Книга - His Sinful Touch
His Sinful Touch
Candace Camp
A lost identity. A handsome protector. And a mysterious crime…When an unknown gentleman arrives on his doorstep, Alexander Moreland is astonished to discover that the stranger is a beautiful woman disguised as a man and in great need of his help. The woman remembers nothing except her name, Sabrina, and has only the contents of her pockets as clues to her identity: a handkerchief, a pocket watch, a leather pouch, a torn scrap of paper and a gold ring.Sabrina is certain that she is on the run from someone or something – how else to explain her bruises and the pervasive sense of dread she feels? She’s also certain that she can trust Alex to assist her and is all too aware of the attraction she feels for him. As they race through the streets of Victorian London, Sabrina and Alex must solve the mystery of Sabrina’s past—before whatever she’s running from finds them!
A lost identity. A dangerous mystery. And a deep love that can conquer it all.
When a mysterious gentleman arrives on his doorstep, Alexander Moreland is astonished to discover that the stranger is not a gentleman at all, but a beautiful young woman disguised as a man, and in great need of assistance. The woman remembers nothing except her own name, Sabrina, and has only the contents of her pockets as clues to her identity: a handkerchief, a pocket watch, a leather pouch, a torn scrap of paper and a gold ring.
Sabrina is certain that she is on the run from someone, or something—how else to explain the bruises on her face and the pervasive sense of dread she feels? She’s also certain that she trusts Alex to help her, and she can’t deny the sparks that fly between them. As they race through the English countryside, Sabrina and Alex must solve the mystery of Sabrina’s past—before whatever she’s running from catches up to them.
CANDACE CAMP is a New York Times bestselling author of over sixty novels of contemporary and historical romance. She grew up in Texas in a newspaper family, which explains her love of writing, but she earned a law degree and practiced law before making the decision to write full-time. She has received several writing awards, including the RT Book Reviews Lifetime Achievement Award for Western Romances. Visit her at www.candace-camp.com (http://www.candace-camp.com).
Also by Candace Camp
The Mad Morelands
Mesmerised
Beyond Compare
Winterset
An Unexpected Pleasure
The Aincourts
So Wild a Heart
The Hidden Heart
Secrets of the Heart
The Matchmaker Series
The Marriage Wager
The Bridal Quest
The Wedding Challenge
The Courtship Dance
An Independent Woman
A Dangerous Man
The Lost Heirs
A Stolen Heart
Promise Me Tomorrow
No Other Love
Suddenly
Scandalous
Impulse
Indiscreet
Impetuous
Swept Away
ISBN: 978-1-474-08127-6
HIS SINFUL TOUCH
© 2018 Candace Camp
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Praise for New York Times bestselling author Candace Camp
‘An exemplary read.’
Publishers Weekly on So Wild a Heart
‘From its delicious beginning to its satisfying ending, Camp’s delectable story offers a double helping of romance.’
Booklist on Mesmerised
‘[Camp] is renowned as a storyteller who touches the hearts of her readers time and time again.’
RT Book Reviews
‘A smart, fun-filled romp.’
Publishers Weekly on Impetuous
’A clever mystery adds intrigue to this lively and gently humorous tale, which simmers with well-handled sexual tension.’
Library Journal on A Dangerous Man
‘Delightful.’
Publishers Weekly on The Wedding Challenge
‘A beautifully crafted, poignant love story.’
RT Book Reviews on The Wedding Challenge
‘[A] beautifully written charmer.’
Publishers Weekly on The Marriage Wager
‘The talented Camp has deftly mixed romance and intrigue to create another highly enjoyable Regency romance.’
Booklist on An Independent Woman
Contents
Cover (#u6b95bc0e-1af4-569a-b32b-ef2c4eadf092)
Back Cover Text (#u73dac418-c38f-5456-a11f-6538b0ad687a)
About the Author (#ua6fdadb7-09cf-5442-a478-b03b231f282f)
Booklist (#ub98d0556-5bc1-5ced-93a4-955e97709b84)
Title Page (#u04d3ba93-e2eb-5958-b024-91447530fa0e)
Copyright (#ubab3635d-5d96-550f-bb3b-52d75745bc42)
Praise (#ue3e69776-f2f0-5740-8d6f-986294728d26)
Prologue (#u6c70040d-a46e-52e9-a974-9014b73c5266)
Chapter One (#ue8de97d0-a030-5fdf-ba9c-a882638b8e53)
Chapter Two (#uec9eebf4-ffbe-5bf3-a649-ebeb7cd13110)
Chapter Three (#u218ad85f-78fb-5bfc-b75f-f096e30fdccd)
Chapter Four (#u7a5fcffd-4e09-56f2-8b90-874742847d8e)
Chapter Five (#u65a12b6b-2490-5981-ab86-0586a1f07df8)
Chapter Six (#u26ac9207-89f4-5ca8-a034-655206a870e1)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#uce608bc7-0831-5fb2-9af9-7a30fd7564b1)
HER EYES DRIFTED OPEN. It was shadowy and dark, the only light a small kerosene lamp on a chest across the room. But even in the dim light, she knew this wasn’t home. Her eyes closed again, the lids heavy. She wanted to sleep again, but she knew she couldn’t. Foggy and befuddled as she was, there was a sharp, insistent fear that prodded her to wake up.
She had to leave.
It was an effort to pull herself from the suction of sleep, but she had to. Something was terribly wrong. Vague, wavering images flittered through her brain—a dark carriage, a strange parlor, some man she didn’t know talking, talking, his voice droning on. There was another man beside her, more familiar but still wrong somehow.
The only clear thing was an icy dread that was lying over everything. Something awful had happened. Was still happening.
That was why she must wake up. She had to get away. She swung a leg over the side of the bed. The next instant she found herself on the floor in a heap, her head rapping against the wood.
The surprise of the fall woke her up a bit more, and she pushed onto her hands and knees, then staggered up, grabbing at the mattress to steady her. Her stomach lurched and her head spun, and she was afraid that whatever she had eaten was going to come back up. She stood quite still, swallowing hard, and after a moment the dizziness receded.
She had to hurry. He would return. She started toward the door, driven by the need to escape this small, unfamiliar room, but finally her woozy brain reasserted itself. She must think before she acted. She should take something with her. She looked around but could not find her reticule. Where was it? She would need money.
And she mustn’t look peculiar. Half her hair had come loose and tumbled down. Pulling out the pins, her fingers clumsy and slow, she wrapped the hank of hair in a tight knot and stuck the pins back in. She had the suspicion it looked quite off balance, but it would have to do.
She straightened her bodice and skirts, tugging at her sleeves. She wasn’t dressed for traveling, but she was certain that she had, in fact, been in a carriage. There had been the noise of the wheels, the jingle of the harness. And this unfamiliar shabby room looked like an inn. But she was dressed in a frilly evening dress more suited for going down to supper.
Her stomach growled, and she realized she was hungry. There was nothing here to eat, but she saw glasses and a pitcher of water, and she was thirsty, too. She poured half a glass and gulped it down. That, too, threatened to make her stomach revolt, and again she waited it out.
Afterward, she felt faintly more alert and aware. She slid one hand into the pocket of her skirt and touched a folded piece of paper. She knew where to go.
She had spotted her small traveling case standing against the wall beside a masculine-looking piece of luggage. Grabbing her case, she hurried to the door. It wouldn’t open. Numbly she rattled the handle and pulled in vain. She was locked in.
He had locked her in! She was swept by a sense of betrayal. How could he do this to her? She had trusted him. Panic swelled, threatening to overwhelm her. She was alone. All those she relied on had turned on her. Flight was impossible. She was trapped.
Fighting back the panic, she checked the chest and the small table beside the bed, but there was no sign of a key. Her steps wobbled as she went to the window and shoved it open. The room was on the second floor.
She steeled herself against despair. There was a drainpipe within arm’s reach of the window...if she leaned very far out. But she had always been good at climbing and, better than that, there was a small roof below. If she fell, it wouldn’t be nearly as far. The roof sloped slightly, so at the far end, it wouldn’t be as long a drop, and there must be a supporting post to the ground that she could use. It wasn’t impossible. All it took was courage.
She stood, leaning against the window frame, struggling to think. He would follow her. She had to be clever. A disguise! Opening the larger valise, she pulled out a set of clothes. There wasn’t time to change—he might return at any moment—so she stuffed the clothes in her case. Shoes. She frowned down at her embroidered slippers, then grabbed the pair of shoes in his valise and added them, as well. Now it was too full to close, so she jerked out a dress in her case and rolled it up, stuffing it in the bottom drawer of the small chest.
As she started to close his valise, she spied a pouch tucked in the corner and pulled it out. It was filled with banknotes and coins. It would be wrong to steal it, of course. But how else was she to escape? She hadn’t a farthing with her. In any case, it was her money really, wasn’t it? She thrust the pouch into the pocket of her skirt and refastened the valise. Closing and picking up her own travel case, she hurried to the window.
The soft-sided carrying case went out first. It landed on the small roof below, rolled and slid off the sloping roof to the ground. She froze, her heart slamming in her chest. Suddenly a key rattled in the lock, spurring her into motion. She leaned out, stretching to reach the drainpipe. It was too far; she must crouch on the sill to extend far enough. She twisted, trying to pull her feet up under her, just as the door swung open and a man stepped in.
“No!” He slammed the door behind him and ran to grab her and yank her back inside.
She struggled wildly, kicking and clawing. “You monster! Traitor!”
“Ow!” He dropped her and stepped back, raising his hand to a long scratch blooming on his face.
She flew at him, shoving him back. He staggered, his face flaming with anger, and he slapped her. She reeled backward into the washstand, rattling the washbowl and pitcher. Her shock was almost as great as the pain in her cheek. No one had ever hit her. Bitter anger flooded her, overcoming all else, and she reached behind her, her hand closing around the handle of the pitcher. She threw herself at him, swinging the earthenware pitcher with all her might.
He managed to twist so that it didn’t land full on his head as she’d intended, but the pitcher clipped the side of his jaw as it crashed into his shoulder, spilling water over him. He stumbled back, catching his foot on the rag rug, and fell.
Running to the window, feeling more clearheaded than she had since she awakened, she climbed up onto the sill. Crouching there and holding on to the window frame with one hand, she stretched out and wrapped the other around the drainpipe. She froze, her heart in her throat, but then the sound of him clambering to his feet gave her impetus to move.
Swinging out, she put her toe on the iron bracket securing the drainpipe to the wall and let go of the window, hastily grabbing the drainpipe just below her other hand. She clung there, shivering, feeling for a toehold beneath her. Blast these entangling skirts! She wished she’d had time to change.
The man shoved his head out the window and lunged for her, hooking his hand in the sash of her dress. She scrambled downward, her shoulders aching with the strain. He cursed, sliding farther out, and she jerked away with all her strength.
Suddenly he was tumbling out the window. His weight tore her from her desperate hold on the drainpipe even as it ripped the sash from her dress. She fell with him, one breathless flash of panic followed by slamming onto the roof below. Her breath left her and a sharp pain lanced through her head. Helplessly she rolled, her momentum carrying her down the slight slope of the roof. Then, once again, she was falling into emptiness.
After that, there was only darkness.
Chapter One (#uce608bc7-0831-5fb2-9af9-7a30fd7564b1)
ALEX TROTTED DOWN the steps, business finished, but feeling vaguely dissatisfied. It wasn’t only because he suspected that the man he had just left had chosen him to design his summer house less for his talent than for the opportunity to boast that the son of the Duke of Broughton had visited him this morning. The fact was, Alex had felt odd and uneasy from the moment he awakened this morning.
He glanced at his watch and decided to catch a hack to his office rather than walking. Con was leaving on one of his adventures this afternoon, and he wanted to be sure to catch him. Even though they had acquired other friends as they grew older, Con was, as always, his closest confidant.
His uneasiness wasn’t worry over Con. He would know instantly if Con was in trouble, just as he had known his brother wasn’t in the house when he awoke. Neither of them could explain their twin sense—it simply was—but likewise, they never doubted its accuracy.
