Anne Barbour Read Online Free PDF Page A

she recounted her adventure.
    Adam stopped abruptly, subjecting Catherine to an intent scrutiny. “My God, the whole thing collapsed on you? My dear, are you all right?”
    “As you see.” She bobbed an impudent curtsy. “Actually, it was our mysterious stranger who caught the brunt of the damage. Adam—” Her expression sobered. “The poor man suffered a terrible blow to the head when the chimney piece fell on him, and he has lost his memory!”
    “What!”
    “Yes. I have heard of such cases, have not you?”
    “Mmp. Yes, of course, but I’ve had no experience with them except for a time or two when it was faked for the patient’s convenience.”
    The two had resumed their journey upward, and now stood before the injured man’s door.
    “Oh, I’m sure that’s not the case here, Adam. The fellow seemed quite panic-stricken when I asked him his name. His mind had obviously gone blank.”
    “We’ll see.” The doctor opened the door, but when Catherine moved to follow him, he stayed her.
    “You won’t want to come in, of course, my dear.”
    “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Adam. He may be in bed, but he’s fully clothed.”
    “But I shall wish to examine him,” replied Adam gently. “I’ll call you when I’m through.”
    Irritated at his unnecessary devotion to the proprieties, Catherine would have continued her dispute, but Adam had already entered the chamber and closed the door behind him. She stumped away in some indignation.
    Lord, did he think a woman nearing thirty would faint at the sight of a man stripped down to his drawers? Actually, she supposed many spinsters would, but surely Adam knew her belter than that. Had she not splinted Jem Beamis’s broken leg last fall when he was injured during the harvest and they were not able to locate Adam? Did Adam think the stranger a dangerous marauder who could not be trusted in the same room with a lady, even though he was laid by the heels with a whack on the head?
    Considering the aspect of the man who now lay in her best spare bedchamber, however, Catherine suspected that Adam’s assessment might be correct. Despite his present debility, and though he was docile enough while flat on his back, there was a definite aura of a temporarily inconvenienced predator about him. Laughing at her own fancy, she strode off to attend to her household duties.
    The man in the bed opened one eye to observe a gentleman of professional mien bending over him. His muscles tensed in an unthinking urge to leap at the man’s throat, but, surprised at this savage reaction, he suppressed the instinct and lay quiet. No one was holding him prisoner, after all. Were they?
    “Well, then,” grunted the gentleman, “let’s have a look at you.”
    A doctor then, and one who seemed to know his business. His fingers were cool and sure as he prodded bone and sinew. The foot, he pronounced, was not broken, but merely sprained. He applied a cool compress and bound it efficiently, which action brought considerable relief.
    “I am Dr. Beech, by the way—Adam Beech. Catherine—that is, Miss Meade, tells me you have lost your memory,” he said as he assisted his patient in replacing his disarranged bedclothes.
    “Apparently,” murmured the patient. “At least, I do not seem to know who I am.”
    As he spoke, the doctor’s brows lifted momentarily. “Extraordinary,” said Dr. Beech, the skepticism on his face unmistakable. “Well, perhaps we can determine in just what areas your memory has failed you. Do you know where you are?”
    The patient smiled briefly. “In England, I assume, though I have no idea where.”
    “Can you tell me the name of the reigning monarch?”
    “George, the third, but his son is Regent.”
    “What year is it?”
    The man frowned. “Eighteen twelve—but I’m not sure of the precise date.”
    The doctor grunted. “It’s August fourteenth. Where is your home?”
    “I have been trying to remember, but that knowledge, too, is gone; nor can I