She smiled. “It seems you haven't forgotten your sense of humor, but I'm hoping we can at least move this piece up. She lightly touched the mouthpiece, and he wished he could see what she saw, so that he could her help. He wished she were touching his face, his mouth, his jaw, her gaze tender as she looked over him with concern. At least that part of his brain wasn't broken.
“As charming as this little cottage is, and as grateful as I am for its existence…” Her gaze met his. Not that she knew it. She probably couldn't see beyond the half slits.
“We need to find a village and hopefully that village will have a surgeon who can see to your wounds and remove his helmet.”
“Are you sure you don't know me?” he asked. “I wasn't on the stage with you?”
“Oh no,” she said swiftly. “I’d remember you,” she said with amusement.
He smiled. “Is that so, how can you be sure?”
“Well, for one, your clothing. No one else was wearing quite so much brown.”
He sensed anand,but she didn't say it.
“That's it? You don't recognize my clothing? I don't think I'm a highwayman. I just want to know what happened.”
“Me too,” she said, “but I'm grateful you were there.”
“Regardless, I don't think I'm a bandit or that I'm a person who would ever do that,” he said carefully.
She touched his lapel. He could feel it. He couldn't see it outside the narrow view of his helmet, but he felt the weight of her hand on his chest, over his heart, and his pulse kicked up.
“Your clothes are finely made, not like theirs, and they reeked of booze and sweat and days of filth,” she said. “You don't.”
“I'm so relieved,” he said.
“Perhaps you are a lord,” she said, “so I will continue to call you, Lord Knightly.”
“And you are my lady,” he said then caught himself. “I mean, you arealady. You speak like one and—”
“How do ladies speak?” she asked.
“I think if I know what a lady sounds like, I must be part of the peerage,” he said, questioning his own knowledge. He didn't know what he knew or didn't know or how he knew anything at all. This amnesia was baffling to him.
“My father is a gentleman. I come from Northumberland, and I was on my way to London for the season. Can you remember anything of your plans?”
He closed his eyes and just tried to focus on the words London, season, Northumberland. His eyes popped open. “Where are we?”
“Truthfully, I have no idea. I don't know how far they took me off the main road or what direction we traveled, and I have no idea what direction we traveled from the meadow. We are thoroughly lost unless you've got a compass on you.”
“Do I?”
“I didn't even think to check,” she said. “I should have gone through your pockets.”
Heat spread through him at the mere thought of her hands rifling all over his body parts, doing anything to him at all.
“Please, let me,” he said. “You've done enough.”
But her hands had already begun unbuttoning his coat. He patted his sides. He didn't feel anything of note. She opened his coat and put her hand in the inside pocket and pulled out a pouch, weighing it in her hand. “This is quite a purse. You're not impoverished, that's for sure.”
“Or I robbed someone.”
“I'm not partial to thieves. The morning before I missed the stage that I wassupposedto be on, the woman I had shared a room with robbed me. Mrs. Gobstone was her name. Or at least that's what she told me. I hope that woman stubs her toe every day for the rest of her life.”
“Harsh,” he said, a chuckle rumbling in his chest.
“She deserves it. That was all the money I had. Except for a few coins I'd sewn into the lining of my cloak and shift.”
