No Regrets Page 4

  “Peace? Freedom?”

  “Power.” His chest suddenly filled with the pain, fear and damn shadows that never allowed him a moment of sunlight. He clearly spent too much time alone with his dark thoughts. Neither of them said anything for a long time and he struggled to close the door to the inner thoughts he’d opened merely a crack for her. He wasn’t the kind of man to tell tales. He was always in control of his emotions and his thoughts. He kept his own counsel.

  “Are you married?”

  He was startled by her blunt speaking and unexpected change of subject. “I hardly think my wife would approve of you sharing our bed if I were. No, I am not married. Thank God.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Pardon me?”

  “What’s wrong with marriage?”

  “Well,” he stammered, “nothing really. For others. It’s simply not for me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why not?” Her frank questioning no longer amused him.

  “It’s seems a straightforward enough question. You’re a handsome man with your own home, all your faculties—so far as I can see—and a kind disposition, given your willingness to care for a stranger. Why wouldn’t you want to get married?”

  She thought he was handsome and kind? The thought flattered him until he remembered himself. Christ. Chances were good she was a prostitute, well versed in making men feel good about themselves. Hell, if this nighttime conversation was any indication of her usual charms, she probably did quite well in her profession as her forthright manner and compliments were intriguing and unique.

  “I’ve never found a woman with whom I would like to spend the rest of my life. I don’t find it comfortable sharing myself with another person. My friends have found love and companionship in their marriages, and I’m happy for them. However, I wouldn’t be able to give so much of myself to another person. I realize it’s not a typical attitude, but I wouldn’t marry without love, and love is something I don’t have to give. It’s simply not within me.” He leaned back in the chair chagrined at the words he’d uttered. He had never shared such private thoughts with anyone. Yet this lovely lady had him spilling his most personal feelings in the dark of the night like a condemned man confessing to a priest in hopes of redemption.

  Unwilling to reveal more, he walked to the fire, under the guise of building it up, when in fact he needed to escape her penetrating gaze. The woman was too perceptive and too intelligent for his comfort.

  Oblivious to his distress, she giggled. “What a load of crap!”

  “Pardon me?” He glanced back at her darkly.

  “You say that quite a lot, you know? Pardon me,” she mimicked playfully. “I said what a load of crap.”

  “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “Well, I had cleaned it up, but if you prefer I’ll simply say what a load of shit.”

  “Mademoiselle, I find your language offensive.”

  “No, you don’t,” she said with a wicked grin. “I have a feeling you’re a connoisseur of offensive language yourself.”

  “Something else you can read in my face?” He felt the ends of his lips turning up slightly, despite his desire to look stern.

  “Yes, actually, but you’re changing the subject. You say you’re unsuited to marriage because you can’t share yourself with one person, but in the past few minutes you’ve shared quite a lot with me. I think you’re only afraid.”

  “Afraid?” He was offended by her continual attempts to paint him a coward. “What, pray tell, would I be afraid of?”

  “Afraid of commitment.” Her answer oozed such self-assurance he longed to wipe the smirk off her lips, perhaps with his own. Good God, where had that thought come from? Although her lips were plump and full, he had no intentions of ravishing an injured woman in his own bed, even if her appealing nature begged to be kissed.

  “You’re afraid of those five little words.”

  “And what words are those, if I may be so bold as to inquire?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  “’Til death do us part.” Her reply was delivered with such an innocent, sweet smile it was all he could do to stay on his side of the room. The urge to kiss her into silence was creating an uncomfortable tightness in his breeches. Then she giggled again, pleased with her own jest.

  “Ah, I see, and you find that particular character flaw in gentlemen humorous?” He turned back to the fire, away from her radiance, her pleasant countenance. The morning sun never lit up his room as brightly as her warm smile did in the dark of the night.

  Good Heavens, I’ve been too long without a woman. I sound like a damn poet.

