Exercising phenomenal willpower, Zach decided not to ask any questions until Dr. Forsyth had finished checking Robyn over. It seemed that he waited a lifetime, and when the doctor finally straightened from his examination, Zach couldn’t tell from his expression whether the news was good or bad.
“Is she going to be all right?” The words burst out, harsh with the accumulated tension of the past twenty-four hours.
“It’s a mite too early to give you a definitive answer.” The doctor scrutinized a bleeping monitor and scribbled a note on one of the many charts hanging around Robyn’s bed. “All in all, though, I’m optimistic that there will be a full and total return to normal health. As I explained to you last night, the operation to remove the bullet went well, and there have been no post-op complications. Have you been shown the X rays?”
“Yes. Dr. Bennings went over them this morning. He explained that the bullet hadn’t actually entered Robyn’s brain, just... ripped along the surface of her skull.”
“I’m sure you understand that’s very good news.” Dr. Forsyth rubbed his forehead a touch wearily. “Look, Miss Delaney’s recovery has been normal in every way, and the neurological tests are positive. The swelling is minimal; she’s breathing on her own, and so far there’s no sign of any infection.”
“I can hear a but in your voice.”
The doctor hesitated, then shook his head. “No, you can’t. Now all we have to do is wait for her to wake up.”
Zach looked down at the inert, bandage-swathed figure on the bed. Robyn appeared tiny, fragile, vulnerable, oddly unfamiliar. Every cliché he’d ever read or heard about the diminishment of the seriously ill seemed to fit. He stroked her arm, needing the reassurance of feeling the warm pulse of life among the needles, drips, and electronic wires feeding into her skin.
“Why is she taking so long to regain consciousness?” he asked. “If everything’s going so well, why doesn’t she wake up?”
“There could be a lot of reasons, Mr. Bowleigh, not all of them bad. From the readings on the brain scan, I’d say she’s likely to regain consciousness anytime now.”
“Today?” Zach asked.
The doctor finally permitted himself a small smile. “Within the next couple of hours. That’s what we’re hoping for, anyway.”
“And if she doesn’t wake up soon?” Zach gave voice to the nightmare that had been haunting him ever since he arrived at the hospital that morning.
“Let’s cross that bridge if we come to it, shall we? I can promise you, Mr. Bowleigh, that nobody anticipates your friend spending the rest of her life in a coma.”
Dr. Forsyth no doubt intended to sound encouraging, but Zach felt his stomach lurch. “She looks a million miles away,” he murmured. “In another world.”
The doctor chuckled, sounding genuinely amused. “She’s just resting, and in a state that’s pretty close to normal sleep. The body does a wonderful job of closing down any systems that it doesn’t need while it sets about healing itself. Miss Delaney is a healthy young woman, and she’s likely to wake up and start talking to you sometime within the next few hours, possibly the next few minutes. Chin up, Mr. Bowleigh. She’s a fighter, and she’ll pull through.”
A sound from the bed had the doctor swinging back just as he was about to leave the room. Zach held his breath as Robyn moved her head once, then lay completely still beneath the white hospital blanket. For a moment Zach wondered if he’d imagined hearing her try to speak.
The rumbling sound came again, an unmistakable groan. A ten-second pause and then Robyn opened her eyes. She blinked several times, and stared around, her gaze flicking dazedly from the flashing screens, to the doctor, to Zach, and back to the monitors.
“Where... am... I?”
Zach’s throat squeezed tight with emotion, and he swallowed over a hard lump of pure joy. “You’re in the hospital, honey, but everything’s going to be all right.” He spoke softly, afraid of scaring her. “How are you feeling, honey? Robyn, it’s so good to see you awake.”
Robyn blinked. “I am... awake?”
Zach laughed, drunk with relief. “You sure are, sweetheart. My God, you gave us all a terrible scare. We aren’t used to seeing you lie so still and quiet, I guess!”
Robyn’s green eyes skittered over Zach, not really focusing on him. She spoke to Dr. Forsyth. “My... head... pains... me.”
The doctor quietly repositioned himself so that it would be easier for Robyn to see him without twisting her neck. “I’m afraid you’re likely to suffer from a headache for a bit longer, my dear. You were shot yesterday, do you remember?”
“Shot?” Her eyes blurred. “Accident,” she muttered. “Carriage...”
