Free Feather Castles by Patricia Veryan Page A

Besides, I cannot alllow it to get the best of me, you know. I simply must find out who I am, what I am, before I can—er—attend to certain other vital matters.”
    Rachel hid her quite inexplicable blushes by reaching down to pick up the cup he’d dropped. Fortunately, it had fallen on the grass between the stepping-stones of the walkway and was still intact. “You have somewhere to start, now,” she said, restoring the cup to the tray, but avoiding his gaze. “Tristram is not a very common name, and there is no doubt but that you were an officer. You must go to the Horse Guards, where you will likely discover your identity in a winking.”
    With a crooked grin, he said, “And discover also, perhaps, that a noose awaits me.”
    â€œOh, no! You do not really believe that?”
    She looked distressed, and he wanted no grimness to spoil this idyll, so said whimsically, “Why, murder’s none so dreadful in some cases, Miss Strand. Suppose I was quite run off my legs, fell into the clutches of a cents-per-center, and became so incensed I put a period to him—that would be a public service, eh?”
    â€œProbably,” she chuckled. “But do you really think you strangled a money-lender?”
    â€œIf I did they’ll likely have a medal for me. And only think how much worse it could be. I might instead have done something really frightful—like cheating at cards, for example. Now that is surely—” He was aghast to see her face paper white, her eyes enormous against that pallor. “What is it?” he asked sharply. “I was jesting, merely. I didn’t really mean I had done such a thing.”
    â€œNo-no, of—of course you did not. Would you care for some more tea? I can ask the maid for a clean cup.”
    â€œLord, no. That one is immaculate compared to some of the dishes we ate from in Spain, I assure you!” She smiled, but watching the delicate movements of her little hands as she wielded teapot and strainer, he was irked because he had evidently said something that had triggered a shocking memory. The nun had mentioned a brother, Justin, who’d gone out to India. Perhaps he’d had to leave England! Perhaps he’d been a gamester, or—
    â€œIt must be dreadful for you to know nothing of your past, however you joke about it,” said Rachel quietly, handing him his tea. “I think you are being terribly brave.”
    â€œYes, aren’t I?” Pleased by the responsive little gleam that crept into her eyes, he went on, “Still, I’ve been thinking, ma’am, that perhaps it is better I don’t discover the truth. I might be wed to a large, proud lady of domineering disposition, who would terrify me!”
    He was the type, thought Rachel, who would face physical danger unflinchingly, but yet was so gentle he could be cowed by just such a lady. Amused, she pointed out, “You’d not have wed her, surely, did she not have a heart of gold.”
    â€œMy father forced me to it,” he said promptly. “He is a tyrant, I’ve no doubt, and— Oh, gad! Suppose she has presented me with several noisy offspring?”
    â€œSeveral?” she questioned, her eyes dancing. “Four—perhaps?”
    â€œFour! Never say so! But—if twins run in the family, I collect it might be worse!”
    â€œOh, a good deal worse. In that case, you might have ten! All boys. And wildly undisciplined!”
    He shrank and, clasping his brow, said, “That settles it! I’ll not go back!”
    â€œWhat? Sir—how dastardly! You never mean to abandon them all?”
    â€œSelf-preservation,” he decreed blithely.
    Rachel said a stern, “It will not do, sir! Too wicked by half!”
    She had entered into his farce so merrily that her dismals seemed quite gone, thank heaven. Managing to sound crestfallen, he pleaded, “You’ll never condemn me to such a