“The things you think of! You did not entrap me.” William chuckled. “In truth, I had quite a difficult time convincing you to marry me.”
Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open. He had? Why in the world would I resist such a handsome, caring man?
He surged to his feet, holding her hand as he stood by her bedside. “Elizabeth, I am very much in love with you…and most likely have been since the first day I met you.”
Elizabeth blinked. This was not what she expected such a solemn, composed man to say. “Oh…I thought…since you did not wish to discuss our courtship…”
He shook his head ruefully. “Of course, you noticed that. You notice everything, do you not? Even when you cannot recall your own past and or leave your bed.”
She shrugged, uncomfortable with such praise.
William sunk to the edge of the bed, her hand still in his, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body through the sheets. “I owe you an apology, love.” He paused for so long she was unsure if he would speak again. “I…some parts of our…courtship did not proceed smoothly. I am not eager to revisit those days or share them with you.”
Oh. Elizabeth had not considered the possibility there might be something painful in their past, and she immediately speculated about its nature. But she must respect his desire to avoid the subject. How sad that their courtship should provoke unhappy memories! Had they quarreled, perhaps before she left England? Was that why she had boarded a boat without her husband?
But his hands clutched hers so tightly and he regarded her so earnestly that there could be no doubt he cared about her. Abruptly, Elizabeth felt a little queasy. How could she question a man who had traveled so far to find her? She owed him everything. A cold shiver ran down her spine. What would happen if the memories were gone forever? She could not possibly be a good wife to him if she never recalled the details of her previous life—their courtship, why she had fallen in love with him, who she really was.
He was a wealthy man, and sometimes wealthy men put their wives aside if a marriage failed. Was he such a man? Would he send her to live in a distant country house while he installed a mistress at Pemberley? Tears welled up in her eyes. Heavens, she was becoming such a watering pot!
Surely I would not have married such a man. Or would I? I do not even know my own character! Despite her husband’s hand and the closeness of his body, she experienced an aching, overwhelming loneliness. He was here, but she was still alone inside her head.
“Elizabeth?” William asked gently. She looked up, only then realizing that she was squeezing his hand unmercifully. With an apologetic smile, she let it go. “What will happen if I never remember?” Oh, she had not intended to raise that subject.
“It will not matter, love,” he said, brushing tears from her face with warm fingers. “You are still the woman I fell in love with.” He chuckled softly. “There is no doubt about that.”
Elizabeth wished she could be so sure.
She leaned into his hand until he cupped her cheek tenderly. His touch felt so natural on her face, so familiar. They must have experienced many moments like this.
His face was quite near hers. His dark blue eyes were so mesmerizing she could not possibly glance away. Then his eyes dropped to her lips. Would he kiss her? His lips drifted closer. She could imagine how they would feel against hers—firm and demanding, yet gentle. She wanted to taste him.
Abruptly, he gave a tiny shake of his head and pulled away, standing in one fluid motion. “I should allow you to rest. You have long been awake.”
I do not want to sleep. I want you to kiss me. But she said nothing. I am in no position to make demands; I can only be a burden to him.
She slouched back against the pillows, realizing that she was indeed quite fatigued. “Perhaps I will.” But her eyes followed William as he crossed to the door. She called his name before he disappeared from sight, and he glanced back over his shoulder.
“Thank you for answering my questions,” she said softly.
He gave her a quick nod before escaping through the door.
***
The small rowing boat rocked violently on the waves, tossing Elizabeth recklessly from side to side. She grabbed the hull with one hand and the bench with the other, trying not to become seasick.
But her attention was not on her wayward stomach; it was fixed on the man in the middle of the boat, rowing frantically, his face twisted with exertion. He would not have been a handsome man under any circumstances, with his heavy brow and pinched eyes, but at the moment his mouth was set in an angry line that rendered him even more unattractive.
Elizabeth swallowed back her nausea. “I pray you, return me to the ship,” she pleaded with him. “I will do nothing to prevent your escape.”
He gave a harsh laugh. “Returning you to the ship would do you no good.”
He spoke in riddles. The ship meant safety and a way to return home. Out here in the middle of the ocean, home seemed thousands of miles away. She stared longingly at the ship, which was rapidly shrinking into a smudge on the horizon.
Leaning toward the man, she reached out her hands. “I pray you—”
Startled, the man dropped the oars and pulled a pistol from his coat, pointing it unerringly at Elizabeth’s chest. “Stay! Come no closer!” he warned. “Your life has no value to me now.”
Her heart pounded against her ribs. She had no reason to doubt his threat. Raising trembling hands in the air, she slid back against the boat’s stern, as far from the man as was possible in such a small vessel. “I will not fight y