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M arjorie halted, uncertain whether she should run or try and devise some sort of excuse. Sleepwalking?

Simon rose from the couch behind her. “I bloody well knew you would do something like this,” he said.

“What?” she said. “Where am I?”

“Do not pretend to be sleepwalking. You don’t remember me, Marjorie, but I know you. Very well.”

She turned to see him coming around the couch, where he’d obviously been sleeping.

He wore loose black trousers, and his white linen shirt was untucked.

But nothing was rumpled or wrinkled. Even his hair was still in place.

Still, seeing him in shirtsleeves seemed incredibly intimate.

She might have been tempted to kiss him again if not for the scowl on his face.

She took a step back. “From all accounts, I slipped out last night. You don’t have to be an astute observer to assume I might try it again. But perhaps ask yourself why I want to get away from you so much.”

“I can’t speak to your motives tonight, but last night had nothing to do with me. Of that, I’m sure. I’ll ask again, where were you going?” Those lovely blue eyes were filled with a mixture of anger and concern. He was obviously annoyed, but he wasn’t threatening. She wasn’t afraid of him.

Perhaps she should have been.

“I was going to the village.”

“The village? Why? You don’t even know how to get there—unless your amnesia is some sort of ploy I don’t know about—in which case, you must be the most skilled actress in the world because your entire personality has changed. Not to mention, you allowed me to kiss you.”

He wasn’t making any sense. She allowed him to kiss her? She’d wanted him to kiss her.

“The village, Marjorie. Why?” he demanded, coming even nearer.

“To fetch a magistrate,” she shot back.

All the anger in his expression fell, replaced by confusion. “Why?” he asked, seeming truly not to know. Oh, now who was the actor?

“Because I love my country, and you, sir, are a traitor.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about that meeting with the smugglers this afternoon. I overheard your conversation, and I know you want to help them run the British blockade and deliver weapons to the French.”

He took a step back, leaning on the back of the couch and raking a hand through his hair. “No, I don’t.”

“I heard you, Simon.” Let him try and explain this away.

“You misunderstood. Those smugglers are working for our side—the British side. They have weapons, yes, but they’ve been hired to run the French blockade of Spain and Portugal and deliver these weapons to our troops fighting in Spain. Redcoats under the command of General Wellesley.”

Marjorie put a hand to her head, which had begun to throb. Her mind was going back over the conversation from earlier. “They work for England?” She hadn’t thought of that.

“Yes. The captains came here to find out the rendezvous point in Europe. They’ll meet our counterparts there who will take possession of the arms and transport them to the battlefields.”

“Our counterparts?”

“That’s right. I told you earlier I work for the Foreign Office. So do you.”

She shook her head. Women did not work in the government. Did they?

“It’s true. In fact, you’re one of the best agents out there.

Which is why Melbourne entrusted the location of the rendezvous point to you.

And only you. Now you understand why I had to put off the captains earlier tonight.

I can’t exactly tell them the spy with the information they need can’t even remember her own name, much less the location they need if they’re to have a chance in hell of successfully delivering their cargo. ”

“I should—”

“Sit down?” He took her elbow and led her to the couch.

“I didn’t want to dump all this on you. I kept hoping your memory would come back to you, and I wouldn’t have to.

I should have known you’d leave me little choice.

” He put a pillow behind her back then crossed to the drinks cart and poured her a glass of wine, taking a brandy for himself.

“You might not remember who you are, but you still have the same instincts. I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep anything from you for long. ”

She sipped the wine and tried to take in everything he was saying. She possessed knowledge about a rendezvous point? She was integral to the war effort?

“I’m sure you have a dozen questions,” he said, sitting beside her.

“Hundreds.”

“I’ll answer as many as I can, but now that you know the stakes, the real question is how we can retrieve that memory about the rendezvous point.

There’s only a short window of time in which the scheme will work.

We can’t let our men in Europe wait too long or they risk capture.

And we don’t want the smugglers arriving too late or all these weapons will fall into enemy hands.

