like a human being instead of a pretty porcelain doll. Could a bump on the head have caused this metamorphosis? Or was this her natural mien and she was simply tired of maintaining her posture of girlish rectitude? Whatever the case, it was a welcome change. He gazed at her assessingly. Her candy box prettiness, he thought, was decidedly improved by that militant sparkle in her eyes.
“I wonder, Miss Bridge,” he said smoothly, “if you would care to go for a drive. While the promenade hour is not yet upon us, perhaps a short foray into Green Park...?”
“I’d love it!” exclaimed Amanda immediately, ignoring the succession of gasps and gurgles from the corner. She rose from the settee, her eyes alight with enthusiasm. “Let’s go.”
She moved to the door and into the corridor, laughing over her shoulder at him.
“But you cannot go without your bonnet and pelisse, my dear.” Serena Bridge had followed them, and now spoke rather breathlessly. She was attempting to communicate with her daughter via a series of winks and gestures, and when these failed in their purpose, blurted, “Ring for your maid, Amanda.” The older woman gestured toward a nearby bellpull.
“But it’s a beautiful day. I don’t need a—oh, all right,” she concluded at her mother’s agonized expression. She strode to the pull and gave it a vigorous tug.
A few minutes later, Ash led a bonneted, coated, and gloved Amanda down the front stairs of the Bridge town house to his waiting curricle. She examined the vehicle in some fascination, and when a diminutive figure took his place atop the rear wheels, she uttered the word “Tiger!” in satisfied accents, as though she had displayed some arcane, specialized bit of knowledge. She seemed to experience some difficulty in mounting the vehicle, even with his assistance, but once seated, she glanced about her with every indication of enjoyment.
For some minutes, she said nothing, but stared as though she had never seen Upper Brook Street before. Her evident fascination with other persons in the street, the various vehicles they passed, and the street names emblazoned on buildings increased with each passing block.
What the devil was going on? he wondered. She seemed as unfamiliar with her surroundings as though she had just been dropped here from the moon. Was she really telling the truth about her loss of memory? If not, she was certainly presenting an impressively detailed deception. He rather thought she had not the intelligence to carry out such a complex charade. Or perhaps, he mused sardonically, it was her vapid innocence that had been the charade.
Having reached the leafy expanse of Green Park, Ash pulled the curricle to a halt under a spreading linden tree. Instructing the tiger to indulge himself in a walk, he turned to face Amanda.
“You know,” he said thoughtfully, his eyes narrowed, “when I was serving in the Peninsula, one of our lads took a crushing blow to the head and suffered a temporary bout of amnesia.”
“Good Lord,” cried Amanda. “Of course. Napoleon is rampaging around Europe right this minute, isn’t he? Ash, you were in the war? I should very much like to hear of some of your experiences—that is, if they are not too painful to recall.”
He was startled, as much by the sound of his nickname on her lips as by her unexpected digression, but he continued smoothly. “Some other time, perhaps, Miss Bridge. To return to our unfortunate warrior, the poor fellow could not remember his name, did not recognize the faces of his comrades, and had no knowledge of his family back in England.”
This time Amanda made no response, merely inclining her head courteously.
“Oddly enough,” Ash went on, “he had no difficulty in remembering the ordinary details of his everyday life. He knew that England was at war with Napoleon, and he knew that the Regent is reigning in place of his poor, mad father. The lad had not forgotten how to ride a horse, and he was
“I wonder, Miss Bridge,” he said smoothly, “if you would care to go for a drive. While the promenade hour is not yet upon us, perhaps a short foray into Green Park...?”
“I’d love it!” exclaimed Amanda immediately, ignoring the succession of gasps and gurgles from the corner. She rose from the settee, her eyes alight with enthusiasm. “Let’s go.”
She moved to the door and into the corridor, laughing over her shoulder at him.
“But you cannot go without your bonnet and pelisse, my dear.” Serena Bridge had followed them, and now spoke rather breathlessly. She was attempting to communicate with her daughter via a series of winks and gestures, and when these failed in their purpose, blurted, “Ring for your maid, Amanda.” The older woman gestured toward a nearby bellpull.
“But it’s a beautiful day. I don’t need a—oh, all right,” she concluded at her mother’s agonized expression. She strode to the pull and gave it a vigorous tug.
A few minutes later, Ash led a bonneted, coated, and gloved Amanda down the front stairs of the Bridge town house to his waiting curricle. She examined the vehicle in some fascination, and when a diminutive figure took his place atop the rear wheels, she uttered the word “Tiger!” in satisfied accents, as though she had displayed some arcane, specialized bit of knowledge. She seemed to experience some difficulty in mounting the vehicle, even with his assistance, but once seated, she glanced about her with every indication of enjoyment.
For some minutes, she said nothing, but stared as though she had never seen Upper Brook Street before. Her evident fascination with other persons in the street, the various vehicles they passed, and the street names emblazoned on buildings increased with each passing block.
What the devil was going on? he wondered. She seemed as unfamiliar with her surroundings as though she had just been dropped here from the moon. Was she really telling the truth about her loss of memory? If not, she was certainly presenting an impressively detailed deception. He rather thought she had not the intelligence to carry out such a complex charade. Or perhaps, he mused sardonically, it was her vapid innocence that had been the charade.
Having reached the leafy expanse of Green Park, Ash pulled the curricle to a halt under a spreading linden tree. Instructing the tiger to indulge himself in a walk, he turned to face Amanda.
“You know,” he said thoughtfully, his eyes narrowed, “when I was serving in the Peninsula, one of our lads took a crushing blow to the head and suffered a temporary bout of amnesia.”
“Good Lord,” cried Amanda. “Of course. Napoleon is rampaging around Europe right this minute, isn’t he? Ash, you were in the war? I should very much like to hear of some of your experiences—that is, if they are not too painful to recall.”
He was startled, as much by the sound of his nickname on her lips as by her unexpected digression, but he continued smoothly. “Some other time, perhaps, Miss Bridge. To return to our unfortunate warrior, the poor fellow could not remember his name, did not recognize the faces of his comrades, and had no knowledge of his family back in England.”
This time Amanda made no response, merely inclining her head courteously.
“Oddly enough,” Ash went on, “he had no difficulty in remembering the ordinary details of his everyday life. He knew that England was at war with Napoleon, and he knew that the Regent is reigning in place of his poor, mad father. The lad had not forgotten how to ride a horse, and he was
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