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She had never really trusted men, not emotionally, not to be honest, she felt that with a certainty. Why, she wasn’t sure; there were memories, half-formed, of flattery and insincerity, of courtships based on wealth and status, not on emotion. Was that why she had talked herself into thinking she loved Gerald, because he had seemed guileless?
Adam was not guileless and she doubted he ever had been. He said he was no gentleman. He called himself a bit of rough, a bastard, a killer. ‘Oh, Adam.’ She put her foot down with a splash and reached for the towel. Was there any future for them at all? Why would Adam want her, other than for the rather obvious fact that he appeared to desire her sexually? She had no assets to bring him except her body. No family, no money. No past at all.
The hollow feeling inside that had been hunger turned to something else, something uneasy. There was a real world out there and sooner rather than later she was going to have to face it. And she did not know who she was as a person, not really. All she knew, with increasing certainty, was that she was not the helpless creature who had clung so tightly to the man who saved her that he had virtually to strip before he could shake her off.
She was usually a determined person, the memories of refusing to do the conventional thing and agree to marry for suitability, not love, told her that. She was unconventional enough to run off with one man and to persuade another into bed with her. Perhaps wanton was the word, although she hoped not. Adam had said passionate, sensual.
The unsettling suspicion grew that her infatuation with Gerald had been a kind of desperation. She had needed to prove to herself that she was perfectly normal, that she could fall in love and want to marry. But for some reason she had to fall in love with a man her parents did not approve of. They couldn’t have done, or she wouldn’t have needed to elope with him.
This was making her head ache again. A convenient excuse for not facing facts, she scolded herself as she dressed and made her way downstairs. Do I really want to be with Adam? That was the other worry that fretted at the back of her mind. Was the fact that every fibre of her being revolted at the thought of being parted from him simply a measure of how much she relied on him now? That and a sensual enchantment, she admitted ruefully.
I am not some waif to be rescued, I must do this myself. Perhaps Adam’s strays would always turn out to be less waiflike than he thought. So far he had a dog with a strong protective instinct for his rescuers and a woman who would not do as she was told.
Chapter Nine
Maggie, Lucille the maid and two of the soldiers were in the kitchen. Rose greeted them absently, her mind still wrestling with her feelings for Adam. Then she noticed the very careful way they were keeping quiet and carrying on with their tasks. Not one of them looked at
her.
They know. They know Adam and I are lovers. She sat down, uncertain what to say. Is this disapproval? No, they don’t want to embarrass me, she realised as Lucille shot her a quick, half-smiling glance.
‘I have my voice back,’ she said. It was as though she had thrown a stone into a stage tableau. Everyone relaxed, heads turned.
‘That’s wonderful,’ Maggie said, beaming. ‘The major said you could talk again. And has all of your memory returned?’
‘No. Not that.’ And it was more than an inconvenience, she realised now. She needed to know who she was, what she was, if she had any hope of understanding her feelings for Adam. Any hope of holding him.
‘Your poor friends, not knowing what has happened to you,’ Maggie said as she peered into the flour bin. ‘You run along, lads, let the women have a comfy chat. You find some breakfast for Miss Rose, Lucille.’
‘My friends?’ Oh, my heavens. Not friends—my parents. Somewhere, in the muddle of things half-remembered, was the comforting thought that she had left them a letter, explained she was safe with Gerald. Only she hadn’t been safe with Gerald and they would have known that for days now.
‘They must be frantic,’ she whispered, sick with guilt. Eloping was bad enough, running off and getting lost in the middle of a vast and bloody battle was quite another thing. ‘My parents. I eloped with Gerald, I left them a note.’
Did they know that Gerald was dead yet? She must ask Adam how casualty lists were distributed, how she could find out if anyone had been asking about Gerald. His own parents were in Wales, she knew that. News could not have reached them about the battle, let alone any enquiries from them come back about their son.
‘Casualty lists,’ she began as the door closed behind the soldiers. ‘Gerald’s name will be on them.’
‘Not for rank and file,’ Maggie said, apparently following her train of thought. ‘Only officers.’
She couldn’t tell them Gerald had been an officer, not before she talked to Adam. ‘That won’t help, then.’
‘There’s the knocker,’ Maggie said.
Lucille was slicing bread. ‘I’ll get it,’ Rose said.
A small, plainly-dressed lady in her mid-twenties stood on the doorstep. She held out a small leather-bound book.
‘I am Miss Endacott. I have come from Lord Randall’s lodgings. Major Flint left this when he called there.’
‘Thank you.’ Rose put out her hand to take the book. ‘He told me that Lord Randall was injured in the battle. How is he now?’
‘I, that is, he…’
The woman seemed extremely distressed. Rose wanted to offer her some comfort, to find out more details, but Miss Endacott was already backing away from the doorstep.
‘We are hoping, praying—excuse me!’ And with that the woman turned abruptly and hurried away up the street.
‘What was that about?’ Maggie asked when Rose came back into the kitchen.
