No Regrets Read online

  Furious someone would abuse a woman so, he tried to choose what course to take. He needed to determine who the woman was and if she had family in the area who would be concerned over her disappearance. Ben had spent a great deal of time in Dover as a child often celebrating holidays with his Aunt Mary. He’d been back quite a few times as an adult as well since Alex and Jack both owned estates in the area. Certain he had never seen this woman before, and sure he would remember if he had, he wondered if someone had simply dumped her here after abusing her.

  The woman’s attire led him to wonder if she was a prostitute. It was entirely possible she had been beaten and dumped here by an unhappy lover or perhaps even her madam. During his time working with Bow Street, he’d been sent into many seedy parts of the city and he’d seen all kinds of abuse and violence. What he couldn’t understand was how the hell she had ended up all the way out here. London was several hours away, and Dover was typically a peaceful place with so few visitors that crime of any sort was rare.

  Glancing back toward the Grange, Ben knew he couldn’t take the woman there. The McCormicks had become parents for the first time, and he refused to spoil their joyous occasion by placing an injured lady of the night in their care. He also couldn’t take the young woman to the next nearest estate, the Homestead. Although the Homestead now belonged to his good friend the Earl of Wilshire, Jack Campbell and his new bride had traveled to America on a honeymoon voyage and were not due back for another month.

  Grimacing, Ben acknowledged the only place left to take the injured woman was to his home.

  “Perfect,” he muttered. “Home, sweet home. Complete with a silent child, ancient servants, a whore and the miserable son of a duke. Can my life get any better?”

  Chapter 3

  V is for Vague Memories

  The return trip to Waterplace took twice as long as Ben struggled to keep the unconscious woman on his lap, while moving her as little as possible. He was concerned about the blow she had taken to her head, and he didn’t want to aggravate the injury. As he approached his home, he sent up a silent prayer to the gods no one would notice his return. He could imagine the looks on Mr. and Mrs. Henry’s faces when he carried this lovely, half naked creature into the house. If he could get her to one of the bedchambers, he could…what? What was he going to do with this mystery woman once he got her inside?

  His prayers answered, Ben’s return was unnoticed by the two servants and his little ward. Dismounting carefully, he tied his horse to a fencepost and carried the wayward lady into the house. With so many of the bedrooms closed off and in shambles, he climbed the stairs and headed to his own bedchamber trying not to look too closely at the disaster surrounding him. His was the only bedroom in the house that had clean sheets and a sturdy roof besides Chelsea’s room across the hallway and the Henrys’ bedchamber. He had seen to those rooms during his first week in residence. His sleep was disturbed enough with nightmares of unending battles and senseless death without adding the additional worry of the roof falling in on all of their heads.

  Kicking the door to his bedchamber closed behind him, Ben crossed to his large bed and laid the injured ladybird in the middle of the feather mattress.

  Walking to the dresser, he retrieved a bowl of water and a cloth, studying his unconscious patient as he approached. She was quite beautiful; shapely, with just the right amount of plumpness. Never attracted to thin women, he liked a woman with lots of curves. This lovely lady certainly possessed them. Were he the type of man to dally with whores, he would be drawn to this one. However, he had never and would never pay for sex. Love-making was best shared between two consenting adults, not one consenting male and one starving woman trying to feed herself. No, it was best Ben treat her as he would any unfortunate stranger. He would tend her injuries, give her a hot meal, put some money in her pocket and send her back home—wherever that was.

  Dipping the cloth into the lukewarm water, he gently washed the cuts and abrasions on her arms and face. Lifting her chin lightly, he cleaned around her neck and throat, taking note of the delicate chain he had missed in his initial perusal. Further investigation of the necklace revealed a small charm in the shape of a letter “V.”