She closed her eyes, as if the act of remembering hurt. She muttered several more phrases, but her words were so thick and stumbling that Zach couldn’t make out what she was trying to say. Her accent sounded oddly distorted and the only two words he heard clearly sounded like horse and bolted, which made no sense at all. Worried, he glanced toward the doctor.
Dr. Forsyth appeared unconcerned by Robyn’s incoherence. He spoke directly to his patient. “Well, my dear, we had to remove a bullet from your head I’m afraid, but the operation went very well, and we hope you’ll soon be feeling a lot better.” He patted her gently on the shoulder. “You’ve been an excellent patient so far, young lady. We’re all very pleased with you.”
Robyn stared at the doctor. Her gaze dropped to his hand and her brows furrowed. “Thirsty,” she said brusquely. “Give... me... water.”
“Yes, of course. We can start you on some clear liquids.” Dr. Forsyth nodded to a waiting nurse who hurried forward, carrying a covered cup and flexible straw. The nurse fixed the straw between Robyn’s swollen lips and waited for her to suck. Robyn made awkward work of the simple task, coughing and spluttering as if she couldn’t quite remember how to make a straw function.
Never mind, Zach thought. She’ll soon be good as new. I can’t expect her to be a hundred percent okay the first second she opens her eyes.
“That’s enough,” Dr. Forsyth said as Robyn nearly choked on an ill-timed swallow. “Thanks, nurse. She can have some more water or apple juice in an hour if she asks for it. In the meantime, the drip is keeping her hydrated.” He freed her feet from the bedcovers and smiled at her encouragingly. “Could you wriggle your toes for me, Robyn? And if you can lift your foot a couple of inches off the bed, that would be marvelous.”
Robyn’s head was swathed in bandages, her face was drained of all color, and her lips were shockingly bruised. Maybe that was why it was so difficult to read her feelings, Zach thought. Right now, she looked more angry than anything else, but that must be a distortion caused by the bandages.
“Whoare... you?” she asked the doctor, and her voice sounded as cold as her expression.
“I’m Dr. Forsyth, the surgeon who operated on you.”
“I know you not. Where is... Dr. Perrick?”
“Dr. Perrick doesn’t work out of this hospital, Miss Delaney... Is he your physician in the States?”
Robyn didn’t answer, simply frowned again, and the doctor tapped her lightly on the foot. “Could you wriggle these toes for me, please? Just to convince your friend Zachary that you’re all right?”
“Zachary? You mean Zachary is here?” Robyn gave her first tentative smile since regaining consciousness. She levered herself onto one elbow and peered around the room.
“I’m here, honey,” Zach said, relieved that she obviously wasn’t paralyzed and yet worried that she hadn’t registered his presence the first time she saw him. He reminded himself again that she’d just woken up from a twenty-four-hour concussion, and he couldn’t expect her to get everything straight right off the bat. Following the doctor’s example, he shifted toward the foot of the bed, so that it would be easier for her to see him.
Robyn stared at him, her eyes darkening in puzzlement. “William?” she said, her voice rising into a definite question.
Why in the world was she asking him about his brother, a man she’d never even met?
“Will is in L.A.,” Zach said. “He spends a lot of time out on the West Coast.” He reached out to clasp her hand, taking great care not to disturb the needles leading to the various IVs. “How are you feeling, honey? Do you think you could manage a small smile, just to convince me that you’re not hurting all over?”
“You are not William,” she said with clipped, angry precision. “Why do you wear those outrageous garments? And where is Zachary? The physician told me that Zachary is here.”
Somehow, Zach forced back his fear. “Darling, I am Zachary.” He leaned across the bed and took her hand, kissing the tips of her fingers in the hope that close physical contact would help her to remember.
The gesture seemed to make her annoyed rather than reassured. Scowling, Robyn tugged at her hand, pulling away from him. The movement made her IV tubes jangle and her gaze lighted on the needles, wires, and tubes taped into the back of her hand. Her peevish expression changed to one of stark fear.
“What have you done to me?” she demanded hoarsely, staring at her hand as if paralyzed with horror. Her mouth fell open and she gave a weak, terrified scream. “Take these monstrous leaches from me! I will not consent to be bled!”
“Robyn, honey, it’s just the IV needles,” Zach said quickly. She paid no attention. She tore her hand out of his grasp and ripped at the tape holding the IV tubes in place.
