Page 12 of Escape of the Bridegroom (Escape #2)

I n fact, Eve was wondering the same thing, though for entirely different reasons. She had, apparently, preferred this rather ordinary, middle-aged man to Aidan .

With a growing sense of unreality, she took in Mr. Neville’s gentle, worn and worried face—the face of a good, hard-working man she could never look down upon. It was not even a matter of comparing it to Aidan’s handsome countenance. Though she could not actually remember any of them, she knew there were many handsome men in the world. It was Aidan’s urgency for life, the vital blaze of his eyes, the sheer humour and joy of constantly changing thoughts and expressions that was lacking in Mr. Neville. There was no spark.

And yet she would have married him rather than the beautiful, fascinating man beside her. Even now she could feel that spark, burning into her fingers, spreading through her veins into some kind of unstoppable conflagration.

Love. Of course I love Aidan. So...

She smiled a little tentatively. “Forgive me. I’m afraid I don’t yet recall anything or anyone.”

Miranda, the rather lovely young woman who was her sister, sniffed. “You remember him well enough, though, don’t you?” She jerked her head at Aidan.

“I know who he is,” Eve said. “But no, I don’t remember him from before the accident.”

“What happened?” Mr. Romilly demanded, glaring at Aidan as though he were to blame.

“We don’t quite know,” Aidan said calmly, “but it happened during a large scale burglary at Grand Court when Eve was abducted, possibly for the jewels in her ballgown.”

Miranda’s jaw dropped. “Jewels in her gown? Eve ?”

This confused Eve, since the jewels in the ballgown were the only evident thing she knew of herself. She clung to Aidan’s comforting fingers, anchoring herself.

Fortunately, Garrick bustled up, talking of rooms and dinners and the strangers moved away with him and his wife, everyone talking at once.

“I rather think our peace is over,” Eve murmured ruefully.

“Is nothing familiar about any of them at all?” Aidan asked.

She shook her head. “They confuse me even more.”

His arm came around her shoulders in a quick, brief hug that made her heart beat faster. “I’m sorry. I thought they would help.”

She smiled up at him. “I expect they will in time.”

Still, she could not help regretting the loss of their solitude. She felt weighed down by the need to justify herself to her family, even to Mr. Neville, whereas Aidan just let her be. And the flowering of their knowledge of each other was precious to her. Clearly there had been difficulties between them before, resentments and quarrels caused largely by their reasons for marrying in the first place. His debts, her rich father’s social ambitions, the thwarting of her own marriage plans.

To Mr. Neville.

Inconceivable .

They dined early again, this time in company with Eve’s unfamiliar family.

Miranda came downstairs complaining that she had to share a bedchamber with her aunt. Her disgust increased when she realized they were not the only people dining in the common room.

“What a nasty little house!” she said, shuddering. “Are there no private parlours to be had, my lord?”

“I’m afraid not. This is a small house and there is very limited space.”

Miranda brightened suddenly. “I have a brilliant notion! Why do we not repair to Grand Court? If Lady Grandison invited you to return...”

“She has no room for all of us,” Aidan said firmly. “And in any case, we await the doctor’s permission for Eve to travel.”

“She looks fine to me,” Miranda muttered.

“Why does she want to go to Grand Court?” Eve murmured to Aidan when she could.

“To meet marriageable gentlemen,” he whispered back. “Preferably a duke, though a mere earl is the highest ranking nobleman present there, and he is betrothed to Harriet Cole...”

Eve nodded her understanding. It was vaguely funny, but she wondered if she too had been such a blatant climber. If so, it would certainly explain Aidan’s reluctance to marry her. She wondered if she had been close to her sister, for she did not much like her now. She did not much like any of them—except possibly Mr. Neville—which she knew to be undutiful and made her feel guilty. The thing was, she had the odd sense they did not much like her. They were not here to care for her so much as to make use of her. Behind their smiles and complaints and watchful eyes, she sensed they were plotting.

After dinner, they all pronounced themselves exhausted by their journey from London and retired early.

“Mrs. Radcliffe?” Aidan suggested. “Or a short walk?”

“The walk first,” she decided. Her head, which had merely ached in a mild, nagging kind of way throughout the day, had begun to hurt more sharply again during dinner, and she thought the fresh air would do her good.

They strolled in companionable silence through the inn yard and along the short gravel drive to the main road. As her headache began to ease, she realized how aware she was of the man at her side, the feel of his strong arm under her fingers, the quick, restless grace of his movements, the clean, masculine scent of him among the fresh, night smells of the countryside.

