An unconscious woman is found in the woods surrounding Hawkeswing Manor. She is brought home for care until her family can be located and she returned. The quiet life Lord Bravin Hawkes spent years creating is suddenly thrown into turmoil when the woman claims she’s lost her memory..
Only known as Becca, she must come to terms with an unknown future. But how does one without a past, or funds, find a way to show her gratitude for being taken under the wing of a man who never asked for this responsibility? She has a plan, but it will require the assistance of Bravin’s estranged family. Neither expect the raging passion which awakens.
When the truth of Becca’s identity comes to light, will the passion they’ve built together be destroyed again as pawns of a past war?
1670 - Hawkeswing Manor, Cumbrian Coast, England
Someone watched him.
He lay with his eyes closed, listening.
But it didn’t stop his heart from racing at being suddenly roused so early in the morning.
Alert now, he opened his eyes and he sat up.
He was as much startled by her suddenly being awake after so long as he was about the vision standing before him. For the past few days, the woman had been unconscious and seemed near death.
Now, she looked angelic in the long, white nightdress she’d been clothed in after Meggie had treated her bruises and minor abrasions. He couldn’t help notice how the dim glow from the hearth shone softly through the fabric, shadowing her slim, curvaceous figure, nor how the effect tugged at something within him.
How many nights had he sat watch over this women they’d found in his woods . . . two . . . three? He couldn’t remember. He only knew his back ached from where he dozed on the narrow sofa in her room.
Reluctantly, he stood and stretched, then guided her back to the four-poster bed across the room and put her in.
"You should rest." She refused to lie back against the pillows. Her penetrating gaze unnerved him. "Do you understand me?"
She nodded falteringly. He saw her swallow hard. She opened her mouth to speak then swallowed hard again.
He lifted a cup containing Meggie’s herby concoction to the woman’s lips. Part of his nightly task had been getting some of the liquid into her, though he wasn’t sure he was giving her enough to have any effect.
Her delicate fingers encircled his hand to hold the cup in place while she drank. He watched the fine muscles in her exquisitely shaped neck as she gulped the cool liquid. He fought the urge to touch her there.
"Chary, now.” He pulled the cup back so she could catch her breath. “Sip it, just. You don’t want to make yourself sick."
She pulled the cup toward her again, delicately drinking this time, before pushing his hand away.
"Where am I?" she finally asked, her voice hoarse but filled with worry.
"You are at Hawkeswing. I’m Bravin Hawkes and this is my home."
He lit the fat candle on the bedside table then went to stoke the fire in the hearth. It was early yet. The room faced southwest toward the sea so it would be hours yet before light would find its way through the large windows.
As he crouched at the hearth, he heard the bed creak and turned to catch the woman in his arms. She collapsed to her knees onto the thick rug and grabbed him by the arms with surprising strength.
"Please, tell me," she began, her voice finding strength, her eyes suddenly wild as a frightened doe. "Do you know who I’m?"
Bravin's mind reeled. "What?"
"Who . . . am . . . I?"