“Remove... these... accursed... slugs... from... me!” she yelled, panting and gasping for air. “Dear God, ‘tis no leach but a poisonous adder, biting into my flesh.”
“Hold her still!” Dr. Forsyth commanded. He spoke into the intercom. “Bring me ten ccs of Valium right away!” He ran across the room and seized Robyn’s arm, holding it out so that she couldn’t grab the IVs. She continued to writhe and scream, twisting her body with amazing, demented strength.
Sick with worry, Zach forced himself to stroke her cheek with a smooth, gentle touch. “Robyn, darling, you must try to calm down—”
Her gaze rolled toward him. Her screaming stopped on a choking, strangled gasp, and her body froze into stillness. She cringed back against the pillows, shrinking away from Zach’s touch. “Sweet Jesu, now I understand what ails me! My sins have found me out! You are a demon, cast in William’s form and sent to beguile me.”
Zach drew in a deep breath. “Honey, listen to me, I’m Zach and I love you—”
“Get thee gone from me, spawn of Satan!” she hissed, crossing her hand in front of her face. “I am not deceived by thy looks, nor dazzled by thy beauty. Go back to the devil who vomited thee up from the bowels of hell. Thou—artnot—William—and I shall not be deceived!”
“Darling, of course I’m not William. Will is my brother.” He fought to keep the fear out of his voice. “Sweetheart, I’m Zach. Zach Bowleigh—”
“Touch me not, devil’s get!” Robyn jerked away, then suddenly stared down at her stomach. “My babe!” she croaked in a frantic whisper. “Dear God, what hast thou done with my babe? Sweet Jesu, hast thou stolen him out of my womb and offered him up to Satan?”
The doctor gave Zach no chance to answer, even if he had been capable of producing a reply.
“Enough,” Dr. Forsyth said. He flipped the intercom switch. “Am I going to get that Valium anytime soon?” He nodded to the nurse, who marched with unmistakable determination toward Zach.
“You have to leave, Mr. Bowleigh. Hurry up, please, you’re disturbing the patient.”
Robyn’s hysterical cries pounded against Zach’s ears.
“No,” he said. “You must let me stay with her. She’ll recognize me in a minute—”
“Get out, Mr. Bowleigh.” Dr. Forsyth didn’t raise his voice, but his command brooked no argument. “Nurse, I need you over here. Take her other arm and hold her still. Dammit, she’s not giving up! She’s going to rip the IV right out! Where the hell is that Valium?”
“Here, sir.” Another nurse hurried into the room, a syringe in her hand.
Zach was almost pushed from the room. He paced the corridor, wincing when a horrible, piercing shriek ended in an abrupt and even more horrible silence. Christ, what was happening in there? Zach wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Right at this moment, he wasn’t sure about anything much. Except that if a bullet intended to wreck him and the Gallery had ended up destroying Robyn’s joyful and intelligent spirit, he would never forgive himself.
* * *
Zach acknowledged the greetings of two or three nurses as he walked down the corridor leading to Robyn’s room. During the past four days he’d had ample opportunity to get to know the hospital staff, and he found them both efficient and blessedly tactful. The questions they didn’t ask were legion, and he appreciated their reticence. At a time like this, British understatement was balm for his lacerated soul.
He paused outside the door of Robyn’s room for a few seconds, mentally preparing himself. The sound of a high-pitched chuckle caught him unprepared. Robyn was laughing? He pushed open the door.
Robyn didn’t even glance toward him. She had the control switch for her bed clasped in her hands. Brow furrowed in concentration, she held the control at arm’s length, eyeing it warily, as if it were a monster needing to be tamed. Pressing the button, she sent the bed zooming up and down, her breathless giggles sounding almost as much scared as happy.
Mrs. Delaney gave him a strained smile, but she didn’t leave Robyn’s side. Al Delaney, however, seemed glad of an excuse to get away from watching his daughter’s antics, and he greeted Zach with a friendly hello, followed by a bewildered shaking of his head.
“She’s been at it for an hour,” he said, glancing over his shoulder toward Robyn. “Up and down, first the head of the bed, then the foot, then the whole dang mattress. Honest to goodness, Zach, it’s driving me crazy.”
“Did you try asking her to stop?”
“Yeah.” Al Delaney shoved his hands into the pockets of his rumpled slacks. “She threw a tantrum.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Her mother gets upset when she lets rip like that. It’s so unlike her, you know.”
