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  “She told me her name right before the explosion.” He heard the defensive note in his voice. “She’s been in the trauma center for more than an hour. Fuck, if you’d seen the way she looked in the ambulance…”

  Nick’s throat tightened and closed as fear threatened to suffocate him. His fingers gripped the back of his neck. He would never forget the light fixture as it crashed downward and slammed into Victoria or the look of agony on her face when she grabbed the live wire. Tension hardened his muscles as he remembered the way her entire body had jumped on the gurney when they’d shocked her heart.

  “The ambulance? They don’t let people ride in the back.”

  “They didn’t have much choice,” he muttered with a grimace. “I told them I was her fiancé, and I was going with them.”

  “Good lord, Nick. What were you thinking?”

  “I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s like someone else has been in my head from the moment I first saw her. The only thing I’m certain of is that I can’t lose her again.”

  “Again?” Nora stared at him like he’d lost his marbles, which was precisely how he felt at the moment as he met his sister’s gaze of astonishment. “How can you lose someone you don’t even know, Nick? You’re confusing her with that damn portrait.”

  “Now you’re the skeptic? And yeah, I’ve been questioning my sanity,” he said between clenched teeth. “But tell me Nora, what are the odds of a woman who’s a dead ringer for the Countess of Guildford, with the same first name of said Countess, coming into our shop out of all the hundreds of galleries in the city to buy the Goodman Cottage painting.”

  “Lockwood’s painting?” Nora gasped. He waited for her to say something, but she simply stared at him in shocked disbelief.

  “What? No words of wisdom or insight as to the fact that there are no coincidences in life?”

  He knew she didn’t deserve the sarcasm, but he was fresh out of polite sentiment at the moment. Fresh out of patience with all this past lives talk of hers. He’d been listening to it for so long he was beginning to believe it himself. What the devil made him think he knew Victoria? His imagination was running amok because of guilt. Guilt that he was okay and that Victoria had nearly died and still might. He ignored the voice protesting vehemently in the back of his head.

  “What would you like for me to say?” Nora asked quietly. His jaw tightened as he noted the pained expression in his sister’s brown eyes.

  “You didn’t deserve that. I’m an ass,” he said as she dismissed his words with a wave of her hand.

  “Do you want to tell me what happened?” she asked.

  “Not particularly.”

  As much as he hated to admit it, he didn’t know how to talk about it. He didn’t have the words to explain how one brief touch had bonded him to a woman who was a total stranger. How the fuck was he supposed to explain something like that? Especially when he didn’t understand it himself.

  Nora sank down into a nearby chair as he returned to pacing the floor. Silence drifted between them for several long moments until another sound echoed in the hallway. Turning toward the door, Nick recognized the man entering the lounge as the trauma room physician.

  “Mr. Barrows?” The doctor crossed the floor to close the distance between them and shook Nick’s hand. “I’m Doctor Bertram. We’ve stabilized Miss Ashton. She suffered second degree burns on her hands where the electrical current entered and exited her body. They’re not life-threatening, but you’ll need to avoid touching her hands when you see her. We’ll continue to monitor her for any other physical reactions to the electrical shock.”

  “What else,” Nick demanded as he saw something flicker in the man’s eyes.

  “Unfortunately, Miss Ashton has slipped into a coma.”

  “A coma?” Fear knotted his gut at the doctor’s resigned expression.

  “It happens sometimes in cases such as this. She was resuscitated three times before we managed to stabilize her heart rate.”

  “When will she wake up?”

  “There’s been a great deal of stress to your fiancée’s system. She’s lucky to be alive, and a coma is often the body’s way of healing itself.”

  “You didn’t answer my question. When will Victoria wake up?” He watched the man closely. Searching for something, anything that would tell him Victoria was going to be all right.

  “I can’t answer that, Mr. Barrows.” The regret on the doctor’s face sent an icy chill through Nick. Barely meeting his gaze, the doctor cleared his throat. “Her brain activity readings are unlike anything I’ve seen before. I’m not able to determine the level of brain damage.”

