Chapter 3
Three
ARTEMISIA
Henry was a liar, Artemisia mused when she found herself trapped beneath his heavy arm.
He had promised not to touch her. That vow had been made when he was under the influence of a powerful drug, while he was awake.
In fairness, she supposed he hadn’t intentionally broken his word by cuddling her in his sleep.
She didn’t exactly mind.
But now she had a problem. There was a considerable lump snugged against her buttocks and it felt rather nice.
It had been a long time since she had found an opportunity to discreetly take a man to bed.
Her body sang with the desire to be touched.
She had been afraid of how she might react if she lay next to him, and now her worries were proved to be well-founded.
It was wrong of her to take advantage of an injured man this way. She had already mistreated him once by attempting to peer at his naked body yesterday; now, she was compounding her error.
She wasn’t actually doing anything at all. It was what she wasn’t doing, that made it bad.
She should get up. She should not be lying here and enjoying the experience of being held.
Artemisia therefore pretended to be asleep.
If she were asleep, and this was a dream, then she couldn’t be accused of taking advantage of a man who had lost his memory, which was obviously an unforgivable offense.
A quick tap at the door made her eyes fly open.
“Yes?” she called out, kicking free of the coverlet and sliding out from Henry’s embrace. He grunted and tightened his arm as if to pull her back. She stuffed her pillow beside him as a substitute.
“Breakfast is served, madam.”
Artemisia let the maid in. The woman placed a tray of fresh-baked muffins and hard-boiled eggs on the dresser. Instead of leaving, the servant gasped and stopped in her tracks.
“He’ll want leeches for that shiner,” she said, and saw herself out.
Artemisia helped herself to a muffin before inspecting Henry, who had sprawled onto his back and starfished across the entire bed.
His eye did look dreadful. Swollen and purple, almost to black.
That couldn’t feel very good. She dressed quickly, and by then the maid had returned with a corked pot full of writhing black worms.
“It’s fortunate he’s still out cold from the laudanum,” the maid said, gently placing one on his brow. Artemisia gagged and fled down to the common dining area to eat the rest of her breakfast.
When she came upstairs again thirty minutes later, Henry was awake, clothed, and looking much better.
“The leeches did help,” she said, brushing his hair back to examine his eye. “The swelling has gone down significantly.”
“Revolting process,” he said affably. “Imagine waking up with a blood-sucking worm on your face.”
Artemisia shuddered. “How does your head feel?”
“Better,” he said. “The laudanum helped.”
“If you are up to it, I propose we pay a visit to the local viscount. I understand the gentleman himself is presently in London, but someone on his staff may recognize you.”
If not, they might be willing to take him in until he regained his memory. The thought of having to leave him behind in this charming seaside village caused a pang in her heart, but she needed to get to her cousin’s house.
After Henry had eaten, they set off in Artemisia’s carriage. The morning was a fine one, if a bit chilly with the breeze rolling off the ocean. A flock of white geese scattered in a flurry of feathers as they drove through the streets of Cavalier Cove.
Her passenger boldly stretched one arm across the back of the seat. She arched one brow but couldn’t conceal her smile, though she did duck her chin to try.
“Why are there so many damned geese around here?” he wondered. More of the large, noisy birds wandered the drive to Viscount Prescott’s
“Excellent question.” Artemisia was equally puzzled. “I understand this area is rife with smuggling. Perhaps the villagers use them as an alarm?”
The viscount’s housekeeper, Mrs. Gosling, was able to shed light upon the oddity when she invited them in for a tour of the manor house.
“It was my great-great-grandfather who introduced the first geese to Cavalier Cove,” she said proudly.
“For what purpose?” asked Henry. “Loud and ill-tempered birds are quite out of step with the general atmosphere of the village.”
The housekeeper gave him a sidelong look which Artemisia interpreted as meaning What would you know?