Al didn’t need to say anything more. Zach had seen several of Robyn’s post-op tantrums and they were definitely not a pretty sight. He cleared his throat. “I’m sure she’ll be better when she’s back in familiar surroundings.” His first lie of the morning, because he wasn’t sure at all. “Has Dr. Forsyth said anything about when she can go home?”
“Early next week, he thinks. He wants to make sure the wound in her scalp is completely healed before she risks a transatlantic plane journey.”
“Did the doctor say anything about Robyn’s mental—” Zach broke off, unable to put the harsh truth into words. He tried again. “Did he indicate how long it might be before Robyn gets back to her old self again?”
“They’ve no idea what’s causing her behavior, so they won’t commit themselves to any diagnosis about the future.” Al sounded bleak.
“Look, I’m sure you’ll see a world of difference once she’s back home.” Second lie. “With you and her mother in charge, instead of doctors and nurses, she’ll start to remember her past.” Third lie. “She’ll have all her friends and familiar places to jog her memory.”
Al attempted a smile. “Yeah, that’s what we’re hoping.”
Zach tried to think of something else encouraging to say, wondering if he sounded as hypocritical as he felt. “We have to remember it’s less than a week since she was shot, and physically she’s doing a fantastic job of recovery.”
“Yeah, physically she’s doing great.” Al looked glum. “Did you notice? They took out the last of the IV drips today.”
“Hey, cheer up! That’s good news.”
“Is it?” Al avoided Zach’s gaze. “Since she didn’t have the drip anymore, they couldn’t give her medication through the tubes. The nurse had to bring Robyn’s antibiotic pills in a plastic foam cup.”
Zach winced. “Let me guess what happened. She threw the pills at the nurse.”
“No. She tried to eat the foam cup along with the pills.” Al rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Honest to God, she stared at those dang antibiotics like she’d never seen a pill in her life. Then when the nurse told her to hurry up and swallow them down, she picked up the cup and started munching.”
Zach would have laughed if he hadn’t felt so damn close to crying. “Dr. Forsyth did explain that post-trauma amnesia can be selective,” he said, trying to find something consoling to say, although it was damned difficult to be reassuring about a woman who ate plastic foam.
“Remember he mentioned those strange cases of accident victims who couldn’t recognize their immediate family, even though they remembered acquaintances? Or the story he told about a woman who came out of surgery remembering every detail of her life after April the twelfth of 1989 and nothing from before.”
“Yeah, I remember. I’m not sure it makes me feel any better to know that my daughter’s crazy just like a lot of other unfortunate people.”
Zach sucked in a gulp of air. “Not crazy, Al. With expert therapy, she’ll get back to normal.” A prayer, not a lie.
“I sure do hope so.” Al’s voice thickened. “She was such a happy, friendly little girl. And so darn cute. Huge green eyes, a mop of curls, and those dang freckles across her nose. Lord, she was cute as a button. Her mother and I couldn’t help spoiling her, but she never took advantage, you know what I mean?”
“Yes, I do. Robyn is a very generous person.” Zach drew in another deep breath. “Well, I guess I’d better go and say hi to her, and to Muriel.” He walked across to the bed and murmured greetings. Muriel Delaney gave him one of her brave, anxious smiles. Robyn ignored him.
“Al tells me Robyn can go home next week,” he said to Muriel, voice rich with false cheer. “That’s great.” Behind him, Robyn’s bed whirred and buzzed on its bizarre ride. He swallowed hard. “I’ll book tickets on a flight direct to Washington, D.C., and arrange for a rental car to be waiting at Dulles for the drive to your house. The whole journey shouldn’t take more than twelve hours, hospital door to your door.
“It’s so good of you to take on the burden of making all these travel arrangements,” Muriel said.
“Don’t mention it. I fly to England so often on business I have a long-standing agreement with a travel agency in London. One call will take care of all the details.”
“I’m really looking forward to being home again,” Muriel said. “I’m sure Robyn will get back to her old self again as soon as she’s in familiar surroundings.”
The hope had become her mantra. Since he’d made virtually the same remark to Al, Zach could only nod his agreement, although he couldn’t think of any solid reason why the sight of her childhood home would trigger Robyn’s return to normal when the faces of her own parents hadn’t done the trick.
“Robyn’s looking well, better every day.” That, at least, was the truth. “The color’s back in her cheeks and her face is rounding out again, not looking so thin.”
