a hint of green, and golden-brown in her gaze. He did not think he had ever seen eyes so distinctive on a woman, but he supposed he would have no notion of whether or not he had.
“You are disheveled,” he observed.
She caught the plump fullness of her lower lip in her teeth and studied him for what felt like a dozen heartbeats but must have only been one. “I am certain I must look a fright. I was in my work room, attempting to perfect the unguent for your wound.”
He was clumsy at this. Had he been a charming man before the knock he’d taken to the knowledge box? A rogue who could charm ladies with ease? He somehow doubted it. Here was a slip of a woman, lovely and so much smaller than he, and yet, she intimidated him. He felt as if he were surrounded by darkness, grasping at slivers of light, but each time he reached, the light slid from his grasp.
“You could never look a fright,” he managed to say, still touching that lone curl.
It was silken, exquisite.
What would her cheek feel like? Smooth and soft, like the finest velvet? Caro could seduce a man without trying. She was wearing a pale muslin gown today that was simple enough in construction, with a modest bodice. And yet, she was so damned gorgeous, he ached just looking at her.
His cock rose in his trousers with renewed determination.
Not now, you devil.
“You are being too kind,” she said, then bit her lip once more.
Such sweet torture, watching her mouth. Wanting it beneath his. Wanting more than this tiny moment of intimacy between them, yet not knowing how to have it. Not knowing if he could have it.
He cleared his throat, trying to chase some of his conflicting feelings away. “I ain’t certain I’m a kind chap. I could be a monster.”
Sweet Jesus, what if he was? For some reason, the worry had never occurred to him until now. He stared at his hand, so near to her pale cheek, so large and strong, and suddenly from the murk of his memory surged remembrance. He recalled swinging his fist, the crunch of bone, the bite in his knuckles. He knew the way it felt to hit a man, he thought.
The realization was enough to make him drop his hand away.
“Are you feeling ill?” she asked, worry furrowing her brow. “You’ve gone pale.”
“I…am well.” He struggled to make sense of the dark and jagged pieces of his mind. “I may have had a memory return just now, but I…I don’t know.”
“A memory?” Her brows rose, her voice infused with hope. “What sort of memory?”
He did not want to admit the truth to her, but neither did he want to lie. “Hitting someone. Forming a fist, swinging a punch. I remember how it felt, I think.”
Unless he was deluding himself? He’d had many dreams over the course of the past few days as well, but it was impossible to determine what was real, if anything, and what was merely his slumbering mind’s madness or attempts to create a history for himself to fill the hollow.
“You remember punching someone?” she repeated, voice hushed, as if she had entered a church and was afraid to speak too loudly.
“Hell.” He ran his right hand over his mostly healed face, confusion settling in, battling the desire that blanketed him whenever Caro entered the room. “For a moment, it seemed real, as if it were something I’d done. But now, I don’t know.”
She was watching him with a stricken expression, those beautiful eyes of hers wider than ever. “Were you remembering the day you were attacked, do you suppose?”
“Mayhap.” A dull ache thumped to life in his head, almost as if to remind him he was working himself too hard. “It doesn’t matter, does it? Not if I can’t recall the rest.”
This time, it was she who touched him, her small, work-reddened hand brushing over his arm in a tender caress. “You will remember. Have faith. You mustn’t force yourself. It will return to you in time.”
But that was the devil of it. Would his memory return?
Frustration rose within him, and he wanted to shrug away from her gentle concern. But he also never wanted her to take her hand away. He wanted the brand of Caro upon him forever, to wear like a shirt.
“I may never remember,” he said, trying to keep the fear accompanying that undeniable fact at bay.
And failing.
He gave himself away by trembling.