She knew his heart.
Willa was falling for the man underneath the mask. It didn't make sense, but it didn't have to. This was better than the banal conversation they might share in a ballroom or over tea. Nothing between them was fake or practiced.
“My name is Willa Rosamunde Marsden. I grew up in Northumberland in a little house between Kirkland Manor and Selbourne Castle. I have eight sisters and a brother, and they used to call us the Northumberland Nine.”
He stiffened. “I've heard that before.”
Her heart began to pound. “You've heard of us?”
“The Northumberland Nine,” he repeated.
She came to his side, taking his hands. “What else?”
“Keep talking,” he said. “Tell me about your sisters.”
Her mind raced with facts about herself. “I’m the youngest of the girls. All our names end in ette. Annette, Bernadette, Georgette, Jeanette, Josette, Lunette, Odette, Nicolette, and Willette. My brother was named Douglas after my father.
“You’re named in alphabetical order?”
“My parents are odd.”
He chuckled.
“There is so much, I don’t know what to say. My father traveled most of my childhood searching for husbands for us. In all that time, he only brought home one man who didn’t marry any of us.”
“I lost it. It felt like something was there, like a spark, but now it’s gone.”
Willa’s hopes sank. “When seven of my sisters married at once, it was quite a story. They talked about it for weeks.”
“Sorry, nothing.”
“Don't apologize. You remembered something.”
“A vague and unhelpful something,” he said.
“But it's still something,” she returned. “Let's review. There was you sitting on the horse, the man who struck you with the mace, and now this, Northumberland Nine.”
“And the initials on the watch. There is something familiar about that. I just can't grasp what it is.”
“That's four things in only two days. I think it's a very good sign.”
He exhaled, the sound of utter frustration.
“I think your memory will return, and it will be an exciting event when it does.”
He was silent. She knew he must be exhausted and extremely annoyed with his lack of memory, no matter how much she tried to encourage him. She was so excited to get to know him, every part of him.
Oh dear, this was turning into a full-fledged infatuation. She'd never felt like this toward anyone.
Well, there was one person. She let go of his hands and wandered away again. Willa filled the basin with fresh water and wiped her face to hide her warm cheeks and her thoughts from his gaze.
When she first met Wesley, she had been quite enamored with him. He was funny and kind. He eased her way into society after a grueling come out, in which she became apersona non grattawith most of the young women her age. They didn't like how she spoke her mind. The women didn't like the attention she received from gentlemen, and the gentlemen didn't like her tendency to voice her frank opinions. But Wesley came to her rescue, sweeping in and showing her that none of those people mattered, that true, genuine people could be found. Real friendship and affection.
Her heart panged. She missed Wesley so much and Ned too. Willa suddenly remembered she promised to meet him at Gunther’s, and she wouldn't be there. Her eyes welled up. He would go to her family, and they would tell him that she hadn't arrived. He’d be so worried. He was already so protective of her.
Wesley never could stand it when others made fun of her. He'd almost gotten into fisticuffs over a remark Mr. Wilber made right in the middle of Hyde Park where everyone could see.
Wesley and the mysterious Lord Knightly would get along famously, she thought. She felt the same comfort with him as she did with Wesley, but she would not mistake this for friendship. There was something raw and intimate about their situation that made Willa have feelings and thoughts she'd never embraced before. Lust, curiosity about the male body. When he took his shirt off, she enjoyed the sight of all that male skin. The bands of muscle across his abdomen, the dusting of hair around his nipples.