Alex supposed that the odd wisp of alarm that had taken up residence in his chest was merely the residue from his nightmare. He didn’t remember dreaming it, but he’d done so often enough lately to presume it had visited him again. The thing was...usually the nightmare awakened him, leaving him cold and sweating, but it had not caused him to feel this way the next day.
He stepped out of the carriage in front of the office building he and Con owned. It was a narrow stone structure, four floors high and sturdy. Alex might wish for a more attractive design, but it suited their purposes. The bottom floor housed a bookstore, and the floor above held his and Con’s offices, with the upper two floors being the flat he and Con had established as their bachelors’ quarters when they left school.
Even though they had moved back into the family home a year ago, they hadn’t rented out the flat. One or the other of them sometimes bedded down there. Con used it more often, staying there sometimes when he was working on a case or had remained out on the town late.
Alex met Con’s employee, Tom Quick, coming down the stairs. Tom, a few years older than Alex, had been plucked from the streets by their older brother, Reed, whose pocket he had unsuccessfully tried to pick. Instead of prosecuting the lad, Reed had clothed and fed him and sent him to school. Quick hadn’t taken much to schooling, but he had been a loyal worker for the Moreland family ever since, at first running errands for Reed and then, ultimately, becoming the mainstay of their older sister Olivia’s investigative agency. Con had acquired his services, along with the business, from Olivia a few years ago.
The blond man grinned in his cocky way, a distinct warning that something was up. Alex eyed him warily. “Is Con upstairs?”
“Oh, indeed,” Tom answered with a chuckle. “He’s there.”
“What has he done?” Alex asked with some foreboding. Perhaps it was Con, after all, that had given him this feeling.
“You’ll see,” the other man said airily and trotted past him.
Alex took the stairs two at a time and walked past the closed door of his own office to the last door on the corridor. A discreet brass sign on the wall beside the door announced that it was Moreland Investigative Agency.
He opened the door and stopped short at the sight of his brother, his jaw dropping. Normally seeing Con was much like looking into a mirror. Con’s black hair was a bit longer and shaggier, and he had taken to wearing a mustache. But, all in all, it was the same angular face with the same squarish chin and straight black brows, the same sharp green eyes, the same firm mouth always ready to break into a smile. Their height and build, the way they stood and walked, were all so alike that even their mother had been known to mistake one for the other from the back.
But today...Con’s hair was pomaded and slicked back away from his face. His mustache had been waxed into long sharp points and twisted up at the ends into absurd curlicues. He was strangely larger through the chest and middle and even slightly taller, and his body was encased in a suit of eye-popping yellow-and-brown plaid. On the desk beside him were a bowler hat of matching brown and a shiny black cane with a lion’s head for a knob.
Con laughed at his brother’s stunned expression and struck a pose. “What do you think?”
“I think you’ve turned into a bloody Bedlamite, that’s what I think.” Alex laughed. “What in the world are you doing? I thought you were going to Cornwall to infiltrate that lot that says the world’s going to end next month.”
Olivia had opened an agency to investigate the wave of spiritualists and mediums in the past decade who had swindled gullible and grief-stricken people with tales of contacting their deceased loved ones in the afterlife. After she met her husband in the course of one of these investigations, her agency had had a rather sporadic existence, with Tom Quick doing most of the work. The agency had turned to a number of other investigative procedures, such as finding missing persons, uncovering financial frauds and investigating the backgrounds of possible employees or spouses.
When Con bought the agency from her, he continued the sort of detective work that Quick was justifiably known for, but he also delighted in returning to the investigation of otherworldly phenomena, going beyond Olivia’s field of fraudulent mediums and their séances to reports of hauntings and mythical beasts and even, as in his newest case, a quasi-religious group proclaiming the end of the world.
“That is where I’m going,” Con told him.
“I don’t think you’re apt to blend in very well in that costume.”
“Ah, but you see—” Con wiggled his eyebrows “—I’ve found that looking outlandish is an excellent way to go unrecognized. All people will remember is this ridiculous mustache and obnoxious suit. When I get rid of them, no one will recognize me.”
“How did you make yourself look so thick?” Alex poked his finger into his twin’s chest and found it pillowy soft.
“Padded vest,” Con told him proudly. “I have lifts in my shoes, as well. I would have liked to make myself shorter, but that’s a trifle difficult.”
“I daresay. I hope you realize you look like an utter fool.”
“I know.” Con grinned. “Watch this.” He picked up his cane and, giving a sharp twist to the head, pulled the gold knob from the cane, revealing a slender knife extending from it.
“A hidden stiletto.” Alex’s eyes lit up. Alex might be somewhat more staid than Con, but he was not immune to the lure of secret daggers.
“Cunning, isn’t it?” Con handed the weapon to his brother. “And though you wouldn’t think so, it provides a good grip. I found it in the attic a couple of months ago.”
“At Broughton House?” Alex turned it over in his hand, examining it.
“Yes, I was up there with the Littles.”
Alex knew he referred to their sister Kyria’s twins, Allison and Jason, who, since Constantine and Alexander had been given the nickname the Greats, were often referred to as the Littles.
“It was Jason who found it, but Allie discovered the secret to opening it—she’s a bloodthirsty little thing, have you noticed? I had a devil of a time persuading her she couldn’t keep it.”
“Well, you know her father.” Alex shrugged. “Next she’ll be brandishing a pistol.”
“Terrifying thought.”
“Do you expect trouble at this place you’re going? Will you need a dagger?”
“Not really.” Con sighed. “I’m relatively sure he’s swindling his believers—easy to persuade someone to hand over all their worldly goods when they think they’ll be transported up to heaven in a few months. But I haven’t seen any sign that he’s gotten physical. Still, I like to be prepared.”
Alex grinned as he handed back the knife. “Especially if it involves a clever trick.”
“Of course.” Con fitted the weapon back into its slot. “Care to come with me?”
Alex felt a twinge of longing. He and Con had shared many an adventure. It was only the past few years, when Alex had been studying at the Architectural Association and then practicing in his field, that Alex had stayed behind more and more, helping out only now and then with Con’s investigations.
“No,” he said reluctantly. “Better not. I have work to do on the plans for Blackburn’s country house. And I have... I don’t know, I just have a feeling I should be here.”
“What do you mean?” Con set aside the cane and fixed his searching gaze on his twin. “Is something wrong?”
“No... Maybe. I don’t know.” Alex grimaced.
“You had a premonition?”
“Not exactly. I’m not like Anna. I don’t see what’s going to happen.” Alex folded his arms. He never liked talking about his “gift,” as Con saw it—or his “curse,” as Alex was more likely to consider it. “I’ve been very out of sorts since I woke up. Restless. It’s probably nothing, just some residue from a dream.”
“You had another nightmare.” Con was the only one whom Alex had ever told about his bad dreams.
“I suppose. I don’t really remember it. I just woke up feeling...” He shrugged. Even with his twin, Alex hated to reveal the bone-deep fear that invaded him in these dreams, the paralyzing sensation of powerlessness. It was a form of weakness he hated in himself. “The thing was...it was something like the way you and I feel when the other is in trouble. But different somehow. I’m positive it wasn’t about you. But I’ve never had that feeling about any of our other siblings.”
“Do you think your ability is growing? Improving?” Con asked almost eagerly.
“I sincerely hope not,” Alex retorted. “I’ll go mad if I receive signals every time a Moreland gets into trouble.”
“True. Theo’s girls alone would be enough to keep you busy night and day.”
Alex grinned but quickly turned serious again. “I wanted to ask if you had ever felt that way. If you sensed things about the others.”
“No.” Con looked vaguely wistful. “You know me—I haven’t a smidgen of talent. I mean, other than twin speak.” He looked thoughtful. “If you think something’s wrong, perhaps I should postpone my trip.”
“No. Don’t be absurd.” Alex shook his head. “I’m sure I’m jumping at shadows.”
“But these dreams...”
“You put more credence in my dreams than I do.”
“We all know Morelands have significant dreams...except for me, of course. Think of Reed dreaming Anna was in danger, or the things Kyria saw in her dreams.”
“I’ve never had a significant dream in my life. They’re just nightmares. I’ve had them since we were thirteen.”
“Yes, but those stopped years ago. It’s only been recently that you’ve been dreaming about being locked up again. There must be a reason.”
“Probably the squab I had for supper last night,” Alex said lightly.
Con snorted, but he dropped the subject. That was one of the best things about being a twin—one didn’t have to pretend, and the other knew without having to ask.
“I’d better be on my way,” Con said, picking up his cane and the small traveling case on the floor beside the desk. “My train leaves at two, and I don’t want to miss it.”
With a grin and a twirl of his bowler, he popped the hat onto his head and left. Alex, a smile lingering on his lips, perched on the edge of Con’s desk, long legs stretched out in front of him, and thought about his dreams.
He didn’t recall the one last night, but he’d had enough of them the past few weeks to know what transpired in it. He was always lying on a narrow bed in a dark, cramped room, alone and not knowing where he was, and gripped by a cold, numbing fear.
The nightmares had started after the time he and Con had visited Winterset, their brother Reed’s home in the country, when the two of them, out walking with Reed’s future wife, Anna, had come across a farmer who had been killed. Both he and Con had been shaken by the sight, but Alex was the one who had lost his breakfast. Alex had returned to the house to bring Reed’s help, while Con had stayed with Anna by the body. He had never admitted to anyone, even Con, how relieved he’d been to get away from the bloody remains.
Oddly, though, the nightmares that had disturbed him in the weeks afterward had not been of the dead farmer, but of the time almost two years earlier when Alex had been kidnapped and held prisoner in a small, dark room.
He had been scared at the time, of course, but he was used enough to getting in and out of scrapes—though it was more frightening, admittedly, when Con wasn’t there to share the experience. Alex had kept his wits and managed to escape, and in the end, Kyria and Rafe and the others had come to his rescue. It had been an exciting story to tell and he’d basked in Con’s envy of his adventure, but then, after his experience at Winterset, he had begun to dream about it again.
It had passed, of course. Indeed, it seemed to have marked the beginning of his odd ability. The Morelands were given to such oddities—significant dreams and strange connections to an unseen world, their habit of falling fiercely, immediately in love.
So it had not been a complete surprise when Alex started to experience flashes of emotions and actions when he gripped an object—though it had seemed most unfair that Con had not been burdened with a similar peculiarity. Con, naturally, would have been thrilled to have it.
Alex had learned to hide his ability from everyone outside his family, and he had also learned to control it so that he wasn’t overwhelmed by, say, witnessing a murder that had happened years earlier when he happened to lean against a wall. As his control over the ability increased, the nightmares had lessened and finally ceased.
Until recently. The ones he had now were not exactly the same, for in the recent ones he was a man, not a half-grown lad, and the room where he lay in darkness seemed different—darker and colder and smaller. But the fear was the same. No, it was worse, for woven through it now was a soul-deep dread, an icy terror.
Impatiently Alex pushed himself up from the desk. What was he doing lounging about here? Over the years he had used his ability to help Con with some inquiries. It was one of the reasons that the agency had acquired an impressive reputation, particularly in finding missing persons. But his assistance was a carefully guarded secret. It was difficult enough making a reputation for oneself as an architect, given his aristocratic background and his family’s eccentric reputation, without adding something as unusual as working for an agency that often dabbled in occult matters.
But with Con gone, there was no reason for him to be here now. He should go to his own office and work on his own business, as he had told Con he was about to do. Sitting here was not going to solve the mystery of his uneasy feelings or his disturbing dreams.
Alex had reached the open door when his lungs tightened in his chest. He was flooded with anxiety, even fear, but he knew it was not his own; he was feeling the backwash of someone else’s emotions. He felt, moreover, a...presence. There was no other way to describe it. The sensation was so strong that he actually glanced around the empty office, as if he would find someone standing there. Of course, there was no one.