So if there is the name of a Portuguese or Spanish location floating in your head somewhere, now would be a good time to mention it. ”

Marjorie closed her eyes, praying the black cloud that hovered there would be gone.

But her mind was dark. She could shed light on the information she’d gained in the last eighteen hours but nothing more.

She gingerly pushed on the darkness for anything Spanish or Portuguese.

She tried to picture the countries on a map or conjure the names of cities or capitals.

Absolutely nothing was there, and her head began to hurt more than before.

She opened her eyes, and she must have looked as defeated as she felt because Simon blew out a breath of frustration.

“Perhaps if I was shown a map,” she said. “I might see the name of a place that would shake something loose.”

“That’s a good idea. We’ll go into the village first thing in the morning. They’re sure to have a shop with maps and navigation tools for the ships that come into the small port. It will be mostly fishing vessels, but this is Cornwall and pirates and smugglers aren’t unheard of.”

“Did this Melbourne send me with any papers or documents? Perhaps I should search my portmanteau. I might have hidden something in it.” She began to rise, but Simon put a hand on her arm.

His hand was warm, and the frisson that passed through her body at his touch reminded her of the flash of heat from their earlier kiss.

“I already thought of that,” he said. “While you were sleeping, I searched all your belongings. I even cut open the top of your luggage. There was nothing. I didn’t expect there to be.

You’re careful, and leaving important documents in a piece of luggage that might be lost or stolen is a mistake you’d never make. ”

He sounded as though he respected her, even admired her work. Marjorie couldn’t imagine that she was the sort of person who would ever be so cunning. She probably should be offended that he’d searched her things, but they didn’t feel like her things. She didn’t remember any of them.

“Have you had any other ideas?” she asked.

He looked over at her in surprise, and she wondered if she didn’t usually ask for his input. But given that he was her husband and, apparently, her fellow agent, why wouldn’t she?

“Yes,” he said. “Most of them I’ve discarded, but a few I’ve been turning about in my mind.”

“Go ahead,” she said, sensing he needed encouragement to keep speaking. Was she his superior? He was treating her with deference the more they discussed work.

“I’ve been thinking about memory, how we form memories and what triggers memories.

In books I’ve read, the author will sometimes have a character enter a space and that physical place will bring back a memory.

It might be a literary convention, but I know from experience that when I walk into my childhood home and see, for example, the wooden chair where I was told to sit if I misbehaved, it reminds me of those misdeeds. ”

“Were you guilty of many misdeeds?” she asked.

“Enough that I can remember many days in the corner with my spine against the hard back of that chair. My father was a vicar, and he had a mild temper. A less patient man would have beaten me and my brothers until we couldn’t sit for days.”

“He sounds like a good man, and your theory has weight. Unfortunately, it seems time is of the essence. I imagine London is more than a few hours’ ride.”

“My theory didn’t end there. The more I thought of my childhood home, the more I considered the role scent might also have in memory. Each place has a unique scent, but some scents like fresh bread or roses or the incense in a church evoke memory. Taste is much the same.”

She was nodding now. “Perhaps when walking about the village, I might encounter a scent that will evoke a memory.”

“Or if we go to a public house, you might taste something that brings a memory back. I am hopeful memory is like dominoes. When one falls, then the rest fall too.”

“Dominoes?”

“Yes.” He stood and went to a shelf that held a few porcelain figures and a couple of books filled with sermons.

He took a small wooden box and set it on the floor before the couch.

Marjorie rose and knelt beside him as he lifted out rectangular white tiles with black dots on one side. “Do these look familiar?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“I doubt you were ever one for games,” he said.

“My friend had a set like this when I was young. Before we knew how to play and calculate, we would line them up on the floor of his home like this.” Simon began setting the tiles upright, one behind the other until a long line of them snaked about the floor.

“Now, knock that first one down,” he said when he was finished.

Marjorie touched it with her finger, and it toppled, striking all the others so they fell too, making a clatter on the wooden planks.

Simon moved beside her and began to arrange the dominoes again, lifting the first. “This initial domino is a key memory. Once it is uncovered, all the rest will be revealed as well.”