As he’d suspected, he wasn’t a man of refined sensibilities. He might not remember his past, but he felt one driving principle within himself, its rhythm as ingrained as that of his heart.
Survive, survive, survive.
“Who shot me?” he demanded.
“It’s a long story.” She bit her lip. “Dr. Abernathy said you weren’t to be stressed.”
“I’ll be more stressed if I don’t know who put a damned hole in my hide.”
Hesitating, she said, “You were helping our friends defeat a villain named Sweeney. He was holding the young daughter of the Duke of Ranelagh and Somerville ransom, and you were part of the rescue mission. In the battle, you were shot by one of Sweeney’s henchmen. But Mr. Murray dispatched the shooter, and Sweeney is now in custody and a danger no longer.” Softly, she added, “Glory, the young girl, was saved, in no small part due to your heroic efforts.”
Hmm. He couldn’t quite fathom himself being a hero, but if she said it happened, then it must have. Who was he to question his own valiant behavior? All he knew was that he could get used to that look in her eyes: as if he’d hung the moon and the stars in the sky for her.
At the same time, the gears were slowly turning in his mind, working off the rust. He’d rescued the daughter of a duke, had he? Then the cove owed him a favor. He began to contemplate the sort of boons he might ask from His Grace…
One didn’t do something for nothing. That was the way of the world.
As he schemed, the throbbing in his head increased, along with his assorted aches and pains.
Gabriella’s head tilted alertly. “Where does it hurt, my darling?”
“My head…and other places,” he said, grimacing.
“Dr. Abernathy left some willow bark. It tastes dreadful but will help with the pain. Would you like it?”
He nodded, and she went over to the console again, returning with a small paper packet and another glass of water. He tossed back the yellowish-white powder, gulping water to wash down the bitter tang. He sank into the pillows, struck by a wave of exhaustion.
“The physician said you mustn’t overdo. Healing takes rest and time.” Gabriella’s fingertips flitted over his forehead, the muscles relaxing at her touch. “Do you think you could manage some beef tea and toast?”
At the mention of food, his stomach gave a growl of interest.
A smile tucked into her cheeks. “After you eat, we’ll have Quinn help you with your ablutions.”
“Who’s Quinn?”
“Your valet.”
Bleeding hell, he had avalet. He really had died and gone to heaven.
It struck him fully for the first time. Although he had been shot and nearly drowned and his memory was dashed to smithereens, he was alive. And not only was he alive, look at where he’d ended up. And who he’d ended upwith.
As he watched Gabriella go to pull the bell, her pink robe hugging her curvaceous arse, an undercurrent swirled beneath the tides of pain and fatigue. Aye, he was a survivor—and too practical a man to question the good fortune that had fallen into his lap. If he couldn’t remember his past right now, then so be it. The present held plenty of attractions he wanted to explore.
Aye, he’d step into the shoes of that lucky bastard Adam Garrity…whoever he was.
14
The next morning,Gabby went to the nursery to collect the children. Their governess could have brought them to Adam’s suite, but Gabby wanted to speak with them first. They were waiting for her, freshly changed and ready for their visit with their father. Fiona looked charming in her snowy frock with a pink satin sash, the full skirts swishing over her pantalettes. Matching pink bows sat atop the twin clusters of her glossy red ringlets.
Max was in a blue tunic suit, his unruly black forelock defying any comb. Crumbs from breakfast clung to his knee-length shirt and loose trousers. Gabby gestured subtly at the affected areas, and he hastily brushed them off.
“Before we visit Papa,” Gabby began, “you must remember that he has been through an ordeal and—”
“We’re not to pester him.” Fiona rolled her eyes. “Mama, you’ve reminded us of this at least ahundredtimes.”
“It’s important, dearest. Your father is doing ever so much better, but he’s having a bit of a problem with his memory, and you mustn’t take that personally. The doctor said it is part of the healing process.”
After his examination yesterday, Dr. Abernathy had declared Adam’s progress most satisfactory: a little over a week and the wound was healing nicely. Gabby had been grateful when he’d instructed Adam to be patient during his convalescence for her husband had, predictably, already started chafing at his loss of memory.