What if he turned out to be like his grandmother and started talking to ghosts? He tried to separate this sudden burst of emotion from his own, to analyze this new awareness. It was similar to the “twinness” he shared with Con—a knowledge that someone was nearby, an understanding that the person was in trouble. But he had never felt such a thing before, except with Con. And he was certain that this was not coming from his twin. It was...different.
He stepped out into the hall and looked over the railing to the lobby of the floor below. As he watched, the door opened and a short man entered. The newcomer crossed the entryway and climbed the stairs. And as he moved, the sensation moved with him. This man—or perhaps he was only a boy, for he was rather small—was the presence Alex felt.
The visitor reached the top of the stairs and started down the corridor toward him. The small man was dressed oddly—well, not oddly, really, for his suit was unremarkable. But he wore a workingman’s cap with a gentleman’s suit, and nothing seemed to fit him. His feet galumphed along, seeming too big for his body. His jacket was outsize, hanging loosely on him, the sleeves obscuring his hands, and his trousers were rolled up at the hem but still pooled around his ankles. He wore the cap pulled down almost to his eyes, hiding his forehead and shadowing the bottom part of his face.
He hesitated when he saw Alex, then started forward again determinedly. Alex watched him walk, and as he drew nearer, the whole sense of the man’s wrongness coalesced into a thought.
“You’re a girl!” Alex blurted out. He knew at once that he had made a misstep, for his visitor let out a little squeak and took a step backward. “No. No, wait, please don’t go. May I help you?”
She pulled off the concealing cap, revealing a cloud of black curls that fell just below her ears. Without the cap, he could clearly see the delicate chin, the heart-shaped face, the big, deep blue eyes. And his entire insides dropped straight to the floor.
“I’m looking for the Moreland Investigative Agency.”
“That’s me. I mean, I’m Mr. Moreland. Alex, Alexander Moreland.” He realized that he was babbling and he forced himself to stop before he started explaining about his brother and the agency and Olivia, who had started it, and everything else that came into his head.
The woman was beautiful. More than that, his feeling of connection and his uneasiness were both centered on her. How could he be so tied to a stranger, to someone not even in his own family? Oh, Lord, she wasn’t a relative, surely?
He was certain of one thing—he could not let her slip away. So he pulled together the remnants of his aplomb and inclined his head, sweeping his arm out toward the open doorway in a courtly gesture as he said, “Please, won’t you come in?”
Her smile was shy, and a faint flush rose in her cheeks; both things, he realized, were charming. She walked before him into the office and sat down in the chair facing Con’s desk. Alex was careful to leave the door open, not wanting to alarm her, and took a seat behind Con’s desk as if he belonged there.
He wasn’t really lying to her, he told himself. He was Mr. Moreland, even if not the one she sought. “Now, please tell me how I may help you, Miss—?”
“I—I came here because...well, I asked the driver at the station where I should go. He said the Moreland Agency was the best in the city at finding someone,” she said, twisting her cap in her hands and ignoring his implied question about her name.
“We will certainly do our utmost to help you.” He opened the top drawer of the desk and was relieved to spot pencils and even a pad of paper. He set them on the desk and prepared to take notes, hoping that he looked like he knew what he was doing. “Now, who is it that you wish to find?”
She gazed back at him gravely and said, “Me.”
Chapter Two (#uce608bc7-0831-5fb2-9af9-7a30fd7564b1)
“I BEG YOUR PARDON?” Surely he could not have heard her correctly.
“It’s me I need you to find—not the location because obviously I’m here, but who I am.” She sighed. “I don’t know who I am.”
Alex blinked. It occurred to him that perhaps this was an elaborate joke. This lovely girl was an actress, perhaps, and Con had... No, not Con. If Con had played a prank on him, he wouldn’t have left. He’d still be here, laughing his head off. Alex glanced out the door. He had no feeling of Con’s nearness. But who else would arrange a mad jest like this?
“I see,” he said carefully and cleared his throat.
The girl jumped up. “I know. I know I sound as if I’ve escaped from Bedlam, but I promise you, I haven’t. I mean, well, I don’t feel insane...though I suppose I cannot really know, can I?”
She paused, looking so lost that Alex instinctively went around the desk to her, taking her arm and steering her back to the chair. He propped himself on the edge of the desk. “No, no, I’m sure you’re not insane. It’s just... I, um... Perhaps you could explain the situation further.”
She drew a breath and folded her hands in her lap, looking every inch a proper English gentlewoman—except, of course, that she was wearing an ill-fitting man’s suit. “I don’t know who I am. I cannot tell you my name because I have no idea what it is. I think...” Her fingers went up to her throat, touching something beneath her shirt. “I think it may be Sabrina because that is what is engraved on the locket I’m wearing.”
“Sabrina it is, then.” He liked the sound of it, the intimacy of calling her by her given name, as if he had known her for years. “If you will excuse the, um, the informality.”
“Of course.” Her cheeks colored again in that delightful way. “It’s only reasonable, since I have no idea what my last name is.” She added with a sigh, “Or where I’m from. Or why I’m dressed in this mad fashion.”
“You know nothing about yourself?”
“No, nothing at all. It’s the most awful sensation.” Sabrina reached up a hand to push her luxuriant hair out of the way, and for the first time he saw a purple bruise on the side of her face. Two of them, in fact, one on her forehead and one on the cheekbone below, both at the edge of her hairline. He noted, too, that the hand she lifted was scraped.
“You’ve been hurt!” Anger rose in him so fiercely that he jumped to his feet again. “Who did this to you?”
He bent down to examine her bruises, gently lifting the curls aside. The soft hairs clung to his skin, sending a frisson of pleasure straight up his nerves. His gesture was far too intimate to be appropriate, he realized, and he pulled his hand back, forcing himself to return to his seat against the desk.
“I don’t know who did it,” she told him. “If anyone. Perhaps I fell. There’s more.”
“More?”
“Yes. There are bruises on my arm.” She shrugged out of her coat and pushed up one sleeve almost to her elbow to expose her arm to him. There on the pale skin were small faint smudges of blue.
“Fingertips.” Something clenched, cold and hard, in his chest. “Someone squeezed your arm tightly.”
“I rather thought so. And look.” She undid the top button of her shirt and pushed it down, revealing another long red scratch low on her throat. “And I think...” She frowned, reaching up toward the back of her head. “I think maybe I hit my head. There’s a spot that’s tender.”
Quickly he rounded her chair and bent down to look where she pointed. Carefully he parted her hair, trying to ignore the way it felt beneath his fingers, the ribbons of excitement that stirred deep within him. He drew in a quick, hissing breath. “You’re bleeding. I should have seen...”
He crossed the room to the washstand in the corner and wet a rag, returning to dab carefully at the wound. When she drew in a sharp breath, he said, “I’m sorry. I know this hurts, but I must clean it.”
“I know. It was just that one spot that hurt. You’re quite good at this.”
Alex chuckled. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s cleaning cuts and scrapes.”
“Your business is dangerous?”
“My childhood was.” He smiled to show he didn’t mean it. “My brother and I were constantly falling out of trees or rolling down the hillside or running into things.” He paused, considering. “Come to think of it, we must have been clumsy little brutes.”
When he finished cleaning the wound, he set the rag aside and took up his former seat on the edge of the desk. “Now, you remember nothing of your past?”
“No. Not who I am or what happened to cause these bruises or where I live. Nothing!” Tears glittered in her eyes.
“Very well.” Alex pushed aside the thought of how much he would like to take the woman in his arms and hold her, comfort her. Crossing his arms across his chest, he said, “What is the first thing you do remember?”
“Waking up on a train. The conductor shook my shoulder and woke me up, said we had reached Paddington Station. I was quite groggy. I got off the train and started walking through the station. There were so many people, and it was terribly noisy. I was so confused and...and scared. My head ached. I was trying to remember where I was and why I was dressed this way. And I thought whoever was meeting me wouldn’t recognize me. Then I realized that not only did I not know who I was meeting, I didn’t even know who I was. It scared me, so I sat down on a bench for a while and tried to think.” She shrugged. “It was useless.”
“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 (#uce608bc7-0831-5fb2-9af9-7a30fd7564b1)
“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.”
Nicer? She wasn’t sure what he meant by that. It certainly couldn’t be grander. The door was opened by a footman; at least he was not dressed in livery, which she had half expected after seeing the size of the house.
“Good day, sir.” The man took Alex’s hat and turned to her expectantly. There was nothing to do but hand her cap to him, revealing the tumble of her hair. If the footman was surprised or confused by the odd picture she presented, he didn’t show it.
“Hello, Ernest. Where’s my mother?”
“I believe she’s in the sultan room, sir. Her callers left shortly before you arrived.”
“The sultan room?” Sabrina asked in a hushed voice as they crossed the floor of the large entryway, arranged checkerboard fashion in black and white marble tiles. She could not keep from staring around the huge hall, two stories in height and decorated with portraits and landscapes as tall as she was. A wide staircase, also in marble, dominated one side, splitting at the landing to go up in opposite directions. “There’s a sultan here?”
He laughed. “No. Never been one as far as I know, though my grandfather knew some pretty odd sorts, I’m told, so perhaps there was a sultan in there somewhere. It’s called that because my great-grandfather decorated it when he was in some sort of Arabic fever. It looks rather like the inside of a harem. Or perhaps it’s a sheikh’s tent. We were never sure. At any rate, it’s rather ghastly, but we’re all used to it, and it’s more comfortable than the assembly room. Grandmother apparently tried to rename it the red salon—you’ll see why—but that never stuck.”
“Wait,” Sabrina blurted, plucking at Alex’s sleeve. “When you called your mother the duchess, you really meant it? She’s a...a...”
“Duchess? Yes.”
“Oh, my.” She could feel the blood draining out of her face. “Then your father is...”
“A duke. Here, now.” He grabbed her arm as she began to sag. “You’re not going to faint on me, are you?”
“I’m not sure.”
He whisked her over to a stone bench and went down on one knee in front of it, gently pushing her head down. “Just breathe. You’ll be all right. I nearly fainted once, when I broke my arm, but it passed.”
“You broke your arm?” She looked up at him. His face was only inches away, and the sight of him so near, his eyes warm with concern, was enough to steal her breath again. But this time the heat came flooding back into her face.
“Oh, yes.” His worried gaze turned to a twinkle. “I told you I was accustomed to dealing with bruises and cuts. Sprains and broken bones, as well. Now...feeling better?” When she nodded, he said, “I should have thought to ask. Have you eaten this morning? I’ll bet you haven’t.”
“I don’t think so. Not since I got off the train at least.”
“We must remedy that. As soon as we’ve seen Mother, I’ll ring for some food for you.”
“Alex. Your mother—you can’t introduce me looking like this.” Her voice rose in alarm. She could picture his mother, an imposing woman, maybe something like the queen herself, stiff and haughty and looking at Sabrina as if she were a bug. “I didn’t realize she was a... That your family was so...so grand.”
“Oh, we’re not grand at all. In fact, everyone says we’re deplorably plebian.” He grinned and hauled her to her feet. “Come, you’ll see. She’s not stuffy at all.”
Sabrina found that hard to believe, but she had little choice but to follow, her cheeks already burning in anticipation of her coming humiliation. Alex took her arm—whether to support her or keep her from fleeing, she wasn’t sure.
They walked down the hall and through a set of open double doors. As soon as they stepped inside, Sabrina understood both the names given to the room. The couches and chairs and a chaise longue were upholstered in a rich red damask, relieved only by the dark wood of various tables. The walls and even the ceiling were all hung with billowing folds of fabric so that it did, in fact, resemble the inside of a tent. A very luxurious tent.
“Alex, dear.” A woman rose from a love seat. She was tall and beautifully dressed, her hair a dark auburn almost overtaken by gray. She had clearly been a beauty when she was young—still was beautiful, in fact. It all added up to an imposing figure, though not the one Sabrina had imagined. But that image was dispelled by the warmth of her smile and the kindness in her gaze. “I see you’ve brought me a guest. Come, sit down, child. You look white as a sheet.” Reaching out, she took Sabrina’s hands in hers. “Goodness, your hands are cold as ice. Alex, ring for some tea.”