She said abruptly, “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes?”

“Who did you give up to marry me?”

His glance was so plainly surprised that it was a relief. “No one. Why should you imagine there was?”

“I don’t know. It just popped into my head when I met Mr. Neville. I think you must be a popular man and no stranger to women. You like me well enough to look after me now, yet you resented marrying me for the money.”

He grimaced. “It is how marriages of convenience work. I always knew I would have to marry money in the end, for the sake of my family and the land, but I always imagined it would be a time and a lady of my own choosing. I resented the whole situation, the debts, my own pride...but mostly I was angry about the trickery.”

Her eyes widened. “My father tricked you?”

He shook his head. “I think he did, a little, but as you pointed out, that was my fault. I did not read the agreement properly before I signed it. I underestimated him and overestimated him at the same time.”

“Was I complicit?” she asked, frowning.

“No, I think it was as big a surprise to you as to me. And of course, you had Mr. Neville, though your father disapproved.” His gaze remained on her face. “Did it hurt you to see him again?”

She sighed. “It baffled me. He is a good man but he is not a...a romantic man.”

He smiled. “Neither am I.”

“Mrs. Radcliffe would agree with me that you are. Are you truly not in love with anyone else?”

“I don’t think I understood love. Women were a pleasure to me, a treat, like the best of foods and wines and games all rolled into one. Not the living, breathing, maddening, human reality. Not one of them was truly part of my life.”

Her heart hammered away in her breast. She said, “I...I want you to know that even though I can’t remember anything, I am content with our marriage. I would like to be part of your life. You are all of mine.”

He stopped beneath the spreading branches of the inn’s apple tree that grew over the fence. The light from the moon showed her the wonder in his eyes, a sort of surprised tenderness. His hand came up and touched her cheek.

“You are too sweet and too kind. And I am trying very hard not to take advantage of you. Of your vulnerability. Between us, your father and I took away the choices that were your right. I want you to choose from knowledge.”

“How very chivalrous of you,” she said shakily.

His lips twitched. “I thought so.”

But his gaze was on her mouth, and her own dropped without permission to his. Greatly daring, she stood on tiptoe and kissed his lips, a quick, shy salute that made his breath catch in surprise and her own vanish altogether.

His hand moved, cupping her cheek while his thumb touched the corner of her mouth. He bent his head and kissed her back, a soft, tender caress that melted her bones with sweetness. And then his mouth fastened with more purpose and invaded.

She clutched him for support, her arms sliding up around his neck, while he held her to his strong hard body and the kiss went on and on and—

From nowhere, it seemed, she saw another vision of Aidan with a woman who was not her, though they were kissing just like this. The picture flitted through her mind and vanished before she could grasp it. But as though he felt her withdrawal, he raised his head.

“Forgive me. You are too sweet, and I’m afraid it’s my impatient nature to move too fast.”

“I kissed you first,” she whispered, and he smiled.

“I’m so glad you did. Allow me more kisses, only not now when you have made me weak.”

“You don’t seem weak.”

“Trust me, I am falling.”

She didn’t quite know what he meant by that, but at least when he turned them back toward the inn and drew her hand back to the crook of his elbow, he kept her close to him.

She said, “I remembered something. Another kiss.”

“I never kissed you before tonight. I expect it was Neville,” he added, tightening his lips.

“It was you. But not me.”

He glanced at her frowning.

She shook her head. “I don’t know where it came from. Imagination, probably. It just felt real, only I can’t make it lead anywhere else.”

“That might be a good thing. Though it leads me to hope you might have been jealous.”

“Of whom?”

“Of anyone,” he said vaguely. “A little hot chocolate and Mrs. Radcliffe?”

“Perfect.”

***

“W ELL!” DR. ELLS, THOROUGHLY searching her face when he called the following morning, actually smiled. “You are looking much better.”

“I feel very well,” Eve said cheerfully. She was up and dressed already, having enjoyed another companionable night in the same room as her husband. Her husband who had kissed her... She had fallen asleep recalling every moment of that kiss, and every word of the conversation surrounding it. It made her very happy and excited, as did their every interaction since. Trying to keep her wayward mind on what the doctor needed to know, she added, “And my head barely hurts at all, unless I touch it.”

“I’ll take a quick look at it.” He reached down to unwind the bandage. “Do I gather your memory has returned?”

“No, not yet.”

He must have heard something in her voice because he cast a sharp glance at her face while he worked.

