her.
Still, she couldn’t help but relax, and it had been easy to tell him everything. There was a strength in him, a competence that was immediately reassuring. He was just so...calm. He hadn’t turned a hair at her peculiar attire, nor had he said that her even more peculiar story was ludicrous. No name, no memory, masquerading in men’s clothes, bruises and a knock on the head—none of that had fazed him. He had simply listened and nodded, as if such things happened every day.
Having no knowledge or experience, she could rely on nothing but instinct. Instinct told her to trust Alex Moreland.
Still, she felt impelled to protest. “But that’s too much of an imposition, surely. Your mother cannot like having some girl she doesn’t know shoved into her life. Look at me.” She glanced down ruefully at her attire. “I’m masquerading as a man, and she knows nothing about my family or what I’ve done. She’s bound to be shocked.”
To her astonishment, Alex let out a crack of laughter. “Trust me, it will take more than that to shock the duchess. Mother will be delighted. She’ll want to question you on everything, of course.”
“But I can’t answer her questions. I don’t know anything about myself.”
“Oh, not things like that. She’ll want to know where you stand on the vote for women and what you think about factory workers’ conditions, foundling homes, that sort of thing—and if you don’t know, she’ll be delighted to tell you all about them.”
“Oh.” Sabrina gazed at him blankly, wondering if he was joking. And what had he called his mother—the duchess? Was this an affectionate nickname? Some sort of slang that was another thing she did not remember? Surely the woman couldn’t really be... No, that was mad;
Alex could not be a duke’s son.
Sabrina found it hard to believe that his mother would be quite so sanguine about her, as Alex thought, but it seemed silly to keep insisting on her own unsuitability. Besides, what else was she to do? She had no place to stay, no idea where to be. If she could only relax, take a little time, perhaps it might all come back to her.
As the carriage rattled on, she studied Alex. He was looking out the window, his face just as handsome in profile. Then he turned and smiled at her, and she realized that, no, he could not possibly look as good as he did straight on. She could not remember what she considered an ideal appearance in a man, but Sabrina had the feeling that Alex Moreland was a perfect example.
He wasn’t hirsute, as so many men were these days—no mustache or beard, neatly trimmed sideburns, his thick dark hair cut short. But then, he had no need to hide any feature. His face was perhaps a little thin, but it suited the angular lines of his face. He could have appeared somewhat severe, with those sharp, high cheekbones and the slashes of straight black brows, except that his green eyes were warm, his mouth full and inviting.
Realizing she was staring rudely, Sabrina glanced away. They were passing an elegant row of houses—no, there was only one door, so it must be all one house. Made of blocks of gray stone, it looked as if it had stood there looming over the street for centuries. She thought it must be some government building, perhaps, but the carriage rolled to a stop, and Alex reached over to open the door.
Sabrina’s jaw dropped, and her stomach fell to somewhere around her knees. Was this his house? She watched as Alex climbed out and turned to her expectantly. She followed him, filled with a dire suspicion as to why he had called his mother the duchess.
“Is this—” Her voice came out barely more than a whisper, and she cleared her throat. “Is this your home?”
“What?” Alex turned back from paying the driver. “Oh, the house. Yes. I know it looks a little...grim. But it’s much nicer on the inside. You’ll see.”