“You are the lady of the house, madam?” His tone said he was astonished to be greeted by someone other than a butler.
“Yes, I am.” She looked down her nose at him, in the best imitation of her Grandma Lawton she could muster. If he thought his haughty air was going to intimidate her, he could think again. Why shouldn’t she answer the door if she felt like it? She repeated in a testier tone, “May I help you?”
“May I speak with the owner of the house?”
“I’m afraid that is impossible, sir. The owner does not live here.”
“Where does he live then?”
“As to that, I have no idea. My husband and I rented the house for the Season. I don’t even know the name of the owner, though I believe he is living abroad.” Monsieur had told her that.
She was thankful Reed had gone back upstairs. Spencer was enough upheaval for one day, without her temporary husband hearing someone making inquiries about an unknown landlord.
The stranger’s eyes kept darting from her into the house behind her. She didn’t like his sly look. He may be dressed to the nines but, to her, he appeared oily and untrustworthy.
She shifted weight impatiently, from one foot to the other. Why didn’t he thank her and leave? She didn’t know the person to whom he wished to speak. Instead, he was peering at her in a peculiar fashion that set her nerves on edge. He seemed not quite normal.
“If that is all, sir, I will bid you good day and wish you luck in finding the person you are seeking. I advise you to try the attorneys who lease this house, Hornings & Crosbie.”
He didn’t respond, just kept staring at her with an odd half-smile on his face, as though he were contemplating pushing his way into the house. Uncomfortable, and deciding she’d accorded him enough of her time, Tally gave him a perfunctory smile and began closing the door.
He finally took the hint, mumbled a high-pitched good-by and left.
Shutting the door with a firm thump, she leaned back against it and heaved a sigh of relief. Her legs felt weak and she was shaking.
Chapter Nine
Reed stood by the bedroom window. Although unsteady on his feet, he couldn’t rest knowing that Allerton was down there with Talia. He heard the front door open and curiosity brought him to the window.
His wife, having an animated conversation with Allerton, was leaving the house. They were going in the direction of the park. He watched and waited. It took only minutes. She wore a preoccupied frown as she walked back to the house.
He didn’t like her being outside alone. She should have taken her companion, even for so short a walk, especially with a young man. Odd, he’d never met or seen her companion... Surely she wouldn’t be so careless as to come to London without one!
He’d have to talk to her about that later, right now he had other things to think about. He’d sensed undercurrents earlier, when she rushed him and Foster upstairs. She hadn’t wanted her friend and him to have the chance to talk together. Why not? Was she hiding something from him?
He moved back to the bed and was about to lie down when he heard a vehicle stop and then a knock at their front door. The damned man must have come back!
The front door opened almost immediately.
Who–?
Had his wife answered the door? Reed closed his eyes in disbelief. Foster and Mrs. P were in the kitchen. He’d heard them go down just moments ago. And Joseph had left over an hour ago.
It had to be Talia. She was still unfamiliar with London manners, it appeared, where no lady dreamed of answering her own door.
Ah… another memory! Not a very personal one, unfortunately. Nonetheless, he should write it down. Rising, he picked up pencil and paper, and went to the window, making sure to stay in the shadows behind the curtains.
The vehicle waiting by the curb was too fancy to be a rented one. So, it wasn’t Allerton.
Today was their day for visitors, it seemed.
He’d begun to jot down his latest memory, when the front door opened again and closed. He peered through a small gap between the curtain and the wall, curious to see what kind of person owned the gaudy chaise waiting in front of the house. The caller hadn’t stayed very long.
A short, spare man strutted to the awaiting vehicle.
A vague sense of familiarity winnowed through Reed’s brain. Did he know this foppish man?
When the man reached the sidewalk, he turned to look up at the second-floor windows, as if he knew he was being watched.
Reed froze in his hiding place behind the curtains. That face. He’d seen it before. Of that, he was certain. But was the man friend or foe?
Listen to yourself, to the melodrama going on in your head! Just because his lack of memory was making him feel vulnerable, that didn’t mean he was in any danger.
This affliction was making him imagine all kinds of sinister plots, each more creative than the next. Here he was, hiding behind the curtains, playing cloak and dagger. Who did he think he was? A spy or something?
* * *
“Who was that?”
“Oh Foster, there you are.” Startled yet again by his appearance, Tally’s pounding heart wished he wore noisier shoes so she could hear him come up behind her. He was surprisingly quiet for someone who shuffled along. “An odd little man, a gentleman, dressed in high fashion — if one appreciates blinding, jarring colors. I never asked his name, just referred him to Hornings & Crosbie.” She shuddered. “He made my flesh crawl.”
“What did he want?” Her reaction to the caller aroused Foster’s wary nature. He reached for the door handle.
“To speak to the owner of the house.”
“Did he ask for that Viscount person?” Suspicion colored his words. “I wish I had caught the name when that footman inquired about him.”
“It’s not important,” she consoled him. Foster was sensitive about his loss of hearing. “He never mentioned a name, just asked for the owner.” Another frisson shook her. “He had this eerie, not-quite-normal look. I told him we had no idea who the owner was, but he kept peering behind me as if he thought I was lying and expected the man to appear at any moment.” She rubbed her arms briskly with her hands to disperse the chill the caller had provoked. “Never mind, Foster. It’s too late now. His carriage is long gone.”
