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As exhausted as he was, he could not allow her to keep watch on her own. She was injured and not herself. Probably best not to argue with her, though. A compromise? “Why don’t we work together? One of us can sleep on the couch while the other keeps watch in the chair. After two hours, we switch.”

“Very well. The person keeping watch wakes the other immediately if anything suspicious occurs.”

“Agreed. The only matter to settle is who keeps watch first. I’ll take the first watch and wake you about half past two.” Except if the night was uneventful and she was sleeping, he wouldn’t wake her. She needed her sleep.

“I don’t think so. You’ve already been on watch. I’ll take the first one and you rest.”

“I’d rather—”

“If you don’t trust me then just lie on the couch with one eye open. But you’d be smarter to sleep so you are fresh for your shift.”

“Fine.” He knew he was beaten and would rather not waste more time arguing about the matter. He stretched out on the couch, his feet dangling over the end, and pulled the crocheted blanket draped over the back to cover him. She went to a chair to the right of his head and sat.

“Should I close the shutter on the lamp?” she asked.

“No. If they think we’re awake, they may not attempt to break in.”

“But don’t we want to catch them?”

Simon did want to catch whoever hit Marjorie on the back of the head and left her for dead, but not while she was injured and more of a liability than an asset. “When your memory comes back, we’ll lay a trap for your attacker. Until then, we should avoid confrontation.”

“I hate to agree, but I do. I can’t remember the first thing about firing a pistol. I couldn’t even tell you if I’ve ever held one. I don’t think I’d be much help if we were attacked.”

“Wake me at half two,” he said, and closed his eyes, though he had no intention of sleeping.

With only the sound of the ticking clock on the bookshelf, Simon allowed his thoughts to drift.

Of course, they went right back to how he’d felt holding Marjorie in his arms. How her hands on him had aroused him.

How her lips had been sweeter than he’d dreamed.

She’d probably hate him even more once her memory returned.

She’d blame him for what passed between them, and he couldn’t even argue that she’d been the one who kissed him, the one that crawled into his lap.

She’d say she hadn’t been herself, and that was true.

That was why he’d stopped her, even when every fiber of his being had told him to take her to bed.

He wanted Marjorie, not only her body or half her mind.

He wanted all of her, and that included her flaws.

Not that he was under any illusion he’d ever have her. But he could always remember tonight.

***

A T HALF-PAST TWO, THE clock chimed, and Simon sat up.

Marjorie had known he wasn’t sleeping. His breathing wasn’t deep or regular.

But he was resting. Meanwhile, she had listened for any unusual creak or scrape.

The ticking of the clock, the settling of the house, and the constant crash of the waves on the rocks were the only sounds she heard.

She told him as much when he asked if she’d heard anything.

“Good. I’ll wake you at half four, but if they haven’t come by then, they won’t try tonight.”

They traded places, she sinking into the couch cushions, which were still warm from his body. She pulled the blanket about her and the faintest scent of him wafted past her nose. That scent was so familiar and so comforting. She really could not believe she had hated him before.

“Simon?” she said, looking over at the chair where he sat with one leg crossed over the other.

“Hmm?”

“You said my name was Marjorie Burrows. If we’re not married, is that my name?”

“No. I should have told you before. I simply forgot. You’re Marjorie Clawson.”

Marjorie Clawson. She’d hoped hearing her true full name would stir something in her, but it sounded like that of a stranger. “You’re sure? Do people call me Margie or—”

“God, no. Another agent tried it one time, and you all but took her head off. In fact, we don’t usually use Christian names when speaking. You call me Burrows and I call you Clawson or Agent Clawson.”

“Burrows.” Saying it was pleasant and not foreign. “Burrows,” she tried again. She glanced up at him. “Is that how I say it?”

“No. You say it like, Burrows! ”

“I do not bark like that.”

“You do. It’s practically one syllable when you speak it.”

She sighed and closed her eyes. “I really am quite insufferable, aren’t I?”

He shrugged. “You just don’t have time for social niceties.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I’m afraid I’m quoting you.”

She pulled the blanket over her head, which did not help as it only brought his smell closer to her nose.

All the while she’d been keeping watch, she’d had to force her eyes not to slide over to him.

But how could she not want to look at him?

In the lamplight, she could see the planes of his face and imagine how warm she would be if she climbed under the blanket with him.

But instead of doing what she wanted, she’d risen and built up the fire in the hearth. Now, under the blanket, she was almost too warm. “Simon?” she said, still under the blanket.

“Yes?”

“Don’t ever quote me again.”

“Noted.”

She closed her eyes and tried to picture herself marching about barking people’s names and telling everyone she had no time for social niceties.

She didn’t like that image very much and decided to imagine herself as Agent Clawson.

What did agents do? Could she fire a gun?

Punch enemies of the state? Decode secret messages?

She thought about asking Simon— Burrows —but instead she drifted off.

When she woke, the sun was streaming through the open windows and the sea breeze tickled her face. The sound of gulls calling as they dove for food was familiar. She didn’t have a direct view of the ocean, but she could imagine it was dark blue under a vibrant azure sky.

“It’s not half four,” she said.

“No, missus,” came the voice of a girl. Marjorie looked over the back of the couch and saw the maidservant Barbara carrying an armful of linens from her bedchamber.

“It’s almost eight. I didn’t want to disturb you, but Mr. Burrows said I could change the bedchamber linens as you were sleeping out here.

If I might ask, missus, is there anything amiss with the bed? ”

“No, not at all. I’m sleeping on the couch because.

..” Oh, no. Now she had to think of a lie.

She couldn’t tell the girl she was in the sitting room to keep watch for intruders.

But even before she could turn possibilities over in her mind, a lie came out of her mouth.

