Page 8 of On the Ropes of Scandal (With Love in Their Corner #3)

“Well, that would explain why my hands look like a dog’s breakfast.” Lord Frampton held them up and stared at them as if seeing them for the first time. “Why wasn’t I wearing gloves for such heavy work?”

Why was he so inquisitive? “Perhaps your hands were hot, or perhaps you had paused for a break, and an accident occurred. I wasn’t there, but one of your friends came by and told me you’d wandered off. Thank goodness you instinctually knew to come here.”

Oh, please just believe me and stop asking questions!

“Mmm.” Slowly, the man nodded. “That makes sense.”

She nearly wilted with relief.

“But why are you so concerned about me?” Once more his gaze fell to her face, and even in the dark, she could spy shadows in those rich brown eyes.

“Because…” Here was the test of her mettle…

and her skills in lying. Phoebe ignored the sweat sliding down her spine as she cleared her throat.

“Because you are my husband, William.” It was a good, solid, popular name, and now that the words were out of her mouth, there was no going back. “That’s why I was worried.”

“Ah.” He waved a hand presumably to encompass the village’s shops. “Why are we here?”

Was he daft, or did his brain truly not work correctly any longer?

She dug deep for patience. “I work in the bakery with my aunt. Which is located here. As I said.” Phoebe gestured to the door.

“You know that. We’ve been married for six months.

” Deeper and deeper she went down the rabbit hole of dissembling.

“I make the bread dough and put it on to rise overnight, and then you and I share dinner together. Most times, by the time you come down the lane into the village, I’m finished here, for you like to scrounge leftover pastries that didn’t sell. ”

“But I couldn’t, since your aunt gave them to Young Thomas to hawk at the bout.”

Oh, dear heavens. Is he remembering?

As fear played icy fingers down her spine, Phoebe nodded. “True, but then, you always half-heartedly argue with her about that. You tell her the pastries should go to you for having to put up with having me as a wife.” It sounded legitimate, didn’t it?

“I suppose, even if this is the first I’m hearing of it.” He frowned at her from his position on the ground. “But I don’t recognize this place.” Did that mean his memories would come and go as he healed, and the swelling went down?

It would seem she was on borrowed time. “Well, you have suffered a good knock to your head.” As she spoke, she drifted her fingertips along his right temple, and when he winced, she tsked her tongue.

“This needs to be cleaned. All your wounds do and set with a healing salve.” That was the truth, at least.

“I do feel rough, but where do we live? This is a bakery.”

The dear man was proving to be a trial. “I know, and I just told you that. My aunt owns this establishment. I work here, but you are a bricklayer and are always gone so early in the morning that you don’t come ’round until the evening, remember?

” It was insanity how well the lies flew out of her mouth.

She should be horrified, but she wasn’t.

In fact, she looked forward to the companionship for once, to have someone—anyone—to talk to and cook for and fuss over, perhaps even love.

“We live in the rooms upstairs until we have enough coin to rent a cottage.” How convenient for her that there was a small apartment above the bakery.

To hide him. Oh, dear Aunt Bess, please understand!

“Come.” With some effort, she helped him to stand. “You must be hurting and exhausted. You’ll be right as rain in a few days.”

Slowly, he nodded. “Perhaps I do need to rest for a bit.”

At least some of the difficult parts were over, but Phoebe’s hand shook as she unlocked the door. “Just through the bakery proper. The stairs are in the back.”

Again, he frowned, and he resembled a ghoul in the darkness. “Why were you outside with the door locked if we live here?”

Clearly, the man wasn’t a nodcock, even if he suffered from amnesia. “I was going to visit Aunt Bess, to consult with her on whether I should look for you.” That made sense, didn’t it?

“It’s a good thing you didn’t already leave by the time I showed up, then.”

“Yes, quite.” She guided him into the bakery, closing the door behind them. After she locked it again, she drew the shade down over the window glass.

Dear heavens, what am I do to with him now?

His clothes, though wrinkled with a bit of blood staining them, were well-tailored and his shirt was of fine lawn, so he must be someone in the beau monde , which meant his title of Lord Frampton wasn’t merely in jest for his boxing persona.

Well, she had assumed since the announcer in the ring had called him that at the end of the round she’d watched.

And the way he pronounced words spoke of the upper class.

Who was he, truly? Would someone come looking for him?

Did he have a wife somewhere? That gave her pause as she assisted him up the narrow wooden stairs that led to the rooms above, but she was too far gone in the lie to stop now.

If he’d had a wife, he wouldn’t have come here alone, especially since he had entered a prize fight.

As soon as they entered the main room on the upper floor, she gestured him further into the room. “I’ll help you clean your injuries, then I’ll put some salve on them.”

When his stomach rumbled, they both shared a laugh, though it was a bit strained. “I’m hungry. Can’t remember when last I ate.”

She nodded. “While you wash up, I’ll prepare you a tray of cold cuts and such.

After dinner, I’ll read to you. Then we’ll retire to bed.

” Heat slapped her cheeks at such forward behavior, and with a stranger to boot.

“I’m sure the foreman will excuse your absence for a few days as your wound heals. ”

Especially since said person didn’t exist.

“I suppose he will.” He put a hand to his head. “My head aches like the devil.”

“Go take care of ablations then. I’ll fetch some water from downstairs.

” She gave him a little push toward the slightly larger of the two bedchambers.

“I’ll make you some willow bark tea with your tray of food while I’m down there.

The tea will help with the pain.” The more she spoke, the more excited she grew.

Could she finally be happy? And what about the villagers?

They would ask questions, but she would tell them she married this man in secret, perhaps because there was a scandal and she had to.

She might need to confide in her aunt to make things plausible.

Hopefully, Aunt Bess wouldn’t badger or chide too much.

If her luck held, he would retain the amnesia he suffered with for a little while yet. And by then, perhaps he would have contracted feelings for her.

“Thank you.” He gave her a one-sided grin, probably due to the partially swollen lip. “Uh, this is embarrassing but I don’t remember your name. It’s not well done of me, since you are my wife.”

A thrill twisted down her spine to be called that. “Oh, don’t be embarrassed. I’m Phoebe, and I am so glad you’re here with me.”

Please forgive me.