  “No, not really.” Her voice was still laced with mirth. “Don’t worry, Ben. I’m only teasing you. I have every faith you will meet and marry the perfect woman one day. You were made for marriage.”

  Made for marriage? What on earth could she mean, and how could she determine that after only a few moments of conversation? The foolish chit had hit her head too hard. No one of his acquaintance thought him made for marriage. He was too serious, too angry, too lost.

  “Well,” he said after a few moments of silence, unwilling to continue the conversation and desperate to escape. “I have no wish to keep you from your rest. Why don’t you sleep more? It will be morning soon and you’ll need your wits about you if we’re to figure out who you are and where you belong.”

  With a small yawn, she confirmed that she was tired. “I suppose you’re right, even though I’m well aware you are avoiding the conversation. I feel bad taking your bed from you. Where will you sleep?”

  “There is a very comfortable settee in my office. Don’t worry about me. Good night.” He crossed the room and opened the door, turning to look at her one last time. Her breathing was already heavy, and he suspected she had fallen asleep the instant she closed her lovely eyes. Her face at rest still held the trace of a smile. The corners of his mouth twitched in reply.

  Stepping into the hallway, it occurred to him he hadn’t enjoyed someone else’s company quite so much in a very long time.

  Chapter 4

  V is for Visitors

  Opening her eyes as sunlight streamed across the bedroom and onto her face, she glanced around the room, frowning at the unfamiliar surroundings. Pulling a hand through her tangled hair, she felt the painful lump on her forehead as she recalled the strange dream she’d had during the night. In the dream, the handsome son of a duke with thick black hair and eyes the color of midnight cared for her and told her war stories.

  She struggled to remember. Remember.

  Remember what?

  Rubbing the lump, she attempted to recall the rest as the door to the bedroom opened, and the hero of her dreams walked in with a breakfast tray in his hands.

  “Good morning.” He crossed the room to place the tray of delicious food onto the bedside table.

  “Good morning.” Her stomach growled loudly as the smell of fresh bread and hot tea permeated her senses.

  “Just as I suspected, you’re hungry.”

  Grinning, she ran her fingers through her hair once more, horrified this incredibly handsome man was bringing her breakfast in bed while she looked like such a disaster.

  “Actually,” she replied, “I’m starving. Again.”

  “Well, I must say I enjoy a meal much more when it can be shared with such delightful company.”

  Although his words were spoken lightly, she sensed he was uncomfortable with her presence, even though he seemed more at ease this morning than he had the previous evening. None of the bleakness she’d seen in his eyes during the night lingered. Unfortunately, he was more aloof, and she didn’t like this polite stranger as much as she liked the soldier of the night who shared confidences with her.

  All thoughts of his nature disappeared when he handed her a plate filled with the most delicious looking homemade bread and jam she’d ever seen. Of course, she’d never met a meal she didn’t like, which was why she was forever dieting and w
atching what she ate. Her recollection startled a gasp out of her.

  Ben must have noticed the peculiar look on her face. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “I can’t remember my name or where I’m from, and yet I know that I’m always trying to lose weight. Does that seem strange to you?”

  “Yes, why on earth would you want to lose weight?”

  She giggled at his response; secretly pleased he didn’t find her plumpness unattractive. “That isn’t what I meant and you know it.”

  “I suppose you must recall the essentials, like how to feed yourself, walk, talk, and so on, so it seems reasonable you’ve retained certain ingrained information about your character as well. You are, after all, the same person.”

  “Yes, I am.” She warmed to the idea. “I suppose you must be right. The knock on the head didn’t change who I am, even if I can’t remember exactly who that may be. Still, it’s disconcerting, not knowing.”

  “If it’s any consolation, I truly believe your memory will return before that lump on your head is gone. Now eat. I wouldn’t want you to wither away to nothing.” He spoke solemnly, although she detected the distinct glimmer of humor in his eyes.

