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“Another thing that’s on my mind is that I don’t know what to do with you,” Artemisia said.

“I can think of a number of things you could do with me.” He waggled his brows suggestively. She rolled her eyes, but a blush dusted the peaks of her cheekbones.

“Incorrigible,” she muttered.

“You started it.”

“I suppose I did.” She propped her chin on one hand and watched him tuck into his dinner. “I apologize for attempting to peek beneath your blanket yesterday.”

“I took no offense,” he said truthfully. “I was, however, offended that you slept on the floor. You could have killed me by tripping me like that,” he said reproachfully.

“Sharing the room is bad enough,” she said primly. “Sharing the bed was simply a bridge too far.”

He scoffed. “The damage was already done. You should have gotten a good night’s rest.” Reaching across the table to cup her jaw, he said, “You look like you barely rested at all.”

She turned into his palm for the briefest moment before pulling away. “I didn’t. The floor was uncomfortable and the bed was equally uncomfortable, for different reasons.”

The blush was back. Lightning crashed outside, turning the room sickly yellow. She startled.

“It’s only noise,” he said.

“I know. I don’t like storms much. I never have.”

“Do you need me to comfort you? I can be quite a distraction. Besides, I owe you for your generosity.”

“Romantic words every lady wants to hear,” she said dryly. “That she is owed a debt.”

“You’ll have to forgive my lack of finesse. I recently suffered a concussion.” Henry gave her a lopsided grin. The widow chuckled. “You could take me to your cousin’s,” he suggested.

“I don’t think Margaret would appreciate me showing up with a strange man in tow right when she’s birthed her first child.”

“I can see how that might not go over well.” He racked his brain. What was he going to do if he couldn’t remember who he was and where he hailed from? He couldn’t ask Artemisia to fund his stay here in Cavalier Cove indefinitely. He would have to find employment. Which was a difficult proposition considering he had no idea what kind of occupation he was fit to perform.

Smithing was out. He extended his hands, turning them over. No calluses. Only a few fading ink stains on the inside of his right index finger. Perhaps he could be a clerk. He was literate, that much was undeniable. Reading was as effortless as breathing.

Small, pale fingers slid into his. Henry curled his around hers, holding her there.

“What are you thinking about?” the widow asked. “You turned pensive all of a sudden.”

“I was wondering how I might muddle through when you have to leave.”

She sighed. “With this rain, it doesn’t seem like I’ll be traveling on for another day or two at least. The roads will be far too muddy. We would risk breaking an axle or injuring one of the horses.”

Across the room, someone took out a fiddle and began to play a melody.

“Perhaps my memory will come back before then. Shall we dance?” He jerked his head to where people had pushed aside furniture to clear a floor.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Artemisia chided, but she gathered her skirts and rose, still holding one of his hands.

“I have rested. Now I could use a diversion, and seeing as we won’t be going anywhere this evening, why not?”

Henry pulled her into his arms. The scent of lavender water mixed with a softer floral note—gardenia or lily, he thought—wafted from her pinned-up hair. Last night it had been braided away from her face. He wanted to see it free from all constraints, slithering across her shoulders. She carried herself lightly, each step perfectly timed to the music.

“You dance surprisingly well,” she said after an entire minute where he managed not to tread on her toes once.

“As do you.”

“I had many hours of lessons. My instructor never taught us country dances, though.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I did not expect a man found in a hedgerow to know how to waltz. Moreover, an injured man should not be dancing at all. You are quite spry. I assumed thorns would have left scratches in sensitive places.”