  “What do you mean, brain damage?” Nick snarled as his insides tightened with dread.

  “Her brainwaves appear to be continuously fluctuating between an active and almost vegetative state.” A perplexed frown wrinkled the doctor’s brow. “I’m at a loss to explain it. I’ve called in our best neurologist to see if she has any answers.”

  “So, Victoria could easily wake up at any moment.”

  “Possibly, but I’ve no idea how extensive the brain damage—”

  “I want to see her.” Nick’s demand made the other man nod.

  “Of course, but first we need to sew up that gash on your leg and cheek. The cut on your face isn’t too bad…” Dr. Bertram frowned. “But that leg definitely needs attention now. I’m surprised one of the nurses didn’t shuttle you off to one of the trauma bays.”

  “It can wait.”

  “No, Mr. Barrows, it can’t. When we’ve fixed your wounds, I’ll make sure you see your fiancée.”

  “Fine.” Reluctantly, Nick agreed to the doctor’s inflexible command with a sharp nod. “And I’ll need something to sleep on. I intend to stay with her.”

  “Is that wise, Nick?” His sister’s brow was creased with worry. “What good does it do if you stay with her?”

  “I want to be there when she wakes up.”

  “Mr. Barrows, even if she does wake up, it could be days, weeks, even longer before she does so.” The doctor’s protest only reinforced the conviction taking root inside him and growing stronger by the second.

  “Have you ever had a medical case surprise you, Dr. Bertram?”

  “On occasion, but your fiancée—”

  “My fiancée is going to surprise you. Victoria is going to surprise everyone, except me. Now get me sewn up so I can see her.”

  Chapter 4

  October 1897

  Nicholas ushered Vickie out of Goodman Cottage. His wife looked presentable despite the mud-stained gown she wore. He also noted there was a significant amount of blood on the shoulder of her dress. More than one might expect from the size of the cut on her forehead. That fact didn’t just puzzle him, he found it disturbing.

  Usually it was easy to see through Vickie’s deceptions, and it irritated him that he’d failed to catch her in an outright lie yet. But that was about to change. Nicholas walked to where Zeus was tethered and quickly mounted the stallion. Pawing the ground, the restless animal danced about as Vickie drew near. Without any visible effort, he brought the animal under control.

  “You’ll have to ride pillion, madam.”

  He smiled coldly at her as he offered his hand to her. If there was one thing Vickie was afraid of, it was horses. She never rode, and even riding behind him would probably terrify the hell out of her.

  “Don’t you have another horse?”

  “Another horse?” Nicholas murmured with satisfaction as he waited for Vickie to demand he return home and send a carriage for her.

  “Yes. One for me to ride.” Her response was so unexpected all he could do was stare at her in amazement. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation to be at a loss for words where Vickie was concerned.

  “Why the devil would I bring a horse for you when you don’t ride?” he snapped as he gestured for her to step forward.

  “Because I’ve been riding since I was a kid,” she said with obvious exasperation. />
  Without blinking an eye, she boldly and fearlessly walked up to Zeus. The stallion turned his head in her directions, and she stroked the bridge of his nose as if it were something she’d done a thousand times before. Stunned, Nicholas remained silent as his wife hitched up her skirts, accepted his hand, and jumped up behind him. The instant his hand touched hers a bolt of electricity vibrated through him. It was the same sensation he’d experienced every time he’d touched her today.

  She wiggled into a comfortable position behind him then wrapped her arms about his waist. The heat of her pressing into his back made him go rigid. Christ Jesus, what the hell was wrong with him reacting to her like this. This was Vickie. A woman who enjoyed humiliating him whenever the opportunity presented itself.

  With a nudge of his heel, he urged Zeus forward, guiding them into the trees behind the cottage. The trail they followed opened up onto a large green expanse of pasture land sprinkled with patches of melting snow. As they rode out into the sunshine, Vickie rested her forehead on his shoulder. Was she going to be sick again? God help him, she could be pregnant with Darby’s bastard. He wanted to kill her in that brief second. He grimaced. Ironic given so many people thought he’d already done so.

