Chapter Two

Miss Annabelle Harding was acutely conscious that every moment she spent riding within Hyde Park bordered on the scandalous.

Especially since it was well past midnight, she was riding unashamedly astride, and she wore breeches beneath her skirting. Since her brother Cornelius—Lord Timelbury—was currently in Bath seeing their mother settled for a couple more days, she dared to misbehave as much as she wanted. After all, since she’d been banished to the Essex countryside by that same brother for being too much a hoyden and therefore troublesome by way of falling into scrapes and scandals, why shouldn’t she act the same way here in London?

She’d always felt an affinity for the nighttime, for it was far more freeing for a woman in this world than the day was. There was no one to judge, no prying eyes to watch, no sharp-tongued vipers to gossip about her. As she manipulated the reins, she lifted her face to the light drizzle in the air. Yes, it was slightly chilly, but her cloak kept the worse of the dampness from her body, and simply moving through the midnight-darkened park was beyond freeing and a far cry from the stifling rules and restrictions placed upon her in the daylight hours.

Being a prim and proper miss, and even sitting around with embroidery or painting waiting for suitors to come and call, simply wasn’t her. Annabelle would rather be out and about doing something with her life by riding or walking or touring sites. Ladylike activities that were sanctioned by the matrons of the beau monde were simply too dull and didn’t hold her attention.

Why couldn’t her brother acknowledge that? It had been his idea to bring her up to London, for he’d decreed it was high time for her to be married and settled, most likely so he wouldn’t need to worry over her future any longer.

As if her obtaining her thirtieth birthday just last week and still remaining unmatched was a cause of alarm. There had been suitors, of course, and a few of those men had asked for her hand, and even though they’d passed muster with her brother, she’d considered them not quite right for her, and shouldn’t she have a say in her own future? After all, she’d be the one leg-shackled to the man for the rest of her life, so he ought to be at least a little interesting.

And devastatingly handsome wouldn’t hurt.

When her horse suddenly lifted its head and gave a low snort, she frowned. “What’s wrong, girl?” Though her brother kept three horses while in London and he’d taken two of them with the traveling coach, the one left behind was her favorite anyway, and Bess was a gorgeous bay mare with an easy temperament.

Her mount refused to go further, and as Annabelle peered through the darkness up the road, she sucked in a breath, for there was a dark obstacle on the riding path. Granted, this was one of the more secluded portions of Hyde Park, but she’d been through the area often enough that the location didn’t provoke fear. When Bess didn’t appear to wish to go forward, she sighed.

“Fine. You can be afraid, but I’m going to investigate.” Seconds later, she slid from the back of her horse, and then taking the lantern’s handle from where it rested on the pommel of the saddle, she held it aloft. “Hello?” No one answered the hail. “You there. Are you alive or are you simply a bundle of rags that my imagination has convinced me is a person?”

Bess uttered a low whinny and tossed her head.

“Shh. It’s all right, girl, and I rather doubt it’s a specter.” After petting the horse’s muzzle, Annabelle left the relative safety of being with her horse, and with her lantern held high, she slowly approached what she thought looked like a bundle of discarded rags. Yet the closer she came, she was able to discern it was a person.

Oh, dear.

Her heartbeat accelerated. Though it wasn’t uncommon for criminals to dump unwanted corpses in the park or for the transient to expire here, she has never seen a dead body. With every step closer, her pulse pounded that much harder, and as the golden circle of light from her lantern encompassed the whole of the man on the ground, she gasped. “Hello?”

The pile of rags and the dead body wasn’t dead at all. Instead, it was a man slumped over and leaning on an elbow. “Who goes there?” The voice, though a low and thrilling baritone, sounded garbled and graveled.

Well, she certainly wasn’t going to give out a name to this ragamuffin person. He could be dangerous, yet the longer she gazed at him, the more alarmed she grew, for he had the look of a man who’d been in a fight and had come out somewhat worse for wear.

“Hello?”

The man blew out a breath. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because you keep not answering.” The response shot out of her mouth before she’d thought about it. Then she frowned. “You’re hurt.” It wasn’t a question. Immediately, Annabelle dropped to her knees on the path beside the man, regardless that it was muddy and wet. “Did you fall from a horse?”

He looked at her but there was a vacancy in his eyes she didn’t quite trust. “I am not certain.” Evidence of him casting up his accounts lay on the ground nearby.

Had he been in his cups and gotten lost? But if that were so, why had he been roughed up? “Hmm.” The man wasn’t dressed for riding, however. After setting the lantern down on the path, Annabelle proceeded to help him into a seated position. “Let’s see what we’re working with.” She peered into his eyes that were a beautiful hazel, almost whiskey colored in the dark and shadows. “Forgive the trespass but I need to assess your physical health. Are you in pain?”

