my head. I should know.” She squinted up at him from beneath her hands. “You’re not the dreaded idiot grenadier, are you?”
“I don’t believe so, no.” The poor girl had been struck on the head and was entitled to speak nonsense. “Do you think you can try to sit upright? That must be the first step toward moving you to a more comfortable place.”
She nodded, and he slipped his arm beneath her back to help raise her. She was a little bit of a thing, more fragile than he’d first realized, and once again he thought of how fortunate she was not to have been more badly hurt, whatever misfortune had befallen her. As soon as he could take her back to the Hall, he’d call the surgeon to come make sure she was as well as she claimed. He always wanted to help those too weak or flawed to protect themselves, especially if the rest of the world had abandoned them—exactly as this girl seemed to have been.
She gasped as he lifted her upright, her eyes closed and her hand still pressed to her temple. With his help, she sat there, not moving. Then to his surprise, she opened her eyes and smiled. With her face so close to his, the effect was dazzling, if dizzying.
The dawn was beginning to reach even into these shadows, and he could now see the details of her features: round cheeks and a dimpled little chin, a surprisingly strong nose softened by freckles, pale eyes that turned up merrily at the corners. She was too elfin to be considered beautiful, but too appealing for him not to smile back.
“There,” she said, her voice thick, almost sleepy. “I did it, didn’t I?”
“You did, indeed,” he agreed, shifting so that her beguiling little mouth wasn’t as temptingly close to his. He’d never been the kind of man who took advantage of such opportunities with women, and he wasn’t about to begin with now, while her wits were so addled. “Rest a moment, and then we’ll try standing.”
“Very well,” she said, reaching out to ruffle Jetty’s ears. “I like your dogs.”
“They like you, too,” he said. Without a shred of shame, Jetty was making blissful growly noises, his eyes unfocused and his tongue lolling from his mouth in canine ecstasy. “That one, there, is Jetty, and the other is Gus, shortened from the far-too-grand Augustus. They were the ones who found you here, you know.”
“Then I thank them for their trouble,” she said, wobbling to her feet. “And I thank you, sir. You see I’m mending already.”
“Don’t be too hasty, now,” he cautioned, doubting she’d be standing at all without his support. “No need to go running off just yet. Can you recall your name, or how you came to be here? I’m not going to send you on your way until you can tell me both. Besides, you likely have family or friends worrying about you.”
Her face lost its sunniness and she looked away. “I— I do not know my name. I suppose it must be my poor foolish head again, but I—I don’t know it. Perhaps if you told me your name, I—I could recall my own.”
“Forgive me,” said Brant gravely. “I should have introduced myself to you before. I am the Duke of Strachen, and you are standing upon my land, not far from Claremont Hall.”
“Oh, my,” she whispered, not listening to him as, instead, she pressed her palm over her bruise. “Perhaps I should not have stood so soon, not when…when—ah, how my sorry head does ache!”
She swayed back against his arm and he caught her just as her eyes closed and she went limp against him. She was as light in his arms as he’d guessed she’d be. But he still didn’t want to subject her to the long walk home and her head jostling against his shoulder with each step, nor could he imagine a comfortable way to carry her on the horse for the same reason. Gallant knights in old romances might carry their ladies fair on a charger like that, but in modern reality, it simply didn’t work.
With concern he looked down at Jetty and Gus, thumping their tails on the ground as they gazed up at him. If he was to be a modern-day gallant knight, then this was what he had for faithful squires. Lucky him.
“Home,” he ordered, hoping that at least for this once, they’d decide to obey. “Home!”
And for once the pair did do as he’d asked, racing off across the open field toward Claremont Hall. They were that loyal to him, or perhaps, like him, already that besotted with the nameless girl. But when the dogs returned to the Hall without him, the men in the stables would be sure to come looking, and he counted on the dogs leading them back here. Until they did, he’d simply have to wait.
Carefully he sat on the ground beneath the trees, cradling the girl in his arms. She looked pale to him, and her breathing had grown so shallow and faint that she once again seemed lifeless.
He’d given his word to her that she’d be all right. It was a promise he now could only hope to keep.
Chapter Two
F or the first few hazy moments when Jenny woke, she was convinced she’d gone directly to Heaven—especially if Heaven was filled with clouds as soft as feather beds to lie upon and as sweet-smelling as a field of lavender, and all of it wrapped up inside the snug, dark cocoon of heavy velvet bedcurtains. She was clean and warm and dressed in a comfortably too large nightshift, with her hair neatly braided into plaits over her shoulders. She was still too sleepy to question how she’d come to this state, but awake enough to relish the blissful peace of it.
She yawned happily, stretching her arms over her head. Happily, that is, until a sudden bolt of pain drilled into the side of her forehead, a pain that was very much the opposite of Heaven. Her yawn turned to a gasp as she pressed her hand to the spot and tried to recall exactly how she’d come by this hideous, throbbing lump.
She’d been riding with Rob in a hired chaise, and because they were being followed by an idiot grenadier—she remembered her brother’s description quite clearly—she’d jumped into the grass, meaning to hide and wait for Rob to return for her. That part of remembering was easy.
But from there, however, things became confused. Somehow she’d struck her head, or had it struck for her. After that, she’d awakened to see two black dogs and a handsome gentleman kneeling beside her, his face showing such concern that she’d almost laughed, or would have if her head hadn’t hurt so much.
But as soon as she’d felt the warmth of his kindness and the strong, sure way his arm had circled her waist to hold her steady—why, then laughing had been the last thing in her thoughts. Then, even as her head had throbbed, she’d found herself wondering what it would be like to lean forward and kiss him, from gratitude and curiosity but mostly because she’d wanted to, pure and simple.
Even the memory of it now made her flush with shame at her own lack of judgment. She’d been absolutely no better than Rob, perhaps even worse, and the man hadn’t even been a rich old codger. Wherever had her good sense fled? If longing to kiss a stranger just because he’d been nice to her wasn’t proof of how hard she’d struck her head, then nothing was.
She groaned again, this time with frustration. She knew there were more things that she should be remembering, important things, yet still they stayed stubbornly out of her grasp, hovering in a hazy fog. She’d have to remember, and soon, because she’d have to leave wherever she was to go find Rob, the way they’d planned, so that—
“Here she is, Dr. Gristead,” whispered an older woman’s voice outside the bedcurtains. “Poor little creature, she’s barely stirred since we put her to bed this morning.”