  “Are you feeling ill again?” he asked coldly.

  “No,” she said. “Your shoulder just makes a good sunshade. I wish I had my sunglasses.”

  Tension crept into his muscles at the response. It was a minor complaint, but nowhere in her voice or words was there a hint of the spoiled, petulant woman he was married to. Whatever game she was playing, she was doing so with a skill that surpassed anything Vickie had displayed before. As Zeus reached the top of the knoll overlooking Brentwood Park, she raised her head and gasped.

  “Is that Brentwood Park?”

  “Yes. It was part of your dowry.” He failed to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Damnation, he knew better than to let her see she could evoke a response in him.

  “That was a wedding present?” she muttered with disbelief.

  Once again, her reaction baffled him. A dowry wasn’t a wedding present. It was a business transaction. But the incredulous note in her voice actually sounded genuine. He suppressed a snort of disgust. Vickie had never been sincere about anything in her entire life. Her first and only concern was for herself.

  “Which of your friends shall we notify first about your safe return?” he asked coldly.

  “Do we have to tell anyone?” Her trepidation ignited a bitter rage inside him.

  “Madam, in the past three weeks, I’ve been questioned by the police, accused of murder, and subjected to veiled insults from most of the Marlborough Set,” he snarled. “Considering the rumors surrounding your disappearance, I intend to let everyone know you’re alive and well.”

  “Oh Lord, I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I didn’t realize—of course we’ll have to tell people your wife has…that I’ve returned.”

  “I’ll send a notice to the Times and Daily Telegraph today,” he bit out fiercely.

  “I really am sorry, but the thought of questions…I’ve never really liked being the center of attention.” Her soft comment made him snort with a hefty dose of cynical amusement.

  “I don’t recall you ever being reticent when it came to talking about yourself, my dear.”

  “Well that must have been boring.”

  The dry note of humor in her words shot a bolt of tension through his body. God help him, he could almost believe she wasn’t Vickie. Bitterness quickly crushed his doubts.

  “Your exploits have been never boring, my dear. Decadent and depraved perhaps, but never boring.”

  Her gasp illustrated the brutality of his statement, and his immediate regret angered him. Damn it. Once again, she’d succeeded in making him feel like a bastard. It was a sensation his wife had never aroused in him before, and he didn’t like it. Silence surrounded them as Zeus carried them with ease across the pastures until they reached the manor’s front door. Tall and cadaverous looking, his butler, Jamieson, hurried down the wide, marble steps to greet them.

  “Welcome home, my lord. May we express our delight at her ladyship’s safe return?”

  Nicholas smiled grimly at the man. Behind him, Vickie sighed softly. Was there a hint of regret in that sound? No, he knew his wife too well. With a limber movement, he swung his good leg over Zeus’s neck and slid to the ground.

  “Thank you, Jamieson. Her ladyship and I appreciate your good wishes.”

  Nicholas turned and grasped Vickie by the waist then lowered her to the ground. The intensity of the heat flooding through him as her body slid down his chest sucked a sharp breath from him. What the fuck was wrong with him? Not even before their wedding had he experienced this visceral type of sensation where his wife was concerned.

  It was such an intense physical connection with her that it stunned him. Staring into the brilliance of her sapphire eyes, he saw a glimmer of fear. Nicholas frowned at her, and she averted her gaze. Why would she fear him? He mentally shook his head. He was letting her odd behavior get the better of him. Disgusted with his reaction to her, he put some distance between them and turned to his butler.

  “Jamieson, the countess has suffered a head injury and is having difficulty with her memory. Please inform the staff she may require assistance remembering where things are.” Not waiting for the butler to reply, he turned back to her. “If you require anything ask for Mrs. Beechum.”

