Chapter Three

November 5, 1817

Harding House

Manchester Square, Mayfair

London

When Andrew came awake that morning, the ache in his head wasn’t as fierce as it had been the day before, but as he explored the area with his fingertips, there were strips of linen wrapped about his head, possibly to stop the bleeding from the blow.

He frowned at the window in the room in which he’d been shown into the night before. The navy drapes were still drawn, but glimmers of sunlight sneaked through as the fabric moved gently from a relatively chilly breeze. The clatter of carriage wheels combined with the soft drone of conversation were also clues that someone had opened the window slightly, perhaps to encourage fresh air into the room while he’d slept.

Though the slumber had been restorative, and he felt a bit refreshed, he still didn’t remember his name or even who he was. For that matter, the woman who’d essentially rescued him from the park last night remained unknown to him. They hadn’t introduced themselves other than that kiss.

Heat sneaked through his chest and into his face, for he’d kissed the unknown woman with more aplomb than he should have. It hadn’t been well done of him, but there had been a certain undefinable something about her that had invited him close, as if she were his only lifeline in the sea of confusion he currently found himself in, and he’d wished to cling to that.

Still did, if he were honest with himself.

Yes, he heartily appreciated the kindness she’d showed toward him when she’d rescued him and check him over for further injuries. Without her help, who knows what would have become of him, and she was lovely in a serene sort of way that had belied the breeches she’d worn or the fact that she’d ridden back to Mayfair astride.

A heady conundrum indeed.

Upon rising from the bed and after doing the necessary behind a silk privacy screen painted in pastel colors featuring a shoreline with white birds taking flight in the sky, Andrew left the tailcoat as well as his cuffs, collar, waistcoat, and cravat on the foot of the bed. Apparently, he’d fallen asleep with his clothes on, and someone—God love his rescuer—had taken it upon themselves to remove his shoes and hosiery. Besides, the coat stunk to high heaven, for he’d cast up his accounts last night before he’d met his angel of mercy. Without the luxury of having a wardrobe nearby, he wandered out of the room in just his fine lawn shirt and evening breeches.

The townhouse floorplan was easy enough to navigate, and when he arrived at the morning room, the robust scent of coffee complimented the more savory smells of breakfast foods waiting on a sideboard, but before he could attend to the needs of his stomach, his gaze landed upon the woman who’d plucked him out of crisis.

“Good morning.” His voice sounded like a rusty gate as he greeted her while she read a copy of the most recent London Times newspaper. A longcase clock in a corridor chimed the eleven o’clock hour. Damn, he must have been exhausted if he’d slept that long. “I… uh…” What the devil did one say to someone who’d taken pity on them? “Thank you for bringing me here after last night. I rather think I would have fared poorly on my own.”

“You are quite welcome.” The woman carefully folded the paper and set it next to her plate of half-eaten food. “I’m glad to see you up and around.” Her dulcet tones flowed over him like warm honey and immediately encouraged a sense of calm in him. “Are you feeling more the thing this morning?”

“Slightly, yes.” He took the opportunity to study her. Past the first and even second blooms of youth, he estimated her age to be around thirty or perhaps just over. Her honey-brown hair sparkled in the morning sunlight with strands of blonde and brass, and her blue eyes were the hue of a lazy, slightly overcast summer day in the country. The dress of saffron-dyed cotton lined with red embroidery somehow suited her and put him in mind of golden autumn days. “Though the memory hasn’t returned, unfortunately.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Her lips turned down in a frown, and he dropped his gaze to her mouth. “I’d hoped after sleep things might have improved.”

“So did I.” How well he remembered the silky plushness of those two pieces of flesh pressed against his last night. The bottom one was slightly fuller than the top. He would give up many things for the right to kiss her again… assuming he had anything to his name, that was.

“Please sit.” She gestured to a chair across the round table from her location. “The footman can fix you a plate. Would you prefer tea or coffee with your breakfast?”

“I… To be honest, I have no idea.” His laugh sounded all too forced as he sat in the indicated chair. When his gaze connected with the silent footman who stood near the sideboard, he said, “Perhaps bring me both?”

