The words had been spoken. Too late to recall them.
He met her gaze in the looking glass. “I don’t remember. I don’t recall anything, in fact. My memory remains a jumble of emptiness and questions.”
She bit the inside of her cheek, thinking that he had made some progress, minor recollections. Not enough, however. She would have expected more by now. There was the possibility he would never recall his past.
Caro yearned to tell him everything. His name, his past, who he was. She owed him the truth, and he deserved it.
“I am sorry,” she said instead.
His hands were on her wig now, surprisingly tender for a man who was so large. But then, that was Gavin Winter, wasn’t it? An endless source of amazement. And tenderness, too.
She could lose her heart to him so easily.
Heavens, what if she already had?
His fingers were unerringly finding all her hair pins, pulling them free. “Why should you be sorry? ‘Tis whoever attempted to kill me who ought to be sorry. Mayhap I’ll meet the cove someday, give him what he deserves.”
A shiver passed through her at the notion of him facing whoever had committed such violence upon him. “You should not seek out such a madman, or madmen. You suffered so many wounds that I doubt one man could have inflicted them all. Especially considering you…”
She had been about to say considering his proficiency at sparring. One of the most victorious prizefighters in England would not be defeated with ease. But she could not say any of that. Because doing so would mean revealing she knew who he was. And she had to keep the truth from him. At least for a bit longer.
“Considering?” Gavin prodded as he removed another handful of pins which had been holding the wig in place.
“Considering your size and strength,” she improvised, hating herself for the continuation of the lies.
“Mayhap I was soused,” he suggested, pulling another errant pin until the wig was loose, sliding about atop her head. “Or I was attacked from behind.”
“I considered those possibilities as well,” she admitted quietly, watching in the looking glass as he lifted the wig from her head.
“But you decided against them?” He carried the wig as if it were a creature, depositing it atop the chest which housed her looking glass.
“Not entirely.” Caro shifted in her seat, feeling distinctly uncomfortable thanks to their topic of discussion. “In the end, I could not be certain what happened. All I knew was that I ventured upon a man I presumed to be dead until I took a closer look and realized your chest was rising and falling. I am heartily glad you were not dead, and that I discovered you in time.”
He turned back to her. “As am I, sweet Caro, which reminds me. I may not be able to recall a thing from my past, but Icanremember that I have a gift for you.”
A gift? For her? No one had ever given her something. Nor did she deserve one from this man. This wonderful, handsome, caring, sweet man to whom she lied each day.
She swallowed. “You need not give me a gift.”
“It is the least I can do after the kindness and concern and healing you have bestowed upon my miserable arse.” He grinned, and it was lopsided.
And her heart seemed to flip upside down.
Oh, Gavin.
“I am the healer here; tending to the injured is my job,” she felt compelled to say, for it was the truth.
She would have aided anyone she had found wounded and beaten and bloodied. But she would not have lied to them. Should not have lied tohim.
He reached into his waistcoat pocket and extracted a small object, holding it out for her. “I made this. For you.”
Biting her lip against another rush of guilt, she accepted the offering, turning it over in her palm. It was smooth, hewn of wood. And it was exceptional. Easily the most intricate piece she had ever beheld.
“A butterfly? You carved this?”
His smile faded. “Aye, as a small means of expressing my thanks for all you’ve done for me. I meant to give it to you before now, but I haven’t seen you for days.”
“Did you miss me?” she teased.
