London's Greatest Lovers Collection by Lorraine Heath

Author:Lorraine Heath
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins

Chapter 13

Stephen stared at the canopy, while Mercy dozed, snuggled against his side. All blood had drained from her face with his words, and he regretted them the moment he’d spoken, bringing his loss to a place where she didn’t want it to be.

But it was true. How could he have forgotten what they had together?

He remembered every detail of every woman with whom he’d been intimate until the moment he had tea with Claire that long-ago day. He remembered every encounter, every cry, every spark of pleasure. And he knew—knew—every one paled when compared with what he’d experienced with Mercy. None were as tight or as hot. None held onto him as though she’d die if she released her hold. None carried him to a realm of sensations where everything else had ceased to exist except for the two of them.

She was perfection, she was radiance, she was his wife.

For the first time, he was convinced he’d not made a mistake in marrying her. There was so much about her that he admired, that he enjoyed.

He’d been wrong. He’d tried to identify exactly what it was about her that drew him in . . . and it was everything. Everything. The last he’d discovered tonight quite simply topped it all off nicely.

And he’d forgotten her, forgotten that they might have had a night like this. What the bloody hell else had he forgotten? What else that was as important as she was?

While one arm held her securely against him, with the hand of the other he pressed the scar on his face. He’d thought he’d forgotten only battles and blood and men dying. Then he discovered that he’d forgotten a nurse whom he’d left with child. But now he realized it was so much more. He’d lost moments of joy, moments of laughter, moments of pleasure that far exceeded anything he’d ever experienced.

It wasn’t fair. He wanted those moments back. He wanted to know what had happened during those two years of his life. He needed to know. He wanted to regain what he’d lost.

Twisting his head, he glanced down on her sleeping form. Her coppery hair stuck up at odd angles, much as his did first thing in the morning. Her auburn lashes rested gently on her cheeks. She breathed softly. Her balled fist rested on the hollow of his stomach. Neither of them had bothered to put on their clothes. Their flesh warmed the other.

It had been cold in the Crimea—from what he’d experienced after waking without his memories. She and he would have created a fire that would have burned through the night and quite possibly longer. He’d always been angry about what he’d lost, but never so much as now, when he realized exactly what had been taken from him.

Moments with her. Words spoken, passion shared. He wanted to know what the first smile she bestowed upon him had looked like. Had she flirted with him or had he pursued her?

He would have pursued her. He was certain of it.

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