“It no longer troubles me so much,” she explained. “I can be happy in the present.”

“You have your family here now. That must make you feel more comfortable.”

“Not really,” she said honestly. “It is my husband who comforts me.” She hoped she wasn’t blushing.

“Is it?” the doctor said. “He led me to believe you were not close before your accident.”

“It is strange how things work out.”

“This is healing well,” the doctor pronounced. “No corruption. Any signs of fever?”

“None.”

“Good.” He placed a fresh dressing on her wound and wound the bandage back around her head to hold it in place. Then he stood looking down at her. “Don’t fight the memories, Mrs. Wolf—I beg your pardon, Lady Wolf. Life is not a fairytale with just one happy-ever-after.”

“I’m not fighting against them,” she assured him. “In fact, there was a moment yesterday evening when I did recall something—or thought I did—but it was like a flash I could not relate to anything else.”

“To do with the accident?”

“No, I don’t think so. Am I well enough to travel now, doctor?”

“I would not like you to be jolted all over the country. Unless you are very uncomfortable here, I would stay put for another few days.”

“Thank you.” In truth she was relieved, for although the presence of her family had disrupted her guilty comfort somewhat, she had a notion that going home—to Aidan’s home —would end their growing closeness. They would have separate bedrooms, probably, and separate lives.

She wondered again if they had ever been intimate. Had there been a wedding night, a consummation? And how was it her mind knew of such impersonal things as the ways of the world? Things she must have been taught, such as how to read and write. The Bible. Shakespeare. Even Mrs. Radcliffe. History. Pieces of music. Right and wrong. Love. And yet she could not recall her own name, her homes, the people in her life.

The doctor looked at her, his expression faintly troubled, for a few moments more. He seemed about to speak, then merely inclined his head and picked up his bag.

“Good morning, Lady Wolf.”

***

A IDAN HAD DELIBERATELY left his wife alone with the doctor this time, aware that there were intimate matters she might well wish to discuss. He was very aware he had done nothing to earn the warmth of her closeness, that it was to some degree false, a clinging to some anchor in what must be a very frightening, dark sea.

He should never have kissed her, of course. Not until she could recall her true feelings, at least. She had just been so sweet and tempting...and utterly desirable. He had never been so moved by a mere kiss.

How odd, when he had barely brought himself to look at her before. He hadn’t even known she was beautiful when he’d married her. He had noticed her outward placidity hid strength of character and unexpected spirit, but she really was a completely delightful companion. Quick of wit and humour, thoughtful, warm, compassionate, so...Eve. She was unique, and he had only just begun to realize it.

And now he started to fear the return of her memory when she would remember the true Aidan.

Ruefully, he clattered downstairs in search of more coffee—it was raining outside and a walk was unappealing—and discovered the common room empty save for Mr. Neville tucking into breakfast. He nodded to the clergyman in response to his civil “Good morning,” and wandered into the kitchen.

Mrs. Garrick shooed him out again, though at least with the requested coffee.

Neville half-rose from his seat again. “Join me, my lord?”

Aidan did not wish to join him. But curiosity as to the nature of this man’s relationship with his wife got the better of him. He sat down opposite him.

“I did not get the chance yesterday to thank you,” Neville said. “For allowing your property to be used for our orphans.”

“I’d forgotten all about it,” Aidan said truthfully. “The building is no use to me, and it’s better housing someone. My wife felt strongly about it.”

Neville’s gaze dropped to his plate once more.

Aidan watched him. “I’m told I stepped on your toes.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Marrying Eve. She told me you had an understanding.”

“It was a pleasant but impractical dream,” Neville said. “Her father would never have permitted it.”

“She is of age,” Aidan pointed out.

Neville shovelled a large forkful of bacon into his mouth.

“Why didn’t you fight for her?” Aidan asked.

Neville had to finish chewing before he could answer. He took his time, but seeing that Aidan wasn’t going to go away, he appeared to give in.

“Miss Romilly—Lady Wolf—is a remarkable young lady. I think... I didn’t believe that it would ever quite happen. I never understood why she looked at me.”

Neither do I. “You are a good man,” he said aloud. A man who would fight for his cause, his orphans, but not for his own personal happiness. Or Eve’s. With sudden insight, Aidan realized she would have been too much for Neville, too full of ideas and energy, eclipsing him, wearing him down. Eve would never have thought that. But Neville had. The man might miss her, but part of him was relieved.

I would fight for her. To my last breath.