The man in the doorway continued to stare at her. Why did he look so shocked at Mr. Wayne's pompous announcement? Mayhap Lord Cheyney had not guessed that she would agree to this want-witted scheme.

She would not have, if Mr. Wayne had not brought to her a water-stained letter that had been in the ap.r.o.n of her skirt. It addressed her only as "Dear Sister," but it spoke of how her younger sister and brother were depending on her to send them money to continue their schooling, so they did not have to be sent to the almshouse. The ink had run together, so it had revealed little more than that she had been an abigail to some nameless peer's wife and had planned to send money to her siblings to pay for their next term before the year's end.

Her hope that the letter would give some clue to the ident.i.ties of the others in the carriage with her had been for naught. If there had been another page with an address on it, that page was not in her ap.r.o.n pocket.

Because of that letter, she had heeded Mr. Wayne's endless prattling about how Lord Cheyney had spun a tale for their mutual grandfather, the Earl of Brookindale. His voice had taken on a wheedling tone that was irritating and seemed to pierce her skull with each word. She could not earn the needed money to send to her brother and sister if she could not recall where she had been in service. When Mr. Wayne had offered her an alternative, she had known she had little choice.

Lord Cheyney rounded on Mr. Wayne. "This young woman has taken quite a knock to her head. What is your excuse for this absurdity?"

"Trying to help you." Mr. Wayne gestured toward her with all the exaggeration of an inept actor. "You need a fiancee, and I have provided you with one. This woman has agreed to pretend to be Serenity Adams for the duration of Grandfather's birthday and Christmas celebrations."

"Why?"

She realized that question was aimed at her. Bother! She knew Lord Cheyney was right to ask it. After all, she had asked it as well. Although something churned in disgust in her stomach, she lifted her scratched chin higher as she said, "Because of the five hundred pounds Mr. Wayne has told me you will gladly pay for my help."

"Five hundred pounds?" Lord Cheyney scowled at the shorter man. "Have you completely taken leave of your wits?"

"I am thinking only of how you did not want to upset Grandfather during the celebration of this important birthday." Mr. Wayne's voice was as soothing as if he were speaking with a dim-witted child.

She wondered why Lord Cheyney endured it. When the viscount's brows lowered in a fearful expression, she knew he had heard the condescension as well.

"I do not need you to tell me how best to protect Grandfather from my folly." He came into the room, leaving wet footprints in his wake.

She flinched when he turned to close the door, but he did not slam it. He was unquestionably angry, for each motion was as stiff as if he had been frozen by a winter wind, but he controlled his emotions with an ease that was almost frightening. She could not govern a single one of hers, because each was as new as if she had been born only this morning.

"Are you mad?" Lord Cheyney asked. "I intend to tell Grandfather the truth of my miserable lies."

Mr. Wayne put his hand on the viscount's arm. "But now there is no need. Look at her. She has the appearance of the woman you described to Grandfather."

"Mayhap, but I am going to Cheyney Park to be honest with Grandfather, not to-"

"Ruin his birthday?" Mr. Wayne's voice grew as icy as the sleet striking the low roof. "Timothy, think for a minute, if you will. Why distress Grandfather to the point that he might suffer apoplexy and be bedridden for his birthday celebration? Here is a woman who can prove your lies are the truth."

"But they are not the truth! They are lies."

She stared at the viscount. No one could accuse him of being willing to seek an easy solution to the quandary he found himself in now. If he had those good looks plus this sense of integrity, why had he cluttered up his life with falsehoods? She understood none of this.

Mr. Wayne glanced at her, then back at the viscount. "Timothy, I know that. You know that. She knows that. However, Grandfather does not. Why do you want to ruin his birthday gathering simply to alleviate your guilt?"

"And this"-Lord Cheyney gestured toward her-"this is supposed to make everything all right? You are mad!"

Mr. Wayne grabbed the viscount's sleeves before he could walk away. "Once Grandfather's celebration is past, you can arrange an argument with Miss Adams that will put an end to your betrothal. You can stage something that will persuade Grandfather that the betrothal was a mistaken thing right from the beginning. That will give you time to find yourself a real fiancee." He laughed tersely. "After all, Timothy, this woman is a lady's maid. Grandfather may decide on his own that she is not the proper one for you to marry."

"But he will not know she is an abigail."

"How many abigails do you know who could act like a lady among the beau monde?"

Lord Cheyney arched his brows. "I shall leave the answer to that question to you and your superior experience in knowing the staffs of various ladies' boudoirs."

"So will you look at this as a gift of Providence and take advantage of it?" Mr. Wayne chuckled again. "How many times have you told me that the difference between success and failure is recognizing an opportunity when it comes along?"

Instead of answering, Lord Cheyney looked back at her. She could see distress etched into his face. If he had been on his way to confess his lie to his grandfather, he must be, at heart, an honest man who had been caught up in a single mistake that had compounded to threaten disaster.

