The rogue to forever, p.7
The Rogue to Forever, page 7
A CAVALIER COVE NOVELLA
CARRIE LOMAX
Blurb
He’s forgotten everything except how to steal her heart.
In 1817 Cornwall, Mrs. Artemisia Longwood discovers a naked, unconscious man by the side of the road. She cannot leave him there in good conscience, so she reluctantly takes him to the local inn…only to discover there are no additional rooms. The wounded stranger will have to share hers.
When he awakens, the stranger has no memory of who he is or where he came from. They dub him Henry. For two wonderful days, they scour the village of Cavalier Cove in search of anyone who might know his true identity. But their brief affair comes to a crashing halt when they learn who Henry really is…
Will their chance encounter lead to true love, or will the truth change everything?
Tropes include:
Only One Bed
Amnesia
Secret Identity
Widow Heroine
Dual POV
Small Town
Happily Ever After
Content note: This story contains references to pregnancy, infertility, and head injuries resulting in amnesia. There is open-door sex depicted on the page. It may not be suitable for all readers.
One
ARTEMISIA
Cornwall, England – 1817
Mrs. Artemisia Longwood was traveling down a country road one fine afternoon when she glimpsed something in the bushes that made her tap the roof and call out, “Driver, stop!”
Her coachman pulled the carriage to a halt. She poked her head out the window and craned her neck to get a better view. Perhaps she had been mistaken when she saw a man’s naked arse flash by.
But no, if anything, the situation was even worse than her initial impression. The man was not wearing a stitch of clothing.
“We can’t leave that lying there.” She sighed.
“With respect, my lady, that is no lion. That is a naked man!” said her scandalized driver.
“Indeed. We must do something,” she said. Why the task of upholding moral virtue always fell into her unwilling lap was a mystery for the ages. First, her long-dead and not-much-mourned husband had left her with a mess of an estate to clean up. Now, this rogue was passed out in a hedgerow. “Children might see him in the altogether. They could be scarred for life. We shall protect the innocent from this ignominious display. Bring him in.”
She did not mention that they were rather fine buttocks that warranted closer inspection by a lady of appropriate age, such as herself. What was the harm? She was a widow, and if the man was foolish enough to get drunk and pass out nude in a bush in the middle of the afternoon, he deserved to be harmlessly ogled. It wasn’t as if he would know what she had done when he woke up.
Having thus justified her decision, she waited for her coach driver and footman to wrest the naked stranger out of the bushes and into her vehicle. Once he was lying awkwardly across the seat, Artemisia draped a blanket over him, but not before taking a quick peek beneath. From the neck down, he must be the handsomest man she had ever laid eyes upon in all her twenty-eight years. Granted, the sum total of her experience included four men, and one of them had been her brother when they were both still babies, but she had also seen innumerable Greek statues. This man’s physique rivaled any sculpture’s.
His face, when she finally bothered dragging her gaze above his clavicles, wasn’t half bad either. She frowned at the sizable purple knot near his temple.
Perhaps he was not a drunkard, as she had initially thought. He might have been a traveler who was set upon by highway robbers. This part of Cornwall was rife with smugglers and other brigands.
“Drive on,” she ordered. She had best be going before she met a similar fate.
“Shall we continue to our intended destination, milady?” the coachman asked.
Artemisia hesitated. The Mermaid’s Rest was the inn that had been recommended to her. Her cousin, Margaret Gibbs, had advised her to avoid the rougher tavern in Cavalier Cove, which Artemisia would have dismissed simply because of its cheeky name, the Cock and Bull. But she hadn’t planned upon taking two rooms for the evening, and she could hardly share one with a complete stranger. Even if he was unconscious.
“Yes, please, continue to the Mermaid’s Rest.” Perhaps there would be someone who recognized this unfortunate person and could help him get home. Wherever that was.
She examined his hand where it flopped bonelessly over the edge of the seat. Despite the sun-bronzed skin everywhere except for those muscular buttocks, they were not tough-skinned like a laborer’s. Instead, they were stained with ink.
Hm. A clerk wouldn’t likely possess all those delightful muscles, nor would he be tanned from the waist up like a man who worked outdoors. What little she knew about the man was not adding up. Intriguing.
His low groan when the wheel hit a rut and jounced the carriage made Artemisia sit up straighter.
“You poor man.” She reached out to touch the knot on his temple, grimacing. She didn’t want him dying on her, and she did pity the man. “That must be wickedly painful.”
Ink-stained fingers manacled her wrist. Startled, Artemisia yanked back. He didn’t let go.
“You are remarkably quick and strong for a man who has had his head bashed in,” she said a little breathlessly, taken aback by his sudden display of strength. One moment he’d been unconscious and the next he moved with the speed of a striking snake.
“Who are you? Why am I naked?” He pushed her hand away and sat up. The blanket fell away from his bare chest. Blue eyes narrowed at her. “What have you done with my clothes?”
“Me?” Artemisia scoffed indignantly. “I have not done anything with your clothes. Presumably, you either left them off somewhere, or someone stole them. Why, I cannot imagine. Who are you?”
“I asked first.”
