Page 6
Squinting, he blinked as the soft golden glow filled the unremarkable room, revealing the small chamber’s door standing open.
Glancing downward, he registered the white nightshirt covering his torso.
I sleep nude.
The ruffled nightshirt was not his.
Not only did he sleep naked, but he would never wear anything with as much lace as this garment sported.
How could he recall that insignificant tidbit but nothing else?
One hand resting on the wrought iron, her head cocked slightly, the woman stood at the foot of the bed and studied him. Those intelligent dark brown eyes beneath winged brows several shades darker than her plaited hair probed him, pausing for a half-second on his damaged eye.
Ah, another morsel that he recalled.
He had lost vision in one eye.
Resisting the urge to touch his face to ensure the black leather patch hid the cloudy orb, he forced himself to take a mental inventory of his surroundings.
Already having concluded he wore another’s rather hideous nightshirt—what man in his right mind would choose to wear such a ridiculous thing?—he noted the bandages artfully wrapped around his knuckles. He had also felt a dressing on his head when he’d clutched it earlier, and the vice-like pressure on his ribs suggested bindings encased his torso as well.
He lay in a narrow bed covered with a colorful quilt that appeared to have been constructed from a variety of fabrics with no apparent pattern. The other furniture comprised a straight-back chair upon which lay a once-green, rather flat, square velvet cushion, a small scuffed secretary, and the commode, upon which the plain white pitcher and basin sat.
Next to the bed, a small table acted as a nightstand. A wardrobe situated beside the door, along with two slightly crooked, dried-and-faded framed floral arrangements hanging on the same wall as the window, completed the simple décor.
Not stark, per se, but not opulent by any stretch of the imagination either.
A hazy vision of an elaborate black-and-white-tiled marble entry skittered across his memory before evaporating as swiftly as a droplet of water upon a roaring fire.
He pointed his attention to the floor.
No rugs covered the clean, plain wood, but a pile of blankets and a pillow lay between his bed and the wall.
She slept there.
Why?
Two
The same cozy bedchamber
After a few confusion-filled seconds had passed
With his one good eye, he studied her.
Her benign expression revealed nothing.
One thing was certain; he had never been so sodding feeble in his entire life. In truth, he doubted he could stand, let alone defend himself, should the need arise.
Wait…
He knew how to defend himself.
Another memory darted into his mind and was gone just as quickly.
A soldier—he was a soldier.
A slight smile formed on her mouth—a mouth Society would deem too full.