“I…” He winced as she explored the back of his head. When her ivory kid gloves came away with traces of blood, he gasped. “That would explain the pain in my head.” Culture threaded through his tone and his word usage. “There is also an acute ache on the side of my face.” He touched his left temple with a gloved finger where an ugly purple and black bruise was beginning to form. “And here.” He put that same hand to his belly.

“Were you in a fight with someone?” As she slipped her finger through his thick light-brown hair that was slightly longer than fashion demanded so that it curled at his collar, she felt for other injuries on his skull. Thankfully, there were none.

“I cannot remember,” he said in a low voice as he watched her.

“That could be a result of either the blow to the back of your head or the injuries to your temple.” With a glance about the immediate area, her gaze fell to a small boulder to one side of the path. A streak of blood decorated the rock. “Ah. Perhaps you fell and hit your head there.” She pointed to the boulder. “Where you with someone?”

“I don’t know.”

“You must have been, for you look as if you were in a fight.” Yet his evening clothing and great coat suggested he was a member of the aristocracy instead of the gentry or a laborer. “Did you have a society event on your schedule for this evening? Perhaps you were led astray into the park for an assignation?”

A man as handsome as he surely had someone in his life that might know him intimately.

“Again, I couldn’t say. There is nothing in my memories, just a sort of… blankness there, a darkness.” He shifted as panic reflected on his face. “What happened to me?” That same emotion wavered through his voice.

“I’m not certain but we will find out.” Making sure her voice sounded soothing, Annabelle moved so that she was fully in front of him. “Look at me. Watch my finger.” She held up her index finger and moved it to the right and the left, steadily watching his eyes as they followed the movement. Then she guided her hand up and down. Again, his eyes went in those same directions without incident. “Can you see me? Am I blurry or doubled?”

The only reason she knew to perform the tests was because her brother had fallen off his horse a few summers ago when he’d been at the Surrey property, the same summer his wife had died of an allergic reaction to something she’d come into contact with. Annabelle had been the one to find him, and after ascertaining that he’d hit his head on a fence rail, she’d had to examine him. The difference there was that he’d retained his memory while it didn’t seem as if this man had.

“I can see you clearly.” A trace of relief went through his voice.

“Good.” She ran her hands over the wide breadth of his shoulders beneath his greatcoat then swept them along the impressive plains of his chest. His hard, solid chest that spoke of physical labor or activity that kept him fit and well-muscled. “Obviously, I can’t see your torso or abdomen, but if you say you have pain there, I’ll wager you engaged someone in a fight, or an attacker came at you while you were in the park.”

“Then that would explain why my hands, my fingers feel tight.” He frowned as he spoke, kept eye contact. “Perhaps I needed to defend myself with my fists.” When he removed the gloves, a sapphire in the signet ring on his right pinky finger glimmered in the lantern light.

“You must be titled.”

“Why?”

She caught his hand in hers and examined the signet ring. A hawk rested on a shield with a spear beneath it, but she didn’t recognize the coat of arms. That didn’t mean anything, for she was rubbish at knowing members of the beau monde . “This signet ring means you have a title, which would explain the cut and quality of your clothing. Perhaps you had left a club earlier tonight and were attacked on the way home, and that means you should have a carriage nearby.” She again swept the area with her gaze, but of course they were too far into the park for vehicles to go.

“Ah.” That was all he said. “In the park and engaged in a fight. I suppose it’s plausible.”

“Anything is possible at this point.” Oh, dear. He smelled so good! Like citrus and sage with hints of leather. It was both comforting and alluring all at once. He definitely had aristocratic lines in his face, and there was a slight crook in his nose that spoke of it having been broken at one point and a barely visible white scar over his right eyebrow in the shape of a slivered moon.

How had he come by that? And if he was a member of the beau monde , why was he engaged in fisticuffs to begin with?

“Well, you obviously cannot stay here.”

“No, I suppose not.” Then he winced. Before she could ask what was amiss, he shifted, frowned, and put a hand to his backside. He fussed with one of the tails of his coat, and a few seconds later, he pulled out a gorgeous necklace from the hidden pocket. “What the devil is this and why do I have it? It was poking at me.”

“Oh, heavens. That’s beautiful,” she breathed. The necklace was like milk and magic in the dim illumination. Tiny diamonds on silver stars sparkled like mad, while moonstones and opals spoke of secrets and romance. “That must be worth a king’s ransom.”

“I wouldn’t know, for I don’t recognize it.” As if it had burned his hands, the man gave it over into her possession. “Keep it.”

