He released her only when she was beyond the doorframe, and then he slammed the door in her face.
Lily touched the wood, her fingers shaking.Oh dear God. She’d never imagined this response from the man she loved. Tears flowed freely over her face, and she forced herself to retreat from his room.
Now what?she thought. This wasn’t at all the homecoming she’d anticipated. She’d mistakenly thought that she could help him recover from his wounds, remaining at his side as a loving wife.
But he didn’t even remember her face.
His body ached, and his mind was so weary, his eyesight blurred. How long had it been since he’d slept? Matthew couldn’t remember. His days and nights blended together until he could not tell reality from dreams.
He dimly recalled the rocking motion of a ship, and nights when he was racked with pain and fever. James Thornton, the Earl of Penford, had brought him back from India, but sometimes Matthew wished his best friend had left him to die. He was a shell of a man, tormented by visions of the past.
He ran his hands over his beard, feeling invisible hands choking him. The candlelight speared his eyes, and he closed them, wanting to escape the horrors of his imagination.
But Lily’s scent lingered.
He had lied, for hedidremember her. She was James’s younger sister, a kindhearted woman who had loved animals. Just as she had loved him, years ago.
Even her scent reminded him of lilies. Pure and white, surrounding him with the softness of an angel. In the candlelight, he’d glimpsed brown hair gleaming with gold and red. Her eyes were hazel, brown with hints of green. And they had looked upon him with love and yearning.
Matthew lowered his face in his hands, breathing slowly, until all traces of Lily were gone. His head was pounding, and the very room was spinning.
His mind felt clouded over by laudanum until he could hardly distinguish dreams from memories. It felt as if he had stepped back into another man’s life. And though he’d recognized Charlotte Larkspur, the woman who had embraced him and called him her son, she felt like a stranger. The servants called him the Earl of Arnsbury, and there was evidence of wealth within this house.
But he would turn his back on all of it, if it meant an escape from the nightmares.
Pain had been a part of each day for the past year. His captors had burned the soles of his feet, scarring the flesh until now he hardly felt anything at all when he walked. Sometimes, when the weather changed, his leg ached from where his captors had broken it. And then there was the healing cut upon his cheek, a mild sting he hardly noticed.
Though his physical wounds had mostly healed, his mind had not. If he dared to close his eyes, he relived the agony of their torture, hour by hour.
It seemed incongruous, trying to return to his former life as an earl, attending soirees and taking his seat in the House of Lords. He felt utterly alone, and he didn’t want to drag anyone else down into the torture he’d endured—least of all a beautiful young woman who had done nothing wrong except fall in love with him.
It was as if his mind and spirit had shut down, locked away with no emotions remaining. But in the midst of the chaos, his thoughts drifted back to Lady Lily. The light touch of her fingers upon his face had jolted him back to the present. Like a siren, she beckoned him to follow her out of the darkness.
And he wondered if he dared take the first step.
Lily returned home to their family’s townhouse and found her brother James in the drawing room, staring out the window at the London streets. His face and hands were tanned from the hot India sun, and he, too, had shadows in his eyes.
“You look tired, James.” She came up behind him and embraced him. He turned and gave her a crushing hug.
“I am. I’ve hardly slept in two years.” He mussed her hair with affection and stepped back. Despite his good humor, the journeyto India had changed her brother, too—she could see it in his eyes.
“Would you like something to eat?”
He nodded. “I haven’t eaten real food in weeks. And afterward, I intend to sleep for a fortnight.”
Her brother didn’t sit down but returned to the window, staring outside. She waited a few moments for him to speak, and when he didn’t, she voiced her true concern. “What happened to Lord Arnsbury while you were in India?”
James didn’t turn around. “I suppose you went to see him, didn’t you? Even though I warned you against it.”
“You knew I would. But you never said anything about his memory loss.”
Her brother let out a sigh. “God only knows what he remembers, Lily. We had to sedate him during the voyage. I don’t know what the sailors gave him. Probably opium mixed with alcohol. I doubt he would remember much of anything after that.” He studied her with sympathy. “I know you cared for him, Lily. But he’s very different from the man you knew before.”
There was a long pause, and Lily waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, she prompted him again. “What happened?”
He rested his palm against the glass window, hiding his face from her. “Suffice it to say, Matthew is lucky he survived. He was captured and tortured for information about the British troops.”
She frowned at that. “But neither of you was in the army. Why would they take you prisoner?”
