Forever Mine (3 page)

“Good heavens, my lady. You shouldn’t be out of bed just yet.”

“Who are you?”

Her words sounded hoarse, stiff, and stilted. Laryngitis. Could you get that from a hangover? If you were shouting over loud music all night long? Maybe she’d been mugged and choked in the process. It would explain her voice, the pounding in her head, and the way her body ached. It would also account for not knowing where the hell she was.

“I’m Bessie, my lady. Thomas Goodman’s wife. He found you near the pond this morning. You were like death warmed over when my Thomas brought you in.”

“Pond?” The hoarseness in her voice had disappeared, but it still sounded funny to her.

“Yes, my lady. Soaked through and through. If my Thomas hadn’t found you I fear the worst might have happened.”

Victoria shook her head in denial and winced as she pressed her hand against her forehead. She hadn’t been anywhere near a pond. She’d been in an art gallery. The sudden sliver of a memory tantalized her before it evaporated and pain took its place.

“Where am I?”

“Why Brentwood Park, my lady.” Bessie patted Victoria’s arm in a comforting manner.

“Brentwood Park,” she murmured. Where had she heard that name before? Another stab of pain erupted in her head, and she groaned softly. God, jackhammers were going off inside her head. She looked down at the white cotton gown she wore. She never wore nightgowns. Normally, she chose to sleep in the nude, although she would occasionally sleep in a pair of pajamas. Nightgowns? Never. They were little more than straight-jackets, and she never got a good night’s sleep with one on. Beside the bed, her hostess poured water from a beige earthen pitcher into a matching bowl. Wringing out a cloth in the basin, the woman turned her head to Victoria and smiled.

“Now then, my lady, let me see if I can clean that cut of yours.”

“Cut?” Victoria blinked with confusion.

“I don’t believe it will need stitching.” Bessie’s weathered features wrinkled up into a reassuring look as she dabbed gently at Victoria’s forehead. “Lucky is what you were. Another inch lower and you could have lost an eye.”

Baffled, Victoria gasped as cold water stung a tender spot just above her right eye. She lightly touched the wound and drew in a breath of surprise as Bessie gently pulled her hand away. When had she cut her head? Questions. Every time she answered one, half a dozen more sprang to life. She pulled away from the woman who was clucking over her like a worrisome mother hen.

“You said I’m at Brentwood Park. Is this a hospital of some kind?”

“Heavens, no, my lady. This is Goodman Cottage. Thomas and I are tenants of his lordship.”

“His lordship?”

“Lord Guildford, my lady. Don’t you remember?” The woman stared at her with a worried frown.

“I don’t know any Lord Guildford.” Victoria wanted to shake her head, but was afraid to for fear of pain.

“Oh dear…you must have hit your head much harder than we thought.” Bessie clucked her tongue in sympathy. “Now don’t you fret, I’ve seen this happen before. Your memory will come back right enough when you’re ready.”

“I haven’t lost my memory,” Victoria muttered stubbornly.

She remembered her name, her childhood, the night her father had died. She shoved that particular memory into a separate compartment. Right now she had to focus on figuring out where the hell she was. England. She was in England on vacation, by herself. It was impossible to know how long she’d been out, and right now all she wanted was to get back to her hotel. She frowned. Why didn’t she hear traffic outside? The quiet reminded her of the woods near Kerrigan Stables where she rode twice a week. A chill ran down her spine. If it were quiet outside, it meant she was in the country. She’d been in the city. How in the hell had she gotten from London to wherever this was?

“If you don’t mind, I’d like my clothes back so I can return to my hotel.”

“But, my lady, you just can’t—”

“Can’t what?” she snapped, more out of fear than anger. “Please bring me my clothes. I want—”

The door swung open with a loud screech. Instantly, she turned toward the sound and inhaled a sharp breath. Everything receded into the background as she met the hard, green-eyed gaze of the man entering the room. Before his arrival, the room had been comfortable in size, but now it closed in on her.