  The lady stirred after several minutes of his soft ministrations, and he stepped back from the bed, watching as the wayward angel regained consciousness. As she awoke, the most exquisite eyes he’d ever seen slowly focused on him. Sapphire blue. She gave him a heart-warming smile; a true smile that reminded him of a glorious sunrise. He was taken aback by the genuineness of it, and it dawned on him that people rarely smiled at him. He supposed it was because he usually looked so dark and forbidding, and it struck him as odd that he couldn’t recall the last time a stranger had looked at him without a touch of fear in their eyes. He scowled at the thought and watched her smile dim, uncertainly.

  “Hello,” she whispered before lightly clearing her throat. “Hello,” she repeated, her soft voice gaining strength.

  “Good afternoon,” Ben answered. “I’m afraid you’ve had a bit of an accident.”

  Frowning slightly at his words and glowering face, the woman glanced around the room to take in her surroundings. Raising a delicate hand to her brow, she lightly touched the lump on her head, wincing in pain.

  “I…it would appear so. What happened?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me,” he replied. “I found you unconscious beneath a tree. Do you remember how you got there?”

  Still frowning, the lovely blonde shook her head slowly. “No. I don’t remember anything about a tree. Where am I?”

  “In my bedchamber. I hope you will forgive my presumption for bringing you here, but there truly wasn’t anywhere else I could take you.” He chastised himself for apologizing. After all, he had saved the woman. Well perhaps not saved, her injuries certainly weren’t life threatening, but he found himself a bit unnerved by her sweet, almost innocent stare.

  “Oh, I’m not likely to complain. You’re my knight in shining armor,” she answered with another smile so bright and guileless his heart began to beat faster.

  “Well.” He cleared his throat to cover his embarrassment at her admiring, although incorrect, assessment. “If you’ll tell me your name, I’ll return you to your family. I’m sure they are quite distressed by now.”

  Tears formed in her thick lashes as she appeared to fight against the pain in her head. “Don’t you know who I am?”

  “No.” Ben was shocked by her question. Had they been introduced before and he’d forgotten? He found that possibility highly unlikely as he would never have forgotten a face as charming as hers. “I’m sorry, but I feel quite certain we’ve never been formally introduced. My name is Lord Benjamin Sinclair, son of the Duke of Pelsham and this is my estate, Waterplace. And you are?”

  Biting her lower lip, the woman wiped away the tears forming in the corner of her eyes. After several moments, she whispered, “I don’t know. I don’t know who I am.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I c-can’t remember my name.” The tears flowed down her pale cheeks. “Oh, God, I don’t know who I am. How can that be?”

  Her shoulders shook as she cried silently, fear and confusion written on her face. Concern washed through Ben as he struggled over what he should do. He couldn’t stand to see a woman cry, yet he didn’t know how to comfort her. Apprehensively, he sank down on the bed beside her and was shocked when she sat up and reached out to him, her small frame leaning into his much larger one. Slowly, awkwardly, he wrapped his arms around her.

  “Don’t cry. It’ll be all right. You’ve taken a nasty knock on the head. A good night’s sleep is all you need.” He’d heard of people losing their memory after experiencing head injuries and had actually seen it happen to a fellow soldier during the war. He hoped in this young woman’s case, the effects were temporary. He could barely take care of himself and Chelsea. He had no idea how he would care for a woman with no memories.

  Ben murmured comfort
ing words as the young woman wept quietly, her fear and pain escaping in silent sobs that wracked her body. After several minutes, she pulled out of his embrace and looked at him with trusting eyes.

  “I’m s-sorry,” she said, her voice breaking. “You’ve been so kind to me and all you’ve gotten in return is a weepy woman in your bed. I can’t tell you how frightening this is, Lord, um Lord, oh, now I’ve forgotten your name too.”

  “Ben. My name is Ben.” He didn’t know why he granted this complete stranger the informal use of his name, but something about it felt right.

  “Lord Ben?” she asked, obviously remembering his previous introduction.

  “No, simply Ben will suffice”

  “Ben.” She stifled a yawn.

  “I suspect you need to rest.” He rose slowly from the bed.

  She began to protest, but then she lay back onto the pillow, sleep taking her quickly.

