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The Cock and Bull was no help, either. They, too, were full.

“You have the largest room. Surely you and your gent can share,” the innkeeper suggested when her footman returned with the unwelcome news that there was nowhere else for them to stay the night.

“The bed?” she squeaked. “But we are not… Henry isn’t my…” She took a deep breath. Perhaps it was better if no one knew she was sharing a room with a stranger for the evening. “We do not have that kind of relationship,” she finished rather pathetically.

Yet, a naughty little voice inside her whispered. Artemisia shushed it.

“You could put him on the floor,” suggested the innkeeper. “Unless he is very tall, he ought to fit between the bed and the fireplace.”

She could not in good conscience make a concussed man sleep on the floor. “Very well,” she sighed. “We shall make do.”

The innkeeper scuttled off to arrange for their supper and ensure the horses were seen to while Artemesia brought her satchel and a naked Henry, still wrapped in her coach blanket, inside.

“You are generous to share your lodgings with me. I promise not to be a burden.” Henry winced as they climbed to the third floor. “My head aches fiercely. If I might request two more things from you…”

“You may,” Artemisia said as regally as a woman could while huffing up a set of steep stairs with a heavy satchel and trying not to trip over her companion’s blanket hem.

“I would like to be seen by a physician. Secondly, I would like proper clothes. I promise to repay you, as soon as I remember who I am and where I hail from.”

“How do you know you can afford to reimburse me for my generosity?” she demanded tartly, and busied herself with unpacking her belongings to steady her shaking hands.

“I just do,” Henry said with a note of amusement.

“Oh, well then. That’s settled.” Artemisia huffed. Her very tall, very muscular, obscenely handsome guest filled the tiny room. “Now, let’s get you into bed.”

“No argument from me, Mrs. Longwood.”

Artemisia couldn’t help an airless chuckle from escaping her. That, too, could have a very different meaning. She needed to pull her mind out of the gutter. No one had made her do this.

It was for the children, she reminded herself sternly. Innocent babes.

Henry pulled back the bedclothes and dropped the blanket abruptly.

“You might have warned me!” she exclaimed, turning away far too late not to get another eyeful of his bare chest and flank, all the way down to his equally exposed foot. Heat washed over her.

“I assumed you wanted another look,” he said impishly, despite the way he clutched his injured head. “I gave you one. In fact, you are welcome to look your fill. All I ask is that you first request willow bark tea from the innkeeper. Once I am asleep, peep all you like, Mrs. Longwood.”

Artemisia’s cheeks burned. She was hardly a prude. Nor was she a wanton as her annoying and apparently overconfident guest presumed. She had standards, and they did not include bedding amnesiacs.

“I certainly did the world a favor in collecting you from the side of the road,” she fumed, heading back downstairs. “Unfortunately, now he’s your responsibility, Artie. Well done, indeed. This is what you deserve for taking in strays.”

There was no local physician available to call for, but Cavalier Cove was a fishing village and mariners were a hardy, practical lot. A consultation with a one-legged retired ship’s surgeon confirmed Artemisia’s suspicion of a concussion. She paid him and secured a few doses of laudanum for an exorbitant price, keeping a running tally of Henry’s expenses in her head.

Expenses that were only beginning to add up.

Finding clothes for a man of Henry’s stature was no easy feat. They were advised that the only men in town who were as tall and well-built as he were the viscount, Lord Prescott, and a man named Thomas Davies, who ran a shop. Artemisia opted to visit the storefront, as the former was presently in London. Begging clothes for a naked stranger off a merchant seemed the marginally better option, compared to begging clothes off a lord.

That sentence could be interpreted several different ways, Artemisia mused.

Such indelicate thoughts often delighted her, not that she was foolish enough to admit it to another living soul. She took endless delight in awkward phrasings. One source of conflict with the late Mr. Longwood had been the way he bemoaned her enjoyment of silly puns and racy jokes. She learned to conceal her thoughts from him and everyone else around. It was unseemly for a lady to take pleasure in base humor, so she hid it.

But she still found such things funny.

One pair of trousers, bracers, socks, two shirts, and two pairs of smalls later, she returned to the Mermaid’s Rest to discover Henry fast asleep. Good. The surgeon had advised that he not be moved for the next two days, and after that, avoid physical exertion for at least a week.

That put to bed, so to speak, any wayward thoughts she had momentarily entertained about exploring Henry’s impressive physique more thoroughly.

Time to find her stray a home. She was expected to arrive at her cousin’s house two nights from now and lodgings for a stranger would strain her finances. Tomorrow she would pay the local viscount a visit. His staff should be able to care for a wounded man for a few days. She just had to make sure her patient didn’t take a turn for the worse overnight.