His Californian Countess

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She recoiled and tried to scramble away when Jamie’s gaze fell upon her face and anger marched across his features. He tightened his grip on her shoulder and pushed himself up on one bent arm, staring down at her with narrowed, furious eyes.

It was then that she remembered she was ignominiously nearly naked in the arms of her counterfeit husband. He’d taken her body when he thought she was his high-society love. Or maybe it was she who was the counterfeit in this marriage. After all, it was she who was not the woman he thought he’d wed. She was not his precious Helena.

Amber wished he’d say something.

Anything.

“What is this about? Was our meeting on deck an accident, Pixie?” His beautiful mouth twisted in a sneer and “pixie” ceased to be a sweet pet name. “I thought you were a disadvantaged innocent, forced to travel alone.”

“I had my reasons for being alone.”

“I must wonder if your reason was to lure me into this trap so you could then demand marriage. It worked for my late wife, but I won’t be trapped that way again. I care not about my reputation here in America.”

Amber felt her temper rise. Now she scrambled away, dragging the blanket with her as she stood. What did she care if it left him naked and exposed? She’d bathed him and cared for his needs for days on end. She could look at his naked form all day and feel nothing but contempt.

But then he stood in all his naked glory—bold as you please—and captured her gaze with his own narrowed, hard-as-amethyst eyes. It was she who broke away from their locked gazes. When her lowered eyes fell on to his manhood, her face heated in a betraying blush. She looked away quickly, but the damage was done. And that set fire to a temper few had ever seen.

“Luring you into marriage?” she shouted. “You must still be suffering from delirium. Your uncle has apparently already done his worst by freezing your heart. I did not need to trap you into marriage. We’re already married. It was you who begged me to marry you to protect Meara. You promised an annulment if you survived the fever and I wished for one.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she rushed on, not caring what he planned to say. She had heard all she wished. “It was you who crawled on to my pallet last night and made annulment impossible. This is my thanks for caring for you all these long days? I should have let the captain toss you overboard. You endangered everyone on board just to follow your obsession with Helena!”

She stormed out into the saloon, her shoulders and back stiff as the deck she’d been sleeping on. Still wrapped in the blanket, the neckline of her pretty silk shift peeking out, she was mortified to bump into the ever-present cabin boy. But she raised her chin and stomped by him, refusing to show her embarrassment.

“Have my trunk sent to me,” she told the boy over her shoulder as she stalked across the wide, elegantly appointed companionway and saloon. “I’ll stay in my cabin under quarantine for the rest of the voyage, if I must, but I will not spend one more day in there. With him.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the boy answered, staring at her as if she were mad.

Perhaps she was.

Because she was afraid she’d fallen in love with that … that obnoxious person whose miserable life she’d probably saved.

Then her tears welled up again as she remembered all he’d revealed during his illness. He was a good man, worthy of her love even though he didn’t want it. It had been the scars of his youth speaking just now. She knew that, but she

hardened her heart. She’d never wanted to care. To love.

And she wouldn’t.

She just wouldn’t!

Chapter Five

Jamie’s hand trembled as he ran it through his hair. He sank to the bed. His mind was less foggy; still, he was not completely sure of a good part of what had happened, in particular why he’d been standing naked, arguing with Amber. He winced when the door slammed behind her.

He sighed. Pixie was Amber. That much he was sure of. Their meeting on deck was engraved in his mind clearly, in sharp contrast to the murky uncertainty of the present.

He closed his eyes, trying to sort the jumble of images swimming to the surface. And now, God, now even snatches of the past days started to come into focus.

Too late.

He groaned. He remembered the burning fever. The pain of being touched. He would have died without her selfless care. Amber had agreed to marry him for Meara’s sake when he’d been so sure he would die. She’d tried to give him hope, but she’d finally agreed to the marriage. Only after warning him she’d be unsuitable as his countess, however.

That meant she’d been willing to protect his child. As far as he was concerned, that proved she would make a wonderful countess because she’d make Meara a wonderful mother.

And he wasn’t being in any way selfless, resigning himself to marriage to her because he suddenly recalled another of his lost memories—their lovemaking last the night. Memories of her skin, her hair, her scent.

As he went over those moments on her pallet, he knew he’d made an even more egregious error than he’d feared. Rising in his mind like a condemning specter was the look on her face—in her eyes—as he’d made her his. Her uncertainty of the unknown had all been written there. Then her expression changed to the one she’d worn as she scrambled to her feet and faced him this morning.

