Page 68 of His Sinful Touch

“Yes, of course, thank you.” Alex hustled the man out of the room, closing the door behind him, and turned back to Sabrina. “I’m dreadfully sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I am sure we’ll do fine,” Sabrina lied firmly.

“I’ll sleep in the chair.” They both turned to eye the narrow chair with the wicker seat.

“There must be another way.”

“Perhaps I could sleep in this private dining room he mentioned,” Alex offered next.

“That would really set tongues to wagging.”

“I’ll sleep on the floor here, then.” When she grimaced, he went on, “I’ve slept in worse places, believe me. The time I was kidnapped by that gang of goddess-worshippers, I was stuck in a dark place with only one high window, and the bed had a mattress an inch thick.”

Suddenly Sabrina could not breathe. She sat down hard on the small chair, her head swimming.

“Sabrina? What’s wrong?” Alex was beside her in an instant, going down on one knee and taking her hand. “What happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I think I have—well, not a ghost. I remembered something. But it’s impossible.” She raised a hand to her head. “I dreamed that once.”

“Dreamed what?”

“A boy on a bed in a little room, with a window high up on a wall. A long time ago. He was bigger than I, older, but he was all alone and scared. I—I think that’s what came into my head on the train, the little flash of memory I couldn’t recall.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t, either. But I... The boy was you. That’s why I thought I knew you when I saw you that first day.”

“But how could you have dreamed—” Alex shook his head. “No, never mind that, I’m accustomed to things that can’t be explained. What happened in this dream?”

“At first the boy was sitting there, leaning against the wall with his knees drawn up and his arms around them, and he was... He was scared, but then he got up and he climbed up to look out the window. It was high, and he put a stool on the bed to stand on it and see out. What?” She stopped as Alex’s face turned almost as white as hers.

“Nothing. Go on,” he replied hoarsely. “What happened then?”

“I’m trying to remember. Oh, I know, he pulled things out of his pocket and sorted through them—a little penknife and some pebbles or marbles or something and a bit of string.”

“Good Lord.”

She looked at him gravely. “That happened, didn’t it?”

“Yes. Yes. I was trying to find a way to escape.”

“That’s all I can remember. I think I must have awakened then. But I wanted to help you, to find you, but when I told Papa, he said—Alex! I remember him! I remember my father! I remember the smell of his pipe and him holding me, telling me not to fret.” Tears glimmered in her eyes. “I loved him.” She curled her hand into a fist and laid it against her chest. “I feel it, how much I loved him. Oh, Alex...”

She went into his arms, and he stood, pulling her up with him. “I’m sorry he’s gone.”

“No, don’t be. I’m not crying because I’m sad.” She pulled back, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “I am sorry he’s gone, of course, and that I won’t see him again, but it’s so wonderful to remember him. To know I had a father and to be able to feel that love again. I was beginning to think I wouldn’t ever remember my life. But this gives me hope! I don’t care that it was only a snippet or that it’s a bit blurry around the edges. I have regained a little piece of myself and that’s wonderful.”

“It is, indeed.” He smiled down at her. “I am very glad to see you so happy.” His eyes went to her mouth, and he leaned forward slightly, his hands coming up, but he pulled back abruptly and cleared his throat. “I’m very glad,” he repeated.

Sabrina decided this was not the time to tell him how much it warmed her to think that the memory connected her to Alex, so she merely nodded. “Well...” She gave a final swipe of the hand across her cheekbone. “I should wash up a bit before supper.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll just...uh, go down to check on that private dining room. Come down whenever you’re ready.”

* * *

THE POT ROAST made by the innkeeper’s wife was every bit as delicious as the man had promised, but Sabrina found she had little hunger for it. She took a few bites of everything, smiling and assuring the woman that the food was excellent, but other than that she ate little, pushing her food about on her plate and sipping her glass of wine. Perhaps it was the excitement and fear, the nerves engendered by her mad flight from London, that made her feel so jumpy, her insides so uncertain.

Or perhaps it was Alex. Sitting here alone with him, enclosed from the rest of the world, she could not keep from thinking about tonight and that small room. The passion between them this afternoon on the train. How would they manage to not give in to their desires in such close quarters? Did she even want to?