Song From the Sea (4 page)

She started to sit up, but quickly decided that was a very bad idea since her head started throbbing twice as hard. “I— I need some help,” she said, hating to admit it, especially to this foul-tempered man who didn't seem to have an ounce of sympathy for her plight. “My head hurts rather badly.”

He quickly slid his arm under her shoulders and held the glass as she thirstily drank, then helped her lie back down. “You have a lump on the back of your head the size of an egg. You must have hit yourself on the way down. It's a miracle that you didn't drown before I managed to reach you, since according to the doctor you managed to brain yourself rather well. You don't seem to do things in half measures.”

“I am very grateful to you for rescuing me and bringing me to your home,” she said, and that really was the truth. She didn't add that she wished he could be a little more sympathetic about the matter, since she already felt like an utter idiot and utterly, horribly alone.

“I'm sure you are. However, if you wish to express that gratitude in a more useful fashion, perhaps you would now deign to tell me your name and your address so that I might return you to your relations as soon as you've recovered.”

Callie bit her lip. Since she couldn't recall her last name or any relations, she supposed she'd just have to make something up for the time being, since she couldn't possibly admit that she'd lost her mind. Surely her memory would return shortly? “My name is Callie,” she said, trying to think what to add to that. Callie—that had to be short for something. “Miss Calliope Magnus,” she continued, rather liking the sound of that, although she didn't feel the least bit reassured.

“And where does Miss Calliope Magnus hail from?” he asked, pressing his forefinger to his temple.

She strained for an answer, but nothing came. Absolutely nothing. She'd have to come up with something though, since the truth certainly wouldn't serve.
I'm sorry, Mr. Carlyle, but I haven't the vaguest idea.
Oh, that would sound just wonderful. He'd have her out the door so fast that her already spinning head would probably fall off altogether.

Considering carefully where she might possibly have come from, she decided she shouldn't be too specific. The farther away she made it, the better, so that he couldn't track down the details very easily. He'd said she'd been on a ship, so she could have been coming from anywhere. A brilliant idea suddenly occurred. “I have lived most of my life abroad, sir. We traveled often, never settling down anywhere for very long.” That scenario sounded perfectly reasonable to her. “My parents were British, but they were expatriates,” she added, inventing as quickly as she could. “As they are both now deceased, I thought I might return to the land of my birth and see what it was like.” She attempted a smile, hard when she felt like fainting.

“I see.” Adam regarded her with what she could only interpret as exasperation. “Where did you most recently live, then, and where did you intend on going once you'd arrived in England?”

“Most recently we resided in … in Italy, and I wasn't sure where to go when I arrived, as my parents never talked about their families. I thought that was because they must have had personal troubles and left England as a result. Since I know of no family members, I thought I would apply for a post as a—as a lady's companion.” She prayed that sounded like a perfectly logical explanation. Funny, though, she really did have an image in her mind of an Italianate house with brilliant red blossoms pouring over a high wall. Bougainvillea, that was the name of the vine. How on earth could she know that and nothing else?

“You traveled all the way from Italy in order to find a post in England as a lady's companion.” He raised his eyebrows. “Could you not have found a position there and saved yourself a great deal of trouble and expense?”

Callie hadn't thought of that. “Really, Mr. Carlyle,” she said, hoping to divert him. “You needn't worry in the least. As soon as I'm on my feet and in full health, I'll embark on my original quest. You've been very kind indeed and I shan't trouble you a moment longer than necessary.” She fervently hoped that would be the case. If she carried on in this empty-headed fashion she really didn't know what she was going to do. The icy fear in the pit of her stomach made her feel as if she was going to be sick, and she pressed her hand against her middle in an effort to steady herself.

He shot her a look that was far too incisive. “Are you hungry?” he eventually asked. “I can have something sent up from the kitchen.”

She barely managed to shake her head, wanting only to fall back asleep. Tomorrow had to be better. With luck she'd have some real answers. She had to have, or she was in very serious trouble. Tomorrow her memory would certainly return, and then, when she felt a little stronger, she could go merrily on her way without his knowing that she'd ever deceived him.