Dismay struck her. What if he decided not to accept her a.s.sistance in this masquerade? How then would she provide for her sister and brother? She wanted to plead with him to listen to Mr. Wayne, but feared that anything she might say would compel him to decide just the opposite.

Lord Cheyney sighed. "Felix, I should have listened to my instincts weeks ago and told Grandfather the truth straightaway."

"Mayhap, but what are you going to do now?"

Taking another deep breath, Lord Cheyney sighed. "You are right. I would be a beef-head to allow this chance to pa.s.s me by when revealing the truth before Grandfather's birthday celebration might cast a horrible shadow over everything that is planned." He scowled at her. "I do not like this a bit."

"That is because you are far too honest." Mr. Wayne slapped him companionably on the arm. With a broad smile, he asked, "Aren't you going to greet your beloved Serenity?"

Lord Cheyney crossed the room to stand beside her bed. "What is your name?" he asked.

"Serenity Adams, my lord."

"No, your real name."

She closed her eyes, wishing all of this would go away and be nothing more than a bad dream. "My lord, I do not know my real name."

"As you said yourself, Timothy, she b.u.mped her head quite hard," Mr. Wayne interjected. "Her injuries from the accident seem to have wiped her memory quite clean. She cannot recall even her name."

Instead of firing another question at her as Mr. Wayne had done, Lord Cheyney sighed. "Miss, you would be wise to rest. We will delay our journey to Cheyney Park until the morrow. Mayhap with some sleep, your mind will heal."

"I hope so." She gazed up at him, wanting to thank him for his unexpected compa.s.sion and wanting to apologize for this b.u.mble-bath that she had made worse by agreeing to Mr. Wayne's offer.

As if he could sense her thoughts-a most discomforting idea, for she could barely sense her own-Lord Cheyney said in the same subdued tone, "Felix, I would speak with this young woman a few minutes alone."

"I can understand that. You should get better acquainted with your betrothed." His laugh faded away, and he quickly lowered his eyes as Lord Cheyney regarded him with a cool stare.

Uncomfortable silence settled on the room as Mr. Wayne took his leave. Lord Cheyney brought the chair closer to the bed.

"May I?" he asked, motioning to it.

"Of course." She had heard Mr. Wayne tell the viscount that she was a lady's maid, but Lord Cheyney was treating her with the courtesy he would show a lady.

He sat and fisted one hand on each knee. "Let me ask you what I should have immediately. How are you feeling?"

"Confused."

"I meant your injuries."

She touched her brow, then winced. "I have plenty of aches and I suspect many bruises, but the cut on my forehead seems to be the worst injury."

"Other than your missing memory."

"Yes."

He sighed and shook his head. "I own to being at a loss as to how to respond. This is the first time I have encountered someone who has suffered such a loss."

"I would offer you advice, but, if I have met such a person myself, I cannot recall it."

He laughed. "Do not think me too bold to say that you are quite amazing, miss, to be able to be amusing when you are suffering from such a dire experience."

"You are not too bold. If I am to pretend to be your fiancee, you should be comfortable treating me with a certain amount of camaraderie."

"Camaraderie?" He chuckled again. "May I say, miss, that you chose a very tepid word to describe the heartfelt love that should exist between two people who are planning to marry?"

"Love? We are supposed to be in love?" Her eyes widened; then she put her hand to her forehead again. Every motion, even one so slight, continued to make the room spin.

"Miss?"

She heard dismay in his voice, but she could not answer. Clutching the coverlet, she was not sure whether to close her eyes or open them. Either way added to the nausea swarming through her. Myriad images filled her head, but she was not sure what was real and was memory and what was only imagination. Shouts and screams filled her head. Pain slashed through her.

A warm cloth settled on her forehead, and she sank more deeply into the pillows, letting the relief the warmth brought ease the speed of the spinning. Her heartbeat slowed, and she was able to breathe without fearing each breath would be her last. Gone were the maddened scenes that might be memories of the carriage accident or just the remnant of a forgotten nightmare.

"Are you all right?" Cool hands took hers between them, cradling them gently.

"I believe so." Her voice was unsteady even to her own ears. Slowly she opened her eyes to see Lord Cheyney on his feet, his hands surrounding hers. His expression of anxiety spoke more loudly than his words. "Forgive me, my lord. I am afraid I overreacted to your comments."

"You had a.s.sumed this betrothal was an arranged one with little affection on either side." One side of his mouth tilted up in a tired smile. "That would have been the better part of wisdom, I see now, but, in an effort to soothe my grandfather's dismay that I had not found someone to wed in the wake of-" He released her hand and cleared his throat. "I thought the tale of a true-love match would please him greatly."

"Because you never imagined it would bring you to this contretemps?"

"Mayhap if I had considered the story of this betrothal of the least importance, I would have given it deeper thought." He folded his hands behind his coat, which was still damp from the winter storm. "I do not condone my cousin's methods, miss, but Felix is right about one thing. Our grandfather is not a young man. It might be better to humor him on this one thing."

"You care deeply for him, don't you?"

