What if I never know who I am? What if I never remember?
Indeed. What would he do then?
Curse the curious blank state of his mind. This was an interminable hell in which he lived, unable to recall the smallest of details with certainty, unknowing what manner of man he was, whether or not he was truly free to pursue her. What if he was married or had a betrothed? What if he was a criminal? Surely no good man would have been beaten and shot and left for dead in the streets.
He hated it. Because all he wanted was to revel in Caro. To make her his. To lose himself in the only part of his life that held any meaning, any significance.
Her.
For now, there remained more hair pins in her lustrous auburn locks, keeping them confined. He plucked at them with abandon, setting her gorgeous hair free until it flowed down her back with wild abandon, until it spilled in long curls over her shoulders and breasts.
“It is a sin, hiding your hair,” he grumbled.
He was still agitated at waking to the sight of her dressed so rudely, the full creaminess of her bosom nearly falling out of her bodice, the transparent skirts, the golden-tressed wig. How dare Jasper Sutton expect his sister to dress like a strumpet and flit about the gaming hell thus?
Outragedwas a proper word for it. Now that more time had passed since he had first awoken to find himself robbed of his memory, his mind was becoming sharper. Even if he still had no recollection of who he was, concentrating upon the people around him and the words being spoken was far easier than it had once been. Most of the fog inhabiting his mind had lifted, and he no longer found himself aimlessly searching for a word he wanted to use before speaking.
“Hiding my hair is part of the costume,” she said softly, trailing her touch over his jaw now. “The gentlemen here prefer golden hair, Jasper says, and I must wear the wig.”
“The gentlemen here are fools, and they do not deserve you.” The worry that had been needling him since he had first opened his eyes to a vastly different Caro renewed. “You never did say what manner of entertainment he expects you to provide the patrons with.”
If it was what he feared—that she was forced to flirt with them, or mayhap more—not even an angel descended from heaven was going to be sufficient to keep him from hunting down Jasper Sutton and slamming his fist into his face.
“I sing.”
Relief hit him. “You sing. That is all?”
Her fingers were threading through the hair at his temple, and the touch was shy, tentative. But glorious just the same. “That is all. What did you suppose?”
“I don’t want to say.”
He did, however, want her to continue her gentle explorations. Her touch felt so damn good. Everything about her did. Good and right. Perfect, in fact.
“Ordinarily Pen sings. The wig and the dress are hers, but my sister has been plagued by a cough for the past few days.” A frown furrowed her brow. “I will own, the timing is strange. I expect my brother Jasper has a hand in this.”
“He does not want me to become too familiar with you,” he said, because it had been painfully true that day in Sutton’s office.
“He is protective.” Her fingers continued their travel.
Heat slid down his spine as he finished removing the last of the pins from her hair and sleek, fragrant tresses framed her face. “So protective, he forces his sisters to dress as doxies and sing for the lords who gamble away their fortunes and drink themselves to oblivion each night.”
“Force is a strong word. The Sinner’s Palace belongs to us all. Pen enjoys singing, while I enjoy healing. However, our voices are similar, and I know the songs.”
Her fingers had reached his nape, and she was toying with the hair falling over his neck. He could not resist pressing a kiss to the smooth flesh of her inner arm. His hands found their way to her waist, hidden in the thin layers of her gown and petticoats. Her stays kept him from the inviting lushness of her curves.
“I don’t like the notion of all those lords leering at you,” he said.
Because it was true. And because,damn it, he hated to know this was what had been keeping her from him. Worse, that he was likely the cause.
“It is not as terrible as you suppose.” Her fingers grazed over his skin.
There was a fever overtaking him, a fire in his blood that was entirely this woman’s making. “You should be in your work room, doing what pleases you. Not singing for the pleasure of men who do not deserve to hear your voice.”
The smile curving her lips was sad. “Sometimes we do things not because we want to, but because we must. Life is not always rife with the choices we wish.”
Hell.How right she was. Although he had no memories of the man he had been before she had found him several weeks ago, the man he was now well understood the wisdom of her words. If he had his choice, he would regain his memory, know he was free to pursue Caro, and make her his wife.
Love.
