“Fate has a wicked and twisted sense of humor, wouldn’t you agree?” she asked.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he moved slowly around the table toward her, causing her breath to catch and her heart to race when he slid his arms around her waist.
“I don’t know what to say.” His voice caught, and his warm breath stirred a few errant curls. “You were here... All along.”
She twisted around and, unable to stop herself, buried her face in his chest. “I tried to let it go—to letyougo.” She sniffed. “And I did. I really did.”
His hand stroked the back of her head. “Of course you did. You were just curious about an old friend.”
“Exactly.” She nodded. “I was just curious.”
Curious enough to torture herself when he’d become engaged, and curious enough that she’d celebrated silently when she’d learned the story hadn’t been true. And then she’d tortured herself again each time a columnist wrote of his rakish behavior. Until, that was, he abandoned his wayward ways and involved himself in politics.
A champion for the people, of course. He’d always been foolishly optimistic.
“You should read them. You never know what may or may not restore your memory.” She stepped out of his arms. “They’re mostly in order.”
“It’s a little daunting.” He stared at the articles as though one of them might jump up and bite him.
“I cannot imagine.” Daisy feigned nonchalance as she scurried into the pantry, located the ingredients required to make bread, and did her best to keep busy so she wouldn’t be tempted to watch him read.
She had a large bowl of dough rising near the stove by the time he set them aside.
“I don’t think it was my uncle who wanted me dead,” he announced.
This was not at all what she expected.
“Did you remember something?”
He shook his head, then separated a handful of articles and slid them across the table toward her. “Seems I’ve been rather outspoken about the Reform Act—not the best way to make friends in Parliament. I’ve likely made some powerful enemies.”
Enemies who would also be…“Lords.”
“Yes.” He tapped one of the articles. “Take the Marquess of Denningham, for example—he outright said I ought to be shot for treason.”
“Because you want to extend the vote to those who do not own property.”
“Yes.” He looked grim. “Ultimately, most of my ideas are doomed. I’ve put myself in the minority.”
Could that be the reason he’d nearly been killed?
Even as a very young man, he’d shown empathy for those who were less fortunate. So much so, that she’d not only been disappointed when he’d not come back to tell her goodbye, but… surprised.
“I need to speak with my uncle.” His confidence should havereassured her, but instead, that heavy unease trickled down her spine.
“Maybe…” She hesitated, then stepped forward, gripping the back of a chair as though it might steady her. “But just… wait a little longer—please? Just a few more days to remember. This marquess fellow might be the reason you were… hurt. But what if he isn’t? What if, by seeking out your uncle, you’re walking straight into danger? You don’t know who’s against you if you can’t remember what happened.”
He exhaled sharply, his fists clenching as he paced the length of the table. “Perhaps I need…”
She held her breath. “Yes?”
“I need to walk around Mayfair—put myself in familiar surroundings. Perhaps something I see there will trigger some of my memories. Help my brain function normally again.”
“Your brain is functioning just fine,” Daisy said. “It’s just temporarily in need of repair.” She tried to lighten the mood, half regretting her decision to show him the articles.
“What if my memory loss is permanent, though?”
Daisy swallowed hard, sensing she was fighting a losing battle.