“Yes, her appetite’s pretty good.” Muriel’s voice tailed away, dispirited. “The truth is, Zach, that she doesn’t seem to be improving mentally, even though she’s doing just fine physically. The nurses had another huge dust-up with her this morning. They had a terrible time persuading her to get into the shower, and when she was finally undressed, she went off into hysterics.” Muriel Delaney’s face crumpled and tears trickled down her cheeks.
Zach handed her a tissue and she dried her eyes determinedly. He rested his hand on her shoulder. “What was upsetting Robyn this morning, did the nurses tell you?”
“Oh, yes, they told me.”
“And?”
“Apparently she accused them of stealing away her body and she demanded that they bring it back. She got hysterical every time she caught a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror. She kept repeating, over and over, ‘Where have you hidden my blond hair?’ “
Zach felt sick to his stomach. Robyn’s delusions certainly didn’t seem to be lessening in severity as time passed. “Maybe they misunderstood,” he said. “Her pronunciation isn’t always easy to understand. Maybe she was talking about her baby. She accused me once of stealing her baby.”
“I guess it’s marginally less crazy if she thinks people are stealing her nonexistent baby rather than her body,” Muriel said, her voice not quite under control.
Al gave his wife’s hand an encouraging squeeze. “She’ll be right as rain when we get her home, sugar.”
Muriel looked at her daughter, eyes sad. “I sure hope so,” she said. “I sure do hope so.”
* * *
Robyn sat hunched in her wheelchair, staring straight ahead, her mouth drawn into a tight, obstinate line. Zach and the nurses kept up a stream of would-be jaunty chatter. Al and Muriel Delaney followed behind their daughter’s wheelchair in grim, despairing silence. Zach couldn’t blame them if they had exhausted their supply of false optimism.
The weather, at least, was proving unusually kind for England in early December. A pale sun broke from behind the clouds as Robyn was wheeled out into the hospital driveway, and the icy blasts of wind died down to sharp puffs of breeze carrying a tang of salty ocean. “Nice day for a journey,” the nurse said.
“Yes,” Zach agreed. “We should make good time to Heathrow.”
“I’ve always wanted to go to America,” the nurse said. “I’m saving up for a trip to Disney World next winter.”
“I’m sure you’ll have a good time,” Zach said. The limo he had ordered was waiting outside the concrete canopy and he waved to the driver, indicating that he should pull up to the main hospital entrance. The driver, a happy-go-lucky young man who clearly thought his fancy chauffeur’s uniform was a bit of a lark, clicked his heels before giving a mock salute and jumping into the limo. His chirpy whistle was audible across the hundred yards or so separating him from the hospital entrance.
At least somebody was feeling cheerful, Zach thought. He glanced toward Robyn, his gloom increasing when he saw that she was hunched deeper than ever into the wheelchair, her eyes darting in furtive, nervous sweeps over the parking lot. When the limo engine hummed into life, she recoiled visibly, and her gaze fixed with almost hypnotic intensity on the approaching car.
Then she started to scream.
* * *
William’s horse, a bay gelding, was tethered close to the tree stump where Robyn had sat and nursed baby Zach.
“Hold tight to the child,” William said curtly, then lifted her into the saddle in a single, swift movement. He swung himself up behind her without any need to use the tree stump as a mounting block and set off toward the Manor at a slow canter.
The manhandling by Captain Bretton’s soldiers had left the front of her dress sopping wet, and Robyn was too cold and too tired to think or even to feel much during the brief ride back to the Manor. Fortunately, the rocking motion seemed to lull the baby into a doze, and he felt warm and comfy snuggled inside her cape.
At first she held herself rigidly upright, maintaining a careful distance between her spine and William’s body, but gradually fatigue overcame resolution and she allowed herself to lean back against his chest. She thought she heard him draw in a sharp, hard breath, but he said nothing, and she decided she must have been mistaken. He felt strong and muscled behind her, his body an oddly comforting bulwark against the lashing rain. Ever since she woke up and found herself in the midst of this nightmare, William had been simultaneously the person she trusted least—and the person she most wanted to confide in. Why did he inspire such strangely mixed reactions? When he confronted Captain Bretton, she had felt as if she could entrust him with her life. And yet, two seconds later she had recognized him as a major threat to her security. Her nerve endings jangled with subliminal warning every time he came near. Even now, when she was hovering on the edge of total exhaustion, a tiny part of her body was quivering with tension, and she was aware of every movement he made.
