The rogue to forever, p.8
The Rogue to Forever, page 8
He was fairly sure that the faint tinge of red on her cheeks and chest wasn’t a trick of the light.
“True.” She sighed. “If you will allow me up, Henry, I shall prepare the tonic for you.”
“No need,” he said, without moving. “I am perfectly capable of putting a few drops into a glass of water.”
“It’s watered brandy, actually,” she said. “Masks the taste somewhat.”
“I see.”
“Yet you are still lying on top of me, most inappropriately.”
“I seem to find myself in a predicament, Mrs. Longwood.”
“Artemisia. It’s only fair that you call me by my given name, considering I’ve been using yours.”
“That’s rather a mouthful.”
“My sister calls me Artie. So do my cousins, aunt, and parents. My late husband called me Misia.” She pronounced it mee-sha. Henry found this iteration of her name adorable, but he didn’t think she was inviting him to adopt it. He should get up. But that would mean revealing the extent of his…nudity.
Specifically, the part of him that was rudely, juttingly aware of his hostess. He was going to have to steal her blanket to conceal that troublesome appendage, which would be appallingly discourteous.
Conundrum.
“Artemisia,” he said, sidestepping the tricky issue of pet names for the time being, “I am going to get up now. I need you to close your eyes.”
Her chin dipped. She smelled heavenly. Henry found himself reluctant to move away, even though he was a complete cad for pinning her on the floor like this. Speaking of which, they still hadn’t addressed why she was down here in the first place.
With considerable reluctance, Henry rolled over and sat up, tugging the blanket over his nether regions. To her credit, and his annoyance, Artemisia kept her gaze averted as she got up. “You were asleep when I returned with your clothes. I cannot promise they will fit properly, but they should serve until we can get you back to your family. In the morning we’ll try to borrow a pair of shoes that suit you. I didn’t want to attempt to guess your size, and there wasn’t much selection, I’m afraid.”
She was rambling. A ball of warmth took up residence behind his sternum. That was most definitely a blush. He could see it staining her cheek in profile. A fascinating constellation of tiny dark spots beneath her ear was almost hidden by the thick chestnut curls that had escaped from her braid. Artemisia wore a long-sleeved nightgown trimmed in lace. The garment had slipped down the curve of her shoulder.
The dying firelight turned the creamy linen nearly transparent.
Henry’s mouth went dry. His cock kicked hard against the rough wool he was holding in front of his crotch. His palms itched to ruck up her gown and taste her skin.
“I’ll turn my back while you dress,” she said quickly, striding to the stand with his medicine.
“Right.” Henry dropped the blanket and reached for the pile of clothes she had obtained for him. He stepped into the smalls and tugged one of the shirts over his head. The sleeves were slightly too short, but otherwise, it was a good fit. “Ready, now.”
He went to the bed and lay down.
Artemisia took the blanket to the chair and sat in it, covering herself from throat to knee.
“What are you doing?” Henry asked, perplexed.
“I can’t decide which is more uncomfortable, the floor or the chair. I have tried both. Several times tonight.” She blew out the candle, plunging them into darkness.
He sighed. “Artemisia?”
“Yes, Henry?”
“Get into the bed.”
“I cannot possibly—”
“Artie.” Terrible nickname; he would have to find something better to call her. “You are a widow, are you not?”
“I am.”
“Then why can’t you sleep beside me?”
“It isn’t big enough to fit two people,” she said primly.
“How do you know if you haven’t tried?”
“I have eyes, Henry.”
“Very pretty ones, at that. Unfortunately, they seem to have failed you. The bed is sufficient for two. Get in.”
A tense, silent standoff ensued.
“Do I have to come over there and carry you?” he asked after several moments of listening to the quick thumping of his own heartbeat.
“You are not supposed to exert yourself,” Artemisia said in that same prim tone that did not fool him one bit. She might have high moral standards, but she was no prude.
“Then don’t make me. I will get up and carry you if you won’t come of your own volition.”
Another tense moment passed before she huffed. A spring squeaked when she got up. Footfalls padded around the end of the bed. The coverlet moved, and the mattress dipped.
He had been wrong. Utterly, completely, catastrophically incorrect. This bed was not big enough for the two of them. With her shoulder and hip pressed to his, the erection he had barely subdued surged to new, almost painful heights.
“I won’t touch you,” he said.
“I appreciate that.”
“Unless you want me to.”
The mattress shook with her silent laughter. A chuckle rumbled out of him.
“Henry, what about ‘no exertion’ don’t you understand?”
He grinned up at the ceiling. The laudanum began to work its magic and sleep stole over him—until his companion pressed her freezing feet against his calf. Without comment, he rolled onto his side and tugged her close to his chest. The widow didn’t protest. She was already asleep.
Three
ARTEMISIA
Henry was a liar, Artemisia mused when she found herself trapped beneath his heavy arm. He had promised not to touch her. That vow had been made when he was under the influence of a powerful drug, while he was awake. In fairness, she supposed he hadn’t intentionally broken his word by cuddling her in his sleep.
She didn’t exactly mind.
