Gavin rose to his feet and took her in his arms at once. “My God, Caro, that was even more beautiful than I supposed. You’ve the voice of an angel.”
She linked her arms around his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of him, shaving soap and musky man. He was so warm, so vibrant, so strong. It was difficult indeed to reconcile the Gavin Winter in her arms to the beast of a man who was England’s most renowned prizefighter. He was such a gentle man, so tender and sweet.
What would happen when he regained his memory? Would he take up prizefighting once more? Would he hate her for keeping the truth from him?
She hoped not.
“I do not have the voice of an angel, but I thank you for saying so,” she told him, trying to keep her own sorrows at bay.
“You are unhappy,” he observed, frowning down at her. “Why? Was it the song? Are you thinking of what happened earlier?”
It was a combination of everything, she supposed, but the most pressing matter of all was the secret she withheld. The more time they spent together, the greater the betrayal she committed.
She bit her lip, tamping down those emotions. She would worry about the truth tomorrow. Tonight, she wanted to give him the truest part of herself, the part which she had never given another.
“I am not unhappy,” she denied. “It is the song, I think. The thought of soldiers going off to war, never to return. So many good men have been lost to battle.”
“I wonder…” His brow furrowed and he paused, his words trailing off. “Perhaps I was a soldier, and that is why I am plagued by these memories of violence.”
Tell him, Caro.
Tell him now.
But she was selfish, and she could not find the words that would undoubtedly end them. “Your memories will return to you soon,” she said with a certainty she did not possess.
In truth, her knowledge of such cases as his was severely limited. She had been poring over the few medical treatises she had been able to find, and the truth was, Gavin may never regain his memory on his own. But others who knew him could help him in trying to spur the memories.
Likely, he needed that now, while the wound to his head was still relatively fresh. All the more reason to tell him.
“Even if they do not return,” he said softly, his palms gliding up and down the small of her back and drawing her body flusher to his, “I do not need them. All I need is you.”
How she hoped he would feel the same after he discovered what she had done.
“I need you too,” she told him, meaning those words. “Will you stay here with me tonight?”
“Caro,” he growled, then lowered his head to press his forehead to hers. “You ask too much of me. I cannot stay in this room with you without making love to you.”
“Good, because that is what I want.”
He tensed. “We aren’t yet wed.”
We may never be.
The reminder was like ice being dumped on all the warmth burning to life within her.
“I do not care,” she returned. “That will come in time. Please. I need you. After everything that happened today, I want to forget. I want to be wrapped in your arms and your strength, and I want toknowyou.”
“Damn it, woman. You sing like an angel and heal like a witch, flit around like a butterfly, and call to me like a bloody siren.” He raised his head, searching her gaze. “Which one is the true Caroline Sutton, I wonder? Each of them?”
“The true Caroline Sutton is the one who loves you.”
He groaned. “This isn’t fair to you, love. I don’t even know who I am.”
But I know who you are.
She wet her lips, guilt gnawing at her. “I do not care who you are, aside from the man I see standing before me. Who you were before is immaterial.”
“What if I ain’t the sort of man you would love?” he asked. “What if I remember everything and I’m a monster? A criminal? What if I’m a vile swine like that fancy nob who was accosting you tonight?”
