Obviously, this chain of questions was going nowhere. “What belongings did I have with me?”
“Nothing. Only the clothes on your back, such as they were.”
“What do you mean?”
“They were in tatters, my lord. Simply ghastly. They smelled of rotting fish, and I had them burned.”
Had he been taken aboard a ship? He might have learned more if the butler hadn’t incinerated his belongings.
Stephen controlled his temper and asked softly, “Did you check the pockets before you destroyed the garments?”
“No, my lord. I didn’t think of that.”
Stephen ground his teeth and said, “Thank you, Farnsworth. That will be all.”
The butler cleared his throat and hesitated. “My lord, about Lady Whitmore?”
“What is it?”
“Well, sir, the staff and I were wondering…” Farnsworth coughed, delaying his statement once more. Apparently, there was some other detail the butler intended to share. Either that, or he was in dire need of some medicinal tea to treat the irritating cough.
Stephen struggled to suppress his frustration. “Yes?”
“To put it bluntly, my lord, your wife has been making several…changes.”
“What kind of changes?”
The agitated Farnsworth fidgeted with his hands. “I have been a loyal servant to your household for over thirty years, my lord. I would never speak ill of the Chesterfields. But I fear she may have gone too far.”
Stephen wondered if Emily had moved a vase in the front hall six inches to the left. Or perhaps she’d poisoned the cat in a fit of vengeance.
Farnsworth’s paranoia seemed ridiculous under the circumstances. He couldn’t recall the past three months of his life, and the butler worried that his wife had gone too far?
“What. Has. She. Done?” he gritted out.
“She’s sacked Cook. And—“ he lowered his voice to a whisper ”—she says she won’t hire another. She’s planning to do all the cooking herself.”
Bloody hell. The woman really did mean to poison him.
Chapter Two
Laterthatnight,hisintense headache deepened into a dull throbbing. Sleep would not come. Eyes dry and nerves raw, Stephen pushed back the coverlet. His bare feet padded across the Aubusson rug before his knee slammed into a mahogany blanket chest at the foot of the bed. Cursing, he fumbled his way toward the fireplace.
A large mirror hung above a dressing table. He could barely make out his own features in the shadows. Lighting a candle, he studied the man staring back at him. At one time, he had a well-ordered, predictable life. Now, a haggard expression gazed back at him. An angry red scar creased a jagged line across his bare chest, a knife wound he didn’t remember. The blow to his head was a recent wound, possibly from thieves or worse. Yet someone had saved his life and sent him here.
He didn’t know himself anymore.
The uncertainty unnerved him. Every time he searched his memory for a fragment of the past events, his mind shut down. He didn’t remember his supposed marriage, or anything leading up to it. It was as though an invisible wall barricaded him from the truth.
He was about to retreat when his gaze narrowed on a black symbol edging the back of his neck. Turning, he tried to distinguish what it was. Though he could not see the entire design, he recognized it as a tattoo.
Why? When had this happened? Never in his life would he have considered such a thing. Now, the indelible ink marked yet another facet of the mysterious past.
He tried in vain to see more of the emblem, but from the awkward angle, he could not see the full pattern. Stephen stepped away from the mirror. He would find the answers he needed, regardless of the effort.
Emily held some of those answers. She was wary of him, and well she should be. Likely she had lied to him to protect the children, using him for a place to stay.
He simply couldn’t believe that he’d married her, even though they had been friends as children. More than that, if he were honest with himself. Like Eve, she had tantalized him with the sweetness of a first love. Then his father had found out and had forbidden him to see her again.
