home. Pride, love and security permeated Alex’s sense of him.
Excitement rose in him. Now this, at last, was useful. Alex knew houses. He began to dig through his pockets. He had never quite given up his childhood habit of picking up odds and ends and stuffing them in one pocket or another; as a result, he always had a pencil or two and some scrap of paper.
He found a rolled-up flyer someone on the street had handed him the other day. Flattening it out on the bench beside him, he began to sketch the house on the blank back of a testament to the wonders of “Dr. Hinkley’s Miracle Tonic—guaranteed to eradicate all one’s aches and pains.”
Alex worked as he always did, absorbed in the task, fingers moving quickly and surely over the page. He paused, studying it, then added a few more details. He spent another few minutes holding the watch and trying to summon up a fuller picture of the house, then added a bit of decoration at the corners and over the door. He would give the drawing to Tom Quick and set him looking for the place. Alex could make a pretty good guess as to what areas in the city it was most likely to be located.
He tucked away both drawing and pencil and turned to the final object. He had been curiously reluctant to examine it again. Foolish, of course. The small gold band set with diamonds wasn’t necessarily a wedding ring. Even if it was, it wasn’t necessarily Sabrina’s. It didn’t mean she was married.
Moreover, there was really no reason to be downcast at the idea. He barely knew the woman. He was not the romantic soul Con was, believing that all Morelands fell in love on sight. None of his sisters had; indeed, Olivia had had such an argument with her future husband when she first met him that both of them had been tossed out of the séance they were attending. And while Rafe had rescued Kyria from that tree, as Alex recalled she had been more irritated than bedazzled—of course, that could have had something to do with the fact that she had been trying to pull Alex and Con out of trouble. Thisbe had had a normal sort of courtship, if studying chemical concoctions could be considered a courtship.
No surprise that his vague, bookish father would have been smitten the moment he met the fiery-haired, forceful reformer who would become his wife. The duchess was, after all, something of a force of nature. Reed had pined for Anna for years, but Alex found it hard to believe that Reed, the most sensible of the Morelands, had really fallen head over heels the moment he saw her. And the whole account of Theo’s seeing his wife in a dream as he lay dying was too bizarre to count as falling in love on sight.
What they had felt was attraction, just as he was attracted to Sabrina. It made sense. No Moreland could resist the lure of the unusual, and when it was accompanied by big blue eyes and a cloud of black curls and a mouth that invited kisses, of course he would be interested in her, even attracted. The connection between them was odd; he’d never felt it with any woman before, but that didn’t mean it was love. He didn’t know what it meant, but love had to be something more than sensing her presence.
It also had to be more than wanting to help her and protect her. Anyone would have felt a rush of sympathy at her plight, anger at the sign of bruises on her creamy skin. It wasn’t the first time he had tried to help someone.
Which was exactly what he ought to be doing, instead of sitting here uselessly ruminating on his motives. Alex picked up the ring and closed his fist around it. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the circle in his hand.
The aura it gave off was muddled, as if it had been handled by many people. There was less trace of Sabrina on it than on the handkerchief. If it was, indeed, a marriage ring, surely that meant it was not Sabrina’s. Women rarely took off their wedding bands. Perhaps it was an heirloom, passed down through generations.
He had a suspicion that this line of reasoning was more wishful thinking than logic. The feeling of it was not murky and heavy, as old things often were, with generations of emotions darkening them, layer on layer. It was more...empty, almost, barely brushed with emotion.
That quality made it seem more likely that the ring was new, that it had sat in a jewelry store, looked at and held by many, but worn and cherished by no one. It made it seem likely that it was a recent acquisition, perhaps a present. Perhaps a wedding ring placed on Sabrina’s finger only days ago.
Was she a newlywed? Had she run away from her husband? The bruises on her face would certainly indicate that she had good reason for leaving him—a frightening brute of a husband who sent her fleeing into the night. Alex realized his fist had tightened around the ring, and he forcibly relaxed it.
He surged to his feet. It was useless to sit here, trying to conjure up any more information from the objects Sabrina had with her. He had learned all he could from them, and he should get to tracking down the one lead he had obtained, the house. He would find Tom Quick while Sabrina was occupied trying on clothes.
That thought brought up a whole new set of images of Sabrina in frilly underthings, slipping dresses on and off, buttoning and unbuttoning. Better not to think about that, either. She was a guest in his home. Under his mother’s roof. He knew nothing about her. He intended to help her, not seduce her.
Alex started to put the ring back in the outer pocket, but he decided it would be more secure in an inner pocket. He reached inside the jacket, finding the slit pocket in the silk lining. Shoving the ring down into the corner, his finger touched a piece of paper. Digging deeper, he caught the bit between two of his fingers and pulled it out.
Holding it up, he studied the small plain square of heavy stock paper. A slow smile spread across his face. Tucking the bit of paper into his own breast pocket, he turned and strolled back into the house.
* * *
SABRINA SAT ON the window seat, gazing out on the garden, as she waited for the maid to come measure the hems of her new treasure trove of dresses. Since the clothes had fit her well enough, she and Megan had been able to sort through them quickly.
Dealing with the Morelands was like being sucked into a whirlwind, she’d found, and this was the first time today that she had a few minutes to stop and think. As she watched, Alex appeared at the edge of the garden and walked toward the house, his head down. Apparently, like her, he had seized some time to consider the situation.
She wondered what his conclusions were. Heaven knew, she didn’t have any herself. She felt as if she teetered on the edge of a deep abyss. How could she not know anything about herself? Absently, she reached up and rubbed her temples, hoping to soothe the ache that had been in residence there all morning.
It was easy enough to guess that she had received a blow—probably more than one—to the head and that it had caused her to lose her memory. It wouldn’t be so frightening if only she could be certain that her memory would return. But what if it didn’t? What if she never recalled who she was?
What if she was married? The thought made her blood run cold. It seemed peculiar; one would think her best hope would be to have a loved one who would be looking for her, who would be able to tell her everything about herself. Instead, she feared the idea. What if her husband showed up and he seemed a complete stranger to her? Or what if he showed up and she realized that she was frightened of him, even despised him, that she had in fact been running away from him?
She held her left hand up in front of her, scrutinizing the base of her third finger. There was no mark, no change of color in her skin, to indicate that she had worn a ring there. But of course, there would not be if she had not worn it long. She hadn’t worn the ring but had carried it in her pocket. That would seem to indicate she wasn’t married, but perhaps she had only done it because the ring looked too feminine for her masculine attire. Or maybe it had been merely wishful thinking.
Or
