Simon sat back. “If I talk, will you eat? You’ve taken maybe three bites.”
“Fine.” She lifted her spoon.
“Your father is a friend of Melbourne’s. They went to school together—and before you ask, your father is a professor at Oxford. His research is focused on ancient languages. I know Melbourne because I work for the Foreign Office, as does Melbourne.”
“You work for the Foreign Office?” This was worse than she thought. If he worked for the Foreign Office, he must have access to even more sensitive information than she could imagine.
“I do. You remember what the Foreign Office is?” He was watching her closely now, his blue eyes narrowed.
Marjorie blinked. She’d thought she knew what it was, but when she tried to focus on it to answer his question, she couldn’t seem to define it. “I have a feeling about it,” she said. “I seem to know things about it, but I don’t know how I know them.” She put a hand to her temple as though pressing against her mind would free the information. Instead, she realized how much her head had begun to ache again.
“You look pale,” he said. “We can talk of it later. Clearly, you haven’t forgotten everything.”
“No, I haven’t. I just can’t seem to find it. It’s as though all the information I gathered was dumped in a dark well, and I can’t reach it. Sometimes some little fragment bubbles up to the surface, but I can’t see through the darkness to understand the context or what it means.”
“Sounds as though your brain box was shaken up when you bumped your head. It may take a few days for things to set themselves to rights.”
She didn’t have a few days. She had to find a magistrate tonight if she was to prevent Burrows from betraying England. Had she suspected he was a traitor before? Was that why she hadn’t liked him at first? Why had she changed her mind?
“It’s been a long day. You should rest.”
She nodded. Although she’d done little but sleep all day, she was quite tired. Besides, the sooner she retired, the sooner he would retire, and she could escape.
Unless...what if she was wrong about their separate chambers? What if he came to lie beside her? That would make sneaking out much more difficult, but if she waited until he was deep in sleep, she thought she could still manage.
Marjorie rose from the table and went back to the bedchamber. She closed the door and looked through the wardrobe until she found another set of linens. She stuffed one of the pillowcases with clothing and shoes. She heard Simon’s steps coming nearer and shoved the pillowcase under the bed then quickly climbed under the covers. He tapped on the door. “May I come in?”
“Yes.” She tried to look as though she were about to fall asleep.
He opened the door a crack. “Do you need anything?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll say goodnight.” He began to close the door.
“Is this how you usually say goodnight?” she asked. Devil take her! Why had she asked that? She’d wanted him to leave, and now he was opening the door again.
“No, but nothing about this situation is usual. You don’t remember who I am. I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
And for some reason, she felt guilty. No, she didn’t remember falling in love with him or marrying him, but his memories hadn’t been altered. He can’t have imagined their honeymoon would play out like this. “You must be disappointed in...this turn of events.” She gestured to her head.
“I’m certain it’s only temporary,” he said with a sad smile. “You’ll remember soon enough.”
“I hope that’s true. And, this might be quite forward”—his brows went up—“but I wouldn’t be uncomfortable with a goodnight kiss.”
He stared at her. “Are you certain?”
She nodded. This would be a goodnight and a goodbye kiss. She probably shouldn’t kiss him, but she was about to turn him in for treason. If she kissed him now, he’d be less likely to suspect her of having figured out his secret.
At least that was what she told herself.
The truth was this was her last chance to kiss him, and she really wanted to know what it felt like. “We’ve no doubt kissed many times. Perhaps a kiss will spark a memory.” She rather hoped it did, and she hoped that memory was why she had married a turncoat.
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
She looked at him, waiting. He seemed uncertain of what to do. Odd, considering he should be familiar with kissing her. Had she been too bold in suggesting the kiss? Perhaps he didn’t care for boldness in women.
Finally, he seemed to come to some sort of decision and crossed the room. He bent down and put a hand on her shoulder. With the other, he cupped her cheek. His hand was warm and large, and it smelled of the bread they’d been eating. Slowly, she lifted her eyes and looked into his. Her heart was pounding now, and she could hear his breaths coming a little quicker. In this moment—whenever he touched her—she didn’t have any questions as to why she’d married him. There was an obvious attraction between them.