As Alex turned to tug the bellpull, Sabrina said, “I beg your pardon for barging in on you like this, Your Grace. And I know the way I am dressed must seem, um...” Well, she really didn’t have the words to sum up how wrong her appearance was.
“’Tis nothing.” The duchess waved her words away and led Sabrina over to a sofa. “Now sit down here with me and tell me what has happened. I can see that you are in some distress. Is it an employer who beat you? Has your father turned you out of the house? Men! Taking their pleasure wherever, whenever they want, but woe betide the poor woman who’s caught with the consequences—such hypocrites.” She looked over at Alex with a smile. “Not my boys, of course. They’re gentlemen just like their father. So I know it’s not Alex who has gotten you into trouble.”
Sabrina goggled. “What?”
“It’s all right, dear.” The older woman patted her hand. “You needn’t be afraid here. No one is going to judge you. I don’t allow that in any of my houses.”
“Your houses!” What sort of house was she talking about—surely not one that handed out postcards at the train station? This was becoming madder by the moment.
“No, no, no...” Alex hastened to say. “It’s not like that, Mother. Sabrina isn’t one of your unfortunate young women. She’s not, um...” He flashed Sabrina a distressed look. “Mother funds two houses for women who are in need, you see.” He swung back to the duchess. “But this is different.” He went on to tell her Sabrina’s story.
To Sabrina’s amazement, the duchess listened with a warm concern but no visible sign of alarm, despite the peculiarity of the tale. When Alex finished, she said only, “I see. Well, of course you’re right, dear, she must stay here with us.” She smiled at Sabrina. “Clearly you have been through an ordeal. I’ll tell Phipps to make up a room for you.”
“I hate to put you to so much bother,” Sabrina began.
“Nonsense. No problem at all.” The duchess gave her arm another pat. “I look forward to sitting down for a nice chat with you later.” With that, she sailed out of the room, leaving Sabrina behind her in a daze.
“Don’t worry,” Alex said. “It truly will be no problem for Mother, as Phipps will take care of everything. He’ll be delighted to have a crisis to deal with. It’s rather boring these days with so few of us in the house. And while he is doing that, we need to get you something to eat.” He led her from the room and down a hall into the back recesses of the house. “I hope you don’t mind having a bite in the kitchen.”
“No, of course not.” It occurred to Sabrina that the kitchen staff might find it something of a problem to have them in their way.
But, as it turned out, the housekeeper, whom Alex affectionately called “Mrs. Bee,” and the cook were as seemingly unruffled as everyone else in this household by the two of them sitting down to munch on cheese and bread at one end of the scarred worktable while the work of the kitchen went on all around them. It was clear from the way they smiled and worked around Alex that they were accustomed to him popping in and wheedling a bite from them this way.
Sabrina was not sure what life was like in her own home, but she had the strong suspicion that nothing in the Moreland household would be considered normal. The butler, Phipps, did his best to convey a sense of dignity and severity when he entered, but his presentation was sadly undercut by the loud voice of the cook scolding a potboy and the heavy thwack-thwacks of the maid cutting up vegetables at the other end of the table.
“Pray permit me to show you to the Caroline chamber,” he said to Sabrina, bowing.
“No need, I’ll take her,” Alex said, ignoring the butler’s pained look. As he and Sabrina walked away, he leaned down and murmured, “Poor Phipps despairs of any of us ever showing the proper respect for our station. But his knees are getting arthritic and he oughtn’t to be tromping up and down the stairs. Besides, he’d have nattered on at you about the grand history of the Morelands all the way up, which might very well have sent you running again.”
Sabrina laughed. “I don’t think I’m in danger of that. Frankly, all I want to do at the moment is sleep. I’m rather tired.”
“I imagine you are. You must have been up before dawn if you got into London as early as you did. Not to mention that whatever happened to you must have been an ordeal.”
They climbed the staircase, which up close was every bit as wide and elegant as it looked from a distance. They turned to the left and were on the top step when a piercing noise, resembling the screech of a steam whistle, split the air.
Sabrina jumped and whirled. A large shaggy animal was bearing down on them at full speed.
“Steady on.” Alex said, his hand going to Sabrina’s elbow. “It’s only Rufus. And my nieces.”
The animal, she saw now, was a long-haired dog of some indeterminate origin. And hot on his heels was a red-haired moppet, hands outstretched and face gleeful. It was she who was emitting the ear-piercing noise. A little behind her came a slightly smaller girl of similar coloring, doing her best to keep up.
An attractive woman with hair the color of dark cinnamon hurried after the pair and called, “Athena! Brigid! Come here!”
Between the large dog, the madly running children and the wide marble staircase, it looked like a disaster in the making.
But then the woman called, “Rufus, stop!” She followed that with “Grab them, Alex, do—before they reach the stairs.”
Before Sabrina’s amazed eyes, the dog slid to a halt and ducked behind Alex, peering out around Alex’s leg at his pursuers. Alex grinned and reached down to scoop up the girls, one in each arm, and place noisy kisses on the cheek of each. “Escaped again, have you?”
The little girls giggled, their quarry apparently no longer of interest, and chanted, “Uncle Alex, Uncle Alex!”
The smaller girl reached up to pat Alex’s cheek, but the larger, faster one reached inside his jacket, searching. Alex laughed. “I haven’t any peppermint sticks today, you little thief.”
The children both began to chatter, rendering it almost impossible for Sabrina to understand anything either said. Then one of them turned and pointed at Sabrina and said clearly, “Who’s she?”
“She’s our guest,” Alex told them. “Sabrina, I’d like you to meet my brother Theo’s daughters. This little imp is Athena and this one is her sister, Brigid. Say hello to Sabrina, girls.”
“Hello, Sabrina,” they said as one.
Brigid turned her face into Alex’s shoulder in an apparent attack of shyness, but Athena grinned at her with unabashed interest and said, “Are you a boy or a girl?”
“I’m a girl, but I’m wearing boys’ clothes.” Sabrina couldn’t keep from smiling back at the girl.
“I want to wear boys’ clothes,” Athena decided.
Alex did his best to hide his own smile. “This poor beleaguered woman is their mother. Megan, allow me to introduce you to Sabrina. Sabrina, this is the Marchioness of Raine.”
“Ma’am.” Another title. But of course she would have one. Wasn’t the heir to the dukedom often a marquess? Did that mean that Theo was the oldest? And was Alex actually a lord? Well, at least she could blame her lack of memory for not knowing the order of precedence.
“Call me Megan,” the girls’ mother declared.
“You’re American,” Sabrina blurted in surprise.
“Yes, I am. A stranger in a strange land.” She reached out to shake Sabrina’s hand in a firm, businesslike manner. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Mama, I want to wear boys’ clothes,” Athena said, drawing the conversation back to the topic which most interested her. “Can I?”
“May I,” Megan amended. “I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“Me, too,” Brigid announced. “I wanna wear boys’ cloves.”
“Clothes, silly, not cloves.” Athena giggled.
“We’ll discuss this later,” Megan told them firmly. “Come here, you two.” She reached out and took them, setting them down on the floor. Squatting down to their eye level, Megan went on, “Haven’t I told you not to chase Rufus? You scare him. And it’s not fair to run from Alice when you know she turned her ankle yesterday.”
The girls nodded, the little one’s lower lip beginning to tremble. “Yes, Mama.”
“We won’t do it anymore,” Athena said gravely. “Promise.”
“Good. Now you run back to Alice.” Megan gave them a little push in the direction they had come from. Sabrina could see a harried-looking woman at the other end of the hallway hobbling valiantly toward them. “And apologize to Alice.”
The girls took off at a run, and Megan rose, turning back to Alex and Sabrina. “Sorry for the interruption.” Though her voice was friendly, her reddish-brown eyes studied Sabrina curiously. Sabrina suspected that the woman didn’t miss much.
“I was just showing Sabrina to her room. She will be staying with us for a while,” Alex explained. “She’s in rather a spot. I was hoping you might be able to help us.”
“Of course.” Megan’s gaze grew even shrewder. “What do you need?”
“For one thing, perhaps you could lend her something to wear? These are her only clothes.” As she nodded, Alex went on, “I also wondered if you had heard anything about a young lady going missing. Or perhaps some sort of accident or even a crime where a young woman might have been injured.”
“No...not yet. Why? Were you in an accident?” She leaned in a little, peering at Sabrina’s bruises.
“I’m not sure,” Sabrina replied, and Alex launched into another retelling of Sabrina’s predicament.
Megan listened with interest, but the warm sympathy that had marked the duchess’s face mingled with a certain skepticism in Megan’s eyes. Her first words when Alex finished were “If it were Con telling me this instead of you, I would be certain this was a prank.”
Alex chuckled. “No, no, I promise you, it’s not. It’s all true.”
“I’ve heard of people losing their memory after being hit in the head, which you obviously were. I’ll check with my contacts and see if they’ve heard anything.”
“Megan is a newspaper reporter,” Alex said in an aside to Sabrina.
“Really?” Sabrina looked at her in amazement.
“I was.” Megan nodded. “Now I write mostly longer investigative pieces for magazines. I’ll look into it and see what I can find.”
“Especially Newbury. That’s the departure point for her train ticket, so we’re assuming that whatever happened would probably have taken place around there. But, of course, if it was that she had been kidnapped, that could have taken place anywhere and she merely happened to escape at Newbury.”
“Kidnapped?” Sabrina gaped at him, but Megan seemed to find nothing odd in this idea and merely nodded.
“I don’t know how much I can find out about something happening in Newbury unless it was really big news, but I will ask around,” Megan told them. “And I’ll look through my dresses for something you can wear, Sabrina. Some of my dresses would be too old for you, but I’m sure we’ll come up with enough things. Anna may have left a few frocks here, as well—anything of Kyria’s, of course, would be much too long.” She whipped around and walked away in the same brisk manner with which she seemed to do everything.
“I don’t think she believed me,” Sabrina said.
“Megan has a journalist’s nose for news. If there’s anything there to find, she’ll chase it down.”
“I just hope... What if it’s something awful?” Sabrina turned to him, brows drawing together anxiously. “I mean, what if I’m a terrible person or I’ve done something reprehensible? I could be anyone—I could have run amok and started chopping people into bits.”
Alex smiled. “I think we can take the risk.”
“Those names she mentioned—Anna, and Cara, was it? Do they live here, too?”
“No. Anna is married to my brother, and they live in Gloucestershire. But they often come to visit. And it’s Kyria, not Cara. She’s one of my sisters.” He cast an amused sideways glance at her. “Odd name, I know, but my father is an antiquarian, and his particular field of interest is ancient Greece and Rome. Sadly, he insisted we all learn Greek and Latin growing up. The other thing he inflicted on us was our names. Mother put her foot down on some of the worst names, so Reed and Olivia managed to escape, and my name luckily was both normal and Greek. Poor Con, though, got stuck with Constantine. And Theo’s full name is Theodosius. His twin is Thisbe.”
“Oh, my. You have a great number of family.”
“I suppose so. Theo and Thisbe are the oldest, then Reed. Next is Kyria, followed by Olivia, and Con and I bring up the rear.”
“Two sets of twins!”
“Fortunately, we are on the opposite ends of the family, so we weren’t all young at once. Kyria has a set of twins as well, Jason and Allison. But you don’t want to hear the names of all my nieces and nephews. They’re far too numerous.” He stopped before an open door. “Here we are. This is the Caroline room.”
“Why is it called that?” Sabrina asked as she walked past him into the room. Like every part of the house she’d seen, it was spacious and richly furnished but carried the patina of age and wear that spoke of comfortable use, not ostentation.
“Oh. It’s named after some princess that spent the night here a long time ago.”
Some princess, Sabrina thought with an inward smile. That was typical of the Morelands, she was beginning to realize. They were obviously a family of great station and wealth, but they seemed oblivious to it.
“Do you like it? I’m sure Phipps could move you to a different one.” He glanced around the room, as if trying to judge whether it would do.
