Loving A Lost Lord. Mary Jo Putney
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fine. Another prize at the gaming table?”
“Yes. She’s my mount, Hazelnut. Hazel for short.” Mariah studied Adam, who looked like a proper country gentleman in her father’s clothing, but his face was drawn. “I didn’t expect to find you on horseback. Riding wasn’t too much for you?”
“My strength is not yet back to normal,” he admitted, “but I really wanted to be on a horse again. Perhaps we can take that ride over the estate today?”
“Later, if you think you’re ready, but now Mrs. Beckett would like to feed us both breakfast. Are you ready for an omelet?”
“Definitely!”
He took her arm and they turned to the house. He liked to touch. Again she wondered if he was demonstrating the ease of a married man who was used to having a woman of his own to touch whenever he wanted.
The sooner her gift from the sea recovered his memory, the better for them all.
After an excellent breakfast, Adam withdrew to his bedroom to rest again. In early afternoon, Mariah tiptoed into his bedroom and found him sprawled across the bed on his back. He’d peeled off his boots and coat but still wore his shirt and breeches. He was a fine figure of a man who fulfilled the gentlemanly ideal of fit, well-proportioned elegance. Was he a gentleman by birth? She wasn’t sure, but he had become one.
Thinking she’d let him sleep if he didn’t wake easily, she whispered, “Adam? How are you feeling?”
He woke and gave her a smile that made her feel like the most special woman in the world. “I could manage a ride around the estate.”
She studied him, his visible bruises reminding her of all the ones that weren’t visible. He had taken quite a beating. “Let’s wait till tomorrow for the tour. Better not push yourself too hard.”
“Then I need to find a different physical activity.” He caught her hand and tugged her down so that she was alongside him on the bed. Gaze intense, he said, “I wish I remembered our first kiss. I shall have to start all over.”
Before she had fully grasped his intent, he drew her down and kissed her. His mouth was firm and warm, his tongue gentle as it parted her lips.
Sensation flooded through her, scrambling her wits and judgment. She had been kissed by earnest young men, and more than once had fought off drunks like Burke, but she’d never experienced a kiss like this. She felt his wonder and delight, as if they were new lovers, yet she also sensed commitment and his belief that they had a history. That they belonged to each other.
She gasped as his caressing hands moved down her back, honoring every curve and hollow. Where their bodies touched, she burned. She wanted to melt into him, kiss until they were both senseless.
His right hand slid under her gown and moved up her bare thigh, as shocking as it was seductive. She jerked away from his embrace, her heart pounding. Somewhere inside, her Sarah self was saying, “This is your own fault.”
Mariah couldn’t deny it. If they continued on this path, she would lose her virginity and possibly entice Adam into adultery. She should run screaming from this impossible situation.
He stared up at her flushed face, puzzled and a little hurt. “What’s wrong, Mariah?”
Briefly she thought of confessing, but she couldn’t bear the thought of cutting him loose from what little certainty he had. She struggled for an answer that would put more distance between them while also having some honesty.
“I’m sorry, Adam.” She sat up on the edge of the bed, unable to think clearly in his arms. “This is too…too sudden for me. We’ve had so little time together, and now I am a stranger to you.”
“A beloved stranger,” he said quietly. “And surely I’m not a stranger to you. Or have I changed greatly?”
She shivered, wondering if his feelings were for his real wife and Mariah was merely a convenient substitute. Remembering what she’d said to Mrs. Beckett, she said, “It’s not that you have changed, but that the situation itself is so strange. Will you court me as if we just met? We can discover each other anew.” She took his hand. “Your memory could return at any time, of course, and that will simplify everything. But until that happens, can we begin again?”
He hesitated, and she guessed that he would prefer to get to know her in a more biblical way. But then he smiled and raised their joined hands, kissing her fingertips. “What a wise idea. Miss Clarke, you are the loveliest creature I have ever met. Will you join me for a walk in the garden?”
“I should like that very much, Mr. Clarke,” she said with relief. “We can admire the daffodils and each other.”
He laughed and swung his legs to the floor. He reached for his boots. “I hope you are enthralled by bruises and whiskers. I’m not sure myself what I look like.”
“You are altogether lovely,” she said firmly. And that was most certainly the truth.
Chapter Eight
By the time Adam had pulled on his boots and coat to go outside, Mariah reappeared with a delightfully frivolous bonnet decorated with silk flowers, and a shabby blue shawl. He offered her his arm. “You look enchanting, Miss Clarke.”
She batted her eyelashes outrageously as she took his arm. “How kind of you, sir. If you’re very, very good, I may eventually allow you to use my proper name.”
He grinned as he held the door open for her to leave the house. “If it wouldn’t make you feel fast, you may call me Adam.”
“I would never do anything fast, Mr. Clarke,” she said firmly. “I am a most properly brought up young lady, I’ll have you know.”
“No one could possibly think otherwise,” he assured her. He’d been disappointed—very disappointed—that she had been unwilling to let him make love to her, but now he realized that she was right. They needed courting time to become reacquainted, to rebuild a foundation of affection and companionship. Desire was a fine thing in marriage, but there needed to be more, especially for a woman confronted by a husband who didn’t remember her.
Not only were they reacquainting themselves, but the make-believe was a delicious game, better than a real game, because the end, their marriage bed, was foreordained. He wished he could remember how her elegantly curved form looked uncluttered by clothing. It was maddening to know that they had been lovers, yet not be able to summon exact memories of her body. Or the taste and feel of her.
Outside the house, she guided him to the left, the opposite side of the manor house from the stables and other farm buildings. He savored the light warmth of her hand resting on his arm, the sweetly astringent tang of lavender that wafted from her clothing. “I know nothing of fashion, but your delightful bonnet looks like it ought to be fashionable.”
“Thank you, sir.” She dropped her exaggerated demureness and chuckled. “I’ve redone this straw bonnet over and over again, so it’s not particularly fashionable. There was seldom money to spare, so I became very good at refreshing gowns and hats with lace or ribbons or flowers.”
Were all genteel young ladies willing to admit a shortage of funds, or was her directness because they were married? Whatever the reason, her bluntness was refreshing. “Your shawl seems less likely to be accused of being fashionable.”
She pulled the worn blue garment closer. “Granny Rose knit this for me one Christmas. Whenever I wear it, I can feel her arms around me, so I wear it a great deal.”
Though her tone was light, he heard the loneliness underneath the words. She’d led an unusual life that had little in common with most well-brought-up young ladies. “Was it hard to be always traveling from one place to another, with no real roots? How did you amuse yourself? I suspect that in some households, the women resented having a girl as pretty as you around.”
She made a face. “Clever of you to realize that. Everyone enjoyed