Loving A Lost Lord. Mary Jo Putney

Clarke Clarke,” he said, with a glimmer of a smile.

      “At least I didn’t have to remember to change my signature.” She smiled, glad to learn he had a sense of humor, and it had survived his situation.

      His gaze caught hers, the green eyes compelling. “Tell me more about myself.”

      She hesitated, thinking how quickly the situation was getting complicated. “I think it better if you remember on your own. There is much I don’t know about your background. We were acquainted only briefly before becoming husband and wife.” An amazingly brief time—less than an hour. She continued, “I don’t want to plant memories that might turn out to be less than correct.”

      He looked as if he was about to protest, then exhaled roughly. “That is sensible, I suppose. My mind is so empty that I had best take care how I fill it.” He still held her hand, and his thumb stroked her palm gently. It felt entirely too good.

      She removed her hand and offered him the broth. “How long were you adrift?”

      “It seemed like…forever. I remember at least two nights, two dawns. Perhaps more. It all runs together in my mind.” He sipped the chicken broth cautiously. “I knew the cold water was deadly, so I slowed my breathing and retreated to a quiet corner of my mind to preserve myself.”

      “Slowed your breathing and retreated in your mind?” she asked, puzzled.

      He looked equally puzzled. “This is not something you do? It seemed very natural to me.”

      “I’ve never heard of such a thing, but it seems to have worked.” Despite his flawless English, she wondered again if he was a foreigner. Retreating into a corner of one’s mind to survive dangerous conditions seemed…rather foreign. But it must have worked for him to have survived for so long.

      He asked, “Why was I at sea?”

      Again thinking of the rapid lies she had offered George Burke, she said, “You had been away on the Continent and were on your way to join me here. You must have been shipwrecked near the end of your journey.”

      She was relieved when they were interrupted before he could ask more questions. Julia Bancroft entered the room, escorted by Tom Hayes, the groom who had brought Julia to the manor. “I came as soon as I could, Mariah. This is the injured man?”

      Julia set down her satchel of medicines and approached the bed. Adam’s spurt of energy was gone and he now looked utterly exhausted. Mariah said, “Mrs. Bancroft, meet Adam Clarke.”

      Adam said in a thin, rasping voice, “My apologies for not rising to greet you, Mrs. Bancroft.”

      Julia smiled as she bent her dark head over him. “There is a time for gallantry, Mr. Clarke. This isn’t it.” As Mariah held the lamp close, Julia examined his injured head. “This is a nasty gash.”

      “I’m not so badly injured, ma’am,” Adam protested. “My wife has taken good care of me.”

      Julia’s glance shot to Mariah. Mariah shook her head slightly, wanting to defer questions. Understanding, Julia asked, “Could you find Mr. Clarke a clean nightshirt? The warmest one available.”

      Mariah nodded and left. After learning of her father’s death, she had entered his bedroom and touched his belongings, inhaled his scent, which made her think of safety. Then she had left, weeping, unable to dispose of his possessions. Now she was glad, because his garments could be used by Adam, who was of a similar size and build. She collected a heavy flannel nightshirt and a worn but warm wool banyan that would be useful when Adam was able to rise from his bed.

      By the time she returned to the sickroom, Adam was asleep, his face gray with exhaustion. Julia rested her hands on his chest, her eyes distant and her expression intent. When Mariah entered, Julia returned her attention to the room. “I was praying,” she said simply. “I thought it couldn’t hurt.”

      Mariah nodded, thinking the man from the sea needed all the help he could get. “How is he doing?”

      “Fairly well, all considering. Go to the kitchen and make more tea while Mr. Hayes and I get the nightshirt onto your patient,” Julia replied. “I’ll talk to you there.”

      Mariah nodded agreement and headed downstairs. The sky was lightening and soon Mrs. Beckett and the kitchen maid would be rising. Smothering a yawn, Mariah added coal to the fire and hung a kettle to heat. She also found a loaf of bread and sliced several pieces to toast. By the time Julia arrived, there was tea, toast, and marmalade waiting. As Mariah poured for them, she asked, “What happened to Tom Hayes?”

      “He decided he would rather have another hour of sleep than an early breakfast.” Julia spread marmalade on her toast and bit in with enthusiasm. After swallowing and taking a sip of tea, she continued, “I don’t like to talk about patients within earshot, even if they seem to be asleep. They may hear and understand more than we think.”

      Mariah set her cup down, her heartbeat accelerating. “Is Adam in danger?”

      “He’s young and strong and I think he’ll recover well,” Julia assured her. “But I’m no physician, and I’ve had no experience with serious head wounds.”

      “Should I send to Carlisle for a surgeon or physician?”

      “You could, but to be honest, I don’t know if they would be able to do much more than I have. Head injuries are mysterious. All one can do is wait and see how they heal.”

      Mariah was inclined to agree. Julia had already cleaned the wound and put salve on it. A surgeon would probably do the same, and charge more for the privilege. “I suppose you’re wondering why I never mentioned having a husband.”

      “I must admit I’m curious. But secrets are something of a specialty of mine.” She smiled wryly as she took another piece of toast. “I have enough of my own.”

      In other words, Julia would not gossip about the strange man and his relationship to the heiress of Hartley Manor. Yet Mariah found that she had a powerful urge to unburden herself. “May I tell you the whole story?”

      After Julia nodded, Mariah tersely described the pressure she’d been feeling from George Burke, her impulsive claim of a husband, and the fortuitous arrival of the man from the sea. “I hope that he regains his memory quickly. And that when he does, he’ll cooperate in helping me get rid of Burke once and for all.”

      “But he might not regain his memory, and he is already most attached to you,” Julia pointed out. “I think his belief that you are his wife is his anchor in a frightening time. What will you do if he doesn’t remember his old life, and he wants to claim his marital rights? Men do tend to want to do that.”

      Marital rights. The toast suddenly tasted like ashes. “I…hadn’t thought that far ahead.” She imagined those green eyes close to hers, that well-muscled body holding her close, and shivered. But not with revulsion. “If we like each other, I’ll whisk him off to Gretna Green and make it official. From what I’ve seen of my man from the sea, I’d rather have him than George Burke!”

      “A total stranger, of unknown family and parentage?” Julia’s brows arched. “One who might have a wife and children elsewhere?”

      Mariah choked on her tea. “I didn’t think of that! How awful for them, believing him dead!”

      “We don’t know that he has a family, any more than we know that he doesn’t. But my guess is that somewhere, people are missing him. It’s a rare man who can disappear without anyone being concerned.” Julia smiled encouragingly. “There’s a good chance this situation will resolve itself within a day or two as your Adam recovers from the shock of his injuries and near drowning. I don’t think he could speak so sensibly if his brain injuries were severe enough to permanently wipe out his past.”

      “That makes sense,” Mariah said, relieved. “I shall wait for him to return to himself. And if he doesn’t, I’ll tell him the truth.”

      “Don’t