A groom—she thought she recognized the stable lad she had overheard earlier in the evening—was waiting in the shelter of the portal covering the front entrance to the Manor. He ran out into the courtyard as soon as he spotted his master approaching, and held the horse’s head while William dismounted. Robyn was so stiff and sore that she was secretly glad that William gave her no chance to get off the horse under her own steam. He simply lifted her out of the saddle and carried her across the muddy cobblestones into Starke.
It spoke volumes for her fatigued state that she scarcely noticed the bowing and curtsying servants who clustered in the hallway and lined the staircase. William, of course, paid them no heed at all and simply marched up the stairs, Robyn and baby Zach still held in his arms.
“I can walk,” she muttered, not liking the confused emotions rioting inside her. “William, for heaven’s sake, put me down. I’m not Scarlett, you’re not Rhett, and I’m tired of playing low-budget reruns of Gone With the Wind.”
He ignored her—what else had she expected?—and strode up the stairs at a spanking pace considering he was carrying a hundred and twenty pounds of Robyn, plus fifteen pounds or so of sodden cape, as well as seven or eight pounds of baby Zach. Mary was hovering in the hallway outside Arabella’s bedroom and she hurried to open the door for them. William acknowledged her action with a curt nod of the head.
“You may leave us,” he said. “I will tend to the Lady Arabella.”
“Yes, m’lord. Shall I send Annie to take the little un’, m’ lord?”
“No,” Robyn said. “I will take care of Zach.”
As always, Mary looked to William for confirmation. Robyn felt him hesitate for an instant before he nodded. “Very well, Mary. Her ladyship will send for the nurse later.” He walked into the bedroom, slamming the door shut with the heel of his riding boot.
He set Robyn down on the rug in front of the fire, unhooking the frogs of her cloak and flinging it onto a chair.
“The child is to be christened Arthur,” he said, his voice hard. “The ceremony will take place on Sunday next, after matins. You will remember your son’s name in the future, my lady, and you will use it.”
Robyn’s tentative spurt of goodwill toward William vanished in a flash. “You may christen my son whatever you please. I’m damn sure I get no say in the matter in this benighted place. But that doesn’t mean you can force me to call my child by a name you’ve chosen without consulting me. I’m the one who delivered him after hours of labor, and as far as I’m concerned, his name is Zach, short for Zachary, and that’s what I will always call him.”
“Why are you determined to throw your infidelity in my face?” William asked tautly.
“You think Zach is your brother’s child?” she asked incredulously. “For heaven’s sake, William, don’t be so melodramatic. I’m not throwing anything in your face and I haven’t been unfaithful to you.” She remembered Clemmie’s brown eyes and flushed, correcting herself quickly. “Not for years, at any rate. You obviously don’t want to believe me, but Zachary is our son. Yours and mine.”
“But of course he is my son,” William said, his voice heavy with irony. “Why else would you have staged that pitiful plea for reconciliation between us last April, if not to provide a father for your son? And if I cannot quite convince myself that a single foray into your bed resulted in instant impregnation, well then, you can prove my son’s heritage jen-et-iclee, can you not?”
“Yes, and if you’re too far in the past to accept genetic theory, you can prove it simply by looking at him. You can see he’s your son if you would only open your eyes.”
Robyn realized that she was near to tears, and she pointedly turned her back on William, setting Zach down on the chest of drawers she had designated as his changing stand. Much to the outrage of Mary and Annie who considered a lady’s bedchamber no place for baby clothes, she kept a supply of clean garments in the top drawer, and a stack of muslin squares folded in a basket that stood between the chest and the fire. She picked up one of the makeshift diapers and pressed its softness against Zach’s cheek.
“See how warm it is?” she murmured, paying little heed to what she said, just wanting to soothe him with her chatter. “It’s clean, too. Do you know how hard I had to fight to get the servants to wash your diapers instead of just drying them off?”
Zach gurgled and she smiled at him. “Right, I agree. That’s disgusting. Gross, in fact. Now Mommy’s going to make you all nice and dry. And we’ll take that nasty wet nightgown off you, too. Are your toes cold from all the rain?”