“Of course. It’s very nice.” It was, in fact, a little oppressive, with its heavy dark furniture and the looming tester of the bed, but there were two windows that opened on a large garden in the back—imagine that, a garden backed by an expanse of green grass and trees behind a house in London—and the bed looked wonderfully high and soft, as if one would sink into it like a cloud.
“And in a different wing from my chamber. Phipps does his best to keep us respectable despite ourselves.”
“Really? You’re a long way away?” That thought brought a little knot of nerves to her stomach.
“Not that far, really, just turn left down that hallway. But the ‘bachelor wing,’ as Phipps terms it, is suitably separate from the family and guest rooms. Mother never believed in shutting children away in a nursery, but neither did anyone want to have Con and me living too close by.”
Sabrina laughed. “You make it sound as if you two were terrors.”
“Well, we were also known as the Terrible Two, I’m afraid. Mother will tell you we were simply bright and inquisitive. But we did tend to be a little noisy. However, I think what made them want us at a distance was our boa.”
“Boa? As in constrictor?” Sabrina’s eyes widened, and she could not keep from casting a quick glance around the room.
“Yes. But don’t worry. Augustus isn’t here. After he got out and caused something of a riot in the streets, Mother made us leave him at the house in the country permanently. And we haven’t any of the rabbits or guinea pigs or rats anymore. It’s just Rufus and Wellie now.”
“Wellie? Another dog?”
“No, not a dog.” He shook his head, grinning. “I’ll introduce you.”
Sabrina began to smile. “You’re a very odd man, Alex.”
“Ah, but how do you know? Perhaps I’m quite usual, and you simply don’t remember.”
Her smile turned into a laugh.
At that moment, Megan swept into the room, carrying a stack of clothes, followed by a maid with an even larger armful of dresses, which she laid across the bed before leaving the room.
“Look,” Megan said cheerfully. “Prudence found some things in Olivia’s room as well as Anna’s. They’re not as simple as many I wear.”
“I like your dress,” Sabrina told the woman, meaning it. The lack of ruffles and bows let the elegant lines of the bodice and skirt shine.
“It’s useful. People tend not to take a woman in lace seriously.” Megan turned to Alex. “Time for you to leave, my boy.”
“Oh.” He looked startled, then embarrassed, his eyes flickering to the pile of white chemises and petticoats in his sister-in-law’s hands. He cleared his throat. “Yes, of course.” He started toward the door, then turned back. “Sabrina...I’d like to look at some of those items in your pockets again if I may.”
“Of course.” Sabrina slipped off the jacket and held it out to him. It was a relief to get rid of the encumbrance, but it felt somehow even odder to be standing here clad in trousers and a shirt, with only the vest over it. Her womanly figure was much more obvious without the concealing jacket.
Alex’s eyes swept down her in a swift, encompassing look, confirming her opinion and making her flush with a heat that was only partially from embarrassment. She turned aside and found Megan watching her speculatively.
As soon as Alex closed the door behind him, Sabrina said, “You distrust me.”
Megan laid the clothes in her arms out on the bed and turned to her. “The Morelands are a very friendly and open family. They believe in the basic goodness of people.”
“But you don’t,” Sabrina ventured.
“I wasn’t born a Moreland. I’m a hardheaded Irish girl from the Bronx.” She came closer, and her brown eyes were no longer warm. “I won’t let you hurt them. If you try to, I will make you pay. Ask anyone—Megan Mulcahey never gives up ’til she finds out the truth.”
“I hope you do find the truth about me,” Sabrina told her evenly, looking the other woman in the eyes. “My story sounds mad, I know. I probably wouldn’t believe it, either, if it hadn’t happened to me. But it’s the truth. I have no idea who I am or why I came to London or where I belong. It scares me to death. I want to know who I am. Almost anything would be better than living in this void, even if it means finding out I’m a terrible person.”
“Do you think you are? A terrible person, I mean.”
“I don’t know. I don’t feel as if I am, but I suppose one wouldn’t. People usually think they’re right, don’t they?”
“Generally, in my experience.” Megan gave a little half smile and stepped back, her manner, if not warm, at least open-minded. “Come on, I’ll help you try on these clothes while you tell me all this again. First, why do you think you might be a terrible person?”
“Look at my face. Something dreadful happened.”
“You could have been the victim.”
“Or someone could have been angry at me for a very good reason. Or I could have attacked someone and they fought me off. Any number of things, and they’re all just speculation. But it doesn’t denote a peaceful, ordinary life, does it?” Sabrina had shed her waistcoat as she talked and now started on the buttons of her shirt. “Why do men button their shirts up on the wrong side?”
“It’s a wonder, isn’t it?” Megan sat down on the stool in front of the vanity table.
“And then there are these clothes. Dressing up as a man isn’t one’s first thought, is it? If I was merely traveling, I would go as myself, surely. And why do I not have luggage?”
“To me, it speaks of a hasty flight from someplace or someone—in all probability, whatever caused the damage to your face,” Megan agreed.
“Exactly. What ordinary young lady would do that?”
“One who was frightened. And clever.”
“I’m certainly frightened. Not as much now. Alex—Mr. Moreland, I mean, or I guess it’s Lord Alexander Moreland—he’s very...calming, isn’t he?”
“That’s not the adjective usually used for one of the twins, but yes, I would say he’s steady. It would take a good deal to alarm him.”
“I think it would take a good deal to alarm any of you. His mother didn’t turn a hair at my showing up like this—although she did take me for a loose woman!”
Megan chuckled. “That sounds like the duchess. She hired me even though she suspected I wasn’t really a tutor. The Morelands are warmhearted, but it would be a mistake to think they aren’t smart, as well.”
“You mean you worked for them...under false pretenses?”
She nodded. “I passed myself off as a tutor for the twins. I had to get in, you see, because I was investigating my brother’s death. I thought Theo had killed him.”
“Your husband?” Sabrina stopped in the middle of stepping into a dress and stared at her.
“Well, he wasn’t my husband at the time. And it didn’t take me long to realize that he couldn’t have done it.”
“I must say, it seems to me you’ve little room to talk about deceiving the Morelands,” Sabrina said with some heat.
“But you can see why I’m suspicious. Here, let me help you with the buttons.” Megan came over and fastened the dress up the back. “This is one of Anna’s. It’s a lovely color on you.” She looked into the mirror over Sabrina’s shoulder. “I’ve nothing against you, Sabrina. In fact, I like you. You’re forthright. And, heaven help me, I’m inclined to think you’re telling the truth. But that won’t stop me from digging for information, and what I discover may not please you.”
“I know. But I don’t want to live in this limbo forever.” Sabrina thought of the wedding ring, and something cold coiled inside her. “I must find out.”
Chapter Four (#uce608bc7-0831-5fb2-9af9-7a30fd7564b1)
SABRINA’S JACKET OVER his arm, Alex left the house, walking through the gardens and back into the almost sylvan piece of land beyond. A high stone wall blocked off the noise of the city streets, rendering it peaceful and quiet. Alex had discovered long ago that his “reading” of an object was far easier outside, away from the clutter that filled most buildings.
He sat down on a stone bench and took out Sabrina’s possessions, laying them on the bench beside him. Closing his eyes, he held the cloth in both hands, trying to empty his mind of everything but the rustle of the leaves in the trees around him, the chirps of birds.
There was very little of Sabrina in this jacket. Very little of anything really, other than a vague masculinity and perhaps a sense of anger? No, too mild for that, more resentment perhaps. That told him nothing. He folded the jacket and laid it aside, then picked up the objects one by one.
The money pouch, like the jacket, held only a trace of Sabrina. There was that same masculine feel, along with a mingling of different feelings. That would be common for money, passing through the hands of many people, as it did. But what was interesting was the strong sense of another male presence besides the one from the jacket.
He had never really noticed this ability to pinpoint the presence of one person or another, just as he had not realized he could separate a feminine presence from a male one. Was it something new or had it always been there beneath the surface, something he’d ignored? He was inclined to think it was the latter.
What had always jumped out to him was the stark emotion attached to a piece, and he had not examined the subtleties. He had generally thought of the person who had held it as a man or woman, but that had been because he knew for whom he searched. Today when he met Sabrina had been the first time that he had sensed the identifiable presence of a certain person—apart from his twin.
That had made it easy to feel the same sensation in the objects. Her necklace, for instance, had been swimming with it. Picking up that thread had made it clearer that one of the other strands was also a lingering remnant of a different entity.
Suddenly he was discovering a whole new way to look at his ability—as a multitude of strands, some vivid, some dull, each one carrying its own distinct quality of emotion or place or person. The difficulty was in pulling out a particular thread from the tangled knot. It was an intriguing thing to explore. Unfortunately, it was of little use here as he could not form an image or identity for the person from the strands.
The one thing he had learned was that the money had probably been in the possession of the second man, the one who did not possess the jacket, for a longer time. Somehow this man’s presence felt heavier—or perhaps fuller was the better word. More developed—that was it. He suspected the other man was older. It was speculation, of course, but then everything about his ability was merely his interpretation of a message.
There was little to be gained from the train ticket, which had been handled by many people and in Sabrina’s possession for only a short time. The handkerchief, too, had been handled by others, a servant who had washed it in all likelihood. There was a flicker of something when he touched the stitched monogram, and he held that tightly between his fingers for a moment. Not Sabrina, but a woman—the person who had embroidered it, perhaps? But again, that could have been anyone from a seamstress to a servant to a relative.
Finally, he picked up the thing he held the most hope for—the man’s pocket watch. He had gotten a definite flash of a place from it. With some concentration, it might become clearer. He folded his hand around the watch and focused.
A man, and again he had that sense of weight, gravity, that made him think he was older. But he was not one of the other two men he had sensed on the jacket and money. There was a sense of satisfaction. A strong element of love. Alex concentrated on separating that particular strand.
And there it was: a pleasant house, clearly the property of someone of wealth, but not ostentatious. Queen Anne style, white, with crisp black trim, carriage lamps on either side of the entry and a gold knocker on the door—again, not grand or attention-grabbing, just a plain gold knocker and plate.
It sat in a row of elegant town houses, and he was almost certain it was located here in the city. He was even more certain that whoever the man who had carried this watch was, this house had been his home. Pride, love and security permeated Alex’s sense of him.
Excitement rose in him. Now this, at last, was useful. Alex knew houses. He began to dig through his pockets. He had never quite given up his childhood habit of picking up odds and ends and stuffing them in one pocket or another; as a result, he always had a pencil or two and some scrap of paper.
He found a rolled-up flyer someone on the street had handed him the other day. Flattening it out on the bench beside him, he began to sketch the house on the blank back of a testament to the wonders of “Dr. Hinkley’s Miracle Tonic—guaranteed to eradicate all one’s aches and pains.”
Alex worked as he always did, absorbed in the task, fingers moving quickly and surely over the page. He paused, studying it, then added a few more details. He spent another few minutes holding the watch and trying to summon up a fuller picture of the house, then added a bit of decoration at the corners and over the door. He would give the drawing to Tom Quick and set him looking for the place. Alex could make a pretty good guess as to what areas in the city it was most likely to be located.
He tucked away both drawing and pencil and turned to the final object. He had been curiously reluctant to examine it again. Foolish, of course. The small gold band set with diamonds wasn’t necessarily a wedding ring. Even if it was, it wasn’t necessarily Sabrina’s. It didn’t mean she was married.
Moreover, there was really no reason to be downcast at the idea. He barely knew the woman. He was not the romantic soul Con was, believing that all Morelands fell in love on sight. None of his sisters had; indeed, Olivia had had such an argument with her future husband when she first met him that both of them had been tossed out of the séance they were attending. And while Rafe had rescued Kyria from that tree, as Alex recalled she had been more irritated than bedazzled—of course, that could have had something to do with the fact that she had been trying to pull Alex and Con out of trouble. Thisbe had had a normal sort of courtship, if studying chemical concoctions could be considered a courtship.