“Humph.” He set his jaw at a pugnacious angle. “You mustn’t answer the door any more, Missy. We’re in London now. You don’t know who might be there or what they might do.”
“I agree.” She certainly wasn’t going to argue with him after that unnerving encounter. That man had left her feeling vulnerable in her own home. “I must say, my first two weeks in London have not been pleasant... vehicles almost running me over, rocks being thrown at us, a man climbing in my bedroom window and ending up with amnesia. And now, strange gentlemen at the door! I don’t think I want to remain in Town for long.”
“Suits me. I detest the place!” Foster assured her. He began heading toward the back of the house. “They’ve sent someone else to check up on us, they have. Mark my words, yer Reed Gordon is the one they’re looking for, not some sham Viscount. They’re probably wondering what’s happened to him. And I’ll bet he’s one of them that’s after you too.”
* * *
This time, Reed didn’t fall asleep immediately, despite being bone weary.
Damn it to hell! What was wrong with him? It was early afternoon and he’d been up less than two hours!
Somehow he knew this fatigue was not normal for him. He pulled the pencil and paper close, to add that to his growing list of remembered items about himself. His memory list was growing satisfyingly long, but he was still feeling testy and frustrated that the continuous thread of his memory eluded him.
He was anxious to remember more about his wife. Every time he was on the verge of recalling something, it slipped away — as though something were blocking his memories. He leaned back against the pillow. He was weary and his head was tired of going round and round in circles, searching desperat
ely for information to unlock his memory.
Some knowledge had been hovering at the edge of his consciousness all day. It had something to do with his unnatural lethargy. He reached for the glass of barley water from the bedside table, took a sip and swished it around in his parched mouth. He was always so thirsty. To make matters worse, he disliked the awful metallic taste that lingered in his mouth.
Lingered from what? He’d just eaten a good meal. Nothing metallic about that. Suddenly, a word sprang into his mind. Laudanum! That left a metallic aftertaste. And it would explain the terrible lassitude dragging his spirits down.
Once, as a child, he’d been given large doses for some illness and… Another memory! A solid one. What illness had he suffered? He strained his brain to its furthest extent, but once again nothing came. Still, it was exciting to have had such a clear memory from his past.
As for the opium, the more he reflected on it, the more positive he was that he was being given a sedative. It explained why his thinking processes were so muddled and why he was so unsteady on his feet. He had a hazy recollection of the physician prescribing something that first night.
But how was it being administered?
That awful late night cup of hot milk! Of course! He should have realized it before.
Settling down into the bed more comfortably now that he understood why he was so confused and tired all the time, he pondered this new knowledge. He wanted clarity of mind back. He wanted to stop sleeping all day long. Most of all, he wanted to be in control of his life again. He was positive his memory would return, if only he was able to think clearly again.
His eyes got heavy and sleep gradually blanketed him. He was going to stop taking that drug, no matter how much pain he had to endure.
Upon awaking, he was disoriented and didn’t know what time it was, nor even what day. The room was in darkness, so he knew it was nighttime. He contemplated getting up to light a candle, but was still too drowsy to muster the gumption to do it.
He was relieved to hear his wife’s footsteps approaching his room. She’d light the candle. Seeing better and, especially, seeing her, might infuse him with the energy to get up.
Tally entered Reed’s room to find him just waking. She felt guiltier than ever. He was still half asleep, yet here she was bringing him his nighttime dose of laudanum. He’d slept through most of the past few days. She set the cup down on the small table beside the bed, reached for a candle and went to light it in the fireplace. “Time for your hot milk. You’ll like it better tonight. Mrs. P sweetened it with honey.”
“How did you know I didn’t like it last night?” He sounded quarrelsome.
“Maybe because of the awful face you made?” She’d never been in favor of taking any kind of drug with regularity, but how else was she to ensure he was sound asleep so his wound could be cleaned and the dressing changed each night without his knowledge?
And the doctor did say Reed needed complete rest to get his memory back!
The gunshot wound was healing nicely, thank goodness, and soon they’d be able to stop wrapping it and perhaps even tell him about it. She shuddered, wondering what he’d do if he ever found out she was the one who had shot him.
“Put it there.” He gestured to the bed table. “I’ll drink it later.”
About to insist he drink it right away, she thought better of it. Reproaching him, like a child, for not taking his medicine right away was probably not the best way to convince a grown man to comply. She left the cup on the table beside his bed. She’d make sure he’d taken it, later.
The sudden shift in his mood disconcerted her. A mischievous twinkle gleamed in his eye causing excitement to quiver in her stomach. Heavens! She didn’t mind pretending he was her husband while he was tamed by the opium, but if he was going to become more amorous the more he healed, she wasn’t sure about continuing this charade. Up to now, the drug had been keeping him lethargic, but today she’d decreased the amount. She’d heard it didn’t take long to become addicted to it.