But now she had a problem. There was a considerable lump snugged against her buttocks and it felt rather nice. It had been a long time since she had found an opportunity to discreetly take a man to bed. Her body sang with the desire to be touched. She had been afraid of how she might react if she lay next to him, and now her worries were proved to be well-founded.
It was wrong of her to take advantage of an injured man this way. She had already mistreated him once by attempting to peer at his naked body yesterday; now, she was compounding her error.
She wasn’t actually doing anything at all. It was what she wasn’t doing, that made it bad.
She should get up. She should not be lying here and enjoying the experience of being held. Artemisia therefore pretended to be asleep. If she were asleep, and this was a dream, then she couldn’t be accused of taking advantage of a man who had lost his memory, which was obviously an unforgivable offense.
A quick tap at the door made her eyes fly open.
“Yes?” she called out, kicking free of the coverlet and sliding out from Henry’s embrace. He grunted and tightened his arm as if to pull her back. She stuffed her pillow beside him as a substitute.
“Breakfast is served, madam.”
Artemisia let the maid in. The woman placed a tray of fresh-baked muffins and hard-boiled eggs on the dresser. Instead of leaving, the servant gasped and stopped in her tracks.
“He’ll want leeches for that shiner,” she said, and saw herself out.
Artemisia helped herself to a muffin before inspecting Henry, who had sprawled onto his back and starfished across the entire bed. His eye did look dreadful. Swollen and purple, almost to black. That couldn’t feel very good. She dressed quickly, and by then the maid had returned with a corked pot full of writhing black worms.
“It’s fortunate he’s still out cold from the laudanum,” the maid said, gently placing one on his brow. Artemisia gagged and fled down to the common dining area to eat the rest of her breakfast.
When she came upstairs again thirty minutes later, Henry was awake, clothed, and looking much better.
“The leeches did help,” she said, brushing his hair back to examine his eye. “The swelling has gone down significantly.”
“Revolting process,” he said affably. “Imagine waking up with a blood-sucking worm on your face.”
Artemisia shuddered. “How does your head feel?”
“Better,” he said. “The laudanum helped.”
“If you are up to it, I propose we pay a visit to the local viscount. I understand the gentleman himself is presently in London, but someone on his staff may recognize you.”
If not, they might be willing to take him in until he regained his memory. The thought of having to leave him behind in this charming seaside village caused a pang in her heart, but she needed to get to her cousin’s house.
After Henry had eaten, they set off in Artemisia’s carriage. The morning was a fine one, if a bit chilly with the breeze rolling off the ocean. A flock of white geese scattered in a flurry of feathers as they drove through the streets of Cavalier Cove.
Her passenger boldly stretched one arm across the back of the seat. She arched one brow but couldn’t conceal her smile, though she did duck her chin to try.
“Why are there so many damned geese around here?” he wondered. More of the large, noisy birds wandered the drive to Viscount Prescott’s
“Excellent question.” Artemisia was equally puzzled. “I understand this area is rife with smuggling. Perhaps the villagers use them as an alarm?”
The viscount’s housekeeper, Mrs. Gosling, was able to shed light upon the oddity when she invited them in for a tour of the manor house.
“It was my great-great-grandfather who introduced the first geese to Cavalier Cove,” she said proudly.
“For what purpose?” asked Henry. “Loud and ill-tempered birds are quite out of step with the general atmosphere of the village.”
The housekeeper gave him a sidelong look which Artemisia interpreted as meaning What would you know?
“Smugglers,” Mrs. Gosling said darkly. “We are upstanding citizens, yet the Waterguard out of Polperro has been chasing them for years, to little avail. Not a single villager has ever been charged with the crime of avoiding excise taxes.”
Artemisia noted the woman’s careful wording. When Henry glanced at her he seemed to think the same thing she did—that the woman was not being entirely truthful. Interesting.
“Thank you for enlightening us. As to the original purpose of our visit, I wondered whether or not you recognize my companion, Mr. Henry.” She added the title out of habit.
“No, I cannot say I do. Am I supposed to?” the housekeeper said in bewilderment. “That’s a nasty black eye, begging your pardon for being so blunt. Have you tried leeches?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Henry grumbled.
“I had hoped someone might know who he is. You see, I found him yesterday lying in a ditch. He has a bump on his head and no recollection of who he is or where he is from.”
“I see,” said Mrs. Gosling.
“That makes one of us,” he interjected. Artemisia swatted his arm.
“I am on my way to visit my cousin, who is about to have a baby and could use some help for a few weeks. I cannot dally here for too long lest I miss the birth. However, it would be unconscionable to abandon a man with no place to go.”
“Is he staying with you for the moment?”
Heat flooded Artemisia’s cheeks. “Temporarily, at the Mermaid’s Rest.”
She did not mention their shared room.
“Heard the place was full up. Well, I don’t suppose I can offer to take in Mr. Henry without his lordship’s permission, but he ought to be back tomorrow or the day after. If you can remain in town for a day or two and make inquiries, I would hazard a bet that you will either find someone who recognizes him, or Lord Prescott might be willing to take him in for a while. Where did you say you found him?”
“Lying by the side of the road about a mile outside of town.”
