Chapter Nine

Amber woke with a start. She had only closed her eyes for a moment. How long had she been sleeping? The knock on her door had her pulling the covers up to her chin before answering, "Come in."

Mrs. Jones seemed pleased when she bustled into the room. "Your color is much better. The physician is here to see you."

"Oh, but I'm not dressed."

The housekeeper tutted while she helped Amber to sit up and then fluffed the pillows behind her. "There is no need to don more than your dressing gown. Let me fetch it for you."

Amber was about to protest that she did not have a dressing gown, but fell silent when remembering she had arrived with only the clothing on her back. Everything she had been wearing since she regained consciousness was courtesy of Lady Aurelia. She needed to speak with the countess to thank her again for not only her hospitality, but lending her garments to wear. It was unheard of, and would be frowned upon among the ladies of the ton. Mayhap her friends—even though she could not remember a single one—had not been true friends.

Mrs. Jones slipped the pale blue velvet dressing gown with the deep ecru lace at the collar and cuffs around her. Amber dutifully slid her arms into the sleeves. A flash of a similar dressing gown in a lovely shade of deep green startled her. "Green."

"Green?" the housekeeper echoed.

"Er…yes. I remember a dressing gown in deep green velvet. Papa gave it to me on my birthday."

Mrs. Jones seemed pleased with yet another piece of the puzzle that was Amber's past surfacing. "We'll be certain to mention it to the doctor. I'll ask the footman to send him up."

Amber wished she could recall more than snippets of her life…specifically her name. Then mayhap the mystery of why she was in Sussex on foot could be solved, and she could be on her way to her intended destination.

A thought struck her, filling her with sadness. When she left, she would never see Dermott O'Malley again.

The knock on the doorframe had her turning her attention to the doctor standing on the threshold with Mrs. Jones right behind him. He smiled. "Mrs. Jones said you were looking much better. I concur. Now then, let's remove the bandage and have a look at my stitches."

She submitted to the physician's ministrations, and although the cleansing of her wound was not comfortable, she bore it as it needed to be done. "Just a few more days, and we can leave the bandage off," the physician said.

Amber had not asked for a looking glass to see the damage the fall had done to her forehead, but was thinking it was past time she did. It was unnerving not being able to summon up an image of her own face! Seeing her reflection might spark more memories. "What about the threads? When will you be able to remove them?"

The doctor closed his bag and studied her closely before answering, "The lack of fever is an excellent sign that infection did not set in. Your color and appetite returning is also a good sign."

She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand, and she fell silent. "There are more important signs of your recovery than the moment I remove the threads. Try to be patient," the physician urged. "I shall return in a few days, unless his lordship sends for me before then. At the most, a fortnight, at the very least, ten days more. We do not want to rush the healing, as the wound is close to the brain, Miss Amber."

"Yes, of course. I was just curious. Thank you for taking such excellent care of me."

He nodded and bade her goodbye, following behind Mrs. Jones, who showed him out. When the housekeeper returned, she was smiling. "That went very well. Since you did not ask, and since I suspect O'Malley and Mrs. Wyatt have been sneaking scones and strong tea to you behind my back—"

"Oh, but I—" Amber fell silent at the expression on Mrs. Jones's face.

"As I was saying, as your appetite seems to be improving rapidly, I asked if you could resume a regular diet a few days early."

Hope filled Amber as her stomach rumbled loudly. She placed her hand over it. "And?"

The housekeeper laughed. "I sent word down to Mrs. Wyatt. She's baking one of her currant cakes to serve at teatime. It is delicious and absolutely melts in your mouth."

"Thank you, Mrs. Jones. I cannot believe I forgot to ask. My mind seems to be distracted."

"Understandable," the older woman said before turning to answer the knock on the door. "Ah, Jenny—wonderful, we can use your assistance. Miss Amber, meet Jenny, Lady Aurelia's personal maid. She'll help you get dressed. We are expecting company for the next few days."

"Oh, I beg your pardon. Of course I shall be happy to return to the room by the pantry."

Mrs. Jones shook her head. "That will not be necessary. Lippincott Manor has more than enough guest rooms."

"I see. I shall keep to my room, then, so that I do not interfere with the earl and countess's guests."

"You will do no such thing, Miss Amber. His lordship and ladyship were in full agreement that as soon as the physician released you from bed rest you would be welcome to join them for meals. Her ladyship is looking forward to visiting with you, and introducing you to Master Edward."

She had heard the servants speaking of the heir to the earldom with fondness. "I would like that above all things."

"Now then, her ladyship has sent over a gown in a lovely shade of rose—although not similar in color to the dressing gown you mentioned earlier, it will complement your coloring. Jenny placed it in the wardrobe while you were resting."

With the help of the two women chattering while helping her dress, Amber was ready in no time. Brushing her hands against the soft fabric, she smiled. "I am not certain when I will see her ladyship—would you please thank her for me? She has been so generous with her wardrobe."