  “Rest well, sunshine.” Ben pulled the blanket over her. Resolute about discovering his mystery lady’s name and returning her to her home, he sat in the chair, watching over her sleeping form the rest of the afternoon and well into the night.

  She awakened in a dark, unfamiliar room, the pounding in her head less painful, replaced now by a dull thud that left her dizzy and more than a little nauseous. A stirring next to her alerted her to the presence of another person in the room. Thinking back, she recalled the dark-haired, black-eyed man who’d been with her earlier. She wondered about those dark eyes. They’d seemed so sad, so despondent, she’d found herself wanting to reach out to comfort him as one might an abused child, despite the fact she was the one who was injured.

  What had he said his name was? Her mind was groggy from too much sleep and her body felt weary from taking such a beating. Brad? Bill? No, she shook her head trying to clear the fog that seemed to be permanently clouding her thoughts.

  Ben. His name is Ben. And my name is…

  She couldn’t remember anything before waking up in this room, in this bed.

  Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she refused to cry again. Tears wouldn’t bring her memories back. She searched her mind for some scrap of memory until the pressure built up so fiercely she thought her head would explode. Exhaustion started to overtake her once more, but ultimately hunger won out when her stomach growled, betraying her state of consciousness.

  “My lady visitor has turned into a tiger,” came a deep voice beside her.

  “Ben?” She recognized his gruff voice even in the darkness. Any sane person would be terrified to wake up in a stranger’s room, especially given the man’s large size and dark visage. However, for some inexplicable reason, she felt safe, protected.

  “Yes.” He leaned forward into the shaft of dim moonlight coming through the window. “Venus awakes.” While his words were light, his face was serious, full of concern and again she sensed the rather frightening undercurrent that seemed to flow from him. Had she been strong enough she would be fleeing from him like the plague.

  Smiling shyly, she wondered if this man ever smiled. He always seemed so grave. She took in his rumpled hair and wrinkled clothing and immediately felt guilty for stealing his bed. “You’ve been reduced to sleeping in a chair for showing compassion to a stranger.”

  “I spend many nights like this. Don’t worry about my sleeping arrangements. It would seem a much more important matter that we feed you. I would hate to have you expire from hunger after all my tender care.”

  What kind of man sat up at night in a chair rather than sleeping in a nice comfortable bed? She grinned at his words. “I may not remember who I am, but I do know I’m starving.”

  Ben bowed solemnly as he rose and crossed the room to a table by the fire. Lighting a candle, he took the cover off a tray. “As luck would have it, I have some food. I took the liberty of having a small repast prepared while you were resting. I thought you would be hungry upon waking.”

  She gratefully accepted the tray of bread, cheese and meat he presented her. After several silent moments of eating, she looked up to see him watching her as if he could see into the depths of her soul.

  “Thank you for all you’ve done. Bringing me here and caring for me, giving up your bed, feeding me.” She paused, glancing down at herself. “And changing my clothes?”

  Now it was Ben’s turn to flush. While she’d slept, he’d removed her scandalous outfit and put her in one of his aunt’s cotton night shifts. “Ah, I, um, your clothing was torn and very dirty, and I thought perhaps you would be more comfortable thus. I assure you I was a perfect gentleman about it.” He hoped the fact he was lying didn’t show on his face. He simply couldn’t resist taking one small peek at her luscious body. Besides, Mrs. Henry would raise the recently repaired roof if she knew he’d brought a woman, who in all likelihood was a prostitute, into the house. She was already beside herself with curiosity about the woman sleeping in the master’s bed. Ben’s responses to her unending questions had been vague at best.

  Clearly mortified at the thought of him seeing her undressed, she merely nodded.

  “Well,” he started, anxious to change the subject, “now that you’ve had something to eat, perhaps you would like to get some more rest?”

  “Oh, no. I couldn’t sleep anymore. Not yet anyway. I wonder, I mean, I was hoping perhaps you would keep me company for a little while?”

