Loving a Lost Lord by Mary Jo Putney

embrace was definitely Adam.
    â€œMy poor darling,” he said softly. “You’ve had a very bad few weeks. I’m sorry that I startled you so.”
    She burrowed against his chest, painfully grateful for his support. “I…I still haven’t quite accepted that Papa is gone,” she explained. “If I had seen him dead, it would be different, but hearing a report isn’t the same.”
    As Adam stroked her hair, she realized there was something unfamiliar in the way he held her. The embrace wasn’t lust, and it was more than the comfort of a friend. It was…intimacy? Adam thought of himself as her husband, and he was acting with a protective tenderness that took for granted the fact that he had a right to hold her.
    The thought was as disturbing as his touch was pleasant. He moved so naturally into the space of a husband that she had to wonder if he really did have a wife somewhere. A wife who was as desperate to learn his fate as Mariah was desperate to be truly certain what had happened to her father.
    Shielding her thoughts, she moved away from him. He scooped up the other scones before Turk could eat them. The scones were still warm as he offered her one. “How did you learn of your father’s death? Is there a chance the report was wrong?”
    â€œI heard the news from George Burke.” Seeing Adam’s expression, she smiled humorlessly. “No, he’s not a reliable source, but he had the ring my father wore all the time. It was convincing.”
    â€œHaving met the man, it wouldn’t surprise me to hear that he stole the ring,” Adam said before biting into his scone.
    â€œHe’s probably capable of that, but soon after I received a letter from our London solicitor confirming Papa’s death.” She bit hard into her scone, chewed thoughtfully, then said, “The most convincing proof is that I haven’t heard from my father in so long. He had been writing me several times a week. Then…nothing. He simply wouldn’t stop writing like that if he were well.” She drew a shuddering breath. “I do believe he’s dead, yet it seemed perfectly natural that he come riding toward me on Turk.”
    Adam ate the last of his scone. “I think it’s natural to hope against hope that a mistake has been made. That tragedy can’t strike us. ”
    â€œDo you know that from experience, or are you just wise?”
    He looked thoughtful. “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t gamble that I possess great natural wisdom.”
    She chuckled. If Granny Rose had sent a faux husband, she had picked one with a sense of humor. “Do you like Grand Turk? My father said he was the best horse he’d ever owned. He won him at cards, of course.”
    Adam’s face lit up. “He’s splendid. Beautiful paces, and spirited without malice. The chestnut mare is also very fine. Another prize at the gaming table?”
    â€œYes. She’s my mount, Hazelnut. Hazel for short.” Mariah studied Adam, who looked like a proper country gentleman in her father’s clothing, but his face was drawn. “I didn’t expect to find you on horseback. Riding wasn’t too much for you?”
    â€œMy strength is not yet back to normal,” he admitted, “but I really wanted to be on a horse again. Perhaps we can take that ride over the estate today?”
    â€œLater, if you think you’re ready, but now Mrs. Beckett would like to feed us both breakfast. Are you ready for an omelet?”
    â€œDefinitely!”
    He took her arm and they turned to the house. He liked to touch. Again she wondered if he was demonstrating the ease of a married man who was used to having a woman of his own to touch whenever he wanted.
    The sooner her gift from the sea recovered his memory, the better for them all.
    Â 
    After an excellent breakfast, Adam withdrew to his bedroom to rest again. In early afternoon, Mariah