"Lady Aurelia is known for her kindness and generosity," Jenny said, as the housekeeper instructed another maid to straighten the room. "Please have a seat while I tend to your hair. I promise to be mindful of your injury."

"Oh, I had not planned on doing much more than re-braiding it."

"If you'll allow me, I can fashion a lovely coil at the nape of your neck. It won't take long at all. Let me get the looking glass for you."

"I confess, I haven't actually seen one—or asked for one—since O'Malley brought me here," Amber admitted.

"Will it disturb you to see your injury?" the maid asked.

"Of course not. I'm so very grateful to O'Malley for rescuing me and for the care and concern of the earl, the countess, and everyone who has been so kind to me."

"Let me fetch the looking glass I left on the washstand when I arrived."

Amber had to still her trembling hands. What would she see? A nameless face or one she recognized? Would she also remember how she came to be in the countryside? She noticed the frown on the housekeeper's face as Jenny carried the ornate silver-backed looking glass over to where she sat.

The maid did not seem to notice, explaining, "Miss Amber is going to watch while I fashion her hair into a loose coil. I have a lovely sweep in mind that will not brush against her forehead or injury."

Amber drew in a breath and exhaled, bracing herself for whatever the glass would reveal. Jenny handed her the mirror. "Thank you, Jenny. I confess to being curious as to how long the scar will be. I'll just take a quick look—" Her gasp of horror echoed in the room as her memory came crashing back. "NO!" Her keening cry had the door bursting open and O'Malley racing to her side.

*

"What's happened? Lass,are ye in pain?"

Tear-drenched eyes turned to him as she placed the back of her hand over her mouth and shook her head.

"What is it, then? The scar? Ye can hide it with the sweep of yer hair."

She shook her head and dropped her hand to her lap. "He'll find me. He'll never give up."

"Who, lass? Who is after ye?" She stifled an anguished sob that cut through to his heart. He went down on one knee by her side. "I'll stop whoever it is." He handed her his handkerchief, waiting while she wiped her eyes and blew her nose before adding, "No one will get past me, lass. Ye're safe here."

"You don't understand. There is nothing you can do," she said between sobs. "Papa gambled away our home and his fortune, along with my dowry and my hand in marriage. Nothing will stop the viscount from finding me and forcing me to marry him."

Dermott's heart nearly stopped at the thought of the vile man the earl had described earlier. He would die before letting the lass marry that bloody bastard! "There's where ye'd be wrong, lass. Reinforcements are on their way to guard ye."

She started to shake her head again, but he grabbed hold of her upper arms. "Look at me, lass." When she lifted her chin and stared at him, he vowed, "Know that I speak the truth when I tell ye that ye won't be forced into marriage—"

Amber did not let him finish. "Papa told me I had to leave for Sussex immediately—to hide from the viscount. Can we get word to my father in London? I… I need to speak with him."

God in Heaven!How could he tell the lass that her father was dead? "I'll speak to his lordship about it. Ye said ye trusted me, lass. Are ye going back on your word?"

She blinked. "No. I do trust you."

"Then ye have nothing to fear. Ye have meself and the rest of the duke's guard stationed in Sussex to protect ye."

"But the viscount…" She fell silent and looked into his eyes. Though hers were still damp with tears, the trust she spoke of shone bright as a beacon light in their amber depths. "Forgive me," she whispered. "I trust you with all my heart, O'Malley."

He loosened his grip on her upper arms and slowly slid his hands down past her elbows to her hands. As if he sensed she needed reassurance, he gently squeezed her hands and looked deep into her eyes. Her tear-spiked dark lashes reminded him that the return of her memory did not relieve her fears. It doubled them. Lifting one hand to his lips, he brushed a kiss to the back of it. "I vow that I'll protect ye with me life, lass."

Releasing her hand, he rose to his feet, nodded to the housekeeper and maid, and strode from the bedchamber without a backward glance. Dermott knew if he stayed a moment longer, he would have swept the lass into his arms and kissed the breath out of her.

Shaking his head as he returned to his post at the far end of the hallway, he knew the lass was forever firmly embedded in his brain. Even if he closed his eyes, her image would appear. The curve of her cheek, the softness of her skin, the fullness of her bottom lip that taunted him to press his mouth to hers.

The last image of the lass gazing up at him in wonder had him envisioning the lass in bed—his—with the same look in her eyes as he covered her with his body and—

O'Malley stifled a groan, refusing to let his mind think such thoughts of the innocent lass.

An hour later, he was still fighting not to think about her. Relieved that it was time for the change in shifts, he made one last round on the second floor. He reminded himself that he had no business thinking of the lass that way—or at all. They were not betrothed! She was promised to another man, though with God as his witness, he would find a way to sever the betrothal… Nay, not betrothal—wager!

His mind made up, he strode toward the main staircase, marveling that her amber eyes were filled not only with trust and admiration, but the flicker of something infinitely more precious… Love.

Lord,he silently prayed, I could use another favor.