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She looked away from his gaze, which all at once seemed too piercing. “It’s hard to tell what is memory and what is—what is out of my—my illness.”
    â€œI see,” he said. “Does this occur often?”
    She stiffened. She didn’t care to discuss her affliction with outsiders. Only her father and sisters, and the two servants, knew about her disorder. She didn’t want the whole village to have even more to gossip about—the whispers would swirl and grow and they would have her on the verge of being sent to Bedlam next!
    â€œI beg your pardon,” the stranger said at once. “I should not ask such a personal question.”
    And then, because he had not demanded it, she felt the need to tell him. He had rescued her, after all, and she must have looked very strange, lying senseless in the woods.
    â€œNot—not often, exactly,” she said, not wanting to discuss feminine matters with a stranger. “But storms will bring them on—the sudden overpowering headaches, I mean. I thought I could get home by the shortcut, but, obviously, I didn’t make it. Thank you for your help.”
    Then, remembering what his help had entailed, she felt the warmth rise in her cheeks, and again she looked away from his gaze.
    â€œMy mother died after being drenched in an unexpected shower. I could not allow you to be endangered just because of propriety’s artificial taboos. However, when we had the bad luck to be discovered, I realized I had put you in a difficult position. And in trying to protect you, I fear I may have compounded the tangle.”
    For a moment, she could only think about his long, well-shaped fingers—she could just see his hands, his strong, capable-looking hands, without lifting her gaze—removing her clothes and touching her body just slightly, and the thought made a nearly imperceptible shiver run through her. Maddie had known for a long time that she would not marry, so she had never thought that a man would touch her so.
    Then the sense of his words penetrated her thoughts and jerked her back.
    â€œWhat—I’m sorry. What did you say?”
    â€œI’m afraid I may have the situation worse by trying to make it better,” he repeated.
    She raised her brows.
    â€œWhen I told the villagers that we were betrothed.”
    Madeline felt as if one of yesterday’s lightning bolts had drilled right through her. She sat straight up in the bed.
    â€œWhat!”
    His smile looked rueful. “It was a decision of the moment, as I told your father.”
    She stared. “But they will know that it is not true. The banns have not been read, for one thing.”
    â€œYes, they pointed that out. I told them you were waiting for me to join you for the momentous occasion.”
    His lips curved upward, and a hint of a dimple showed at one corner of his mouth. For a face that she suspected could look downright ruthless, it was unexpected, and she felt a moment of corresponding warmth before she remembered to erect once again her wall of righteous affront.
    â€œBut—we cannot expect anyone to believe—”
    â€œI have told your father—I have permission from your father to make the lie truth.”
    Again, it took a moment, several moments, for the sense of his words to sink into her pain-befuddled brain. Madeline put one hand to her head and tried to push away the lethargy, the persistent ache, desperate to summon her usual quickness of intellect. “I don’t—don’t understand,” she stammered. “What—what kind of trick are you playing at?”
    He frowned suddenly. “I’m sorry, Miss Applegate. With you so unwell, this is a terrible time to thrust all this upon you. It’s just that we must act quickly to save your good name, to avoid any outcry of public condemnation. I do not wish to see you hurt, whether in body—as I first thought you were—or in spirit, as