  “Of course.”

  “Since I don’t know anything about myself, why don’t you tell me about you?”

  Ben hedged. He rarely, no, that wasn’t correct, he never spoke of himself. Thinking about his life in any detail generally sent him running for the nearest bottle of whiskey. “There isn’t much to tell.”

  “Oh, there must be something.” She gave him little chance for escape. Given his suspicions about the woman’s background, perhaps it would be best to fill her in on his family connections, so she would fully understand their vast social differences once her memory did return to her.

  “My father is the eighth Duke of Pelsham. He is extremely active in Parliament and played an important role during the war with France. My mother was a Bradshaw before she married, of the Yorkshire Bradshaws. My twin brother, Adam, is the Marquis of Shropshire, and upon my father’s death, will become the next duke. My family has numerous connections in the government and is even related to Prinny himself, though rather distantly, of course.”

  Throughout his family tree recital, the blonde woman nodded politely.

  “You have a very impressive family.” Her tone suggested she was actually less than awed. That surprised him, given that most of society was daunted by his high-ton, supremely aristocratic bloodlines. “But that really doesn’t tell me much about you. Where you’ve been. What you do now. Things like that.”

  “Me?” Why would she be interested in him? He’d yet to smile at the woman and was fairly certain he must appear downright ghoulish to her. He was too tall and broad, too dark. He’d once been told by an associate at Bow Street his success in tracking down villains was due to the fact they were so frightened upon seeing their captor they simply lay down and surrendered. “As I said before, there isn’t much to tell.”

  He shifted uncomfortably in the chair. In all his life, he couldn’t recall ever being asked about himself as a person. Most of the ton was only interested in his father and, as his father aged, his brother—the heir apparent and therefore the more powerful son. His brooding nature generally discouraged most people from trying to get too close. The fact this odd woman wanted to know about him shocked and even annoyed him as he had no suitable response.

  “I find it hard to believe nothing of any importance or interest has ever happened to you. Your face betrays you, you know.”

  “Pardon me?” He could hear the surliness in his tone. He was insulted by her comment. He knew he wasn’t what anyone would deem handsome, but for some foolish reason he wanted this woman to find him so.

  “Your face is full of character and mystery. So many things written in your e
yes. Your home—actually your bedroom since that’s all I’ve seen—also betrays you. So many fascinating things,” she added in a light tone. “I believe you can tell quite a lot about a person simply by studying their possessions.”

  Glancing around the room, he noticed her eyes had landed on a large weapon in the corner. Before he could direct her attention elsewhere, she asked, “Like that sword in the corner. It’s well used. Is it yours?”

  He nodded, not sure how to respond to her astute observations and her lack of fear.

  “Not some crazed killer?” she asked with a light-hearted titter.

  Ben shook his head, again wondering why she wasn’t running from the room as fast as she could.

  “Well then, that says you are either a weapons collector, a soldier of some sort or perhaps a pirate?”

  Ben genuinely struggled not to grin as she sounded almost hopeful when she asked if he was a pirate. What a strange woman. “I was a soldier,” he responded before he could call the words back. “An officer in the war against France, Napoleon.”

  “You were? That must have been frightening.”

  The accuracy of her answer amazed and quite frankly offended him. Did she think him a coward? “I was honored to serve my country, and I did so to the best of my ability.” He winced at the curtness of his reply.

  “Of course you did. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.” Her response was quick. She was obviously aware he had taken offense.

  He was becoming unbearably warm and cursed the roaring blaze coming from the fireplace.

  “Actually, it was quite frightening at times,” he admitted after several moments of awkward silence. “War is not a pretty thing, regardless of how people attempt to glorify it. It is hard to describe the true horror of it, and I would not venture to try in a woman’s presence. Men have spent fortunes and lifetimes creating countless ways to brutally harm and kill other men while no one takes the time to figure out how to bring these bodies back to life. And always it’s in the pursuit of an ideal that no one ever seems to be able to keep within their grasp.”