Hell, until he knew, he had no right to touch Caro. No right to kiss her.
Regardless of how much he wanted to, and despite the inconceivable way his mouth on hers had affected him. His cockstand had been rigid and ready, despite the sudden appearance of her sister, which should have been the equivalent of a pail of cold water being poured over his head.
Instead, he was awaiting Caro like a good dog, pacing the length of her little room in five increasingly frustrated strides. Bumping into the bloody table with his hip and emitting a howl of pain. Too big for this room. Too empty-minded to know anything.
Utterly lost and adrift.
He didn’t know his name. Didn’t know a damned thing about himself. He felt as if he had been a passenger on a ship that had taken on water and sunk to the bottom of the sea, leaving him behind, clinging to the flotsam. And the flotsam was Caro.
He ground his jaw, used his good hand to rake his fingers through his hair, and stalked to the door. Where was she? What was taking so bloody long? And why did she insist upon keeping him from her brothers?
Ignoring the twinge of conscience that told him he had no reason to distrust her, he opened the door slowly, quietly. Caro was down the hall, in heated discussion with her sister. He heard the same familiar word her sister had uttered upon her earlier disruption.
Winter.
The season of snow and ice.
Why should it feel so familiar? Why should it make an ache begin deep in his gut, as if it called to him in a deeper way? As if he should remember it?
Caro seemed to say something, and he strained to hear it but could not. Then her sister spoke.
What shall I call him, then?
The patient, Caro said.
Guilt hit him. He was eavesdropping upon her, when she had only been an utter angel to him. She had nursed him back to health, had stitched his flesh together, and tended him through infection. Yet how did he repay his beautiful butterfly? By catching her, kissing her, and then distrusting her.
He stepped back, allowing the door to quietly close once more. She was entitled to her privacy. Caro was doing everything in her power to keep him safe. Humility joined the guilt. Who was he, to deserve her concern and consideration?
Who was he at all, damn it?
Would he ever remember?
He returned to pacing this small room, taking greater note of his surroundings for the first time. Initially, Caro had been all he could see. Then, he had been too caught up in a maelstrom of emotions to be observant. However, now, he took note of all the jars, carefully labeled, the neat penmanship. The journal filled with her concise script. Measurements, he noticed, and then he unintentionally slammed his wounded arm into the wall.
Pain seared him, and for a moment he feared he’d torn open his wound anew. But as the discomfort subsided, the door finally opened, revealing a flushed-looking Caro. He rubbed his arm lightly, trying to hide his grimace.
But she had seen it.
Of course she had.
She came rushing to him. “I heard a thump. What is the matter? Have you hurt yourself?”
What a fool he felt. “I am too damned big.”
He wondered if he had felt at home in his massive size before. Since everything was new, he could not be sure, but he supposed he would have been accustomed to it, having slowly grown into a larger body over time. However, waking up to find himself a giant was a hell of a realization.
Deuced troubling.
“What do you mean, you are too big?” She frowned as she reached him, her skirts fluttering about her.
“Butterfly,” he said again, for she reminded him of one once more.
She blinked, her dark lashes long and luxurious against the paleness of her face. “I beg your pardon?”
He was not making sense. What must she think of him, this great oaf who had appeared in her life as a bloodied carcass? This man she did not know but whose life she had saved.
“You are a butterfly,” he elaborated, “and I am a beast. I knocked over your books, and I collided with the wall. That was the thump you heard just now.”