“I am Mrs. Artemisia Longwood.”
He lifted one eyebrow and winced, for it was the brow closest to the bloody knot at his temple. “I have no idea.”
Artemisia scoffed. “I didn’t expect you to have any idea who I am. My name is hardly famous, or infamous, for that matter. I was asking for your name, sir.” She did not say you cretin out loud, for she was a polite woman who did not go around calling strangers names. She thought it, though.
“As I told you, Mrs. Longwood, I don’t know. I cannot recall anything about myself, as a matter of fact.”
She gaped at him in astonishment. “That is impossible. You are a grown man. How can you not remember your own name or where you hail from?”
“I do not know,” he answered again. “All I can recall is that I was on my way somewhere and that it was very important I get there quickly.”
“But you do not remember where?”
“Unfortunately, no.” He adjusted the blanket over his lap and looked at her with sudden interest. “If you will take me wherever you are going, I am sure someone will recognize me.”
Artemisia laughed. “Why on earth should they?”
His brow furrowed. “In all honesty, I don’t know. I am confident I was—am—well-known.”
“I don’t know you,” she pointed out.
“But you could,” he smiled roguishly. He didn’t seem at all embarrassed of his nudity. His self-assurance was both attractive and irritating in equal measure.
She hated to admit she found it charming, but then, Artemisia had always had a weakness for roguish men. That was how she’d wound up married, after all. After three years of daily arguments that sometimes led to passionate bedsport, but more often ended in screaming and tears, Mr. Longwood had done her the great favor of crashing his carriage into a tree and dying.
Artemisia had learned the hard way that rogues were much more fun to be around in small doses than in large ones. Once delivered from her unhappy marriage into a joyous widowhood, she had sworn off matrimony forever.
But that didn’t mean she had renounced men entirely.
She leaned forward and propped her chin on her fist. “I could get to know you better, sir, but first, you would have to know yourself.”
“I suppose that is a stumbling block,” he said seriously, stretching out his arms along the back of the squabs. “What a shame to meet such a beautiful woman and not be able to introduce myself.”
Artemisia laughed. “What do you say we start by giving you a name?”
“Certainly. What do you suggest?” His lips quirked up in a half-smile.
“John?”
“Boring.”
“Aloysious may be more your preference, then.”
“Too ostentatious.”
“Percival,” she suggested. He made a face. She tried other names. Her passenger bluntly rejected each one, until she said “Henry.”
“That will do.” He sat back and repeated the name several times, testing it on his tongue. “Henry can be either a surname or a given name.”
“Is it your true name?”
“I don’t believe so,” he said thoughtfully. “But I cannot rule it out, either.”
Moments later, the carriage rumbled up to a tidy inn. A jaunty mermaid with an enormous bosom was painted on the wooden sign hanging out front.
“Well, then, Henry. We have arrived.”
“Wonderful,” he said. “Now if I only knew where we were going.”
Upon arriving at the Mermaid’s Rest, Artemisia was dumbfounded to discover that the inn had no extra beds.
“Not even a single bed in the garret?”
“Nay, madam. We’ve only four cots in the attic for servants. We don’t get many fine ladies such as yourself.”
Artemisia noted the slight but said nothing. She supposed she was being a bit high-handed, demanding two rooms when she had only sent ahead to reserve one. It wasn’t the innkeeper’s fault that every other space had been taken by other travelers. She was probably grateful for the business.
The Cock and Bull was no help, either. They, too, were full.
“You have the largest room. Surely you and your gent can share,” the innkeeper suggested when her footman returned with the unwelcome news that there was nowhere else for them to stay the night.
“The bed?” she squeaked. “But we are not… Henry isn’t my…” She took a deep breath. Perhaps it was better if no one knew she was sharing a room with a stranger for the evening. “We do not have that kind of relationship,” she finished rather pathetically.
Yet, a naughty little voice inside her whispered. Artemisia shushed it.
“You could put him on the floor,” suggested the innkeeper. “Unless he is very tall, he ought to fit between the bed and the fireplace.”
She could not in good conscience make a concussed man sleep on the floor. “Very well,” she sighed. “We shall make do.”
The innkeeper scuttled off to arrange for their supper and ensure the horses were seen to while Artemesia brought her satchel and a naked Henry, still wrapped in her coach blanket, inside.
“You are generous to share your lodgings with me. I promise not to be a burden.” Henry winced as they climbed to the third floor. “My head aches fiercely. If I might request two more things from you…”
“You may,” Artemisia said as regally as a woman could while huffing up a set of steep stairs with a heavy satchel and trying not to trip over her companion’s blanket hem.
“I would like to be seen by a physician. Secondly, I would like proper clothes. I promise to repay you, as soon as I remember who I am and where I hail from.”
“How do you know you can afford to reimburse me for my generosity?” she demanded tartly, and busied herself with unpacking her belongings to steady her shaking hands.
“I just do,” Henry said with a note of amusement.
“Oh, well then. That’s settled.” Artemisia huffed. Her very tall, very muscular, obscenely handsome guest filled the tiny room. “Now, let’s get you into bed.”
“No argument from me, Mrs. Longwood.”