Power. Sheer power was the first thing that came to mind as her gaze ran over him. He was dressed for riding, but he wasn’t wearing jeans as one might expect. His apparel seemed more appropriate for a horse show. Fawn-colored breeches hugged sleek, muscular thighs. The snug fitting pants were tucked into a pair of shiny black boots with a dark brown cuff at the top. A starched collar jutted upward to part slightly at his throat, while a narrow, black tie encircled his neck. Dark wavy hair and those piercing green eyes of his completed the image of a man born to command. She swallowed hard. The man didn’t just ooze sex appeal, he defined it.

Deliberate and unhurried, he removed his black riding gloves and slapped them into his hand with a vicious crack. She jumped. Like an animal fascinated with its predator, she met his narrowed eyes warily. His barely restrained anger saturated the room with its raw heat.

Okay, now she was worried. Had she wrecked her rental car and damaged his property? Wait, did she even have a rental car? Damn it, how could she remember things from months ago, while the past couple of days and weeks were hazy at best?

“That will be all for now, Bessie. You may bring the countess her clothes shortly.” Despite her apprehension, the deep timbre of his voice turned her inside out. The man could easily give a woman an orgasm with that voice. Wait. Countess? What countess?

“Yes, my lord.”

Bessie quickly left the room as the stranger’s gaze remained locked with hers. The door closed behind the older woman, and something flashed in the man’s eyes as he moved forward. Victoria instinctively jumped backward as he brushed past her. He walked with a distinct limp as he crossed the room to the small window beneath an eave. Had he been in an accident or was the handicap from birth? The vague whisper of a memory teased her as she studied the back of his dark head. She tried to catch the thought, but it winked out of her grasp. Frustrated, she grimaced then started as the man turned and directed a harsh look in her direction.

“Do you want to tell me where the devil you’ve been for the last three weeks, Vickie?”

“I’m sorry?” She scowled at him. She’d never liked people calling her by that nickname. For some unknown reason, it had always had a negative connotation to it, and she hated the way it made her feel when someone called her by the name.

“Three weeks, Vickie.” The sharp words cracked through the air and made her flinch. “I’ve had private investigators looking for you for the past three weeks.”

“Look, you’ve obviously got me confused with someone else.” Bewildered, she shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know you. My name is Victoria Ashton, and I don’t know this Vickie person.”

“Memory loss? Your creativity astounds me, my dear.” The condescension in his voice made the hair on the back of neck stand upright. Sex appeal or not, the man was an arrogant bastard. Victoria narrowed her eyes at him.

“I didn’t say I’d lost my memory. I said I don’t know you.” She silently dismissed her inability to remember the past couple of days or weeks. That didn’t count. She knew who she was.

His eyes were shards of green ice as he stared at her for a long moment. Then with an indifferent air he took a seat in the room’s only chair. Sitting sideways, he draped an arm over the wooden chair’s spindled back and crossed his bad leg over one knee. His relaxed posture only enhanced his commanding presence. Sexy or not, she was certain he’d be a dangerous man to cross.

“So you think I’ve confused you with someone else.” He surveyed her from head to toe with an insolent gleam before looking at the ring on his finger. “An odd statement considering I’d be hard pressed not to recognize my wife.”

The soft words sent her reeling back two steps. Frantically, she tried to recall what she’d been doing before she woke up in this nightmare. There was no way in hell she could be married. Was there?

She squeezed her eyes shut as if that would help her remember. The image of a large room with paintings flitted through her head. An art gallery. She’d been debating whether to buy a landscape. Hadn’t she? Images flew through her head so fast she couldn’t recognize most of them. An explosion. Had there been an explosion? It would explain the cut on her head if she’d been near glass.

Desperately, she tried to remember more. She’d been with someone. Who? Acute pain pulsed viciously in her head. Victoria tried to ignore it, but the harder she tried to pull answers from the shadows, the more intense the vicious pounding in her head. She released a soft sound of misery and gave up trying to recall the last couple of days. The moment she did so, the pain eased to a minor throb.

She was barely aware the stranger had moved until his sudden proximity enveloped her in a white hot heat. Firm fingers grasped her chin, and he tilted her face toward the sunshine streaming into the room. The pads of his fingers seared her skin, and she drew in a sharp breath. Hell, this man wasn’t just hot to look at. With one simple touch, he’d managed to make her legs wobbly as Jell-O. She dragged in another quick breath.

