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the tide takes things there. It’s slippery, so take care, but the villagers do not bother to look there because the tide can be treacherous. You might find what you seek.’
    ‘Thank you for the advice. The name of the ship might help me—should I find the rest of this.’ He indicated the piece of driftwood, which must have come from a rowing boat.
    He walked away across the beach in the direction she had indicated. Morwenna watchedfor a moment, then began the steep ascent back to her home.
    Had he truly lost his memory? Could she believe him? Or was he here for the reason she dreaded? Michael might have a terrible temper, but he was her brother and she did not wish him to come to harm. She ought to send the stranger away before he could discover something that might lead to her family’s destruction.
    If only the look in the stranger’s eyes did not make her feel as if she wanted to melt into his arms.
    Adam walked the length of the beach, searching for anything that might have been washed ashore at the same time as the sea drove him this way. There was nothing to see. The villagers must have taken even the driftwood to keep their fires going through the winter. He could understand their need, yet felt a sweeping despair that he would find no clues here to help him rediscover his life.
    It seemed that he must return to London as soon as he was able to travel and hope to trace his last movements at the gaming hall. He could not even be sure that he had meant tocome here—his ship might have been driven off course by the storm.
    Had he been travelling on his own ship? He was not sure why the thought should occur to him, but the sight of that ship out in the bay had made him wonder if at some time he’d been the owner of a vessel similar to the one they’d seen.
    It was no use. Try as he might, he could not lift the curtain of mist in his mind.
    He should return to the house, discover the nearest hostelry and hire a horse. There was no help for him here and yet he had a feeling that he had indeed come here for a reason. Besides, he was oddly reluctant to leave this place too soon.
    Why? Surely he could not be thinking of remaining here longer because of Morwenna?
    True, she was beautiful. Even her name sounded like music on his lips. He felt something each time he saw her, but could not place what emotion was uppermost in his mind. She infuriated him with her accusations. Clearly, her brothers were involved in some kind of nefarious business. Smuggling was rife on this coast and it was likely Michael Morgan was off on some such business—if nothing more serious.
    Now where had that thought come from? What else might Michael Morgan be doing?
    He shook his head. It was as if he were reaching for something—an important fact that lay just behind that damned curtain.
    No, he should not speculate. It was not his business and yet something was nagging at him, telling him he should use the time while Michael was away to discover all he could.
    Discover what? It was no good, his mind was confused—blank at times and at others teeming with pictures that did not make sense. Faces flitted through his mind. An older woman and another, pretty, but not his wife or his lover. Who were they?
    Morwenna had said he’d cried out thinking her his mother when in his fever. Was his mother still living? Did he also have a sister?
    Somehow that seemed right. He felt instinctively without knowing that he had a family, but no wife. Were his family worried about him?
    He shook his head and pushed the thought away. It was not his family that taunted him, trying to burst through the fog in his mind. For the moment something else was more important, but he did not know what it was.
    He turned back towards the path that led up the cliff. He would be wiser to leave and returnto London, but something was holding him here. There was something about the wild-eyed Cornish woman, something that turned his guts soft and made him burn with a need he