“Uh…” It was far too expensive a piece for him not to remember. Perhaps his memories were truly faulty due to being hit on the back of his head and would return with time. Once that happened, he would demand the return of the necklace. “You will want this later.” But Annabelle slipped the necklace down the front of her shirt to rest between her camisole and her stays. “Do you know your name?”

Confusion and sadness warred for dominance in his eyes. “Unfortunately, I do not.” He clutched at her hand. “What is going to happen to me?”

“I don’t know.” Perhaps all he required was a large shock that might rattle his brain enough to reconnect his memories. Taking his dirty and bloody cravat in her free hand, Annabelle tugged him closer and then she pressed her lips to his in a quick kiss. When she pulled away, she searched his eyes that had darkened slightly. “Do you remember anything now?”

“Not exactly, but I wouldn’t mind continuing what you started.” He cupped his free hand about her nape and drew her against his body so that she awkwardly leaned into him while he claimed her mouth with his.

Over the course of her adult life, Annabelle had the opportunity to experience kisses from various men with degrees of experience, but there was something about this man’s overture that stole her breath and sent tiny flutters into her lower belly. And she enjoyed the kiss more than she thought she would, for when he settled her more comfortably in his embrace and she more or less reclined in his arms between his splayed legs, she smoothed her hands along his shoulders and gave herself over to returning his kiss. Who would know? They were the only ones in that section of the park. His lips were firm but supple and they cradled hers so perfectly it was almost a tragedy to pull away, for the desire crashing over her had happened far too quickly and was much too intense for only having just met.

“Well, then.” Nothing except scandal lay down that path, and even though she’d spent a good portion of her life chasing exactly that, this felt new, different, almost frightening, and she didn’t know if she was ready for that. “We should go,” she said as she scrambled to her feet and tried to ignore the patches of mud on her skirting.

“Where? I have no idea where I belong.”

For the first time, Annabelle put herself in his place, and the results were terrifying. Imagine not knowing who you were, where you were, or how you came to be there. With a sigh, she held out a hand. “You are coming with me.” If he indeed took a carriage to the park, he’d no doubt missed meeting with that driver, which meant someone would be looking for him soon. “It is not too long after midnight, and we cannot do anything right now. You can have the guest room at Harding House, and in the morning, we’ll decide what to do.”

“All right.” He nodded and put a hand into one of the pockets of his greatcoat. “Ah, is this a calling card?”

After retrieving her lantern, she glanced at the embossed card that had the words “Rogue’s Arcade” written on it with the image of a gemstone in the corner. “Perhaps not, but it’s a lead and I’ll follow it up tomorrow.” She took the card from him and tucked it away in the same place as the necklace. “Come on. Hopefully you can remember how to mount a horse.”

“I guess we’ll find out.” Once he stood, he swayed a bit with a hand to his head.

Oh, dear. Annabelle guided him over to where Bess grazed beside the path, but before she could make another decision, the man swiftly mounted the horse and settled into the saddle. “Give me a hand up?” As soon as he did, she slipped her fingers into his palm. Faintly heated tingles danced along her arm to her elbow. Seconds later, she slid into the saddle in front of him. “Hang on. We’ll be there shortly. I’m in Manchester Square.” Then she took up the reins as the man slipped his arms about her waist.

Her brother was a member of the Rogue’s Arcade, so since this man had one of their cards, he was either a member or he knew someone there. Those men stuck together, cared for each other as if they were family, and because they’d all been in the military together, they had each other’s backs. Trying to ignore the accidental brush of his thumbs at the undersides of her breasts, she nodded to herself. Tomorrow, she would take him to the club.

Except she wouldn’t be granted entrance due to being a woman. Drat these antiquated laws and a pox on men’s backward thinking! Fine, then she would summon a couple of the men from there. Perhaps they could help identify him.

“Dear God, the pain in my head will kill me yet,” he whispered as he leaned hard into her back.

“I’m sorry, but it’s likely to prove worse before it gets better, for the jostling of the horse will exacerbate the ache.” Softly clicking her tongue to Bess, she guided the horse back onto the path and then urged her mount at a decent pace toward the front of the park. “Just hang onto me and please don’t die before I can get you home.”

Wouldn’t that just be the scandal to end all scandals? If her brother came home to find her nursing a nearly dead stranger back to life that she’d found in Hyde Park while riding astride? With a huff of frustration and a quick prayer, Annabelle held onto one of his arms in an effort to keep him upright in the saddle while her mind wandered back to that kiss they’d shared and the sensations of temporary freedom she’d found therein.

If nothing else, the arrival of this man had chased the dull boredom from her existence. At least she was grateful for that.