  Blushing at his compliment, she shook it off. “Now you’re just being nice to the invalid.”

  “Not at all.” He replied with such sincerity she was taken aback by his words and the look in his eye that proved he truly did admire her looks.

  “Thank you.”

  Ben sensed her uneasiness and wondered at her inability to believe his compliments. Most women of his acquaintance deemed it a requirement for men to wax poetic over all of their charming qualities. It was one of the ton’s strictures he found vastly annoying as he was typically at a loss to find something positive to say to any females of the nobility. “If nothing else, you need to eat to regain your strength.”

  She laughed and lifted her toast in a mock salute. “The perfect excuse to blow a diet.” She dug into the hot bread and jam with such pleasure, he struggled not to laugh with her.

  Unfamiliar with her strange choice of words, he tried to place her accent. She was definitely English, but he couldn’t understand the unusual dialect. “So I assume you still don’t recall your name?”

  She shook her head sadly.

  “Perhaps this is a clue.” He pointed at her neck. “I should have mentioned it last night, but forgot until this moment.” His fingers lightly brushed her throat and he felt a tremor of heat rush through his body at the feeling of her soft skin against his fingertips.

  Looking down, she examined the charm hanging on a necklace. “The letter V?”

  Her voice shook slightly. Ben wondered if she’d also been unsettled by the feel of his fingers on her skin.

  “It would appear so,” he answered. “Does that bring anything to mind? Perhaps it is an initial?”

  “V,” she repeated. “I suppose it could be, but…it’s not ringing any bells.” She rubbed her head, no doubt attempting to force her memories to return.

  “Why don’t we list some potential names? Maybe that would help. Vivian?”

  She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “There’s Virginia? Velma? Vanessa?”

  Again, she shook her head. “No. None of those sound right. Maybe the ‘V’ stands for my last name.”

  “Ah, yes, perhaps. In which case, there are too many possibilities to list. Regardless, we need to think of something to call you until we find your family.”

  “I suppose you’re right. I don’t think I’d like responding to Hey You.” Her words were light, but the fear in her eyes betrayed her concerns. “Ben, what if I never remember?”

  He stopped her line of thought. “That’s not going to happen. Once you’ve had time to recover, your memory will return. Actually, I’ve taken the liberty of summoning a doctor. Let’s wait until he arrives to begin fearing the worse. I’m sure he will confirm what I’ve said. It’ll merely take time. In the meanwhile, how about Esmerelda? You look a bit like an Esmerelda to me.”

  She giggled at his teasing. “Uh-oh Ben, be careful. That was perilously close to humor there. And for your information, I do not look like an Esmerelda.”

  Pleased with his joke, he rubbed his chin in mock consideration. “Very well, how about Ophelia? No? Hilda then. That’s a good strong name.”

  She groaned loudly, swinging a pillow at his head, nearly toppling her breakfast plate over in the process. “Ugh! I shudder to think what you would come up with to name a daughter!”

  He faltered briefly at her words. The idea of fatherhood left him uneasy, as he was sure to be a failure—his relationship with Chelsea was certainly indicative of that. The small girl disappeared every morning into the surrounding woods only showing up for meals. She avoided him like the plague and, unsure how to bridge the gap between them, he was only too willing to keep his distance. He’d failed in his promise to her father. He hadn’t kept her mother safe; therefore, he didn’t blame the child for keeping her distance. She’d been robbed of both parents, only to be offered him as a poor substitute.

  “How about Vee?” she asked quietly.

  He sensed he’d somehow destroyed the lightheartedness of the moment, allowing his own dark thoughts to creep back in again. “Vee? As in the letter?”

  “Yes,” she replied, her easy smile still in place. “More than likely some part of my name contains that letter. Why not use it? Sort of like a nickname. That would be better than getting used to a name that isn’t my own.”

  He nodded, intrigued by the logic behind the suggestion. “Very well, Miss Vee it is.”