Zachary’s toes were toasty warm, but he let out a howl of protest as she untied his lacy bonnet and slipped the lavishly embroidered linen gown over his head. She bent down and gave him an absentminded kiss. “Sorry, poppet, did I hurt your arm? Mommy didn’t mean to get rough with you but these clothes aren’t exactly snap-and-go, you know.”
She straightened from her task of tying and buttoning him into a clean diaper, long flannel petticoat, knitted cap, and silk bedjacket, and found William staring at her, his expression arrested.
“You need to change your own garments,” he said, breaking the odd little silence that opened up between them. “You are a great deal wetter than your son.”
“You’re right, I am. As soon as you leave, I’ll change.”
“You cannot unhook your own gown,” William said, not meeting her eyes. “If you will turn around, I will assist you.”
Robyn laid Zachary in his cradle, glad of the excuse to avoid looking at William. “Thank you,” she said, annoyed when her voice emerged sounding curiously breathless. “I would prefer to summon Mary.”
“I wish to speak with you privately,” William said. “And you will catch an inflammation of the lungs if you remain in those soaking wet clothes. My offer was purely practical in intent.”
Robyn sat down in the chair beside Zach’s cradle, leaning forward and rocking it gently. “I’m very tired,” she said. “I can’t imagine what you need to say to me that can’t wait until tomorrow morning.”
“Can you not?” William crossed to her side, pulling her to her feet. His eyes blazed with suppressed anger. “First you will change into dry clothing, then I will talk and you will discover just what I need to say to you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, William. I’m not going to get undressed with you standing around watching.”
“Come, my lady, false modesty does not become you. I have seen all that you have to offer on many occasions and, believe me, there is no danger that I will fall headlong into lust because I unlace your stays.”
His scorn pricked at Robyn’s pride. “Will you not?” she asked sweetly. “And yet, when I was riding home with you, I could have sworn that I felt quite clear evidence of the force of your desire for me.”
Color washed for an instant in William’s cheeks. Then he grabbed the hand mirror off the nearby dressing table and thrust it in front of her face.
“You have a high opinion of your charms,” he said harshly. “Take a good look at yourself, my lady. Do you imagine that such a bedraggled female is likely to inspire me with an overwhelming longing to take her into my bed?”
Robyn turned white at the sight of herself in the mirror, not because she looked so wretched, but because she saw Arabella’s ravaged blond beauty reflected back at her. Pushing the mirror away, she covered her eyes with her hand.
“What is it that you want to know, William?” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded depressed and weary. “I will do my best to answer you although, believe me, I am not likely to have any answers for your questions.”
“Very well, if you are determined to play the martyr, so be it. Here is my first question, and it would be gratifying if you attempted to answer it with a modicum of honesty. Why did you seek out Captain Bretton tonight? What did the pair of you hope to accomplish?”
“I didn’t seek him out. Two of his men found me walking at the edge of the woods and they forced me to go with them. I had no idea they would take me to Captain Bretton.”
William smiled without a trace of amusement. “Not one of your better stories, my lady. If you were not planning to meet with Captain Bretton, would you care to explain why you were strolling through the far reaches of Starke Manor on a freezing cold night, with a storm getting ready to blow in off the Channel?” His smile shaded from derision to outright mockery. “Please try to make your explanation a mite more convincing this time, my dear. It is so much more entertaining for both of us when you make your lies a little credible.”
Robyn looked up, meeting his gaze defiantly. “I have a terrific explanation,” she said.
“Then, pray, let me hear it. I am all attention.”
“I was—running away.”
William stared at her for a long silent moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he got to his feet and walked over to the closet. He returned carrying a knitted shawl. “Here,” he said, holding it out to her. “Since I rescued you from certain death after your carriage accident, I would prefer you not to die because you are too obstinate to change out of a wet dress.”
“It’s quite warm here in front of the fire,” Robyn said. Nevertheless, she took the shawl.
William watched as she arranged the fleecy folds around her shoulders. “Why were you running away?” he asked.
What in the world should she say? “I... wanted... hoped to recapture the threads of my old life.”
“And you felt that fleeing from your home and your family would achieve that?”
“Not... exactly.” Robyn pleated the hem of the shawl between her fingers, avoiding William’s gaze. “I needed to return to the place where I had my accident.”
“If that is so, how did it come about that Captain Bretton’s men found you wandering near the woods?”
“I... got lost.”