He smelled of horse, leather, and something spicy. He was raw male and the potency of him made her ache for something she hadn’t had in a long time. All the man had to do was kiss her, and she’d be melting in his arms. The thought made her lick her lips nervously. His gaze narrowed and his eyes darkened to a shade of evergreen before he jerked away from her and put several feet between them.

“I grow weary of this game you’re playing, Vickie.”

“I’m
not
your wife,” she snapped.

“Then tell me who you are, my dear.” The cold contempt in his voice could have frozen the air between them, and for the first time she realized she might be in real trouble.

“I told you, already. My name is Victoria Ashton,” she said as calmly as possible. “I don’t know you or how I got here. I just want my clothes back so I can get a ride back to London.”

For the briefest of moments, she could have sworn she saw doubt in his green eyes before a shutter fell into place, revealing nothing but amused cynicism. The insolence of his smile made her draw in a breath of irritation.

“A convincing tale, madam, but it lacks a certain, shall we say, finesse,” he drawled.

“Are you calling me a liar?” She wanted to kick herself. Of course he was.

“I’m simply stating the obvious. Your acting abilities have improved considerably, but this is a bit much, even for you.”

“Look, this is crazy. I was in an art gallery in London. I think there was some kind of explosion. The next thing I knew, I woke up here.” Her words instantly made her head hurt, and she winced.

“I’m a patient man, Vickie, but this charade is growing tiresome.” Anger tightened his sensual mouth. The fact that she was even thinking about his mouth annoyed her as much as his refusal to call her Victoria.

“So help me God, if you call me Vickie one more time…” She gritted her teeth and suppressed her anger. It wasn’t going to help things if she lost her temper. “I’m
not
your wife. My name is Victoria Ashton. I don’t know how I got here, and at the moment I don’t really care. If you’ll just give me my clothes back, I’ll get out of your hair.”

“
Enough
.” The barely controlled fury in the command made her flinch. “If you continue with this farce, I’ll be forced to have you examined by a physician from the county asylum.”

“Don’t you
dare
threaten me,” she said fiercely as she returned his glare.

“It’s not a threat, Vickie. You’re clearly unwell.”

There was something about his icy demeanor that sent a shiver down her spine. He was dead serious. Fear slithered through Victoria. The man was clearly off his rocker, her clothes were missing, and no one knew where she was. Hell,
she
didn’t even know where she was. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the door and lunged toward it.

With the advantage of surprise, she was slamming the door behind her before the stranger could stop her. Victoria heard him utter a violent curse, but didn’t wait to hear more. A cramped stairwell was only a couple feet away, and she plunged her way down the steep, narrow steps.

As she reached the last step, she stopped and stared. The large room looked like a historical exhibit. The woman who’d cleaned the cut on her head stood bent at a huge open fireplace stirring something in a kettle. Victoria hadn’t paid much attention to the woman’s apparel earlier, but now she realized Bessie was a walking advertisement for a tourist attraction. The rotund woman wore a brown dress that almost brushed the floor with a white apron tied around her waist. Victoria looked around the room in the hope her clothes might be close by, but they were nowhere in sight.

“
God damn it, Vickie. Stop
.”

The stranger’s voice held a dark and dangerous edge to it, and Bessie looked up from her kettle to stare at Victoria in astonishment. Not about to let the woman stop her, Victoria threw open the only door in the room and bolted outside. The cold air and patches of snow on the ground stunned her. It was the middle of May. Did England have snow as late as this? She squinted against the sunshine and paused to let her eyes adjust to the light. Behind her, the door to the small house swung open.

“Bloody hell, Vickie. Don’t be a fool. You’re not dressed.”

Victoria ignored his harsh words as she fled. Rough stones bit at her bare feet as she sprinted along the dirt path leading away from him. In front of her was a large pond, and at the water’s edge, the trail split to follow the shoreline all around the pond. Behind her, she heard her jailor call out a man’s name. A responding shout echoed out of the woods surrounding the water. Horrified, she saw men emerge from the forest on each side of the pond.

With a glance over her shoulder, she saw her delusional interrogator gaining on her. For a man with a limp, he moved quickly. Frantic, she realized the water was her only hope of escape. She was a fast swimmer. If she swam to the opposite end of the pond, she might be able to escape. Self-preservation drove her forward, and she ran the last two steps to the water and dived in head first.