Harris mopped his bloodied face with a grubby handkerchief. His gaze darted back and forth between the two of them, gauging Maddy’s bewilderment against Nash’s icy poise.
“I don’t believe you. She called you Rider before.”
Nash shrugged. “A name from childhood.” He could feel Maddy’s gaze on him. She wasn’t yet convinced it wasn’t a clever bluff on his part.
Harris shook his head, unconvinced. “Nash Renfrew lives abroad.”
“Usually I do, but at the moment, I’m home.”
“Prove you’re him,” Harris said belligerently, clutching the edge of the table.
Nash shrugged. “I have no documents, if that’s what you mean. But I have no need to prove myself to such as you.”
Harris gave a triumphant smile. “Because it’s all lies, and so I’ll tell the magistrate.”
Nash said coolly, “Go ahead.”
Harris glared, hostile yet baffled.
Nash’s energy was fading fast. His ankle and head were throbbing. He leaned inconspicuously on the edge of the bed and mused aloud, “Is Ferring still the butler at my uncle’s house? I haven’t been to Whitethorn since I was a child, but I don’t imagine I’ve changed so much. And the housekeeper, what was her name? Terrifying woman—oh, yes, Mrs. Pickens. If you can produce them, they’ll vouch for me.”
A hunted expression crept over Harris’s face. “Someone told you those names,” he blustered. He jabbed an accusatory look at Maddy, but she was staring at Nash, looking just as puzzled.
Nash waved a hand. “By all means tell the magistrate so.” He straightened, flexed his fingers, then formed two fists, and in a voice of steel said, “Now, I thought I told you to leave.”
Harris eyed the ten-pound note still sitting on the table and reached for it.
“Leave it!” Nash ordered.
“What about my five quid in change?” Harris said belligerently.
“Compensation to the lady for the disturbance.”
Harris scowled, wincing as he did from the cuts and bruises on his face. “I’ll get you back, both of you,” he swore as he stumbled from the cottage. “You see if I don’t.”
Maddy plonked a bowl of hot salty water, some rags, and a salve for cuts on the table. The water sloshed over the rim; she didn’t care. “Is it true?”
The hands washing the blood off them stilled. “That I’m Nash Renfrew? Yes, it’s true.” He dried his hands on a towel.
Maddy looked away, too upset to meet his gaze. So, he was Nash Renfrew—theHonorableNash Renfrew—brother of an earl, no less. Her lodger. Her landlord.
And a big fat liar!
“How long have you known?”
He folded the towel carefully and put it on the table. As if tidiness would somehow appease her. “Since Harris’s visit yesterday.”
A tight, angry feeling lodged in her chest. He’d chosen to not to tell her.
“It was the most extraordinary thing,” he explained, oblivious. “It was hearing Harris speak the names: mine, my brother Marcus’s, and Uncle Jasper’s. It shook something, some blockage, free and suddenly it all fell into place.” He smiled at her, as if expecting her to celebrate with him.
She stared at the bowl of dirty water and thought about dumping it over his thick, handsome head. Did he have no idea of the position he’d put her in? And how stupid he’d made her feel?
And how hurt?
The intimacies they’d exchanged, those tender kisses . . . She’d shared her past with him, telling him about her life in France . . . They’d buried the bees together, worked in her ruined garden and all the time, all the time heknew.
“So, you got your memory back, just like that—how lovely!—but didn’t think to mention it at the time?” Why wait so long to reveal it? And to Harris, of all people. Why not to her? Didn’t he trust her? She’d saved his stupid life, risked her reputation to keep him safe.