“Won’t you come over here and tuck me in?” He was sitting up, leaning back against the headboard now. He held his hand out, inviting her to place hers in his.
She ignored his invitation. “Don’t you want to eat? You missed supper.”
“I’m not hungry. My stomach feels a little off.”
It was probably due to the laudanum. Should she reduce it still more? She wished she knew what was best.
“So, will you?”
“Will I what?”
“Tuck me in,” he repeated.
He was persistent, she had to give him that. “Surely you don’t need me to do that.”
“Perhaps not, but if I can’t have my lovely wife where she should be — lying beside me at night — I’d at least like to spend some time bidding her goodnight.”
His lips quirked upwards in such a crooked, rakish smile, her heart took flight in a flurry of rapid flutters. Did he have to be so appealing? Delightful though his attentions were, she was far from sure she should trust him. Or herself!
“You have something on your cheek.”
“Oh.” Her hand went to her cheek.
“No, not there. Here, let me.”
“All right.” She hesitated a moment longer, then moved nearer so he could reach her face.
He stretched out to rub her cheek gently then, cobra-quick, his hand reached down to grasp hers. Startled, she stepped backwards with alacrity, but he held on tight. “Did we get along?”
“Pardon me?” Heavens, what was she to say to that? It wasn’t strictly information, this was about feelings.
“Before I lost my memory...” he paused, “were we good together? Did we get along or did we fight?”
“Why would we fight?” Ask a question to avoid a question. Quick thinking, Tally! She felt a bit frantic at his intimate interrogation.
“Don’t know, darling, but you seem so skittish, so distant, and I’m wondering why.” His large hand covered hers on the bed covers.
Lord! She shouldn’t have come this close to him… again. But she was tired and not thinking straight. And, to be honest, she enjoyed spending time with him. “It’s just that... I don’t know what to say to you since you’ve lost your memory. We’re like strangers.”
What a laugh! If only it were the least bit amusing!
He wanted her to act the loving wife, yet they were total strangers. And she was ashamed to admit, her greatest worry was that she might enjoy the role too much. Rather than to a drug, her addiction would be to his smile, his laughter, his roguish charm.
Goodness! All those dawn risings, to paint while the light was good, were addling her brain! Nor had she been sleeping well. Too busy fretting over the lie she was living.
“Then we should remedy that.”
Remedy what? She’d lost the thread of conversation.
He moved over, still holding onto her hand, and with his free hand he patted the bed beside him. “Come, sit. We’ll get to know each other again.”
“But that’s just it. I’m not supposed to tell you anything, so as not to confuse your memories. Have you any idea how hard it is to say nothing?” Well, that was true! She wished she could tell him the truth. That they didn’t even know each other! That he might have climbed into her window to kill her!
She tried to resist him but during his more lucid moments, when the laudanum waned, her counterfeit husband made her heart hum and her pulse pound. Untrammeled excitement, like she’d never known, surged through her when she was with him, and she craved it.
She didn’t understand why. All she knew was that she was drawn to his side like a magnet to metal, a honey to a bee. That was the real reason she’d come closer to him tonight. She didn’t want to stay away. She wanted more of those kisses he doled out so generously.
“I just need to know what we were like, so we can have some kind of normal relationship. Why does it feel like we’re so far apart?”
“Probably because... No! That’s a question!
” She leaned back in his grip. The rascal! He was making her talk. “You know I can’t answer that. It wouldn’t be fair.”
Heavens, he was warm. She didn’t want to move away from him. She wanted to snuggle up, nearer to his heat.
“How can it be unfair?” Hand behind her neck, he tugged her right up against him. His other hand reached to draw her head down to his. “All right, then, if you can’t answer me, we won’t use words. Let’s make memories that I can remember.”
“Sir!” A shiver raced up her spine. Tally was shocked yet thrilled by the notion.
“Surely you can call me by name.” He sounded exasperated. “I may not have my memory, but I can’t imagine I’d ever insist upon such formality with my own wife.” Smiling, he shook her gently. “Go on, say it,” he coaxed, leaning in to nuzzle her nose with his. “Repeat after me. Reed.”
He was irresistible in this playful mood. It was a struggle to hold out against his charm, but she’d never been compliant with her own family and she wasn’t about to start with this stranger, no matter how attractive he was. “What makes you think I’m biddable?”
“If you were a truly loving wife, you’d call me Reed.”
If she were his loving wife, she would lean into him, slide her arms up around his neck and bring her lips to his to kiss him. Surprised at how much she ached to do just that, she pulled back. She had to be careful. He was beginning to feel less and less like a stranger.
“Very well. Reed.” Giving in seemed safer somehow. “There, I’ve said it. Now, let me get on with my work.” She jerked away from him and moved to the window, making a show of ensuring it was closed. When she turned back, she was startled to see he was sitting up preparing to get out of bed.
“You really shouldn’t.” This time she was smart. She stayed where she was so she wouldn’t end up on his lap again.
“I’m weary of talking to you from a bed.” He looked sheepish, yet ready to challenge her if she fought him on this. “My body hurts from lying there all day.”
Gracious! She wished she’d thought about that herself. She glanced around for a solution. “Wait.”
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