Just then the door to his chamber opened, and he emerged. The scent of shaving soap proceeded him, and her gaze went right to his clean-shaven jaw. How was it possible that he looked even more handsome with his stubble shaven? And how was it possible that he should be so well-dressed even without the help of a manservant? He wore a navy coat, a dove-gray waistcoat, and navy breeches with riding boots so polished she thought she would see her reflection in them if she bent over to inspect them. Meanwhile, she was standing in her wrinkled, drab dress from the day before, hair still mussed from sleep.
“You’re awake,” he said, smiling at her, his gaze appreciative, as though she didn’t look like she’d never seen a hairbrush in her life.
“I am, and according to Barbara, it’s eight o’clock, not half four, as it should be.”
He winced. “You were sleeping so soundly that I couldn’t bear to wake you. Anything come back to you this morning?”
Her anger faded as she looked down and turned her thoughts inward. “My head doesn’t ache as much,” she said, though it was still incredibly tender if she touched the spot where she’d been hit. She was able to remember her name—Clawson, not Burrows—and the nature of her mission. She recalled everything they’d spoken of the night before and what had happened since she’d opened her eyes in that cave by the sea. But if she pushed to recall anything before that, the dark mist swirled about and obscured everything. She clenched her hands. “No.”
He was before her instantly, taking her hands in his. “It’s fine. You will remember.”
“And if I don’t?”
His expression said everything. The troops waiting for those weapons might as well be lost if she didn’t remember. “It’s just so frustrating,” she said. “I know there’s something there, but I can’t grasp at it. It’s like when I dangle a string before Tabby and snatch it away before he can pounce on it. I almost have it.”
“You have a cat named Tabby?”
She waved a hand. “That’s not important. We should focus.”
But he grabbed her by the shoulders. “Marjorie, you remembered something. You have a cat named Tabby. What else do you remember about the cat?”
A cat! “Simon, I have a cat!”
“Quick. What does the cat look like? How old? Does she live with you now or was she a childhood pet? Don’t think; just answer.”
She understood his reasoning. She seemed to remember more when she wasn’t trying. Unfortunately, she couldn’t not try. And as soon as she pushed on the darkness in her mind, it seemed to grow thicker and close in. She blew out a breath. “I don’t know. When I think of cats, there’s just...nothing. I mean, I know what a cat is, but I don’t have a picture in my mind or any reference.”
“Don’t worry.” He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “It will come to you. Are you ready for our jaunt to the village? Something there may very well topple that key domino.”
She took her time changing into a high-waisted green dress with cream sleeves. She added a matching green spencer with a cream collar and piping. Clearly, she’d packed this outfit with some intention. Was it in case Simon took her into the village? But he said she’d hated him, so perhaps she would have gone into the village alone.
What an idiot she must have been. She would much rather have Simon’s company than go alone. She started putting her hair up, almost as though it was something she did without thinking, but as soon as she tried to run a brush through it to gather the loose pieces, she winced with pain. Better to finger comb her long, brown hair into a tail, which she secured with a green ribbon. Then she gingerly placed a straw hat on her head and tied the green and white-striped ribbon under her chin. A quick glance at the mirror told her she looked much improved. Her brown eyes were clear and there was a bit of color in her cheeks. She stepped out of her chamber, and Simon turned from the bookshelf. The book he’d been holding dropped to the floor, but he didn’t even look down.
“You dropped your book,” she said, pointing.
“Did I?”
Marjorie looked down at her dress. “Is this a poor wardrobe choice?”
“No. It’s just—I’ve never seen you wear anything like that. You always dress so—well, never mind.”
“You can say it. Drab.” She thought back to the gray dress she’d been wearing the morning she woke on the beach. “I looked through my wardrobe, and this was the only garment that wasn’t hideous. I always dress badly, I take it.”
“I always assumed you didn’t want to call attention to yourself. Either that or you wanted the male agents to appreciate your mind, not your pretty face. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“You think I’m pretty?” she asked. She’d looked at herself in the mirror, but her face was that of a stranger and she couldn’t remember any other faces to compare it with.
“No, not pretty. Beautiful. The first time I saw you, I made a complete arse of myself because I couldn’t manage to speak a coherent word. You were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. No wonder you thought I was an idiot.”
“I’m sure I didn’t think that,” she said, looking down to hide the blush that heated her cheeks.
“I’m confident you did. You’re different now. You seem more patient and more open, but it’s more than that. Your mannerisms have changed. I wouldn’t think you the same person if I didn’t see those little glimpses of your old self in there.”
“Do you think when I remember everything, I’ll start to hate you again and be awful to everyone?”
“I don’t know, but if you do, please forget about this conversation. I’d rather you didn’t convince Melbourne to send me to Blackfriars to sit in a rat-infested flat and keep watch on some local gang leader.”
“I give you my word, I won’t allow you to be sent to Blackfriars. It sounds awful.”