No surprise that his vague, bookish father would have been smitten the moment he met the fiery-haired, forceful reformer who would become his wife. The duchess was, after all, something of a force of nature. Reed had pined for Anna for years, but Alex found it hard to believe that Reed, the most sensible of the Morelands, had really fallen head over heels the moment he saw her. And the whole account of Theo’s seeing his wife in a dream as he lay dying was too bizarre to count as falling in love on sight.
What they had felt was attraction, just as he was attracted to Sabrina. It made sense. No Moreland could resist the lure of the unusual, and when it was accompanied by big blue eyes and a cloud of black curls and a mouth that invited kisses, of course he would be interested in her, even attracted. The connection between them was odd; he’d never felt it with any woman before, but that didn’t mean it was love. He didn’t know what it meant, but love had to be something more than sensing her presence.
It also had to be more than wanting to help her and protect her. Anyone would have felt a rush of sympathy at her plight, anger at the sign of bruises on her creamy skin. It wasn’t the first time he had tried to help someone.
Which was exactly what he ought to be doing, instead of sitting here uselessly ruminating on his motives. Alex picked up the ring and closed his fist around it. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the circle in his hand.
The aura it gave off was muddled, as if it had been handled by many people. There was less trace of Sabrina on it than on the handkerchief. If it was, indeed, a marriage ring, surely that meant it was not Sabrina’s. Women rarely took off their wedding bands. Perhaps it was an heirloom, passed down through generations.
He had a suspicion that this line of reasoning was more wishful thinking than logic. The feeling of it was not murky and heavy, as old things often were, with generations of emotions darkening them, layer on layer. It was more...empty, almost, barely brushed with emotion.
That quality made it seem more likely that the ring was new, that it had sat in a jewelry store, looked at and held by many, but worn and cherished by no one. It made it seem likely that it was a recent acquisition, perhaps a present. Perhaps a wedding ring placed on Sabrina’s finger only days ago.
Was she a newlywed? Had she run away from her husband? The bruises on her face would certainly indicate that she had good reason for leaving him—a frightening brute of a husband who sent her fleeing into the night. Alex realized his fist had tightened around the ring, and he forcibly relaxed it.
He surged to his feet. It was useless to sit here, trying to conjure up any more information from the objects Sabrina had with her. He had learned all he could from them, and he should get to tracking down the one lead he had obtained, the house. He would find Tom Quick while Sabrina was occupied trying on clothes.
That thought brought up a whole new set of images of Sabrina in frilly underthings, slipping dresses on and off, buttoning and unbuttoning. Better not to think about that, either. She was a guest in his home. Under his mother’s roof. He knew nothing about her. He intended to help her, not seduce her.
Alex started to put the ring back in the outer pocket, but he decided it would be more secure in an inner pocket. He reached inside the jacket, finding the slit pocket in the silk lining. Shoving the ring down into the corner, his finger touched a piece of paper. Digging deeper, he caught the bit between two of his fingers and pulled it out.
Holding it up, he studied the small plain square of heavy stock paper. A slow smile spread across his face. Tucking the bit of paper into his own breast pocket, he turned and strolled back into the house.
* * *
SABRINA SAT ON the window seat, gazing out on the garden, as she waited for the maid to come measure the hems of her new treasure trove of dresses. Since the clothes had fit her well enough, she and Megan had been able to sort through them quickly.
Dealing with the Morelands was like being sucked into a whirlwind, she’d found, and this was the first time today that she had a few minutes to stop and think. As she watched, Alex appeared at the edge of the garden and walked toward the house, his head down. Apparently, like her, he had seized some time to consider the situation.
She wondered what his conclusions were. Heaven knew, she didn’t have any herself. She felt as if she teetered on the edge of a deep abyss. How could she not know anything about herself? Absently, she reached up and rubbed her temples, hoping to soothe the ache that had been in residence there all morning.
It was easy enough to guess that she had received a blow—probably more than one—to the head and that it had caused her to lose her memory. It wouldn’t be so frightening if only she could be certain that her memory would return. But what if it didn’t? What if she never recalled who she was?
What if she was married? The thought made her blood run cold. It seemed peculiar; one would think her best hope would be to have a loved one who would be looking for her, who would be able to tell her everything about herself. Instead, she feared the idea. What if her husband showed up and he seemed a complete stranger to her? Or what if he showed up and she realized that she was frightened of him, even despised him, that she had in fact been running away from him?
She held her left hand up in front of her, scrutinizing the base of her third finger. There was no mark, no change of color in her skin, to indicate that she had worn a ring there. But of course, there would not be if she had not worn it long. She hadn’t worn the ring but had carried it in her pocket. That would seem to indicate she wasn’t married, but perhaps she had only done it because the ring looked too feminine for her masculine attire. Or maybe it had been merely wishful thinking.
Or maybe she was just grasping at straws, unwilling to believe she was married and yet felt so drawn to another man. Sighing, she let her head fall back against the wall. Closing her eyes, she thought about Alex. It was obvious that she was unfamiliar to him, yet she felt as if she knew him. The instant she saw him, elation had risen in her, as if she had found something important and exciting. Yes, she had been in a desperate state, scared and hoping for help, but what she had felt seemed much more than simply reaching a person who might be able to help her.
It wasn’t relief that sent little sparks shooting down her nerves when he smiled at her. Nor was it safety that made her insides warm just now as she watched him walking toward the house, long-legged and lean. Everything about him—the thick black hair, the soaring cheekbones, the dark slashes of his eyebrows above clear green eyes—drew her. Even the sound of his voice was somehow stirring.
It was all disturbing...yet perversely delightful, as well. Even now, just thinking about him, she felt that same heat blossom deep inside her, aching and hungry. She wondered what it would feel like to kiss him, to have his arms slide around her in a way that wasn’t about comfort or security at all. Her skin tingled at the thought of his touch.
Was this usual? Was this normal? It didn’t feel so. It felt strange and exciting. But perhaps it was quite familiar to her. How was she to know? Perhaps she was a woman of experience, and that was simply something else she’d forgotten. Perhaps she was a wanton.
She had no way of knowing, any more than she could be certain of anything about herself. She believed that she was a good person, that she had lived a pleasant, harmless life. But how could she be sure?
A quiet knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and a maid came in. Sabrina stood up, and the maid came over to kneel at her feet, beginning to measure and pin along the bottom of the skirt.
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name,” Sabrina said.
“Prudence, miss,” the girl said.
“I apologize for causing so much work.”
“Oh, there’s always something to do round the house,” Prudence responded cheerfully. “I like the sewing better than some things. I’m hoping to be a ladies’ maid one day.” She sighed. “Though then I’d have to leave Broughton House. The duchess has Sadie already, and the marchioness don’t use one.”
“I take it you enjoy working here?”
“Oh, yes, miss. Mr. Phipps is a stickler—you have to do your work well. But he’s fair. And the family is kind, even if they are a wee bit...different. There’s some that think their ways are too odd. But the animals don’t bother me, and even if I don’t understand a lot of what she says, I don’t mind when the duchess goes on about voting and sanitation and such. And it’s not fair to say Lady Thisbe blows things up. There was just that one little fire in her workroom.”
“I see.” Sabrina pressed her lips firmly together to keep from laughing.
“You have to be careful not to touch the duke’s old pots and such, of course. And Lord Bellard gets upset if you move his little men.”
“His little men?”
“The toy soldiers he has set up—a terrible lot of them.”
“Lord Bellard? There’s another child living here?”
“Oh, no, miss, Lord B’s old—he’s the duke’s uncle. He’s sweet, really, even if he never remembers your name. For myself, I’m happy not to have to dust all those little things—or the duke’s pieces of plates and cups. Some say the Morelands are too free and easy, but I like it that they don’t have their noses in the air. Everyone here gets a day off every week, not just every other, and they pay more than anyone else. The duchess insists.”
“They have been very kind to me.”
Prudence looked up at Sabrina. “Is it true what they say, miss? That Lord Alex found you and you can’t remember your name?”
“Well, I think I found him, but yes, I don’t remember my name or anything else.”
“My...” She let out a long sigh. “Isn’t that a wonder?”
“A wonder?” Sabrina glanced at her in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“It’d be grand, wouldn’t it, to be whoever you wanted? Choose your own name, where you lived, what you liked?” Prudence sat back on her heels, surveying her work with satisfaction. “There you go, miss. We can start on the next, if you’d like.”
Sabrina stared at her, struck by the girl’s words. Perhaps she was looking at her situation all wrong. Her slate was wiped clean. It didn’t matter what kind of person she had been in the past. Starting today, she could be whoever she wanted. She and she alone could decide how she wanted to act, what she wanted to be, what she thought and felt and did. She could, in short, create herself.
She should be excited, not scared. What lay before her wasn’t a deep abyss, but a limitless horizon. “Yes,” she said, a smile curving her lips. “Let’s begin.”
Chapter Five (#uce608bc7-0831-5fb2-9af9-7a30fd7564b1)
SABRINA SPENT MUCH of the afternoon trying on dress after dress while Prudence pinned the hems. However, she was sure the trouble was worth it when she saw Alex’s expression as she walked down the stairs that evening dressed as a woman. She wore a lavender silk gown that belonged to Olivia and hadn’t needed to be hemmed. Though it was largely devoid of ornamentation, it nipped in at the waist and flared to a small bustle in back, showing off her figure to perfection. The wide neckline bared her throat and much of her shoulders.
Alex’s eyes widened, growing suddenly brighter, and he jumped up from the bench where he sat and went to her, reaching up a hand to her as she came down the final two steps. “Women’s clothes become you.”
He leaned in closer, his smile small and intimate, and Sabrina thought for an instant that he was going to kiss her. Fortunately, he did not try, for she had the deep suspicion that she would have kissed him back, and that thought was even more unnerving than the light in his eyes. Kissing, she realized, was not something she was accustomed to doing, no matter how licentious her thoughts had been this afternoon.
Dinner was a small affair, with only Alex and his parents and his small, quiet uncle, Theo and Megan having a prior engagement. Sabrina was grateful. She had been nervous at the thought of meeting a duke, who surely would be more intimidating than a duchess.
However, as it turned out, the duke was a genial man—and very easy to engage in conversation. As long as she smiled and nodded now and then, he was happy to keep up a monologue about Roman and Greek architecture, artifacts, history—indeed, anything to do with ancient Greece and Rome. The fact that she understood only two-thirds of what he said was apparently not a drawback. Uncle Bellard gave her a shy smile and said nothing at all.
When the meal was over, they all lingered around the table, talking, which, memory-less as she was, Sabrina was quite sure was not the normal course of things. None of them even seemed to find it odd when the duchess had a glass of brandy along with the men.
She was grateful when Alex glanced across at her and smiled, then said, “Scintillating as I’m sure our conversation is, I suspect our guest is beginning to flag. It’s been a very long, hard day.”
Sabrina politely protested, but the duchess nodded. “Yes, of course. It’s wicked of us to keep you up, child.”
“I’ll walk you back to your room,” Alex offered.
“Perhaps you should. I got lost coming down to dinner, I’m afraid.” She stood, taking the arm he offered.
“I hope you didn’t get too lost,” Alex said as they left the room and headed toward the stairs.
“No, I wound up in the nursery wing, apparently, and the little girls’ nurse set me straight.”
“Aside from that, I hope you’ve had no problems.”
“None at all,” Sabrina quickly assured him. “Everyone has been most kind.” Even Megan had not been unpleasant about not trusting her. “I’m very grateful. I don’t know what I’d have done if your mother hadn’t taken me in. I’ve tried all afternoon to remember something, but my mind remains a blank.” She looked up at him. “Will we be able to find out who I am? Is it hopeless?”
“Not at all. You mustn’t think that. Megan already called on one of her reporter friends and set that in motion. If they hear anything pertinent, they’ll let her know. And she has other contacts. I’ve set the agency’s employee to checking out the train station, just in case someone has been there searching for you. He’s also looking around in some other areas.”
“Where? How does he know where to look?”
“Oh...well, he’ll hang about where servants might congregate, the market or taverns or such, to pick up any gossip about a lady gone missing.”
“I see.” Sabrina had the oddest feeling he was holding something back. “What can I do? I want to help.”
