Danice Allen by Remember Me Page A

disheveled hair. “I’m not sick,” he said.
    Amanda’s brow wrinkled in puzzlement. “Then what is it?”
    The stranger lifted his eyes to hers. They were brown eyes, dark as a gypsy’s but with surprising flecks of gold. And the expression in them was one of startled disbelief. “You see,” he began, giving a soft, slightly demented laugh, “I just realized that I can’t tell you who to notify about my accident.”
    “Why not?” asked Amanda, on a rising note of panic.
    “Because,” said the stranger, a small, daft smile tilting his lips, “I don’t know who my relatives and friends are.”
    “Good God!” Amanda’s voice trembled. “You don’t mean …?”
    “I’m afraid I do,” he admitted wonderingly. “Damned if I don’t have the slightest idea who I am!”

Chapter 5
    “This is terrible!” said Amanda, pacing the rag rug in front of the fire and wringing her hands in a frantic fashion that would rival Aunt Prissy’s finest technique. “What are we going to do with you?”
    “I’m very sorry that my amnesia interferes with your schedule, madam,” the stranger said caustically. “But I can’t help it.” He crossed his muscled arms over his bare, broad chest and frowned, looking for all the world like a king of some uncivilized country with no one to behead.
    Amanda stopped pacing and stood at the foot of the bed. “No, of course you can’t help it,” she said resignedly. “But I can’t help being disappointed.” Her tone turned imploring. “If you only knew how urgent it is that I leave soon to rescue my—”
    Amanda bit her lip, almost wishing she could bite off her traitorous tongue! She was certainly not going to confide in this stranger about her illegitimate sibling. She had plans that she did not wish to be overset by a gossipmonger spreading rumors.
    By his fashionable appearance—and all his other worldly recommendations—Amanda had no doubt that her disgruntled patient was a regular in the London set, and perhaps even an icon of the ton. If he found out why she was going to Thorney Island, he might later use it as an amusing on-dit at some social function, thereby ruining her sibling’s chances of ever making a respectable marriage—particularly if the sibling turned out to be female. Everything was harder for a girl!
    “So, you’re off on some rescue mission, eh?” said the stranger, looking as though he thought she were foolish beyond description. Then his brows drew together in puzzlement. “But where is your escort, madam?”
    “My escort?” she repeated stupidly, just as she had when the doctor inquired about her “husband’s” name.
    The stranger waved an elegant hand. “Are you traveling with your father?”
    She shook her head.
    “Your brother?”
    She shook her head again.
    He began to look incredulous. “Your … husband , perhaps?”
    “I can boast no such connections, sir,” Amanda said loftily. “And even if I did, I shouldn’t need them to mollycoddle me about the countryside as if I were a green girl! After all, I am three-and-twenty and perfectly able to take care of myself!”
    The amnesiac, who had apparently not forgotten how to argue, opened his mouth to retort when there was a scratch at the door. Theo was walking over to open it when Mrs. Beane waltzed in without an invitation.
    “Good morning, milady,” she said courteously but with her habitual sour expression. At the mention of “milady,” the stranger turned his gaze back to Amanda and raised a brow in inquiry. He had very expressive brows, that one.
    “How does your husband fare this morning, pray?”
    Now both black brows lifted, and a hint of wicked amusement glittered in his eyes.
    “He … he … fares much better, thank you,” Amanda stammered nervously. She moved to the side of the bed and took the stranger by surprise by grabbing hold of his hand and squeezing it very hard. “Lord Thornfield has a headache and—most regrettably—a memory lapse, which we