What had he done? What had he destroyed?

Jamie pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed again. The answer to that was as simple and as complicated as human nature. He’d allowed his past to color the present. He’d painted Amber with the motives of his late wife, Iris, a social-climbing whore, and of his cruel, manipulative guardian.

A knock at the door drew him back to the present and his eyes flew open. Hope that Amber had decided to return surged through him. Refusing to greet her naked as the day he was born, he made his way to his trunk and hurriedly located his dressing gown. After shrugging into it and knotting the tie at his waist, he hurried to the door on wobbly limbs. “I’m relieved you’ve reconsid—” he said as he pulled the heavy door open.

And his heart fell.

The drunken doctor he’d met the day he booked passage was not the person he wished to see. The older man wore an imperious look on his face as he said, “I’m told your nurse has deserted you.”

“I no longer have need of nursing care, and where my wife is cannot be of great interest to you.”

“It is of great interest to me until I’ve become certain she’s not about to take ill. I must pronounce you healthy, as well.”

Jamie spread his arms in mock surrender. “By all means.”

The doctor took no time at all in making the pronouncement that Jamie had indeed come out at the other side of an illness that should by all rights have killed him. Jamie did not waste his time telling the doctor that he’d been doing that all his life, thanks to good women like Mimm and the pixie. Amber, he corrected silently.

Her name was Amber.

He rested a few minutes and began to dress so he could go talk to that young lady. His wife. His countess. He’d only managed to don his small clothes and trousers when another knock sounded hollowly in the room. He was less hopeful this time about who might be there. Yet he was still disappointed when a young boy in uniform stood there.

“I’m to fetch her trunk, sir,” he said without preamble.

“Trunk?”

The cabin boy looked behind him at the door across the saloon. “The lady, sir. She said I was to fetch her trunk.”

“Her cabin is that one? I was told that cabin was assigned to Miss Helena Conwell.”

“Oh, no, sir. That confusion was put to rest days ago along with all the rumors about her … uh … her character. She and the one you was expecting switched travel accommodation, ya’ see.”

“No, I don’t see. Is Miss Conwell elsewhere on the ship?”

“Oh, no, sir. She never boarded.”

“But when I came on board you said she had.”

“‘Cause she give her name as Miss Conwell.”

Jamie felt his head would split open at any moment. Perhaps too much information was flooding into his brain box. “So how was the confusion cleared up?” he demanded, frowning, not even sure he wanted to know. Had he been duped into this voyage? If that had been the intent, he’d fallen into the trap. He could be with Meara right then or looking for Helena. Perhaps that had been the plan.

Plan?

He was nearly sure neither Helena nor Amber would have targeted him as the butt of a prank or worse. Amber would have been trying to do what he, Jamie, had been trying to do. Protect Helena from Franklin Gowery. He was the man Helena had been fleeing. Not Jamie. And if Jamie had handled things with Helena better, she’d have run to him. Not away.

“We got her real name when she was to marry you,” the boy said, calling Jamie back to the problem at hand. His wife and who she was. “She gave it so the reverend could fill out marriage papers, and for the ceremony.” He sounded as if he were explaining the thing to a dolt. And that was how Jamie felt. “I was in the hall,” the boy went on. “The second witness, sir,” he went on. “I was round a lot, giving the lady water to wash yer sheets and … um … such. Always smiled even though she was all done in most of the time.”

Jamie heard everything the lad said, but one fact stood out, reminding him of the overarching truth of the situation. Not only had she been trying to protect Helena, but she had saved his life. His anger at her deception, while perhaps justified in some way, was immaterial when weighed against the truth of it. Amber had saved his life, and at the risk of her own. She was his wife now and though he knew things about her—that she was sweet and bold, caring and brave—he had no idea of her full name. “Amber what?” he demanded, not feeling the least in control of his own destiny at the moment.

“Her name?” the cabin boy asked. At Jamie’s nod he said, “Her name was Dodd, sir. Miss Amber Dodd.”

Jamie nodded. Was. Yes. Of course. Now he supposed it would be Amber Reynolds. Countess Adair. Lady Adair. Oh, God! He was married.

“May I get the trunk for her?”

Once again, remembering how he continued to appear, Jamie stepped back and waved the boy in. “How did it get in here, anyway?”

“I was permitted to bring it as far as the door. And … uh … just now she … um … she seems in great need of her clothing.”