She expected him to tell her she could not, so she had marshaled her arguments in favor of it. But to her surprise, he merely nodded and said, “Of course. We can talk to Kyria tomorrow, see if she has any idea who you are. She and Mother and Megan are doing something, so she’ll be here in the morning.”
Sabrina realized that they were walking very slowly, dawdling as if they didn’t want to reach her bedchamber. Which was, of course, the truth, at least for her. She sneaked a sideways glance up at Alex and found him watching her.
They reached the doorway to her chamber and turned to face each other. Sabrina was intensely aware of everything about Alex. She wished she could think of something to keep him here.
“Sabrina...”
“Yes?” Did she sound too eager? She could feel her cheeks begin to flush, and her breathing was shorter and faster. His eyes were dark in the low glow of the hallway sconces; she couldn’t read them. But there was a softness to his features, a certain loosening of his mouth, that made her feel both twitchy and achy.
“I, um...” He reached out, but he only touched her shoulder and slid down her arm and away. He swallowed and took a step back. “If you need anything, I’m just down the hall.”
Sabrina nodded, doing her best to hide her sag of disappointment. “Good night.”
Impulsively he wrapped one hand around her arm and bent, pressing his lips to her forehead. “I’m glad you are here.”
He turned without looking at her and walked away, disappearing around the corner.
* * *
HE WAS RUNNING, his feet flying, his heart pounding in a wild mix of excitement and fear. They were right behind him. Freedom beckoned just beyond the dark chasm. One leap and he’d be over. Safe. One leap.
His muscles bunched, and he flew across, but the emptiness beneath him was suddenly wide and fathomless. He grabbed for the other side, but there was nothing to hold on to. He plummeted into the darkness...
Alex shot straight up in bed, drawing in breath in a desperate gasp. He was suddenly starkly awake. His skin was slick with sweat, his lungs heaving as if he had indeed been running. Though it was from the same time—the escape, the mad dash across the roof and jumping across to the roof beyond—it was not the old familiar nightmare of being locked in a room. Nor the slightly different one he had been dreaming lately. But it was, he realized with a sudden vivid clarity, the dream that he had last night, the one he could not remember but that had haunted his morning.
Throwing back the covers, he jumped out of bed and hastily pulled on the trousers he’d thrown across the chair the night before. He grabbed a shirt as he went out the door, shrugging into it as he walked swiftly down the hall. Just as he turned the corner, Sabrina’s door opened and she rushed out.
“Alex!” She flung herself across the feet between them, and he wrapped his arms around her, curling his head down over hers.
“Shh. It’s all right,” he murmured, one hand moving soothingly up and down her back. “You’re safe.”
Sabrina’s body trembled, and her arms were tight around him, pressing herself flush against him. She was soft and lithe beneath his hand, her black curls tickling the naked strip of skin between the open sides of his shirt. He pressed his lips against her head, and the sweet perfume of her hair filled his nostrils.
Alex ached to comfort her, to protect her, and yet an entirely different ache was growing in him. She wore only a cotton nightgown, and his shirt was open, the top button of his trousers still unfastened. Their bodies were as close together as they could be and still be clad. He was acutely aware of the feel of her against him, the warmth of her body, her breasts pressing into his flesh, the length of her legs against his.
He should release her. Step back. Or at least stop caressing her.
Sabrina lifted her head to look up at him. Her soft dark curls tumbled entrancingly, her eyes were huge and dark in the dim light, her lips soft. And suddenly he was kissing her. Her mouth opened beneath his, her arms lifting to curl around his neck. She was pliant in his arms, her body melting into his in a way that stirred him even more. Nightmares, good intentions, notions of propriety—all fled before the heat and hunger welling up in him.
Changing the angle of their lips, he kissed her again, his hands gliding down over the soft swell of her buttocks, lifting her up and into him. She made a small noise of surprise deep in her throat, and the sound checked him.
In that instant, he recalled where they stood and the many doors along the hall. At any moment one or the other of his infernally curious family might take it into their heads to pop out. The duke slept like the dead, but his mother did not, and the thought of what his mother might say was enough to freeze his overheated blood. This was wrong on so many levels. Sabrina was here so that he could protect her, not seduce her. She was frightened and alone. He’d be a scoundrel to take advantage of that. And, however little he might want to admit it, she might be married.
He lifted his head, his arms relaxing around her. It took another moment, another steadying breath, to step back. “I—” His voice came out a croak and he started again. “I’m sorry. Forgive me. I shouldn’t have...”
Alex shoved his hands back through his hair, fingertips pressing into his scalp as if to awaken his brain. He glanced around and was relieved to see that the corridor in either direction was still and empty.
Taking Sabrina’s hand, he whisked her into her bedchamber, closing the door softly behind him. This, of course, was more dangerous territory, but he had to talk to her and he could not risk being seen with her dressed like this in the middle of the night. Even his tolerant relatives had their limits.
“Here, sit down.” He led her to an overstuffed armchair, sitting down himself on the hassock in front of the chair. Taking both her hands in his, he said earnestly, “Deeply, sincerely, I do beg your pardon. I didn’t intend—I wouldn’t ever—You are just so beautiful. Not, of course, that it was in any way your fault,” he added hastily. “It was entirely me.”
“Not entirely.” Her voice was soft but droll, as well.
Alex looked at her sharply and saw that her eyes were twinkling. She giggled, and he relaxed and sat back. “At any rate, it was wrong of me, and I do apologize. Now, as I should have asked you to begin with, what frightened you? A nightmare?”
“Yes.” All amusement fled her face. “It was dreadful. I dreamed that I was falling.”
“Falling?” he repeated, startled.
She nodded. “I know that doesn’t sound so awful, but I was terrified. I was trying to get away from something, someone, I’m not sure what. It was all rather fuzzy. I climbed out a window, I think—it’s already fading away. Someone was reaching for me, and I tumbled out into the darkness. I was falling. I couldn’t breathe. I—” Sabrina stopped and drew a breath, her voice calmer but still shaky as she went on. “Then I woke up.”
Alex stared at her, too astonished to speak. They had both just dreamed of falling? Yes, the Morelands tended to have strange dreams, but how could this happen? Had she somehow entered his dream, experiencing his climbing out the window and racing across the roof?
“Do you think that’s what happened to me?” Sabrina lifted her hand up to the bruise on her forehead. “I fell out of a window and hit my head?”
It seemed logical. It occurred to him that perhaps his dream hadn’t been about his escape years ago at all. Maybe he had just assumed it was, his mind making the logical connection to the time he had escaped as a child and that frightening leap between rooftops. Could he have somehow experienced Sabrina’s dream? That must be utter nonsense. Yet...
“Alex?” Sabrina said tentatively.
“What? Oh.” He realized that he had been so engrossed in his thoughts that he hadn’t answered her. “Sorry. Just trying to reason all this out.” He could hardly tell her his thoughts; she would be certain he was utterly mad. “Yes, to answer your question. It does seem possible, even likely, that you fell yesterday and hit your head. I would think one very well might dream about a frightening experience. I have done so myself.”
“Really?”
He nodded, his thoughts once again going to his dream. He had sensed Sabrina’s presence this morning, but more than that, even before he saw her, he had felt her distress and confusion. If he could sense that something was wrong with her, as he was able to with his twin, perhaps tonight the terror of her dream had touched him, even in his sleep, causing him to dream something similar. Following that line of reasoning, his nightmare the night before might have been caused by Sabrina’s actual fall. It made sense—in a very peculiar way.
“The thing is,” Alex mused, “if you fell from a window and knocked yourself out, why didn’t someone find you? If you were being chased, wouldn’t the people chasing you take the opportunity to seize you? And if you were running away from your home and fell trying to climb down from your window, surely whoever was waiting for you would have seen it and come to your aid.”
“Waiting for me? What do you... Oh, I see, you mean if I were eloping, then he would have been outside.” She paused, thinking. “If that was the reason I left, it would explain that ring and why it was in my pocket instead of on my hand. I was secretly engaged, intending to get married. Maybe he wasn’t there. I was going to meet him somewhere. Only, I fell, hit my head and lost my memory. Still, as you said, whoever was reaching for me would have seen it and taken the opportunity to catch me.”
“True.” He thought for a moment. “Maybe that person wasn’t real but something your brain conjured up, a symbol of the pursuit you feared would follow.”
“So perhaps everyone was still asleep, and I came to before anyone was out of bed. Is that when I forgot who I was?”
“I don’t know. All we’re sure of is that you’d lost your memory by the time you reached London. But, whether you awoke from the fall not knowing who you were or it came to you later, when you awakened, you were aware that you must run. You sensed that someone was after you, so you took off. The same reasoning would apply whether you were eloping or a rebellious miss running off to visit her friend in London, or a schoolgirl escaping from some young ladies’ academy.” Another possibility, that she was a mistreated wife looking to escape her brute of a husband. He didn’t want to think about that.
“True.” Sabrina looked relieved. “It doesn’t have to have been that I was eloping. But why didn’t someone come after me? Wouldn’t they have searched for me?”
“We don’t know that they didn’t.” Alex wished he could call back the words when a new worry bloomed in Sabrina’s eyes.
“Of course. You’re right. They could have followed my trail. They could be here in London searching for me.”
“No need to worry about that,” he said hastily. “Even if they assumed you fled to London, how would they know where you went once you got here?”
“The driver?”
“Let’s say they questioned the driver of every hack at Paddington, the most they could possibly learn is that you’d gone to the agency. Tom Quick won’t reveal where you are, and Con isn’t even here. No, if they think you’ve gone to London, then they’re most likely to go to your friend who wrote the letter in your pocket. She will know nothing about you. Or if you come to London frequently, they’ll go to the places you normally go.”
“And I won’t be there.”
“Exactly.”
She smiled and reached out to squeeze his hand. “Thank you.”
His pulse leaped at her touch. It was mad that even so small a thing could stir him. He wanted to turn his hand over and clasp hers. Well, frankly, what he wanted to do was to pull her over into his lap and kiss her again.
“It’s, uh...” he began before realizing he had no idea what he was going to say. “Very late. We should probably go to bed.” His face warmed. “That is to say, we should sleep. I’m sure you’re tired.”
Sabrina was just looking at him, her eyes huge and serious. She was so lovely it took his breath away. And she was still wearing only a nightgown. He could see the soft rise of her breasts beneath the thin material, even the hint of the darker circle of her nipples. She had curled her legs up onto the chair, and the nightgown had fallen away a little, revealing her ankles. He could not keep from thinking about reaching out and sliding his hand up, pushing the material higher, her skin smooth beneath his fingertips.
Alex jumped to his feet. “There’s no reason to be afraid.”
“I’m not.”
“It was just a dream—nothing will hurt you here. And I’ll be right down the hall. You can call if you need me.” Why couldn’t he stop babbling?
He swung away and found himself facing her bed. The covers were tossed aside invitingly, the sheets rumpled where she had lain. His mouth went dry as dust. He couldn’t move, couldn’t look away. He wanted to touch her so much the very skin of his palms tingled.
Sabrina rose to her feet, and Alex turned back to her. She was close to him; it would be only a matter of reaching out and taking her arm. Pulling her to him. He remembered in vivid detail each moment of that kiss earlier. Her taste. Her warmth. Her softness.
“Good night,” he said hoarsely and hurried from the room.
Chapter Six (#uce608bc7-0831-5fb2-9af9-7a30fd7564b1)
SABRINA HUMMED TO herself as she fastened the buttons down the front of her shirtwaist. It was doubtless peculiar to feel so cheerful this morning after the bad dream last night, but that nightmare had been overwhelmed by the feel of Alex’s arms around her afterward. Alex’s kiss.
She smiled to herself. However little she might remember of her past, she was certain she had never felt anything as delightful. When she’d jerked awake and run from her room, she had acted instinctively, simply getting away. But when she saw Alex, she knew that what she was seeking was the safety and strength of his arms.
His embrace had provided that, warming and calming her, but as she stood pressed against him, she had become aware of much more than feeling safe. Her skin had tingled, and the feel of his body against hers, nothing but the thin cotton of her nightgown between them, had stirred her.
