Page 38 of His Sinful Touch

“What?” His jaw dropped. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know who you are.”

The older man had joined them and he looked equally astounded by Sabrina’s words. “What the devil! Sabrina, stop this nonsense and come home at once.”

“Miss Blair isn’t going anywhere, sir,” Alex told him firmly. “I’ll repeat her question. Who are you?”

“She doesn’t remember anything,” Lilah said, joining the conversation. “I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me about this, Peter.”

“I—I didn’t know.” He glanced at her, then back at Sabrina. “You don’t remember anything?”

“No.” She shook her head.

“Good God,” the older man blurted. “This is—” He stopped, apparently unable to come up with a word to encompass the situation.

“But, Sabrina,” the younger man went on, watching her carefully, “I’m Peter. I’m your husband.”

All the air went out of Sabrina’s lungs. She thought she was about to faint, but Lilah grabbed her arm and held her upright. Sabrina leaned against her gratefully.

“Odd, then, isn’t it, that she’s never mentioned you?” Alex said in a cool voice, crossing his arms. “I’ll ask you once again, sir. Who are you?”

“I am Niles Dearborn, not that it’s any business of yours,” the older man snapped. “I am Miss Blair’s guardian. This is Peter, my son, and as he just told you, Sabrina’s husband.”

“Yet you just called her Miss Blair.”

Color rose in Dearborn’s face. He clenched his hands at his sides. “A natural mistake, as they were only recently wed. I don’t know who you are, but this is no concern of yours. Come, Sabrina.” He reached out an imperious hand toward her.

Sabrina shook her head. “No.”

“What?” Dearborn stared at her in amazement, as did Peter and Lilah.

“She said, ‘No.’” Alex raised his voice, and the other man glanced at him in irritation.

“Who the devil are you?”

“I am Lord Alexander Moreland.” There was an imperious tone to Alex’s voice that Sabrina had never heard before. “Miss Blair doesn’t wish to go anywhere with you, and her wishes are my concern.”

Mr. Dearborn’s gaze turned wary, and beside him his son murmured, “The Duke of Broughton’s son, I believe, Father.”

“Yes, well.” Dearborn cleared his throat and began in a more conciliatory voice, “As you can see, Mi—Mrs. Dearborn is unwell. Her memory is faulty.”

“It strikes me as peculiar,” drawled an American voice, “that a woman’s husband wouldn’t have noticed before now that she had lost her memory.”

Sabrina glanced over, surprised to see that Rafe had taken up a place on the other side of Alex, his relaxed posture and faint smile somehow conveying a threat. Kyria was next to him, her sharp eyes going from Alex to the Dearborns, then to Lilah. A quick glance to Sabrina’s other side showed Theo and Megan walking up, as well. She realized that the Morelands were drawing around her to protect her, and the thought warmed her, melting away the cold core of fear.

“Or that she was missing for two weeks,” Alex added drily.

Mr. Dearborn glanced at Rafe, then Theo and Megan. “That is easily explained. Sabrina and Peter were in a carriage accident. Peter was knocked out, and when he came back to consciousness, Sabrina was gone. We had no idea what had happened to her.”

“I see. So naturally you decided to go to a party,” Alex said.

Anger flashed in Dearborn’s eyes, and Peter jumped in and said, “It wasn’t like that. We’ve been looking for her all over. We only just got to London. We thought perhaps Sabrina had come to see Miss Holcutt. Her butler said Miss Holcutt was here.”

“So you were not in London when you mislaid Miss Blair?”

“Her name is Mrs. Dearborn.” Peter’s jaw clenched.

“She belongs at home,” Peter’s father said gravely. “Doubtless Sabrina cracked her head in the accident—that’s why she doesn’t remember who she is. I’ve no idea how she wound up here with you, but she is not your responsibility. She clearly needs medical attention, and I intend to take her home and get a doctor for her.”