Jamie cringed for the second time in less than an hour. She’d looked a bit like Venus Rising earlier, but now he realized she’d stormed off like that. It would be talked of endlessly aboard the ship, for lack of anything more interesting.

“I would appreciate it if you would keep that part of all this under wraps,” he told the boy. “I wouldn’t like to see the countess embarrassed because I became a difficult patient.”

“About how she wasn’t dressed after the fight you two had, you mean? Oh, no, sir. I didn’t even tell the doctor. His lips get to flappin’ when he’s in his cups. Just said she was wantin’ her privacy now that you were on the mend. That’s what brought the doctor. I had to tell him, as I was ordered to, if either of you left the cabin. But I wasn’t ordered to say what she was wearing—or wasn’t—when she left. She was quite upset, sir.”

Jamie couldn’t fight a wry smile when he remembered her wonderful Irish temper exploding all over him. That thought lightened his mood a bit. “Yes, I believe she was ready to attempt to do murder when she stormed off. I did not remember our marriage and was confused as to why she was in my cabin in her state of undress.”

The cabin boy’s eyes widened. “That would do it, sir.”

Jamie was tempted to loiter about in the saloon as the boy dragged the trunk across to the pixie’s door, but he didn’t want to risk another explosion in front of the lad. He did not even know why he’d stood there trading confidences with a stranger barely out of short pants. A cabin boy was certainly far below his station, but that was one of the things he liked about America. Birth was of no consequence.

When the door had closed behind the boy, Jamie knew why he’d stood there chatting. He was lonely.

He didn’t know how to win her back, but he knew he wanted to. Needed to. She could even now be carrying his child. He would think of something while gaining his strength. He’d leave her alone, then he would find a way to tempt her back to him. Like it or not, they were wed. This voyage would last at least another three months, and he had this time to woo his wife. They might as well make the best of the situation.

Amber, having donned a wrapper she’d left hanging on a hook behind the door, forced herself to smile at the young cabin boy, hoping he didn’t notice evidence of the tears she’d dashed away when he’d knocked. He set down her trunk and turned toward where she stood in the doorway.

“Is that all, my lady?”

Amber blinked. The title weighed on her. And now she was stuck with it. “I’ll have a coin for you once I unearth my funds from somewhere amongst my things. Thank you for all your help while the earl was ill. Have a lovely day.”

She nearly sobbed as she hastily closed the door behind him. She should not have mentioned his lordship. Anger toward him had quickly given way to heartbreak and she didn’t want to chance creating more gossip about their relationship. Though she knew it was probably impossible on this voyage, she didn’t want her name linked further with his.

She wanted no link to him at all.

Liar, whispered her secret heart.

Amber sank to the boudoir chair in the corner of her stateroom, trying to hold back her tears. She was afraid if she gave in to the need to cry out her pain and disappointment she’d never be able to stop.

It was hard for her to believe that not long ago she’d looked around this room and been so excited about all the possibilities and adventures ahead of her. That marriage was the last thing she’d wanted for herself.

Now she just wanted to hide in there and forget the rest of the world even existed. Especially a certain English lord across the saloon who thought he was so utterly desirable that she would stoop to trapping him.

Humph! More like the other way around. She opened her trunk and looked for something to wear. Something to make her feel confident. “Of all the nerve,” she muttered and pulled out a no-nonsense traveling skirt and blouse. “He begged!”

Begged her to wed him.

The last thing she’d wanted was marriage to a dying man. A man to grieve for. “The very last thing.”

Then, after fighting for his life for days on end, after learning what a good man he was, after finding love in her heart for a man once again, she’d awakened to his fiery kisses and bold caresses. She’d thought he felt as she did. That he must. That they were fated for each other.

Then he’d called her Helena.

She slammed the trunk shut and plunked herself down into the chair. The whole mess was so ironic. It was Amber who’d come up with the idea for this travel charade. She’d felt sorry for Helena Conwell and had felt a kinship for her, as well. They’d both lost their parents and had both been passed into the care of another. Rather than finding a person like Amber’s sweet and caring Uncle Charles, Helena had been saddled with Franklin Gowery, one of the most feared and hated men in the entire Pennsylvania coal patch.

It angered her beyond bearing that this was her fault. She felt stupid and foolish for trusting Jamie Reynolds, Earl of Adair. Father of Meara. Meara, the stepchild she’d thought she would raise alone.