Page 6 of Someone to Watch Over Me
Her gaze searched his impassive features, and she affected a small, delicious pout. “Tell meyourrules, Mr. Morgan.”
“I only have one,” he replied. “Complete honesty between myself and my partner.”
A bright peal of laughter escaped her. “That can be quite inconvenient, you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
Obviously confident in her own attractiveness, Vivien preened and posed before him, angling her breasts outward, resting a graceful hand on the elegant curve of her hip. Grant knew that he was supposed to be admiring her, but instead he couldn’t help wondering why it was that so many strikingly lovely women were self-absorbed.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Vivien’s former companion bearing down on them with quick, anxious strides, a plate of tidbits clutched in his hands. Clearly the man was determined to defend his territory, and Grant was hardly inclined to argue with him. Vivien Duvall wasn’t worth a public dispute.
Vivien followed his glance, and sighed shortly. “Ask me to dance before that bore returns,” she said in a low voice.
“Forgive me, Miss Duvall,” Grant murmured, “but I would hate to deprive him of your company. Especially after the trouble he’s taken to fetch you refreshments.”
Vivien’s eyes widened as she realized she had been rejected. A mottled pink flush covered her cheeks and forehead, clashing with the cinnamon tones of her hair. When she managed to reply, her tone dripped with disdain. “Perhaps we’ll meet again, Mr. Morgan. I’ll send for you if I’m ever bothered by a pickpocket or footpad.”
“Please do,” he replied, utterly polite, and took his leave with a brief bow.
Grant had thought the matter was over, but unfortunately their brief encounter had not gone unnoticed by others at the ball. And Vivien, taking a petty stab at revenge, had explained the situation in a way that had the gossips snickering behind their palms. Delicately Vivien had insinuated to a host of wagging tongues that the redoubtable Mr. Morgan had made an offer for her, which she had summarily rejected. The idea of the celebrated Bow Street Runner trying and failing to win the favor of Vivien Duvall was greeted everywhere with amusement. “He’s not so dangerous as they claim,” someone had slyly remarked within Grant’s hearing, “if he can so easily be set back on his heels by a woman.”
Grant’s pride had smarted at the spread of deliberate lies…but he had managed to hold his silence on the matter. He’d known that, like all rumors, it would fade more quickly if nothing was said to add fuel to the fire. Still, the mention of Vivien’s name never failed to annoy him, especially when people watched so carefully for his reaction. He had done everything possible to make his indifference clear, while inwardly promising himself that Vivien would come to regret the lies she had spread. It was a promise he was still bound and determined to make good on.
Wandering to the window, Grant pushed aside the dark blue damask curtain and stared through the long panes of glass. Impatiently his gaze hunted the quiet shadowed street for a glimpse of Dr. Linley. In less than a minute, a hired hack stopped in front of the town house. Linley emerged from the vehicle, hatless as usual, his shock of dark blond hair gleaming in the light of the streetlamps. He gave no appearance of great haste, but his legs moved in long, ground-covering strides. Hefting his heavy leather doctor’s case as if it weighed next to nothing, he approached the front entrance.
Grant waited at the bedroom door, giving the doctor a nod of greeting as he ascended the main staircase with the housekeeper. Linley’s progressiveness and intelligence had made him one of the most sought-after doctors in London. And it hardly hurt his popularity to be a handsome bachelor in his late twenties. Wealthy society ladies clamored mightily for his services, claiming that only Dr. Linley could cure their headaches and female ailments. Grant was frequently amused by Linley’s disgruntlement at being monopolized by the fashionable women of thetoninstead of being allowed the time he desired to take on more serious cases.
The two men shook hands briefly. They had a genuine liking for each other, both of them professional men who regularly saw the best and worst that people were capable of.
“Well, Morgan,” Linley said pleasantly, “this had better be worth dragging me away from a mug of brandied coffee at Tom’s. What is the matter? You seem well enough to me.”
“I have a guest who requires your attention,” Grant replied, opening the door and showing him into the bedroom. “She was pulled from the Thames about an hour ago. I brought her here, and she regained consciousness for a period of almost ten minutes. The odd thing is, she claims to have no memory. She couldn’t tell me her own name. Is such a thing possible?”
Linley’s gray eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Yes, of course. Memory loss is more common than you think. It’s often caused by aging, or excessive amounts of alcohol—”
“What about a blow to the head and a near drowning?”
The doctor’s lips puckered in a silent whistle. “Poor lady,” he murmured. “Yes, I once saw a case of amnesia that was caused by a head injury. The man had been wounded in a shipyard accident—a falling beam struck him on the crown, and he was unconscious for three days. When he awoke, he was beset by extreme confusion. The habits of walking, writing, and reading were easy for him, but he didn’t recognize a single member of his family, and could recall nothing of his past.”
“Did his memory return?”
“In five or six months. But I’ve heard of another case in which the memory came back in a matter of days. There’s no way of predicting how long it might take. Or if it will happen at all.” Brushing past Grant, Linley approached the bed and set his doctors case on the chair. As he bent over the sleeping patient, the doctor gave a startled murmur that barely reached Grant’s ears. “Miss Duvall!”
“You’ve attended her before?”
Linley nodded, looking troubled. Something about the doctor’s expression alerted Grant to the fact that Vivien’s visit had been for an ailment far more serious than a headache.
“What for?” Grant asked.
“You know I can’t divulge that.”
“She can’t remember anything—it won’t make a damned bit of difference to her if you tell me or not.”
Linley wasn’t swayed by the argument. “Would you care to leave the room, Morgan, while I examine my patient?”
Before Grant could reply, Vivien stirred and moaned. She rubbed her eyes, squinting at the doctor’s unfamiliar face. Strangely attuned to her moods, Grant sensed the exact moment she began to panic. He reached the bedside in three strides and took her trembling hand. The strength of his grip seemed to calm her. “Grant,” she croaked, her gaze lifting to his face.
“The doctor’s here,” he murmured. “I’m going to wait outside the door while he has a look at you. Is that all right?”