  “Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head. “Just Vee, my lord.”

  “Vee then. And no more of that ‘my lord’ nonsense. Vee. It suits you. Now then, if you’ve finished breaking your fast, you should try to get more rest.”

  “What? I’ve only just woken up.” She gave him a sulky look. Ben suspected she was going to be a difficult patient now that she’d had a good night’s rest and a meal.

  “You’ve taken a nasty blow to the head. It’s quite possible you have a concussion. Try to sleep some more. Until the doctor gets here, at least.”

  “Okay,” she agreed with her usual charming smile. Ben was becoming quite fond of the dimples that appeared in her cheeks when she smiled like that. “I guess it would be poor manners to disobey such a lovely host.”

  “Yes, it would.” As he spoke, he was aware that she brought out a casualness in him he thought had perished in the war and if not then, certainly in the back alleys of London. He found himself actually feeling happier in the last twenty-four hours than he had in a year. She was extremely pleasing company, and that notion was more than a little unsettling to him.

  He certainly didn’t have any reason to feel happy. After two months in his care, Chelsea still wouldn’t speak or come near him. His house was falling apart around his ears. He needed to find a cook, footman, chambermaid, governess and head groom as well as begin work on his new business of breeding horses. Yet, here he was losing himself in the bright blue eyes of a woman, possibly a prostitute, who made him feel not only relaxed, but downright cheerful.

  The thought of her with another man caused a sudden twinge in his stomach. He frowned when he tried to picture her in a brothel, soliciting work. He didn’t like to think of men using her in such a demeaning way. The very thought left him wanting to punch any man who tried to touch her.

  He could only assume it was his sudden unaccountable attack of jealousy that caused him to bend down and place a light kiss on her brow. Shocked by his own impetuous action, he pulled back quickly as the soft heat of her skin singed his lips and sent a jolt of electricity throughout his entire body. Flushing slightly, he bowed and very quickly took his leave.

  Vee considered his charming gesture, shocked by the sweet kiss. What was it about this man that drew her to him? The sadness in his eyes called to her in a way she felt hard-pressed to resist.


  He needs me.

  She pushed the wayward notion away. He was a grown man, obviously very strong given his sheer size and very brave given his past in the army. This son of a duke definitely did not need her. She was foolish to even think so. If anything, she needed him. She was the one with no memories, home, money or even clothing of her own.

  Yet she couldn’t shake the idea Lord Benjamin Sinclair was somehow, unconsciously, reaching out to her for help. She lay down and pondered the strange notion until her eyelids grew heavy again. Ben’s troubled face was the last thing she saw when oblivion came to claim her, more quickly than she would have expected.

  When she opened her eyes much later, Vee discovered she had a new visitor. Groggy from so much sleep, she found herself looking into the bright green eyes of a little girl.

  “Hello,” she said, her voice husky.

  The little girl didn’t respond, but looked at her shyly. Vee suspected the child was uneasy at the sight of her bruises and cuts, plus the coconut sized lump on her brow that must look like an extra head.

  “I know I look a fright, but I can assure you I’m perfectly harmless.” She offered the friendliest smile she could muster in her tired state.

  Again, the girl merely stared, offering no response.

  “My name is—” She stumbled as she realized she still didn’t recall her real name. “My name is Vee.”

  The girl frowned at the introduction, turned and ran from the room. Vee gaped at the closed door for several minutes, wondering if perhaps she had been hallucinating. She didn’t ponder it for long as sleep returned to claim her sore body.

  When she opened her eyes again, she was greeted by yet another new face. This one belonged to a woman in her late fifties, dressed in a long black dress and white apron. Her gray hair was tied back in a tight bun at the base of her neck. She appeared to be tidying the room and startled briefly when she realized Vee’s eyes were on her.

  “Oh, heavens, my dear, I do hope I didna wake ye.” The lady’s voice betrayed the slightest Scottish burr.