Fifteen minutes later, he descended the narrow stairs. His head still pounded, but at least the hammering was dulled.
Jane and her companion waited in the parlor. She leaned against the window, the sunlight burnishing her pale hair. At the sound of his footsteps, she turned, eyes lighting with eagerness. Her smile faltered as her gaze swept over him.
“Wayne, my darling,” she whispered, hurrying to him. She reached up to cradle his cheek. “You look like death warmed over.”
“That is precisely how I feel.” Gently, he removed her hand and guided her to the sofa. His legs threatened to give way beneath him.
She sighed, her expression softening. “Father said only that you were unwell. But what happened? At the tavern, you seemed to enjoy yourself.”
Wayne forced a shrug. “I wish I knew.”
“You do not remember?”
“I recall little after one glass of port. I believe your father delivered me here, but beyond that—nothing.”
Her brows drew together. “Father told me you drank heavily, that you stumbled out of the tavern, and he could not find you afterward.”
A chill rippled down Wayne’s spine. His jaw tightened.Which of us is lying—her father, or me with my stolen memory?“I cannot explain it,” he admitted. “I only know I feel as if I had been run down by a carriage.”
Jane chuckled lightly and patted his arm. “You were celebrating. Men sometimes drink more than they ought. You need not be embarrassed.”
Wayne’s stomach soured. Embarrassment was the least of his concerns. Had Meyers dosed him with something stronger than port? The suspicion dug deeper, though he dared not share it with Jane. “Perhaps you are right,” he said instead.
“I am.” Her smile returned. “I came to check on you, of course, but also to invite you to a boxing match. Father has tickets, and he wishes you to attend.”
Wayne arched a brow. “A boxing match?”
“Yes. Father adores the sport.” She shivered prettily. “However, I cannot bear the sight of blood. But it would delight me if you would go with him.”
Though his head throbbed, Wayne inclined his head. This was exactly the opportunity he needed to learn more about his suspicions. Hopefully, he would be fortunate enough to meet some of Harold Meyers’s associates. “When?”
“Tonight.”
“Then I shall go.”
Jane squealed with delight and clutched his arm. Wayne winced at the sharp sound, his stomach twisting.
Her expression softened. “I missed you at the ball last night. Still, it was a pleasant evening. Except…” Her smile dimmed.“My friend, Reggie, will not cease her protest against our engagement. No matter how many times I asked her to stop, she pressed on.”
Wayne forced his expression into sympathy. “She means well, perhaps.”
“Yes. She loves me, I know. But she is too straitlaced. Later in the evening, she fell ill and left. At least, Ithinkshe left. One of my friends swore she saw Reggie climbing into a coach with a man.” Jane giggled. “But I cannot believe that. Reggie would never do something so irresponsible.”
Wayne’s blood ran cold. The pounding in his skull doubled. A coach. A woman. A kiss.
Jane prattled on, oblivious. “I do not mind her care for me. But truly, why would she condemn me for loving a man I barely know, only to turn around and do worse herself?”
Wayne could not breathe. The faint scent of roses filled his mind. The delicate hands on his chest. The taste of lips that werenotJane’s.
“Oh, my dearest man,” Jane exclaimed suddenly, laying her palm to his cheek. “You have gone pale.”
“I…am not well.” His voice was hoarse. “My stomach churns.”
Alarm softened her face. “What may I do for you?”
He pulled back, standing quickly. “Would you ask the cook to bring me some tea? Hopefully, that will soothe my stomach. I must return to my room.”
“Of course.” She leapt up, eager to please. “Rest, my darling. You must be well for tonight.”