“Of course,” the younger man said and then turned to his task.

“I assume you don’t remember your name.” It wasn’t a question as she lifted her teacup to her lips and took a sip.

God, if he wasn’t careful, he’d wax poetic about her mouth, and he wasn’t given to flights of fancy. Was he? “Uh, I do not.”

“Unfortunate.” She watched him from over the rim of her cup. “Well, at times there is comfort in anonymity.”

“Perhaps.” Andrew nodded his thanks to the footman who brought over a silver pot of tea as well as a pot of coffee. At least there was a footman in the room, for something in his mind told him it was folly to remain alone with an unmarried woman, especially while in his state of undress. But he didn’t know why. Seconds later, the servant put a plate loaded with breakfast foods in front of him. Sitting there, talking of banalities with this woman was far too domestic. Suddenly he wanted that for his life… whatever that was. When he took up a fork, he gave a tiny chuckle. “At least I know how to use utensils.”

That tugged a grin from her. “I suppose there are things one doesn’t forget.”

He lowered his voice. “Like kissing?”

The trill of laughter that left her throat was quite intoxicating. “Exactly.” They ate in a companionable silence for a few minutes before she spoke again. “By the by, I’m Miss Annabelle Harding. You might know my brother Cornelius, or rather Lord Timelbury. He is a member of the Rogue’s Arcade club, which I suspect you might be.”

“Why?” All of this information was fascinating.

A shrug lifted her slim shoulders. “That calling card from your greatcoat.”

“I’m sorry but none of that sounds familiar.” Though he tumbled her Christian name through his otherwise empty mind. It was both sweet and scandalous.

“Well, on the chance that you belong to said club, I have invited a couple of members over to take tea with us this afternoon. They can talk with you and if they identify you, they can give us some insight on how to proceed.”

Hot panic welled in his chest. “You mean to wash your hands of me?” She was the only link he had to his past, for she was the one who’d found him, the one who saved him.

“Not necessarily.” Miss Harding’s eyes rounded. She reached across the tabletop and briefly laid a hand atop his. “Until you are settled and in a good place, I don’t intend to leave you to your own devices. And there is still the mystery of this.” Withdrawing her hand, she reached for a velvet bag to one side of the table. From the bag, she withdrew the same necklace he’d given her last night. “Are you certain you don’t recognize this?”

“I am quite certain.” While he frowned at it, something glimmered on the edge of his consciousness, but it never came to fruition. The milky moonstones fairly gleamed while the opals flashed internal fire. “I wish I could say that I did. It is a beautiful piece.”

“Agreed, and since it was found on your person, hidden, I’d wager it must be important.”

He nodded. “It might be. I hope it is.”

Miss Harding frowned. “Why?”

“Why not?” Andrew shrugged. “Because then it might mean something to me. I might have someone waiting for me to whom that necklace belongs.” He focused his gaze on the piece that almost dripped from her fingers. “Why would I go to the trouble of hiding it if it didn’t mean anything to me?”

“That is probably true.” She eased her fingertips over several of the stones while longing lit her eyes. Eventually, she returned the necklace to the velvet bag. “I hope you do either discover its origin or regain your memories therein. You seem like the sort of man a woman can really find contentment with.”

“Ah. I appreciate the compliment.” A wave of sadness fell over him, and as he turned his attention back to finishing his breakfast, he frowned at the two cups he’d poured out. “It is somewhat disconcerting to exist but to not know who I am.” After tasting the liquid from both cups, he made a face and shook his head. “I don’t believe I would prefer coffee over tea. There is something quite soothing about tea. When I drink it, I feel as I do in your company.”

Was that too revealing to say aloud?

Miss Harding’s eyebrows rose. “How lovely.” A faint blush went through her cheeks. “I’m glad I can give you comfort during this trying time.”

“Uh, you said you live here with your brother. Could I possibly borrow some clothes until someone somewhere might recognize me?”