Artemisia couldn’t help an airless chuckle from escaping her. That, too, could have a very different meaning. She needed to pull her mind out of the gutter. No one had made her do this.
It was for the children, she reminded herself sternly. Innocent babes.
Henry pulled back the bedclothes and dropped the blanket abruptly.
“You might have warned me!” she exclaimed, turning away far too late not to get another eyeful of his bare chest and flank, all the way down to his equally exposed foot. Heat washed over her.
“I assumed you wanted another look,” he said impishly, despite the way he clutched his injured head. “I gave you one. In fact, you are welcome to look your fill. All I ask is that you first request willow bark tea from the innkeeper. Once I am asleep, peep all you like, Mrs. Longwood.”
Artemisia’s cheeks burned. She was hardly a prude. Nor was she a wanton as her annoying and apparently overconfident guest presumed. She had standards, and they did not include bedding amnesiacs.
“I certainly did the world a favor in collecting you from the side of the road,” she fumed, heading back downstairs. “Unfortunately, now he’s your responsibility, Artie. Well done, indeed. This is what you deserve for taking in strays.”
There was no local physician available to call for, but Cavalier Cove was a fishing village and mariners were a hardy, practical lot. A consultation with a one-legged retired ship’s surgeon confirmed Artemisia’s suspicion of a concussion. She paid him and secured a few doses of laudanum for an exorbitant price, keeping a running tally of Henry’s expenses in her head.
Expenses that were only beginning to add up.
Finding clothes for a man of Henry’s stature was no easy feat. They were advised that the only men in town who were as tall and well-built as he were the viscount, Lord Prescott, and a man named Thomas Davies, who ran a shop. Artemisia opted to visit the storefront, as the former was presently in London. Begging clothes for a naked stranger off a merchant seemed the marginally better option, compared to begging clothes off a lord.
That sentence could be interpreted several different ways, Artemisia mused.
Such indelicate thoughts often delighted her, not that she was foolish enough to admit it to another living soul. She took endless delight in awkward phrasings. One source of conflict with the late Mr. Longwood had been the way he bemoaned her enjoyment of silly puns and racy jokes. She learned to conceal her thoughts from him and everyone else around. It was unseemly for a lady to take pleasure in base humor, so she hid it.
But she still found such things funny.
One pair of trousers, bracers, socks, two shirts, and two pairs of smalls later, she returned to the Mermaid’s Rest to discover Henry fast asleep. Good. The surgeon had advised that he not be moved for the next two days, and after that, avoid physical exertion for at least a week.
That put to bed, so to speak, any wayward thoughts she had momentarily entertained about exploring Henry’s impressive physique more thoroughly.
Time to find her stray a home. She was expected to arrive at her cousin’s house two nights from now and lodgings for a stranger would strain her finances. Tomorrow she would pay the local viscount a visit. His staff should be able to care for a wounded man for a few days. She just had to make sure her patient didn’t take a turn for the worse overnight.
Two
HENRY
Henry cracked one eye open and went to rub his face, only to bump a viciously tender spot near his temple. He hissed through his teeth and explored the knot with a few gentle touches. He’d taken a nasty blow to the head. If only he could remember when and how it had happened.
More importantly…Where was he?
The shabby room was small, with only a double bed, a wardrobe, and a chair beside the fireplace. A stand with a pitcher stood in one corner. On it was a vial of dark liquid labeled laudanum and a glass of water.
That will do wonders for this wretched headache. He swung his feet out from the cozy warmth of the bedclothes and, naked, took two strides—
His foot landed upon something soft and solid. A high-pitched yelp reminded him of the pretty widow.
Mrs. Longwood. Henry’s last coherent thought as he went sprawling, a seemingly endless fall during which her wide-eyed shock and parted lips as she clutched the thin blanket she was sleeping under was indelibly etched into his memory. Through a feat of agility born of pure desperation, he caught himself just before crushing her. At least enough not to kill her.
He blinked. His wrist ached where he’d landed too hard on it, but that didn’t matter. He was acutely aware of her curves pressing into his body. Her thighs were trapped beneath his, her hips at an awkward angle, and her breasts burned through the flimsy fabric.
“Sir,” she said with breathless censure. “Get off me at once.”
“What are you doing on the floor, Mrs. Longwood?”
“What are you doing out of bed?” she countered.
“I was going to take another dose of laudanum.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” She peered at him with suspicion. “It can become a habit, you know.”
“I hardly think two doses in the span of one night will tumble me into the throes of an addiction.” He could, however, easily become addicted to her lush curves. Her eyes were a lovely soft gray, the color of a storm cloud on the horizon, framed by long dark lashes. A pert nose turned up slightly at the tip, and her delicate chin was balanced by lips too plump to be strictly beautiful. She was sensually handsome rather than a great beauty. Despite her penchant for propriety, there was a playful carnality about her.
Fascinating.
She tented her fingertips on his bare shoulders and swallowed. The light from the dying fire played along the column of her throat, licked the flaring hollows at the base and glowed upon the twin swells of her breasts. Henry was abruptly, excruciatingly aware of their position.