“Sleep then. I will look in on you tomorrow.” He rose, and she heard the door close softly behind him.

Sighing, she gratefully closed her eyes. Her last thought before sleep overcame her was whether she had any money to go merrily on her way, but she decided to worry about that later. Everything would come clear in the morning, she was sure of it.

Something was definitely not right. Adam shook his head slowly as he gazed out over the river that meandered out into the sea. The full moon, staring pale and high in the night sky, reflected down into the river's calm surface. He couldn't put his finger on exactly what was wrong, but Miss Calliope Magnus's story didn't ring true to him.

He realized that she was ill and probably confused from her head injury, but nevertheless he couldn't dismiss the idea that she'd thoroughly misled him. If nothing else, he'd always been a good judge of character, and the nagging suspicion that the girl was not who she said she was simply would not go away. If he was correct, the question now was what reason would she have for lying?

His eyes narrowed in thought. She knew nothing about him or his circumstances. She'd only ever seen a portion of the room she resided in, and a dark room at that, so she couldn't possibly know anything of the vastness of Stanton or its land, nor could she know of his title or the fortune that came with it. That eliminated any possibility that she might think herself sitting in a fine situation she had no intention of relinquishing. Therefore he had to believe that she must have secrets she didn't wish anyone to discover. No one, no matter how injured, would be so vague about her background unless she had something to hide.

What he found particularly odd was that she appeared as innocent as a babe. The impression might have been made by the blond hair, the color of sunlight now that it was dry, her finely drawn features, the mouth shaped like Cupid's bow. He knew that her eyes were a soft brown, once she'd finally bothered to open them. As he'd sat vigil by her bed for all those hours he had wondered if she ever would. The doctor had not been optimistic; given the nature of the blow she'd received to her head, the shock to her system from nearly drowning, her raging fever, and her continuing unconsciousness, he'd declared her prognosis grim.

Adam's huge relief when she finally did regain consciousness had surprised him, so much that he'd been annoyed in the extreme at himself—and at her. How could he possibly feel anything as absurd as relief over a silly chit who had seriously disrupted his well-laid plans? Perhaps the unexpected emotion had come from a misguided sense of responsibility for her life, since he'd hauled her from the sea.

That idea was even more absurd, he decided, turning and looking up at the wing in which Silly Miss Magnus resided, the light of the candles flickering faintly through the windows. He didn't indulge in emotion. He hadn't cared about anyone or anything since his beloved Caroline and his precious little Ian had died, a great void existing where his heart had once resided. He certainly didn't care about a girl he didn't even know who was stupid enough to fall willy-nilly off a ship. From the way she'd stared at him blankly when he'd asked her the simplest of questions he had to wonder if she had any brains inside that head at all.

Probably not. Brains were rare enough in a female, especially a pretty one. His wife had been the exception to that rule, thoughtful in her opinions, always tranquil, never prone to histrionics, her beauty never marred by emotional fits and starts, her interests extending far beyond the usual drawing room gossip. He quickly pushed Caro's image away, unable to bear the memories it brought of a time that he'd been happy, when the future had seemed so filled with promise.

What a great joke his life had become, a joke at his own expense. He'd finally found happiness and a certain degree of peace after the nightmare of his childhood, and it had all been snatched from him in a matter of moments, a blind, cruel stroke of fate. On that horrible, dark day, he'd lost all hope that there was a God, let alone a merciful one. Life was nothing more than a series of random accidents. You were born and you died, and most of what happened in between was completely senseless and usually painful.

Adam pressed his hands hard against his temples as if he could somehow squeeze the torturous thoughts out of his head. He couldn't allow himself to feel for fear of what it might do to him. He needed to think of his present dilemma, of how to discharge this latest unwelcome responsibility so that he could get on with the matter of leaving the world he had a strong distaste for.

The strain of pretending to be a living, walking human being had already brought him to near breaking point. He really didn't think he could go on for very much longer.

