But no. This was about his health,his safety. And the fact that if he stepped out that door, he could very well collapse in the street or, worse, be found by the very men who had left him for dead.
“The men who were beating you,” she continued carefully. “They’re still out there.”
This reminder, more than anything, had him hesitating. “Did you get a look at them?”
“Barely,” she admitted. “I was outside in my garden when I overheard them through the fence. But the attack—it wasn’t random.” She frowned, searching her memory for exactly what she’d heard. “They needed to report to someone. ‘His Lordship’, they called him. Whoever wanted you dead is a lord. And they took a ring from you—to bring to him as proof.”
He glanced down at his hands and flexed them. The pale ring around his pinky finger was faint, but still visible.
She watched as he absorbed the information, his jaw tightening.
“I initially thought they might be taking a wedding ring. But it’s?—”
“The wrong finger.” He frowned.
“They were going to use it as proof, which means it could be a family ring? Something that would have revealed your identity.”
He stared at his hand again, looking incredibly thoughtful. Was he remembering something? She kept silent for nearly an entire minute, not wanting to interrupt him in case some of his memories were returning.
But then he shook his head and exhaled. “I don’t know,” he finally said.
“Which is precisely why you need to keep out of sight for now.” Daisy swallowed and, sensing his resolve weakening, she pressed her point. “If you walk out that door now, you might not make it twenty steps. You are too vulnerable. It was two bobbies who left you there. They would easily recognize you. You wouldn’t know who your enemies are if they stood right in front of you.”
“Possibly.” His brows furrowed. “What could I have done to make someone want me dead?”
“It might have more to do with who you are. But until you remember, you can’t go gallivanting through the streets showing your face.”
He kept right on watching her. “But none of this is your problem. You have your soaps to make and your brother to care for.” His eyes searched hers. For what? “You are not keeping more from me, are you? Because you do seem familiar to me. More familiar than anything else.”
His admission sent a tremor through her.
Daisy swallowed hard. “You remind me of someone. But you cannot be him. I think I’m familiar to you because my face was the one you saw when you were wracked with fever. At times, you would open your eyes, but you were somewhere else.” She twisted her mouth into a small smile. “I am not keeping anything from you.”
She would not go into more detail than that. She didn’t discuss Alastair with anyone, and now that her parents had passed, no one remembered that she’d once been in love with the son of a duke.
To imagine that someone like her had been so foolish was a little embarrassing.
“I see,” he said.
“But I cannot allow you to put yourself in danger. A few days ago, I thought you were going to die. Give yourself some time before seeking out whoever was trying to kill you. At the very least, wait until you’ve fully regained your strength.”
“You’re too generous.”
“And you’re looking too tired. I’ll be terribly angry if after all my trouble, you die on me anyway.” It was a morbid thing to say, but she truly didn’t want him to push himself too hard. “Mrs. Farley will already have told half the street that I’ve a newly-returned husband, so your presence is already explained. When the time comes for you to leave, then I shall complain of your inconsistency—that you are a man unwilling to settle down and have returned to your wandering ways.”
She laughed and was surprised that it sounded a little sad. Because, although his eyes looked tired, even dressed in nothing but an old dressing gown, there was something about this man. He was so very handsome, but he also carried himself with a confidence she was unaccustomed to seeing. He was unafraid.
And what had he said?
The feeling I have when I’m with you…
He’d not seemed displeased when he’d thought she might be his wife. No, he’d seemed almost relieved… And if she was going to be perfectly truthful, the fantasy was not a distasteful one to her either.
Even with Gilbert, her soaps, and her business to keep her occupied, there were moments—quiet, lingering moments—when she wished for something more. Someone to hold her at night, to share the burdens and the triumphs, to laugh with over tea…
Maybe, just maybe, she was a little bit lonely.
She stomped down the thought. Loneliness was a foolish thing to dwell on. Dangerous, even. She had everything she needed. And she would not let a man—especially one who could disappear just as easily as he had appeared—make her yearn for something that could never be.
