The Notorious Scoundrel Read Online Free PDF Page A

said.
    He paused, thoughts spinning. “No.”
    She peered at him suspiciously. “You really don’t know who I am?”
    “I don’t even know who I am.”
    She seemed oddly pleased by his confession, for she smiled slightly. “My name is Amy. I was attacked. You offered me assistance.”
    “That was very noble of me.”
    She quickly made a moue. “Yes, very noble.”
    “Who am I? Where am I from?”
    “I don’t know,” she admitted with a sigh. “I don’t know anything about you.”
    That sounded dire, and yet he wasn’t all that perturbed. Perhaps the head injury was making him mellow. It didn’t seem right that he should be so calm at the prospect of amnesia.
    Or perhaps it was the lovely Amy who was making him feel so tranquil. She had a magical, bewitching appeal about her. It suited him just fine if he forever stayed in her bed and admired her.
    Had she sensed his intimate thoughts? If so, the lass didn’t share his wistful sentiment, for she moved away from the bedstead then, and approached a small dressing table in the corner of the room.
    “I found this on your person when I removed your coat.”
    She handed him a small coin purse. He fingered the fine leather satchel and glanced at the embroidered initials.
    “E.H.,” he drawled.
    “It might be your name,” she suggested.
    The letters didn’t stir his memory, however. “What sorts of names begin with the letter E?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
    He mused, “There’s Eric or Elmer.”
    “Elmer?”
    He glanced at her dubious expression. “I don’t look like an Elmer, do I?”
    She shook her head.
    “There’s Edward,” he said.
    “Edward’s nice.”
    He shrugged and set the purse aside. “Edward it isthen. I don’t think the initials are mine, though. I think I stole the purse.”
    “Why do you think that?”
    “It’s embroidered with gold thread. Look here.” He lifted it again, stretching it toward the candlelight. The stitching was luminous. “It’s too fancy, something a bloody nob would sport, not a…” He frowned. “Well, whoever I am, I’m not a nob. I’m sure of that.”
    “Wonderful,” she said dryly. “I’m harboring a thief.”
    “Ah, but a thief who saved your life.”
    She snorted. “That would explain your foul manners at—”
    “My foul manners?”
    “Never mind.”
    He persisted: “At…?”
    “Never mind!” She sighed. “I think you’re a sailor.” She murmured, “When you’re not thieving.”
    He tossed the purse aside. “Why do you think that?”
    “You have a tattoo on your back.”
    “I do?”
    “An anchor on your right shoulder. There are some more letters there, too.”
    He fingered his shoulder. “What do they say?”
    She looked away. “I can’t read.”
    He observed her embarrassed mannerisms, her averted eyes. He didn’t want to make her feel even more uncomfortable, so he said to comfort her:
    “I might not be able to read, either.”
    “But you know the name Edward starts with an E?”
    “Good point.” He wrestled with his dizziness, and with great effort settled into a precarious sitting position. “Do you have a mirror?”
    She eyed him warily. “You’re pale.”
    He had sensed the blood drain from his face as soon as he’d righted himself. The pounding in his head was ferocious, too. “I’ll rest soon, I promise. The mirror?”
    She sighed and skirted across the room once more. She collected two small mirrors from the dressing table, for she had anticipated his intention.
    “Here.” She handed him a looking glass with a white bone handle. “I’ll hold the other one.”
    He gazed into the reflective material, then slowly lifted the other small mirror, angling it over his right shoulder.
    He spotted the inked anchor and the penmanship. “Bonny Meg.”
    “I suppose she’s your sweetheart.” She snatched the mirror away from him. “I’m sure you have one in every port.”
    Amy sounded…jealous, and that pleased him immensely, warming his belly.