“Smugglers,” Mrs. Gosling said darkly. “We are upstanding citizens, yet the Waterguard out of Polperro has been chasing them for years, to little avail. Not a single villager has ever been charged with the crime of avoiding excise taxes.”
Artemisia noted the woman’s careful wording. When Henry glanced at her he seemed to think the same thing she did—that the woman was not being entirely truthful. Interesting.
“Thank you for enlightening us. As to the original purpose of our visit, I wondered whether or not you recognize my companion, Mr. Henry.” She added the title out of habit.
“No, I cannot say I do. Am I supposed to?” the housekeeper said in bewilderment. “That’s a nasty black eye, begging your pardon for being so blunt. Have you tried leeches?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Henry grumbled.
“I had hoped someone might know who he is. You see, I found him yesterday lying in a ditch. He has a bump on his head and no recollection of who he is or where he is from.”
“I see,” said Mrs. Gosling.
“That makes one of us,” he interjected. Artemisia swatted his arm.
“I am on my way to visit my cousin, who is about to have a baby and could use some help for a few weeks. I cannot dally here for too long lest I miss the birth. However, it would be unconscionable to abandon a man with no place to go.”
“Is he staying with you for the moment?”
Heat flooded Artemisia’s cheeks. “Temporarily, at the Mermaid’s Rest.”
She did not mention their shared room.
“Heard the place was full up. Well, I don’t suppose I can offer to take in Mr. Henry without his lordship’s permission, but he ought to be back tomorrow or the day after.
If you can remain in town for a day or two and make inquiries, I would hazard a bet that you will either find someone who recognizes him, or Lord Prescott might be willing to take him in for a while. Where did you say you found him?”
“Lying by the side of the road about a mile outside of town.”
“Peculiar. There isn’t anything in that direction except for the Davies’ cottage. It used to be part of this property but his lordship sold it to Davies a few years ago.”
“Does a connection to the viscount seem familiar to you?” Artemisia asked Henry. From this angle, in profile with his brow slightly furrowed and the damaged side of his head turned away from her, he was a strikingly handsome man.
“I don’t know,” he said. “It feels as though something familiar is trying to break through a cloud inside my brain, but whenever I reach for it, it slips from my grasp.”
“Keep trying.” Artemisia patted his knee encouragingly. Mrs. Gosling eyed this physical contact with raised eyebrows. She returned her hand to her lap and held the housekeeper’s gaze until she broke eye contact.
“I will, but thinking is bringing my headache back.”
“Cogitation will do that. I do my best to avoid overtaxing my noggin,” Mrs. Gosling said cheerfully, tapping her temple. “We should finish our tour before the weather turns.”
“But the day is fine right now,” Artemisia protested.
“Those clouds on the horizon mean a storm is blowing in. You learn to keep one eye on the sky around these parts.”
Mrs. Gosling’s words proved to be prophetic.
On their way back to the inn, the rain came down in a deluge of Biblical proportions.
By the time they arrived, her driver and the horses were both soaked through, while she was shivering from the sudden drop in temperature.
Poor Henry looked ready to cast up his accounts.
“The change in air pressure can cause or exacerbate headaches,” she said sympathetically. “We should get you more laudanum, and perhaps another round of leeches.”
He made a face. “Must we?”
“Or you can suffer a swollen eye. Your choice.”
“Give me the medicine first and let her do it while I’m asleep.” He flopped backward onto the bed.
Artemisia smiled in bemusement. Wasn’t that just like a man? She made his tincture and summoned the maid with the ghastly pot of blood-sucking worms and removed herself to the inn’s common room to read. All in all, it was a very pleasant way to pass an otherwise dreadful afternoon.
While the storm raged outside, Artemisia mentally went over the list of prospective solutions to her and Henry’s mutual predicament.
He was a stranger in Cavalier Cove, which made it unlikely he was known to the lord of the manor, either.
He had no money, nothing but the clothes on his back, and didn’t even know his full name.
She sighed. A roll of thunder expressed her thoughts more than adequately.
What was she going to do with him?