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man must have enemies, a scorned lover—someone who was willing to reveal his name.
    Lucien hesitated, wanting to storm the cove and demand answers. But he couldn’t leave the woman alone without protection. Frustration spiked inside him. Hellfire. She would get in the way when a chance presented itself.
    A quick glance spoke of her determination to go down to the beach. The up-tilted chin, the firm lips and the steady gaze signaled her intentions clearly without the need for words. His shoulders slumped, admitting defeat. “Come then.”
    The woman looked at him, her blond brows arching.
    Lucien felt a slight heat in his cheeks and scowled to counteract the sensation. “I have estate business this afternoon. We must make haste.”
    “It’s mid-morning.”
    Now he felt beleaguered and petty. It was the calm look on her face, the steady, candid gaze in those cool blue eyes and her damn eyebrows. They spoke a language all of their own.
    From the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of movement in the cove. Reminded of his mission, he narrowed his eyes in concentration.
    When he held his dying Francesca in his arms, he’d promised her he’d retaliate and avenge her death. He intended to honor the pledge. The second part of the promise, unwillingly given to ease her passage into death—undertaking to seek love again—he shoved aside as he turned to the English mouse.
    “If you want to go, we’ll have to go now.” Lucien turned to his mount and made a clicking sound behind his teeth. Oberon trotted obediently behind him, leaving the woman to follow. Every one of his senses sprang to life. Lucien gritted his teeth. Without looking, he knew the woman was frowning. Too bad. If she didn’t like it, she was welcome to leave. His stride lengthened as he increased the pace, heading toward the dead oak and the marker where the path split. He stalked along the right fork, leading down to the cove.
    The wind whipped over the edge of the cliff, pulling at his hair. The distinctive tang of salt carried on the wind, and a vision of young boys playing in the sea flickered through his mind. A smile tugged his lips, but the instant he seized the memory, his mind locked up, refusing to release the slice of his past. He had no idea who the boys were or the location.
    Intense frustration beat at him, as it had since gaining consciousness in Naples over three years ago. Physically, the doctors told him there was nothing wrong with him. But the attack by thieves had left him with huge gaps in his memory. Francesca hadn’t cared about his foggy past. An angel, she’d rescued him after the assault and nursed him to health. Now whole in body, but scarred both on his face and in mind, Lucien had no recollection of his past. Francesca had said it didn’t matter—they would make their own memories.
    Together.
    Lucien smiled, holding the memory close, until a voice jerked him back to the present.
    “How long will it take to walk down to the beach? Does the tide make any difference to when I can go down to the cove?”
    A groan built deep in his throat, his mouth curled up in disgust. That was all he needed—a woman who talked nonstop and demanded his attention.
    ***
    “Hawk, the lookout sighted two people up on the cliff. Man and a woman.”
    Hawk turned to stare at the wizened man who’d called out. Beneath the loose black mask, his mouth firmed to a thin line of irritation. Damn inconvenient. He wanted to shift the cargo inland today, but that wouldn’t be possible with strangers around.
    “Did they see the lookout?” His low voice held authority. Power. It breached the distance between them easily.
    Whiting raised his lantern to navigate the uneven, slippery floor of the cave until he stood in front of Hawk. “He said they did.”
    Hawk bit back his impatience. Damn idiot. Did none of them understand how the return of the long-lost heir threatened them? Hastings must have a guardian angel looking over his shoulder. A snarl built