“Mr. Burrows snores. I couldn’t sleep with all that noise. ”

“Oh, I understand, missus. My father snores. Sometimes it feels like the whole house is shaking with his snoring. I’ll just take these out to the washing tub.” She indicated the sheets in her arms. “There’s tea and toast in the kitchen. Mr. Burrows said you were going into the village for dinner.”

“That’s right. Don’t let me keep you.” She waited until she heard the back door close behind the servant girl before she stood up. She didn’t want to have to explain why Mr. Burrows’s snoring caused her to sleep fully dressed.

Just then the door to his chamber opened, and he emerged.

The scent of shaving soap proceeded him, and her gaze went right to his clean-shaven jaw.

How was it possible that he looked even more handsome with his stubble shaven?

And how was it possible that he should be so well-dressed even without the help of a manservant?

He wore a navy coat, a dove-gray waistcoat, and navy breeches with riding boots so polished she thought she would see her reflection in them if she bent over to inspect them.

Meanwhile, she was standing in her wrinkled, drab dress from the day before, hair still mussed from sleep.

“You’re awake,” he said, smiling at her, his gaze appreciative, as though she didn’t look like she’d never seen a hairbrush in her life.

“I am, and according to Barbara, it’s eight o’clock, not half four, as it should be.”

He winced. “You were sleeping so soundly that I couldn’t bear to wake you. Anything come back to you this morning?”

Her anger faded as she looked down and turned her thoughts inward.

“My head doesn’t ache as much,” she said, though it was still incredibly tender if she touched the spot where she’d been hit.

She was able to remember her name—Clawson, not Burrows—and the nature of her mission.

She recalled everything they’d spoken of the night before and what had happened since she’d opened her eyes in that cave by the sea.

But if she pushed to recall anything before that, the dark mist swirled about and obscured everything. She clenched her hands. “No.”

He was before her instantly, taking her hands in his. “It’s fine. You will remember.”

“And if I don’t?”

His expression said everything. The troops waiting for those weapons might as well be lost if she didn’t remember.

“It’s just so frustrating,” she said. “I know there’s something there, but I can’t grasp at it.

It’s like when I dangle a string before Tabby and snatch it away before he can pounce on it. I almost have it.”

“You have a cat named Tabby?”

She waved a hand. “That’s not important. We should focus.”

But he grabbed her by the shoulders. “Marjorie, you remembered something. You have a cat named Tabby . What else do you remember about the cat?”

A cat! “Simon, I have a cat!”

“Quick. What does the cat look like? How old? Does she live with you now or was she a childhood pet? Don’t think; just answer.”

She understood his reasoning. She seemed to remember more when she wasn’t trying.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t not try. And as soon as she pushed on the darkness in her mind, it seemed to grow thicker and close in.

She blew out a breath. “I don’t know. When I think of cats, there’s just..

.nothing. I mean, I know what a cat is, but I don’t have a picture in my mind or any reference. ”

“Don’t worry.” He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “It will come to you. Are you ready for our jaunt to the village? Something there may very well topple that key domino.”

She took her time changing into a high-waisted green dress with cream sleeves.

She added a matching green spencer with a cream collar and piping.

Clearly, she’d packed this outfit with some intention.

Was it in case Simon took her into the village?

But he said she’d hated him, so perhaps she would have gone into the village alone.

What an idiot she must have been. She would much rather have Simon’s company than go alone.

She started putting her hair up, almost as though it was something she did without thinking, but as soon as she tried to run a brush through it to gather the loose pieces, she winced with pain.

Better to finger comb her long, brown hair into a tail, which she secured with a green ribbon.

Then she gingerly placed a straw hat on her head and tied the green and white-striped ribbon under her chin.

A quick glance at the mirror told her she looked much improved.

Her brown eyes were clear and there was a bit of color in her cheeks.

She stepped out of her chamber, and Simon turned from the bookshelf.

The book he’d been holding dropped to the floor, but he didn’t even look down.

“You dropped your book,” she said, pointing.

“Did I?”

Marjorie looked down at her dress. “Is this a poor wardrobe choice?”

“No. It’s just—I’ve never seen you wear anything like that. You always dress so—well, never mind.”

“You can say it. Drab.” She thought back to the gray dress she’d been wearing the morning she woke on the beach. “I looked through my wardrobe, and this was the only garment that wasn’t hideous. I always dress badly, I take it.”

“I always assumed you didn’t want to call attention to yourself. Either that or you wanted the male agents to appreciate your mind, not your pretty face. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“You think I’m pretty?” she asked. She’d looked at herself in the mirror, but her face was that of a stranger and she couldn’t remember any other faces to compare it with.

“No, not pretty. Beautiful. The first time I saw you, I made a complete arse of myself because I couldn’t manage to speak a coherent word. You were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. No wonder you thought I was an idiot.”

“I’m sure I didn’t think that,” she said, looking down to hide the blush that heated her cheeks.

“I’m confident you did. You’re different now. You seem more patient and more open, but it’s more than that. Your mannerisms have changed. I wouldn’t think you the same person if I didn’t see those little glimpses of your old self in there.”

“Do you think when I remember everything, I’ll start to hate you again and be awful to everyone?”

“I don’t know, but if you do, please forget about this conversation. I’d rather you didn’t convince Melbourne to send me to Blackfriars to sit in a rat-infested flat and keep watch on some local gang leader.”

“I give you my word, I won’t allow you to be sent to Blackfriars. It sounds awful.”

He proffered his arm, and she took it without thinking. Once again, her instincts were stronger than her memory.

“Shall we, wife?”

She’d forgotten they were supposed to be married, but of course, outside of the cottage they would have to keep up the ruse. She rather thought she’d enjoy pretending to be Simon Burrows’s wife.

“I’m ready for anything.”