"My cousin?"

She shook her head, then wished she had been more cautious. Leaning her head back again into the pillows, she whispered, "I see that you tolerate your cousin. No more."

"You apparently do not see too clearly just now. Felix and I have been tie-mates as well as cousins for all our lives."

"Really?" she asked, looking up at him.

He was not hoaxing her, for puzzlement filled his eyes. Or was this no more than a part of the greater charade that he was drawing her into? She knew nothing of this man or his cousin or his grandfather. She knew nothing of anything but what had transpired in this rough room since she awoke.

Now it was obviously her turn to apologize. In little more than a whisper, she said, "Forgive me, my lord, if I spoke out of turn. I was judging only on what I saw ensue between the two of you during a very short conversation when, it is obvious, you both were not at your best."

"You have a true skill at understatement."

"I am so uncertain of everything, so it is not easy to compare one thing to another." When his eyes narrowed as he looked down at her, she sat straighter, drawing the cloth off her head, and hastened to add, "My lord, we were speaking of your grandfather. I had remarked that I believed you care deeply for him. Is that so?"

Lord Cheyney sat once more on the chair. "You need not make that a question. I do not recall my own parents, for they both died when I was very young. My grandfather raised me at his country estate of Cheyney Park on the North York moors." His mouth tilted into an ironic grin. "Now I have confused you even further, for I can see that you wonder how I could be false with a man I profess to care for so much."

"It is not my place to question your motives, my lord."

His grin became a grimace. "You should call me Timothy."

"And you will call me Serenity?"

"Will you have trouble answering to that?"

She kneaded her fingers against her drawn-up knees. "No more than answering to anything else, for I would not recognize my own name if you were to speak it to me."

"It seems very likely that you will eventually recall your past."

"I hope you are correct. Now I do not even remember either my brother or sister."

Her voice must have sounded even more despairing to his ears than to her own, because he took her hands in his again and said, "As soon as you remember anything, even the most insignificant fact, come to me. I promise you that I will make arrangements to have you sent back to where you truly belong, so you can continue your life as it should have been." He smiled. "And do not fret about your brother and sister. I will make some inquiries as to what school they are attending in London."

"What makes you think my brother and sister are in London?" She was curious what he had seen in the letter that she had missed.

"May I?" He pointed to the folded letter on the bed.

"Of course."

When he reached past her to pick up the slip of paper, the scents of soap and horseflesh surrounded her. She gazed up at him as he lifted the page from the coverlet and scanned it. Again, she wondered why he had needed to ask a lady's maid with no memories of her past to pretend to be his betrothed. She was certain-as she was of little else-that this handsome man would have had no trouble persuading a lady to help him ease his grandfather's concerns.

Her fingers tightened on the coverlet. Lord Cheyney's father was dead, and his cousin had introduced himself as Mr. Wayne. Lord Cheyney must be the earl's heir. Mayhap that reason was why he had not asked a lady of his acquaintance to a.s.sist him. A betrothal to the heir of an elderly earl would be the talk of the ton. Its dissolution might very well shame the lady involved.

Why did she know these things with such confidence, but could not recall her own name?

"Ah, here it is," the viscount said, tapping the letter. "I was certain I saw it amid all the blotches of ink. It is impossible to guess if this was written by a child or an adult."

"Saw what amid the blotches?"

"The mention of an outing in the Park. I doubt if it could be any park other than Hyde Park. No other city, but London, to my knowledge, has a park like it, and no other park surrounding the city matches the description here, save for Hyde Park." Folding the page, he handed it back to her. "Once I have had my solicitor determine where they are attending school, I will make arrangements for the money to be transferred to pay for their schooling."

"Before this has even begun?"

His eyes became dark slits again. "Why do you think I should be so suspicious of you that I don't trust you to do as you have promised?"

She started to answer, then realized she had none. Even though she had been distressed by something she could not name when she spoke with Mr. Wayne, Lord Cheyney had treated her with respect and kindness. Judge a man by the company he keeps. Whose voice was that? A man's voice that reached out of the jumble of her lost memories, but she could not guess who might belong to it.

"You know nothing of me," she said softly.

"Neither do you know anything of yourself or of me." He sighed. "Do you deem yourself trustworthy?"

"Yes."

"You answered that quickly. Have you recalled something?"

She shook her head as she held the precious page, her only connection with what had been, close to her heart. "I would not have reached the position of abigail if I were deemed untrustworthy."

"True. Therefore I shall trust you with the important details of what I have told my grandfather. Serenity Adams is a young woman who looks much like you. She has been well educated and is respected throughout the Polite World for her gracious skills as a hostess as well as her sense of humor. When we met at Almack's, where Miss Adams was sponsored by her uncle, who is retired from the army, we were much taken with each other. Our first outing together was a luncheon on the banks of the Serpentine with friends." He frowned. "Or mayhap it was at the d.u.c.h.ess's rout near the end of the Little Season. Blast it! I never thought I would be called upon to recall every absurd detail."