“I wish I could, but Cornelius is shorter and doesn’t have as wide of shoulders as you, so nothing in his closet would fit you.” As she spoke, her gaze roved over his person, and a wave of acute awareness slipped over his skin. “Hopefully, one of the men who call this afternoon can help.”

“Perhaps.” With his knife and fork, he moved things around on his plate. “And if they do? What then? They might know me, but I still won’t know myself. I won’t have my memories.” It was maddening to think he would always be lost.

“At least you would be able to walk through your home, touch your things, wear your clothing. Talk to people you used to know.” The smile she gave him was encouraging. “Doing familiar things might help jar your brain enough to unblock whatever it is that is prohibiting your remembrances. Don’t give up quite yet.”

“Right.” That did not cheer him. “Thank you. Without your help, it could be worse.”

“I do hope everything turns about for you.” Slowly, she stood up from the table. “In the meanwhile, feel free to make use of the library until the other gentlemen arrive. Perhaps reading will help stretch your mind and unlock memories. I’m going riding. While I’m gone, I’ll keep an ear pricked for information of a missing peer, in the event you are one.”

“I appreciate that.” He huffed as she left the room. He hoped regaining his memories would be as easy as conversing with his rescuer.

When he was summoned to the drawing room later that afternoon, he was groggy from sleep, for he’d napped on and off in the library, but he felt incrementally better than he had that morning. Upon arrival, he immediately grinned at Miss Harding but frowned at the two men who were also in the room with her. One was tall with golden-brown hair and lines of fatigue on his face while the other was slightly shorter with red hair and a jolly expression.

“This is the Earl of St. Vincent.” Miss Harding indicated the taller, older man. “And this is Viscount Winteringham.” She waved a hand at the red-haired man. “They are both members of the Rogue’s Arcade, the same club that my brother belongs to, and they do recognize you.”

“You do?” His heartbeat accelerated as he bounced his gaze between the two men. “Who am I, then?”

The earl grinned. He resettled on a sofa near to the chair nearby. “You are the Earl of Hazelton. Your name is Andrew Culpepper and you are forty years of age.”

“Yes.” Viscount Winteringham nodded. His fiery hair gleamed in the sunlight. “For many years, you’ve been a member of the Rogue’s Arcade, which means at some point in your past, you were also a jewel thief.”

“What?” Andrew recoiled in his chair and stared at the two men. At least he wasn’t a beggar, that explained the fine clothing he’d been wearing the night before. “A thief as well as an earl? How is that possible?”

St. Vincent chuckled. “It is a very long and convoluted story, my friend, but suffice it to say, that is but one truth.” He grinned. “Also, you fought alongside me in the last few years of the war against Napoleon. You are a hero having saved a number of us on those battlefields while some of us have done the same to you.”

“And recently, you fearlessly entered a townhouse on fire in order to bring out one of our mutual friends,” the viscount said in a low voice. “On that day, you saved Lady Caroline, who is the Duke of Lockwood’s sister while I followed you in and located the Viscount Aldren, and eventually he married the lady, and you were instrumental in that.”

“Well, I guess I am someone of importance.” When he glanced at Miss Harding, his chest tightened with worry, for he would need to leave here. Would he see her again?

Though relief was stamped on her face, there was also apprehension there. “I knew you would be, Your Lordship.”

He did not enjoy that formality between them, and the title sounded foreign as well. “Please, since you rescued me, I would like it if you would refer to me by my Christian name.” As his two contemporaries frowned, he released a huff of annoyance. “Or possibly Hazelton if you must. I just thought with everything else going on, I’d like one thing to be simple.”

“I beg your pardon, but how did Miss Harding rescue you?” This from the viscount, who glanced between them with speculation in his eyes.

Quickly, she related the story. “I’d been riding in Hyde Park late last night when I came upon what I assumed was a dead body. When it became apparent he was not, in fact, dead, I immediately dismounted and sought to discover if Lord Hazelton was wounded.”

Andrew nodded. “Miss Harding tells me I must have either been in a fight or accosted, which explains the various bruises and aches over my body, but then I must have fallen and hit the back of my head on a boulder, which rendered me unconscious and took away my memory.”