Lean and long, Alex was all bone and hard muscle. His shirt had hung open, unbuttoned, so her face had been pressed against his bare chest, his flesh on hers. She could smell the scent of his skin, subtle and slightly musky, and hear the rhythm of his heart. She’d felt his body suddenly flare with heat.
Sabrina had known what that flush meant, for she felt it racing through her own veins. Innately she understood the subtle signs—the almost infinitesimal alteration in his scent, the ragged draw of his breath, the way his muscles tightened. He desired her.
She had lifted her head, wanting to see his face. Wanting, if truth be known, for him to kiss her. And he had. Thinking about it, her lips curled up dreamily. His kiss had melted her, turned her quivering and mindless, for a moment a creature entirely devoid of thought or will, recognizing only the desire pouring through her. Looking back on it, it seemed a little alarming. At the time, it had been utterly right.
Perhaps she would come to regret it. It would be difficult to look at him today without blushing. If he counted her as less because of her response, she would rue it. But for those few moments, she had lived in a perfect world of pleasure. The truth was, right now she wanted nothing more than to return to it.
Sabrina pulled on her skirt and buttoned it up the side. One of the best attributes of Megan’s clothes was the ease with which one could dress oneself—buttons where one could reach them easily, fewer petticoats and only the smallest amount of padding in the back to form a bustle. Best of all, she could wear them without having to tighten herself into a corset first.
She had goggled yesterday at Megan’s breezy assurance that none of the Moreland women believed in wearing a corset. The duchess, she said, considered them a symbol of all that was wrong with women’s current place in the world, designed to render them mere ornaments incapable of performing any useful task.
Sabrina studied herself in the mirror. Though the lack of a corset made her waist less waspish than was fashionable, there was a certain grace and fluidity that was lacking with a stiff corset. Best of all, she could breathe deeply. That had been one of the most pleasant aspects about wearing male clothing.
The lines of Megan’s skirts were narrower, which, along with the smaller number of petticoats, made getting around much easier. Her clothes were also more versatile. Sabrina could wear the tailored skirt with only the cotton shirtwaist, or she could don a feminine version of a man’s jacket, one that nipped in at the waist and puffed out on the sleeves. Either way, the ensemble looked crisp and modern and somehow professional, as if the woman who wore it was capable of doing things.
It was so much better than the frilly things young girls had to wear. Sabrina considered that thought and what it meant about the void of her past life. Clearly she liked this streamlined look, so that was another thing she now knew about herself. And, given the distinct tinge of resentment in her thought, Sabrina suspected she had had to wear the ruffles and bows she disliked.
That was a curious thing. She was a grown woman, nearly twenty-one if their guess about the date on her locket was correct. Surely she would have been in charge of her own wardrobe. Sabrina frowned. Had she been so under the dominance of a husband or parents? Or, not having met the Moreland women, had she simply been unaware that the difference existed? Neither, she thought, spoke very highly for her own strength of character.
Shrugging aside the thought, she headed downstairs. The dining room at first glance was such a blur of noise and people that for a panicked moment Sabrina thought of turning around and going back to her room. There seemed to be a veritable army of children, as well as several adults, some sitting, some standing, getting food from the sideboard, reaching down to grab up a running child, gesturing—and all of them talking at once.
Alex, standing at the sideboard chatting with another dark-haired man, saw her and exclaimed, “Sabrina.”
At his word, all conversation ceased, and every eye in the place turned to Sabrina. She froze like a rabbit in the sight of a wolf. Alex set down his plate and came over to her, taking her arm and nudging her inside. “Kyria, this is Sabrina, whom I was telling you about.”
A tall, red-haired woman who could only be the duchess’s daughter kissed the child she was holding and set her down, smiling as she crossed the floor to Sabrina. Up close, Sabrina could see the faint lines beside her eyes, so Sabrina knew she must not be as young as she first appeared, but there was no gray in her vivid red hair and she was a stunning woman.
“Sabrina, this is my sister the Lady—”
“Just plain Kyria,” the elegant woman said cheerfully, reaching out to shake Sabrina’s hand. “As you can see, we don’t stand on formality here.” She waved a hand toward the table. “Don’t be alarmed by all the children. It’s mostly my brood. When they found out I was going out with Megan and Mother this morning, they insisted on coming over to ‘look after Athena and Brigid’—though it’s my opinion that they were seizing the opportunity to have a yard to play in.”
Sabrina could see now that, aside from Megan’s toddlers, there were actually only four young people, all of them with various shades of red or blond hair.
“Miss Davenport,” Kyria addressed the plainly dressed woman sitting against the far wall. “I think it’s probably time for the children to go back to the schoolroom.”
The other woman curtsied and began to round up the children and shepherd them toward the door. As this took all the children bidding each of their relatives goodbye, as well as chasing down the elusive Brigid, it was a protracted process.
“Now, dear...” Kyria turned to Sabrina. “Alex told me about your problem. Such a curious thing. I do wish I could help.” She studied Sabrina for a long moment, then sighed. “I’m sorry, but I don’t recognize you at all.” She turned toward her brother. “She’s not one of the current crop of young girls making their come-out or any from the last several years.” She held up a finger when Alex started to speak. “It’s no use arguing. Trust me, Sabrina is far too lovely for me not to remember her.”
“Then you think she’s not from London?”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t move in the same circle as Lady Kyria,” Sabrina ventured.
“Oh, I have a very wide circle—or perhaps I should say a large number of them.” Kyria smiled. “Still, you’re right, I can scarcely know every young gentlewoman in London. But you mustn’t worry, dear. Alex will help you straighten it out.”
“There are one or two avenues still to explore,” Alex assured her. “Megan asked some fellow reporters yesterday, but she hasn’t even started on her various contacts. If there’s gossip in the taverns, Tom will find it.”
Kyria linked her arm through Sabrina’s and steered her toward the table. “Now, you must put it out of your mind. You know, when you stop thinking about where something is, you find it right off. Give it a little time. Have you met Theo yet?”
Theo, it turned out, was the black-haired man Sabrina had seen talking to Alex when she first walked in. It wasn’t hard to see he was kin to Alex. Though obviously several years older than Alex and a little more fleshed out, his eyes were the same leaf green, and his hair was as thick and dark. There was about him a more rough-and-tumble look than she would have expected in a future duke.
“Come, let me introduce you to my husband, Rafe.” Kyria led Sabrina toward a blond-haired man chatting with Uncle Bellard. Sabrina was surprised to see the diminutive, hunch-shouldered Bellard talking so volubly to anyone.
As if sensing her thoughts, Kyria said, “Rafe and Uncle Bellard are good friends. People are always surprised. They assume that Rafe’s so handsome and charming that he’s empty-headed, or that because he’s an American, he’s rather primitive—of course, that could also be because he has a sad tendency to settle things with his fists. But he and Uncle share a love of history.” She smiled fondly. “Don’t get caught in one of their conversations or you’ll soon be struggling to keep your eyes open.”
Both men stood as Kyria and Sabrina approached, Rafe’s gaze resting on his wife with such warmth and love it was almost too intimate for company. It was easy to see why he was labeled handsome and charming. The sprinkling of gray in his hair mingled unobtrusively with the pale gold strands, and his eyes were a bright blue. A neatly trimmed Vandyke beard kept his even features from being too perfect.
When Kyria introduced him, McIntyre gave Sabrina a slow smile that lit his face, then he bowed gracefully over her hand and said, “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”
His voice was rich and thick, like honey, with a faint slur that made it as lazy and warm as his smile. Sabrina imagined that a good number of women would not look past the charm to see the intelligence beneath. But Sabrina caught the shrewd expression in those vivid eyes, as wary as Megan’s had been, and she knew that he, too, was suspicious of her.
“Sit down and eat,” Kyria said, tugging Sabrina down into the seat beside her. “Alex, get the girl some breakfast.”
“I can do it,” Sabrina began, starting to rise.
“No, no, let Alex,” Kyria said lightly, placing a hand on her arm, and though she smiled, Sabrina wondered if Kyria, too, held some suspicions about her. “I’m so eager to chat with you, and Mother and Megan and I must be leaving soon.”
“You are going shopping?” Sabrina asked. Surely it was too early for making calls.
“Shopping?” Kyria laughed, exchanging a glance with Megan, who also seemed amused. “No. We’re going to a gathering in Downing Street.”
“Gathering?”
“Yes, it’s a little impromptu demonstration that we’ve been planning for days.” Kyria’s eyes twinkled.
“What are you demonstrating?”
“Our support for women’s suffrage,” the duchess declared. “We want to show the prime minister that we will not be put off. No matter how long it takes, we will continue to fight.”
“Mother is hoping we’ll get arrested.”
“Arrested?” Rafe turned to his wife with alarm. “You’re going to jail? Kyria... No. You can’t.”
“I can’t?” Kyria cocked an eyebrow at him.
He changed tactics, his voice turning to a wheedling tone. “Be reasonable, darling. I can’t let you rot in a cell. I’d have to break you out, and then I’d wind up there myself. What are our children going to do with two prisoners for parents?”
Kyria chuckled and patted his arm. “Don’t worry, they won’t arrest us.”
“The prime minister is terrified of the duchess,” Megan explained.
“Salisbury,” the duchess said, her mouth turning down in disgust. “That dreadful man. His beard is bigger than his brain. And his spirit is smaller than either.”
“You’ll never sway Salisbury,” Uncle Bellard told her, shaking his head. “He didn’t even want to give workingmen the vote.”
“No, of course not.” She sighed. “Still, one has to forge ahead. Someday we’ll manage to get their attention.”
“Don’t fret, Emmeline.” The duke smiled benignly at his wife and reached over to pat her hand. “I’m certain you’ll get arrested one of these days.”
The duchess laid her hand on his. “Thank you, dear.”
The conversation continued in the way Sabrina soon learned was the normal course in the Moreland household—the room was lively and noisy and filled with laughter, as there was talking across the table and down it, multiple conversations with the participants switching from one conversation to another and topics wandering all about.
At one point, Megan, across the table from Sabrina, leaned forward and said confidingly, “Yes, it’s always like this. You’ll get used to it after a while. The first few days I was here, I was surprised. It was more like my family’s mealtimes, not what I expected from the British aristocracy.”
“It’s quite...wonderful, I think.” Sabrina grinned. “I have the feeling, though, that it’s not what I’m accustomed to.”
“Still no glimmer of memory?”
“No.” Sabrina went on to tell her of her dream the night before, carefully expurgating what followed afterward with Alex. “So I wonder if I might have fallen.” She shrugged. “That seemed important information last night. Now I don’t know if that’s really any help.”
“It’s a new bit of knowledge—it’s bound to help. I promise, as soon as we’re done at the Women’s Franchise League, I’ll start making the rounds of my contacts.”
The meal wore down and the women left, with Rafe and Theo offering to escort them to their destination. Alex rose and turned to Sabrina. “Ready to investigate?”
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- Жанр: Зарубежные любовные романы, Историческая литература, Исторические любовные романы, Современная зарубежная литература
- Язык: Книги на английском языке
- Объём: 350 стр. 3 иллюстрации
- ISBN: 9781474081276
- Дата выхода книги: 11 мая 2019
- Версия: 📚 Электронная книга
A lost identity. A handsome protector. And a mysterious crime…When an unknown gentleman arrives on his doorstep, Alexander Moreland is astonished to discover that the stranger is a beautiful woman disguised as a man and in great need of his help. The woman remembers nothing except her name, Sabrina, and has only the contents of her pockets as clues to her identity: a handkerchief, a pocket watch, a leather pouch, a torn scrap of paper and a gold ring.Sabrina is certain that she is on the run from someone or something – how else to explain her bruises and the pervasive sense of dread she feels? She’s also certain that she can trust Alex to assist her and is all too aware of the attraction she feels for him. As they race through the streets of Victorian London, Sabrina and Alex must solve the mystery of Sabrina’s past—before whatever she’s running from finds them!
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