How to Lose a Bride in One Night by Sophie Jordan

didn’t quite aid in his goal of solitude. He had thought he would return to Town and lose himself here. Wrap himself in the comfort of memories of better days.
    His plan was simple, and it did not involve people. It did not involve her.
    Except that he was here now and so was she. His fingers tightened on the railing as he reminded himself that the situation was temporary. Once she was on her feet, once she regained her memory, he could wash his hands of her. If she never remembered her past, then he’d grant her some funds and settle her wherever she wished to go. He had more than enough money and no one to share it with—now or ever. He would never marry. When he died, his title would pass back to some distant Scottish relation on his mother’s side. He might as well help Anna with a fresh start. Perhaps the magnanimous gesture would clear some of the stain besmirching his black soul.
    He winced at that unlikelihood. No good deed would ever be enough for that. He released a soft laugh. She thought him a hero. It was laughable. He had killed so many fathers. Brothers. Sons. He sucked in a deep breath. He simply needed to make certain he didn’t act on any of the unwelcome urges he was experiencing around her. Simple indeed.
    She was a female residing beneath his roof . . . her chamber adjoining his. He told himself it was nothing more than that. Proximity was the temptation . . . and the unwitting invitation he read in her eyes. He had not spent himself on a woman since returning to England. He should pop in at the brothel he and Jamie had visited before setting sail with their regiment.
    Returning to his chamber, he contemplated doing just that. The hour wasn’t too late for such diversion. Shrugging off his dressing robe, he slid back into bed, uninspired to make the effort. When it came down to it, he simply didn’t want to badly enough.
    That was the reason he told himself he didn’t want to go. That reason alone.
    A nnalise sighed as the warm water enveloped her. Her muscles immediately eased and softened. Even the itchy ache in her leg felt better. She closed her eyes in a long blink, reveling in the sensation. Up until now she’d been bathing herself from a basin with a sponge. This was heaven.
    “Nice?” Mrs. Kirkpatrick asked, her face intent as she sprinkled salts into the steaming water.
    Annalise nodded, trying not to feel uncomfortable naked and exposed beneath her gaze. “Heavenly.”
    “Just one more week.” The barest hint of a smile graced the housekeeper’s lips. “Then you’ll be on your feet.”
    “I cannot wait.” Sitting up higher in the tub, she lightly stroked her leg in the water, hoping the bone there was healing as it should so that she could attempt to walk next week. Please, God, let me still walk. Her hands stilled over the thigh, hoping, praying with a fervency that burned through her soul that it would be no worse than before. That she would still be able to walk.
    Tears burned her eyes as self-pity threatened to overwhelm her. No. She would not weep. Not when she didn’t even know how bad it was. Besides, she wasn’t that girl anymore—weak and given to self-pity. No matter how damaged her leg, she would learn to function.
    “I’ll be back shortly.” Mrs. Kirkpatrick arranged the towel alongside the soaps, salts, and bell sitting on the small table she had dragged beside the copper tub.
    Annalise looked up from her leg. “Thank you.”
    “Just ring the bell if you need assistance or when you’re ready to get out.” She nodded to the bell on the table and then departed, her gray, starched skirts scratching on the air as she left. The door thudded after her.
    Alone now, she stared down at her body, much slimmer than it had been before she went over the side of her honeymoon barge. The weeklong fever had robbed her of some weight. Even after she woke, her appetite did not quite return in full. She could detect her hip bones now. Her waist appeared smaller,