The viscount’s expression reflected concern. “You were at the club last night, but in jovial spirits and decided to take in the night air with a walk.”

“I don’t remember that.”

It was St. Vincent’s turn to talk. “Incidentally, if there was a fight proffered, you probably gave as good as you got, for in your leisure, you box at DeBeyers Salon, have even done a few matches for prizes.”

“Ah.” Andrew opened and closed his right fist. “That’s an interesting development. Do you know if I was to meet with someone in the park?”

The viscount shook his head. “Not that you mentioned.”

Softly, Miss Harding cleared her throat. “This was on his person when I found him, hidden in a secret pocket at the back of his tailcoat.” She held up the necklace. “Do either of you gentlemen recognize it?”

When the earl declined, Lord Winteringham nodded vigorously. “Hazelton showed that piece to us last night before he departed. Said it belonged to his mother, that his father gave it to her on their wedding day and that he’d waited years to have it back in his possession after it had been stolen when he’d been only a lad of one and twenty.”

“Oh, dear.” She left her perch on another chair and brought the necklace over to Andrew. “You should take this home, then. It belongs to your mother, and she’ll no doubt wish to have it back.”

The viscount paled. “His mother was murdered at the time of the break in, Miss Harding.”

“Oh.” A blush entered her cheeks as she met Andrew’s gaze. “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Though his chest tightened with the knowledge, since he didn’t remember who his parents were, the truth of her being dead didn’t bring a shock with it. There was only a mild curiosity for his past and his history. He waved a hand at her. “I would prefer you look after the necklace until I can remember why I apparently spent so many years chasing after it.”

“All right.” She nodded as she once more tucked it into the velvet bag. “It’s obviously valuable and someone wanted it enough to beat you bloody to get at it.”

“This is true.” Viscount Winteringham stood. “Perhaps if we take Hazelton to the boxing salon, he’ll remember the familiar environs and that might put his memory back on track.”

“It’s worth the chance,” Miss Harding agreed. “Just be certain to take him home and impress upon his staff that he’ll need constant supervision.” The delicate muscles in her throat constricted with a hard swallow. “And if one of you rogues could keep him company when he’s not at home? He shouldn’t be alone while he’s going through this.”

“Of course, Miss Harding,” the Earl of St. Vincent said as he also stood. “When your brother returns, he can help us in the event my child arrives too early.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

The earl motioned to Andrew. “Come with us. We’ll take you home and show you around and get you cleaned up.”

Another wave of panic welled in his chest in a hot wave, and this time it brought fear with it. Miss Harding was all he’d known since awakening in the rain. He scooped up her free hand and clung to it. “Don’t let them take me away, Miss Harding.”

A blush stained her cheeks. She made hushing sounds as she glanced between the two men and him. “You need to do this. I’ll come visit tomorrow and we’ll go to the boxing salon.”

Excitement and relief twisted down his spine. “You’ll go there with me?”

“I will.” When the other two men offered protests, she stared them both down. “Even if it’s not customary to do so due to my being a woman.” She flicked her gaze back to him. “I feel responsible for you.”

Lord Winteringham sputtered. “If you go, it needs to be a quick visit.”

She blew out a breath. “And if he remembers a bit and wishes to box?”

“Perhaps Lord Aldren wouldn’t mind us using the private salon in his home—”

“Or a can appear in the salon disguised by a young man,” Miss Harding interrupted with annoyance stamped on her face.

Andrew appreciated the fact she wouldn’t abandon him. “I would appreciate that. Thank you.”

St. Vincent frowned. “Why do you care about Hazelton’s well-being, Miss Harding? You’d never met before last night.”

She narrowed her eyes on him. “I feel responsible for him, since I was the one who found him in need at the side of the road. It is only natural I should wish to follow his care.”

“Thank you. I feel better knowing that you will check on me.” Andrew flashed her what he hoped was a confident grin before he looked at his friends that he couldn’t remember. “I suppose we should go. The sooner I can coax my memories back, the better off we all shall be.”

And if he couldn’t? He would meet those troubles when—or if—they came.