Beyond the name Inez, she understood nothing and wondered if he spoke in Portuguese or Spanish. He began to speak rapidly in the same foreign language, his fingers tightening on hers with urgency, his eyes beseeching her for an answer she could not give.
In the end, she ventured the one Spanish word she did know. ‘Si, Sebastian,’ she said, adding in English, ‘I am here.’
His eyes closed, the grip on her hand relaxed, and he slept at last.
Chapter Three
Sebastian lay very still, listening to… silence.
He screwed his eyes tighter shut. In the dark of his fever, Inez had come to him, her long hair falling around her shoulders like dark satin, and her brown eyes full of love.
He had begged her to come back to him, and she had replied in English, ‘I am here’.
He knew it had been a dream. Inez lay buried in the brown earth of her native Portugal, her death forever on his conscience, and he was… where?
Surely if he opened his eyes, he would find himself back in the fetid ward of the hospital with no beautiful ladies spinning strange stories, but the fine linen and soft bolsters beneath his head told a different story.
Hardly daring to breathe, he opened his eyes and found himself looking up at an embroidered bed hanging. He picked out a myriad of brightly coloured flowers jostling together in a heavenly cluster above him. When he turned his head, he saw an elegant tallboy standing against richly patterned wallpaper beside a heavy, mahogany door. Perhaps he had died and this was heaven?
The sound of familiar whistling from outside the door caused a smile to catch at the corners of his mouth.
No.
Heaven would never admit Corporal Bennet.
‘Oh, so you’re awake?’ Bennet entered the room carrying a tray. ‘Doctors said now the fever’s broken, you’d be hungry, so I took the liberty of bringing up some broth for you.’
He whipped the cloth from a steaming bowl. The scent of chicken broth rose into the air. Sebastian’s stomach growled in anticipation, and he tried to pull himself up in bed, realising that his efforts were as pathetic as those of a newborn lamb.
Without fuss, Bennet was there to assist. A custard of some nondescript appearance and taste followed the broth.
Invalid pap.
He told Bennet that next time he wanted real food. Bennet just clicked his tongue and shook his head.
‘Doctor’s orders, Cap’n,’ he said. ‘We nearly lost you and it’s goin’ to take some time to build up your strength again.’
‘It will if you keep feeding me that swill,’ Sebastian observed. He looked around the room, noting the expensive furniture and thick rugs on the floor. ‘Where am I?’
‘You’re at Somerton House in Hanover Square, and very grand it is too. I’ve counted twenty bedrooms.’
‘Why am I here?’
‘Don’t you remember?’
‘Some strange woman with a tale about me being Lord Somerton?’
‘Aye, that’s right. Seems like she’s right too. You are Lord Somerton.’
Sebastian lay back on his pillows and looked up at the bed hangings again.
‘I cannot possibly be Lord Somerton. I’ve never even heard of Lord Somerton.’
Bennet shrugged. ‘Well, her ladyship’s got the proof. So you’d better start getting used to it... m’lord.’
Bennet swept him a deep bow and, had he been stronger, Sebastian would have thrown a pillow at him. As it was, he could do nothing except suggest in strident terms that Bennet leave him in peace.
A few minutes later, the door opened again. Sebastian gathered his strength to snarl at Bennet, but subsided when he saw his visitor was a woman—a woman who looked vaguely familiar.