“Ah, I see. After nine years of living at Starke, you could not orient yourself to the front gates. A most credible story.”
“Credible or not, that’s what happened,” she said defiantly.
“It is a most odd coincidence that you should choose to return to the site of your unfortunate accident on the very night that Captain Bretton spread his dragnet of dragoons across the countryside.”
Robyn choked on a gasp of laughter that was almost a sob. “Not nearly as odd as some of the other things that have been happening to me lately.” She drew in a deep breath and forced her nervous fingers to lie still. “You will not like the truth, William, but the truth is that I didn’t know Captain Bretton existed until two ragamuffin soldiers dragged me to the clearing and he confronted me.”
William looked at her, then gave a harsh, frustrated laugh. “By God, you are a remarkable woman, Arabella. Just when I am convinced there is no trick you can employ that will deceive me, you come up with a fresh stratagem that leaves me floundering, trying to grasp the tiny acorn of truth that lurks behind your oak tree of lies.”
“This time you have no need to search,” she said quietly. “I’m telling you the truth as I understand it. It was obvious from my conversation with Captain Bretton that we are old acquaintances, but I swear to you, William, that I have no memory of the man. I know nothing of our past dealings with each other. When I saw him tonight, I felt as if I saw him for the first time in my life.”
“You are claiming to have lost your memory, my lady?”
Robyn hesitated. Claiming amnesia as a result of the carriage accident might be the easiest way to account for her strange behavior. Certainly it sounded a lot more believable than an hysterical statement to the effect that she was trapped in a time warp, lost inside another woman’s body. Pretending amnesia was a safe course and might even evoke sympathy. Telling the truth was likely to get her clapped away in the local lunatic asylum or confined to a dark turret in Starke Manor.
Decision made, she looked up and met William’s eyes. “Yes,” she said. “I think the blow to my head when I fell from the carriage affected my memory.”
Her pause had been too long, and William misinterpreted it. His gaze became cynical. “How selective your memory is in its failures, my dove! Is it not curious that you forget the captain, but retain vivid memories of my brother Zachary? Your lovers would like to think that they receive equal attention, you know.”
“They do. I don’t remember your brother, either.”
“Please do not insult my intelligence, my lady. Zachary was the first name you spoke when you regained consciousness after your fall from the carriage. And now you insist upon calling your son by his name.”
“That’s not for the reason you think. That’s... for a different reason.”
“Yes,” William said, “I am sure it is.” He glanced at baby Zach sleeping in the cradle, and for a moment his eyes darkened, as if with pain. Then he swung on his heel, turning his back to Robyn. “Poor Captain Bretton. He would be devastated to know that the lady who was once his affianced bride claims to have no memory of him. The captain does not like to feel ignored.”
“Captain Bretton was once my fiancé?” Robyn sputtered in her shock. Whatever she’d expected to hear, it hadn’t been that.
William’s voice shimmered with sarcasm. “The first gentleman to win a promise of eternal fidelity from you, my lady, but certainly not the last.”
“Wait!” Robyn was too confused to feel insulted. “Why didn’t the captain and I get married? Did I break off the engagement?”
William rested his boot on the comer of Zach’s cradle and rocked gently. “If you really cannot remember,” he said at last, “mayhap ‘tis better if we do not rake over past events that still carry the power to wound.”
“No,” she said, her throat tight with tension. “William, I have to know. I can’t walk around with my own past a sealed mystery to me. Don’t you see? If I had known the truth about my relationship with Captain Bretton, I would have handled our encounter differently. I need to know what happened in my past.”
William studied her face in silence for several long moments. “Captain Bretton broke off his engagement to you,” he said finally.
“Why?”
He met her gaze head on. “Because he discovered that you were with child.”
Robyn felt the shawl slip out of her grasp and slide to the floor. She didn’t bother to pick it up. “Was it the captain’s child?” she asked, her throat feeling so dry that the words seemed to stick to the roof of her mouth.
“No.”
“Whose child was it?” She rose to her feet. “Was it yours, William?”
“No.”
“Tell me,” she said, sensing the vital importance of the information he was withholding. “You must tell me. Who was the father?”
William shook back the lace of his cuffs and drew out a box of snuff, flicking open the lid with a casual expertise that was almost convincing. Almost, but not quite.
“The child was Zachary’s,” he said. “You were pregnant with my brother’s child when Captain Bretton spurned you.”