“Peculiar. There isn’t anything in that direction except for the Davies’ cottage. It used to be part of this property but his lordship sold it to Davies a few years ago.”
“Does a connection to the viscount seem familiar to you?” Artemisia asked Henry. From this angle, in profile with his brow slightly furrowed and the damaged side of his head turned away from her, he was a strikingly handsome man.
“I don’t know,” he said. “It feels as though something familiar is trying to break through a cloud inside my brain, but whenever I reach for it, it slips from my grasp.”
“Keep trying.” Artemisia patted his knee encouragingly. Mrs. Gosling eyed this physical contact with raised eyebrows. She returned her hand to her lap and held the housekeeper’s gaze until she broke eye contact.
“I will, but thinking is bringing my headache back.”
“Cogitation will do that. I do my best to avoid overtaxing my noggin,” Mrs. Gosling said cheerfully, tapping her temple. “We should finish our tour before the weather turns.”
“But the day is fine right now,” Artemisia protested.
“Those clouds on the horizon mean a storm is blowing in. You learn to keep one eye on the sky around these parts.”
Mrs. Gosling’s words proved to be prophetic. On their way back to the inn, the rain came down in a deluge of Biblical proportions. By the time they arrived, her driver and the horses were both soaked through, while she was shivering from the sudden drop in temperature. Poor Henry looked ready to cast up his accounts.
“The change in air pressure can cause or exacerbate headaches,” she said sympathetically. “We should get you more laudanum, and perhaps another round of leeches.”
He made a face. “Must we?”
“Or you can suffer a swollen eye. Your choice.”
“Give me the medicine first and let her do it while I’m asleep.” He flopped backward onto the bed.
Artemisia smiled in bemusement. Wasn’t that just like a man? She made his tincture and summoned the maid with the ghastly pot of blood-sucking worms and removed herself to the inn’s common room to read. All in all, it was a very pleasant way to pass an otherwise dreadful afternoon.
While the storm raged outside, Artemisia mentally went over the list of prospective solutions to her and Henry’s mutual predicament. He was a stranger in Cavalier Cove, which made it unlikely he was known to the lord of the manor, either. He had no money, nothing but the clothes on his back, and didn’t even know his full name.
She sighed. A roll of thunder expressed her thoughts more than adequately.
What was she going to do with him?
Four
HENRY
Henry awoke feeling right as the rain steadily dripping down the window. His face felt oddly deflated. The work of the worms, during which he had been blessedly sedated. He rolled out of bed and availed himself of the cramped closet that had been specially dedicated to house the chamber pot. Whatever other luxuries the Mermaid’s Rest lacked, it made up for with this thoughtful convenience.
He poured himself more water, listened to the empty gurgle of his stomach, and laid back down, thinking while he stared at the ceiling.
How did he know that this inn, considered the best in Cavalier Cove—not that there was much competition—was a shabby dump compared to his usual accommodations? There was no logical reason for him to hold such a frankly snobbish viewpoint.
Who was he?
Before he could contemplate the question for long, Mrs. Longwood bustled into the room. “You’re awake,” she said. “How are you feeling?”
“Hungry.”
“That’s a good sign.”
He was inclined to agree, but more than that, he was keen to get out of this room. They went down to the common room which was full of morose people in varying stages of drunkenness. Some were cheerful and chatty, while most were lamenting their interrupted travel plans.
“Proper squall,” one man grunted, fondling his pint of beer while rain pelted the glass.
Henry pulled out a chair for Artemisia. She took her seat with an unusually pensive expression pinching her lovely features.
“What ails you?”
“Nothing, yet.” She smiled tightly.
“Two ales, please,” he signaled to the barmaid. She offered him a choice of chicken or fish for his supper. He chose the chicken.
“I am worried that I won’t arrive at my cousin’s in time to see her baby born.”
“Are you a midwife?”
“No.” She smiled fleetingly.
“Then I cannot imagine she needs your assistance with the process of birthing.”
“Fair enough.” Artemisia turned to stare out the window. “I like to feel useful, that’s all. New mothers need all the help they can get.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“You don’t have children?” she asked.
“No,” he said firmly. “In fact, I’m fairly certain I was adamantly opposed to the prospect of children. Not making them, per se, but the raising and caring for parts...” He shuddered.
“You realize this isn’t very becoming of you.”
“But you appreciate my honesty.” To his gratification, she laughed. “I do like babies. In theory. I’m sure I don’t have any of my own, and yet I must have given the subject a great deal of thought. Recently.” Henry felt his brow pleat as he tried to summon stubborn memories that refused to surface.
“Another thing that’s on my mind is that I don’t know what to do with you,” Artemisia said.
“I can think of a number of things you could do with me.” He waggled his brows suggestively. She rolled her eyes, but a blush dusted the peaks of her cheekbones.
“Incorrigible,” she muttered.
“You started it.”
“I suppose I did.” She propped her chin on one hand and watched him tuck into his dinner. “I apologize for attempting to peek beneath your blanket yesterday.”
“I took no offense,” he said truthfully. “I was, however, offended that you slept on the floor. You could have killed me by tripping me like that,” he said reproachfully.
