Deverell's Obsession: A Risqué Regency Romance Read Online Free PDF Page A

she’ll need a bit of watching. If she throws a fever or becomes dizzy…you know the sort of thing.”
    Dev, who remembered quite well his own experiences with a tall pear tree, ripe fruit and a concussion, nodded. “I do indeed. But how about her memory?”
    They turned and descended the stairs to the front hall as Dr. Pennyhaven shrugged.
    At the bottom he turned to Dev.  “That is harder to predict. It’s quite common for a blow such as this to damage the memory. Mostly of recent events. So I would hope that as the body repairs itself, some—if not all—her memories will return. But I must point out that there is no way of proving how much of her memory has vanished.”
    “What do you mean?” Dev frowned.
    “I mean that a patient, under these circumstances, may selectively choose to remember that which is most convenient. Conversely, they may ignore memories of things which are unpleasant.”
    Dev thought about that as he followed the doctor to the front door. “So she might remember more than she admits to?”
    “It’s possible.” The older man looked troubled. “An attack of the kind she has sustained implies great violence. I don’t think it’s overly dramatic to say that somebody wanted her dead. So if she knows that, she must be terrified, especially if there are gaps in her memory. I know I would be. Put yourself in her position right at this moment, and ask yourself—who are you going to trust?”
    “I see your point.” Dev nodded, understanding the issue.
    “Send me a message if matters change.”
    “Of course. And, Doctor, you are a wise man.”
    “I’ve been telling you that for years. Pity it took you so long to admit I was right.” He started down the front steps. “By the way? Get more exercise. You look downright peaked and you’re getting a bit of a belly.”
    Dev laughed as he shut the door. Then glanced into the hall mirror.
    No, he did not look at all peaked. He turned sideways. There wasn’t a hint of fat around his waist. Damn Pennyhaven for suggesting such a thing.
    He grinned again, remembering that the good Doctor was one of the few people who could beat him at his own game.
    A small figure entered the hall, bringing a lot of silky fabric with her, along with a rather improbable head of riotous red curls.
    “So, dear boy. How is the poor patient? I heard all about it from Baxter when Madge and I arrived. She’s finishing my unpacking now, but I heard the doctor’s carriage, so I thought I might sneak down for a bit.”
    “Aunt. You look…Olympian. Or is it Titania this season, rather than Aphrodite?” He hugged her.
    She chuckled. “It’s whoever I feel like at the moment, dear idiot. I don’t give a damn. I like to swan around trailing things. It’s attention-getting.”
    “And damn dangerous. Stay away from open fires, please.” Dev neatly back-stepped and avoided trampling an errant trailing thing.
    “The doctor, Dev. What did he say?”
    She led him into the small parlor and drifted to a sofa, where she subsided like a rose drifting amidst the waves, and awaited his response.
    He sighed and sat across from her, leaning back and resting one ankle on the other knee. “She’s hurt, Aunt Bertie. She got one massive hit on the back of her head from a blunt instrument. Something, according to Pennyhaven, that might have come from a ship.”
    “Oh bloody hell.” Bertie’s eyes were wide. “The poor thing.”
    “Her memory of it is apparently gone, since she cannot recall what happened to her. I’d bet more than a few guineas that she has a bigger gap than just that incident…like what she was doing on the docks in the first place.”
    “One would assume that she had arrived on a boat?”
    “That is logical, yes,” agreed Dev. “But…that part of the shore isn’t where passenger boats tie up. Or even ferries. She was in the area where cargo ships load and unload. Most all either to or from the continent—I think the ones that sail to the Americas