Secrets by Brenda Joyce Page A

could not get past the fact that Slade had betrayed her trust. The wound was unbearable. It shouldn’t matter as much as it did; in reality he was only a stranger, but logic did not rule her heart. He most certainly was no longer her savior. And that brought forth a new urge to weep.
    She needed him. Didn’t he realize that? How could he do this to her when she needed him so!
    Yet even as she prepared to leave, she could not shake him from her mind, she could not stop thinking about him. She remembered everything she shouldn’t remember, from his concern when he had rescued her, to his conflict with his father, to his kiss. And she found herself thinking “if only.” If only she did not have amnesia, if only she were not James’s fiancée. But the reality could not be changed by wishful thinking.
    She would leave all of her things. Because it had been so blazingly hot and sunny down-valley she exchanged her perky little hat for a wide-brimmed straw bonnet, even though the sky had become overcast. She also donned low-heeled walking shoes. They looked brand-new, but she was afraid to tarry and search for another, broken-in pair. Because she was in a rush, there was no time to plan. She decided that in Templeton she would wire her stepmother for assistance. Within minutes she was ready to leave. Her instincts urged her to flee before she might change her mind. She knew better than to ask Slade or any member of the household to take her to town. They would refuse, or attempt to talk her out of leaving. Because they wanted her to marry Slade; because they wanted her money.
    The house was built on a hill. She went to the terrace overlooking the sloping grounds outside, and beyond that, the frothing ocean. For one second she wonderedif rain was on its way—the sky was becoming positively dreary; and the ocean had become quite rough. She shrugged off the moment of hesitation. She had to protect herself and her own interests, for there was no one else to do it for her. Not anymore.
    Regina walked out onto the terrace and debated climbing over the railing and dropping the ten or twenty feet to the ground. As she stood there in indecision, a shadowy image formed in her mind, and, just for an instant, Regina thought she could see someone she knew, someone dear to her, laughing and telling her that she could do it. For one split second it was so real that she could see the person, and then the instant was gone.
    Regina froze, gripping the railing. The memory was gone—and it had been a memory. She had remembered somebody, someone important to her. She was certain of it. But now, that person was shrouded in the darkness of her amnesia.
    Who was it that she knew who could leap off terraces so bravely? She yearned for the answer, and she was terribly disappointed that the identity of the person eluded her when she had grasped it seconds ago. Frustration brought stinging tears to her eyes.
    Nevertheless, Regina turned to the task at hand. She did not have to have her memory in order to know that she was not the type to leap off terraces, and she moved away from the railing. Not stopping to think, because it would only make her hesitate, she slipped out into the courtyard. She ran across it and then through the adjacent front courtyard as well. When she reached the front gate she paused against the wall beneath two lemon trees, panting and trying to catch her breath. The wind was picking up. It lifted her skirts and whipped them against her legs. She strained to hear, waiting for shouts of discovery, but there were none.
    Her heart beat wildly now. Running away made her feel like she was committing a criminal act. She peered through the iron gates. Perhaps because of the weather, or perhaps because of the time of day—it was mid-afternoon, siesta time—there was no one about. Whenthey had arrived at the house several hours ago there had been a great deal of activity around the stables and corrals. The