Squinting painfully against the suddenly bright light that invaded the soothing dark behind her throbbing eyes, Callie cautiously peeped out through her half-lowered eyelashes to locate the source. It appeared to be a large window with an equally large woman standing in front of it; a starched cap perched on top of her head and a starched apron was tied around her girth, from which a cluster of keys hung. One plump hand was engaged in pulling back a plush blue velvet drapery.

For a moment Callie thought she must be in an opulent hotel room somewhere in the Mediterranean. The heat stifled her and the light blazed like dragon's fire into her already burning eyes.

But then the woman turned and spoke, and her thick British accent immediately brought memory rushing back.

A dark room, a dark man, confusion and fear. Not knowing who she was … Callie probed her mind as if she were gingerly probing a sore tooth, seeing if the trouble was still there. It was. She couldn't remember a thing about herself before last night. Her heart sank, but she tried valiantly to focus on what the woman was saying.

“… And I'm happy to find you awake, my dear. His lordship said you'd come to your senses in the night. We're all pleased, so worried about you the last three days. His lordship thought you'd like some nice chicken broth.” She beamed like a mother hen. “You should take some nourishment. It can only do you good,” she said, ladling a large spoonful of broth from a small tureen on a tray into a cup and carrying it across the room to the bed. “I brought some toasted bread as well, hoping you might have an appetite. The doctor said you should eat as soon as we could coax you to do so. How does your poor head feel?”

“It aches,” Callie said, feeling ridiculously weak and not at all inclined to move.

The woman slipped a practiced arm under Callie's back and gently lifted her to a sitting position. “There, there. Of course it does. You're still hot to the touch, but no longer burning up. The fever will soon break, and when it does you'll feel much cooler.” She held the cup to Callie's lips. “Come along, my dear, give it a try. Cook makes a most superior broth. You'll be much stronger for it, trust me.”

Callie did as she was told. The broth tasted surprisingly good, not greasy as Callie had expected, but clear and flavorful. And oh, the warm liquid felt wonderful going down her dry, sore throat. She drank and drank until she'd finished the whole cup.

The kind woman beamed again and immediately poured another cup. This time she dipped some toast into it, and Callie ate the dampened bread between sips.

When she'd finished, the woman helped her to lie back down. “Thank you,” Callie whispered. “What is your name?”

“Didn't I say? Heavens, I thought I had. I am Mrs. Simpson, my dear, Lord Vale's housekeeper these past ten years. I gather that you are Miss Magnus.” She patted Callie's hand. “What a wonderful thing that his lordship was out in the storm when you fell, and managed to pull you into his boat.”

Callie frowned, thinking she really had lost her mind. “I—I thought Mr. Carlyle rescued me.” She distinctly remembered his saying so. Didn't she?

Mrs. Simpson chuckled. “That's his lordship all over. He probably didn't want to alarm you by using his title. Carlyle is his family name, but he is properly known as the Marquess of Vale.”

Callie stared at the woman in horror. A
marquess
? She'd landed on the doorstep of a marquess? She drew in a long, shuddering breath. That was not good news. That was not good at all. Marquesses had power and money, and if this one ever found out that she wasn't who she'd said she was, he could probably have her thrown into jail for … for assuming a false identity or something like that. As far as she knew she didn't have a penny to her name or a family to come to her defense. She could be locked up forever, which would probably suit the heartless devil.

Last night he'd looked as if he wanted to wash his hands of her the first moment he could, and jail would be the perfect solution, wouldn't it? Or even better, a lunatic asylum if he found out she had no memory. Wasn't that where they put people who had lost their minds? Tears sprang to her eyes as she contemplated the horrible thought.

“There, there, my dear. There's no need for distress. You can see why his lordship didn't tell you right away, for fear of just this reaction, which is not good for someone in your fragile condition.” She produced a handkerchief from one of her apron pockets and wiped Callie's eyes. “Lord Vale is a kind man, not given to airs and graces, so you needn't worry about your lack of position, if that is what is upsetting you.”