  “Thank you.” Her quiet, pleasant reply aroused the devil in him.

  “Perhaps I should mention that we have guests coming for the weekend.”

  “Guests?” The alarm in her voice amused him. He’d rarely seen Vickie unnerved by anything, but her apprehension was clearly visible.

  “Friends of mine. Naturally, if the idea of entertaining is an overwhelming one, I’ll be happy to express your regrets.”

  Nicholas couldn’t resist taunting her. The moment Vickie learned Eleanor was in the house, she’d reveal herself, and this ridiculous game she was playing would end. With restrained amusement, he watched uncertainty flit over her features before she narrowed her gaze at him.

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re hoping I’ll make a scene?”

  “Hoping? My dear, I’ve come to expect tantrums where you’re concerned,” he said with a scornful smile.

  The Countess of Guildford was in for an unpleasant surprise. A twinge of guilt pricked his conscience at the confused look of alarm sweeping over her features. He crushed the emotion. Vickie had never displayed a care for anyone’s feelings, and he was not about to have her make a mockery of him with this pretense of hers.

  “Your wife must be a real bitch to make you hate her so much.”

  The quiet words make him jerk with surprise as he tried to convince himself the sympathy on her lovely face was a farce. Speechless, he managed to maintain a stoic expression as she turned and followed Jamieson into the house. He’d fully expected a tirade, not this dignified condemnation of his mockery.

  With a shake of his head, he watched her disappear into the manor. Damn if the woman wasn’t acting strangely. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she was telling the truth. But then Vickie only told the truth when it suited her. He’d learned that particular lesson all too well the day of their wedding. The memory wasn’t a pleasant one.

  His gaze narrowed and focused on the façade of the manor. The return of Brentwood Park to his family’s holdings was a small consolation given the state of his marriage. Nicholas made his way into the house then walked through the library to the hallway leading to his study.

  Closing the door behind him, he limped to his desk and sank down into his chair. His leg was throbbing. His boots were damp on the outside, and although the insides were relatively dry, the leather still held the icy temperature of the pond. Vickie would be fortunate if she escaped a bout of pneumonia from her panicked plunge into the pond. Jaw tight with tension, he tried to comprehend what would make Vickie do something so foolish. He
r flight had been one of abject terror. Nicholas immediately snorted with disbelief. It had been a brilliant performance by his wife. Nothing more. The throbbing of his leg broke into his train of thought. He grunted at his stupidity for not going upstairs to change first. The cold penetrated its way down to the bone that had never healed properly. Forcing himself to ignore the pain, Nicholas reached for pen and paper.

  He quickly wrote an announcement for the Times and Daily Telegraph. As Vickie’s parents had died of influenza several months after their wedding, her closest living relative was an aunt, and Nicholas made sure to write the woman as well. With each note he penned, one weight after another lifted from his shoulders. The last letter was to Scotland Yard, and as he signed his name, he breathed a sigh of relief.

  Although the police might pay them a visit, he was hopeful they would simply wait until they returned to town in a few weeks. He’d deliberately omitted any reference to Vickie’s claim of amnesia. He wasn’t about to be humiliated by announcing a condition his wife was using to make him the laughingstock of the Marlborough Set.

  When they finally returned to London, she would have returned to her usual self, and they would continue as they had for the past two years. Two strangers living under the same roof. Nicholas stood up and pulled the bell cord then returned to his desk to address the notes. He’d just completed sealing the envelopes with a wax seal of the Guildford crest when a knock on the study door announced Jamison’s entrance.

  “Jamieson, have one of the stable hands deliver these letters first thing tomorrow morning. I’d send them by telegraph, but I’d preferred they be delivered in person, to ensure they’re not lost in the shuffle. It’s imperative these reach the appropriate individuals as quickly as possible.”

  “Yes, my Lord.” Jamison hesitated for a moment, and Nicholas eyed the man with curiosity.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s… I simply want to say that the staff and I are relieved and happy that your lordship’s recent troubles have been resolved.”