Darlington. Perhaps last night, when you took off my clothes and sponged me with a cool cloth to bring down my temperature, you might have noticed if I had any war wounds …?”
Jack was having a capital time. His head ached a little harder after Miss Darlington slammed the door behind her as she made a hasty exit, but the pain was worth it. He loved watching the proper Miss Darlington blush. The silly girl probably thought that dressing like a Quaker camouflaged her pale beauty, but Jack thought the plain black frock only accentuated it.
He shifted against the pillows, his back stiff from lying too long abed, his stomach rumbling with a hunger that could not be appeased by beef broth and a crust of bread. He rubbed a hand over his jaw and wished he could shave, then brightened at the notion that he might be able to tease Miss Darlington into doing the task for him. She’d have to bend close to him, and those winsome breasts of hers would be just inches away.
Of course, now that he knew she was a lady, he’d never touch her or try to compromise her—it was a sure way to get leg-shackled and marriage was the last thing on Jack’s mind—but he was going to flirt and be as provocative as possible. How better to while away the hours of his recuperation?
It wasn’t just Miss Darlington’s beauty and prim innocence that intrigued Jack. She was a bit of a mystery, too. After all, despite her obvious respectability, she was traveling without a chaperon or a male escort of any kind, she was a woman of independent means, and she was on some sort of secretive rescue mission. Although he would be denied a truly intimate knowledge of the fair lady, Jack felt it would be extremely entertaining to get to know as many of Miss Darlington’s secrets as possible.
He might even be able to help her out of a fix … if she should happen to be in one.
Jack grinned sheepishly. Perhaps he was an honorable sort, the gallant type that enjoyed being of assistance to damsels in distress. Then again, perhaps he was a rake, seducing women right and left. But for some reason, Jack wasn’t too concerned about what sort of man he was yesterday or two years ago, or even ten years ago, but was rather more intrigued with enjoying the possibilities of today.
Jack’s brow furrowed, and he absently rubbed his bare chest as he considered his situation. He’d lost his memory, and he should be gravely concerned about that fact. But he wasn’t. He felt sure he’d get his memory back soon enough and completely intact. His loved ones and friends would be missing him by now, and while that was regrettable, there was nothing he could do to change things. He simply couldn’t remember who he was.
To be completely honest with himself, for some reason Jack liked not knowing who he was. It was like living in a pleasant state of limbo. He felt free. There was a sense of having escaped something dreadful, but he couldn’t imagine what.
Amanda had hit on an interesting point when she’d remarked that if she had been a soldier, she’d try to forget fighting in a war. Jack had a sneaking suspicion that he wanted to forget something, too, but he didn’t think it had anything to do with a possible military career or wartime experience. What he wanted to forget was far more personal….
Jack’s eyes drifted shut. He was tired, and his head was throbbing again. He’d sleep for a while till the doctor came, then he’d spin a whisker and tell the old sawbones he was feeling as spry as a spring chicken. If he didn’t remember who he was by the next day, there was no way he was going to be left in the care of that hatchet-faced old crone who ran the inn. He’d rather take his chances with Miss Darlington, no matter what buffleheaded scheme she was involved in. He’d prove he was travel-worthy, then take to the road with his “wife.”
Just as Jack drifted off he remembered the dream about the wedding and fervently hoped it would not return. He enjoyed
Jack was having a capital time. His head ached a little harder after Miss Darlington slammed the door behind her as she made a hasty exit, but the pain was worth it. He loved watching the proper Miss Darlington blush. The silly girl probably thought that dressing like a Quaker camouflaged her pale beauty, but Jack thought the plain black frock only accentuated it.
He shifted against the pillows, his back stiff from lying too long abed, his stomach rumbling with a hunger that could not be appeased by beef broth and a crust of bread. He rubbed a hand over his jaw and wished he could shave, then brightened at the notion that he might be able to tease Miss Darlington into doing the task for him. She’d have to bend close to him, and those winsome breasts of hers would be just inches away.
Of course, now that he knew she was a lady, he’d never touch her or try to compromise her—it was a sure way to get leg-shackled and marriage was the last thing on Jack’s mind—but he was going to flirt and be as provocative as possible. How better to while away the hours of his recuperation?
It wasn’t just Miss Darlington’s beauty and prim innocence that intrigued Jack. She was a bit of a mystery, too. After all, despite her obvious respectability, she was traveling without a chaperon or a male escort of any kind, she was a woman of independent means, and she was on some sort of secretive rescue mission. Although he would be denied a truly intimate knowledge of the fair lady, Jack felt it would be extremely entertaining to get to know as many of Miss Darlington’s secrets as possible.
He might even be able to help her out of a fix … if she should happen to be in one.
Jack grinned sheepishly. Perhaps he was an honorable sort, the gallant type that enjoyed being of assistance to damsels in distress. Then again, perhaps he was a rake, seducing women right and left. But for some reason, Jack wasn’t too concerned about what sort of man he was yesterday or two years ago, or even ten years ago, but was rather more intrigued with enjoying the possibilities of today.
Jack’s brow furrowed, and he absently rubbed his bare chest as he considered his situation. He’d lost his memory, and he should be gravely concerned about that fact. But he wasn’t. He felt sure he’d get his memory back soon enough and completely intact. His loved ones and friends would be missing him by now, and while that was regrettable, there was nothing he could do to change things. He simply couldn’t remember who he was.
To be completely honest with himself, for some reason Jack liked not knowing who he was. It was like living in a pleasant state of limbo. He felt free. There was a sense of having escaped something dreadful, but he couldn’t imagine what.
Amanda had hit on an interesting point when she’d remarked that if she had been a soldier, she’d try to forget fighting in a war. Jack had a sneaking suspicion that he wanted to forget something, too, but he didn’t think it had anything to do with a possible military career or wartime experience. What he wanted to forget was far more personal….
Jack’s eyes drifted shut. He was tired, and his head was throbbing again. He’d sleep for a while till the doctor came, then he’d spin a whisker and tell the old sawbones he was feeling as spry as a spring chicken. If he didn’t remember who he was by the next day, there was no way he was going to be left in the care of that hatchet-faced old crone who ran the inn. He’d rather take his chances with Miss Darlington, no matter what buffleheaded scheme she was involved in. He’d prove he was travel-worthy, then take to the road with his “wife.”
Just as Jack drifted off he remembered the dream about the wedding and fervently hoped it would not return. He enjoyed
Similar Books
