The pillows were fluffed around her until they braced her in a half sitting position, and as she sipped the hot brew, her gaze lifted above the edge of the cup to peruse the room again. “Why am I here?”
“There was an accident with the carriage,” Dr. Page replied, “and you were brought here after you were knocked from your horse.”
“My horse?”
Again the doctor supplied the information, but taking care as he watched her face: “I’m sorry, madam. He had to be destroyed.”
“Destroyed?” She searched her mind for some recollection of the event, but the probing inquiry only abetted the throbbing in her head until it became impossible to think. She pressed trembling fingers to her aching temples. “I can’t seem to remember.”
“You had a nasty fall, young lady. Just relax and rest. It will come to you.”
Her gaze flew about the room again in a desperate pursuit of something familiar. “Where am I?”
“This is Belle Chêne….” Dr. Page studied her closely as he continued. “Ashton Wingate’s plantation home.”
“Ashton Wingate?” She stared at him, her eyes wide and searching. She sensed the alert attention given her by those in the room, as if they were awaiting her reaction.
The man in the gray trousers slid the fireplace poker into the stand, gaining her full attention. Inexplicably, a sharp pang of anxiety ran through her even before she saw his face. Disconcerted, she pressed back against the pillows and eyed him warily as he crossed the room. Though she probed her memory, she could not fathom the cause of this sudden dismay. The crisp, handsome profile should have stirred feelings of warmth and admiration in her woman’s breast. Yet there was something about the moment that made her heart lurch and grow cold within her chest. When he halted at the foot of the bed, the strength of his gaze held hers immobile, and staring into those smoky eyes, she put aside the broth as one dazed.
A strange smile played upon his lips. “I don’t quite understand the miracle that has brought you back to me, my love, but I am extremely grateful.”
She stared at him in a panic, wondering which one of them was mad. She rejected the idea of placing the blame on strong drink, for he seemed sober enough and his appearance was not that of a slovenly sot. Indeed, he carried himself with a proud, erect bearing that hinted of a man well in control of his faculties. So why was he speaking to her as if he knew her?
If the tiniest doubt had nibbled at the edges of Ashton’s mind, the uncertainty dissipated abruptly when he looked into the dark green eyes. He knew those eyes, and they belonged to his wife. “I suffered quite a shock when I saw you last night. I thought you were dead, and now, after three long years, you have suddenly appeared, and I find to my joy that I’m not a widower after all.”
It was she who was mad! It had to be! Why would the others tolerate his ravings if he were voicing only insanities? A sudden quickening of trepidation seized her, and she withdrew into her own mind to seek some secure haven wherein she could find succor from her distress. Disquieted by the fear that some insanity had seized her, she began to shake uncontrollably. The pressure at her temples increased until the pain became excruciating, and she writhed on the bed, holding her head and keeping her eyes tightly shut to bar the alien world from her sight.
“Lierin!” The name echoed hollowly through the haze, and the tone was somewhere between plea and command. Still, it struck no chord of recall and only confused her more. She could find no anchor for her thoughts, no grappling hook that would snare her from the bleak, murky blackness of the unknown and bring her to a firm footing with memory intact. There was only this moment and the few brief ones since she had awakened. What she had seen and heard only set her at odds with herself. The room whirled about her in a dizzying gyre, and she braced her arms widespread against the bed to steady her careening world, but her effort was useless as she was hurtled through a dark and bottomless eddy.
“Quickly!” Dr. Page gestured to Willabelle. “Fetch the smelling salts from my case.” He thrust up a hand to halt Ashton as he tried to step near. “She’s suffered a shock, Ashton. Give her time.”
The younger man drew back and frowned in concern as he helplessly witnessed her ordeal. The doctor slipped a hand behind her head while his other brought a vial of powders beneath her nose. The sudden shock of searing fumes drove away the clinging cobwebs. Her eyes shot open, and she saw the room again with bright, clear, achingly intense vision. Each detail was etched in bold relief, and she saw her tormentor gripping the bedpost with white-knuckled strength, as if he were the one troubled and vexed.
Weak and exhausted, she fell back upon the bed, unmindful of the fact that she had swept off the satin quilt and lace-edged sheet. Her skin was moist with perspiration, and she welcomed the stabling touch of coolness that seeped through her cotton gown, but beneath the man’s closely attentive gaze, she realized her gown provided no modesty beyond the thickness of the cloth. It clung to her clammy skin, boldly revealing the womanly curves of her body. Her cheeks flamed. Not only would this knave harass her, but it seemed that he would molest her with his eyes as well. Seeking the protection of the quilt, she rolled her head on the pillow and asked in a rasping whisper, “Could I have some more water, please?”
“Indeed, child,” Dr. Page replied and reached for a glass.
Politely rejecting his help, she took the goblet into her shaky grasp and sipped from it slowly as her eyes flicked back to the figure at the end of the bed. He was quite a tall man with wide shoulders and a lean waist. A finely tailored silk shirt showed the expanse of a hard, tapering chest, while the slim trousers displayed the narrowness of his hips and the long, muscular length of his thighs. He was neither thin nor massive, but appeared to be in superb physical form. Obviously he had much to be conceited about.
She gave the glass back to the doctor, and feeling a need to set matters straight in her own mind, she inquired rather timidly, “Am I supposed to know anyone here?”
Dr. Page’s jaw sagged in astonishment, and when he looked up at Ashton, he found his surprise shared by the one who had claimed her as his wife. Ashton was totally confused. He had been so sure that this was Lierin, the one whom he had loved and wed. Indeed, he would have staked his life on it. “Are you not Lierin?”
Her brows came together in a slight frown. Disconcerted and yet reluctant to make an appeal for his sympathies, she responded with a confused shrug. “I…I…really don’t know who I am.”
Tormented by uncertainty, she awaited his reaction, afraid he would judge her mad by her confession. She saw the first wave of shock register on his face as he stared at her. His companions seemed no less startled.
Aunt Jennifer approached the bed and took the girl’s slender hand to pat it comfortingly. “There, there, dear. I’m sure it will come to you in a moment.”
“Jenny, no one forgets her name,” Amanda chided. “The girl just needs some rest.”
“Perhaps it’s something more than that, Amanda,” Dr. Page commented thoughtfully. “There’ve actually been several cases of memory loss recorded. Amnesia, I believe. From what I’ve read of it, it can either deal with a partial memory loss, where the patients forget a short phase of their lives or some event. Other times it’s more extended, and those affected forget their names, where they live, the entire history of their lives, only retaining their abilities to read and write and so on. A few have experienced a total loss, and these have no recollection of having even existed before the moment they awake.” The doctor spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I must confess I’m at a loss. I’ve never known one who suffered from it.”