It was she who was mad! It had to be! Why would the others tolerate his ravings if he were voicing only insanities? A sudden quickening of trepidation seized her, and she withdrew into her own mind to seek some secure haven wherein she could find succor from her distress. Disquieted by the fear that some insanity had seized her, she began to shake uncontrollably. The pressure at her temples increased until the pain became excruciating, and she writhed on the bed, holding her head and keeping her eyes tightly shut to bar the alien world from her sight.

“Lierin!” The name echoed hollowly through the haze, and the tone was somewhere between plea and command. Still, it struck no chord of recall and only confused her more. She could find no anchor for her thoughts, no grappling hook that would snare her from the bleak, murky blackness of the unknown and bring her to a firm footing with memory intact. There was only this moment and the few brief ones since she had awakened. What she had seen and heard only set her at odds with herself. The room whirled about her in a dizzying gyre, and she braced her arms widespread against the bed to steady her careening world, but her effort was useless as she was hurtled through a dark and bottomless eddy.

“Quickly!” Dr. Page gestured to Willabelle. “Fetch the smelling salts from my case.” He thrust up a hand to halt Ashton as he tried to step near. “She’s suffered a shock, Ashton. Give her time.”

The younger man drew back and frowned in concern as he helplessly witnessed her ordeal. The doctor slipped a hand behind her head while his other brought a vial of powders beneath her nose. The sudden shock of searing fumes drove away the clinging cobwebs. Her eyes shot open, and she saw the room again with bright, clear, achingly intense vision. Each detail was etched in bold relief, and she saw her tormentor gripping the bedpost with white-knuckled strength, as if he were the one troubled and vexed.

Weak and exhausted, she fell back upon the bed, unmindful of the fact that she had swept off the satin quilt and lace-edged sheet. Her skin was moist with perspiration, and she welcomed the stabling touch of coolness that seeped through her cotton gown, but beneath the man’s closely attentive gaze, she realized her gown provided no modesty beyond the thickness of the cloth. It clung to her clammy skin, boldly revealing the womanly curves of her body. Her cheeks flamed. Not only would this knave harass her, but it seemed that he would molest her with his eyes as well. Seeking the protection of the quilt, she rolled her head on the pillow and asked in a rasping whisper, “Could I have some more water, please?”

“Indeed, child,” Dr. Page replied and reached for a glass.

Politely rejecting his help, she took the goblet into her shaky grasp and sipped from it slowly as her eyes flicked back to the figure at the end of the bed. He was quite a tall man with wide shoulders and a lean waist. A finely tailored silk shirt showed the expanse of a hard, tapering chest, while the slim trousers displayed the narrowness of his hips and the long, muscular length of his thighs. He was neither thin nor massive, but appeared to be in superb physical form. Obviously he had much to be conceited about.

She gave the glass back to the doctor, and feeling a need to set matters straight in her own mind, she inquired rather timidly, “Am I supposed to know anyone here?”

Dr. Page’s jaw sagged in astonishment, and when he looked up at Ashton, he found his surprise shared by the one who had claimed her as his wife. Ashton was totally confused. He had been so sure that this was Lierin, the one whom he had loved and wed. Indeed, he would have staked his life on it. “Are you not Lierin?”

Her brows came together in a slight frown. Disconcerted and yet reluctant to make an appeal for his sympathies, she responded with a confused shrug. “I…I…really don’t know who I am.”

Tormented by uncertainty, she awaited his reaction, afraid he would judge her mad by her confession. She saw the first wave of shock register on his face as he stared at her. His companions seemed no less startled.

Aunt Jennifer approached the bed and took the girl’s slender hand to pat it comfortingly. “There, there, dear. I’m sure it will come to you in a moment.”

“Jenny, no one forgets her name,” Amanda chided. “The girl just needs some rest.”

“Perhaps it’s something more than that, Amanda,” Dr. Page commented thoughtfully. “There’ve actually been several cases of memory loss recorded. Amnesia, I believe. From what I’ve read of it, it can either deal with a partial memory loss, where the patients forget a short phase of their lives or some event. Other times it’s more extended, and those affected forget their names, where they live, the entire history of their lives, only retaining their abilities to read and write and so on. A few have experienced a total loss, and these have no recollection of having even existed before the moment they awake.” The doctor spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I must confess I’m at a loss. I’ve never known one who suffered from it.”

“If you’re at a loss, Franklin, think of this poor child,” Amanda declared, somewhat beside herself. She had thought the matter of identity would be quickly solved when the young woman woke and could only worry how this would affect Ashton.

“Now, Amanda, you can hardly expect me to know everything,” the elderly man replied.

“Don’t make excuses, Franklin,” Amanda admonished, patting his shoulder in the manner of one reproving an irresponsible student. “Just find out what the girl’s problem is and cure it.”

“I fear it will not be as simple as that, Amanda,” he acknowledged. “There are several things that cause it. Shock. Illness. In this case I would venture to say it was brought about by the accident, but to my knowledge there are no determinate cures.”

“But surely it will pass,” Ashton pressed.

Dr. Page shrugged. “I’m sorry, Ashton. I really can’t say what will happen. Perhaps after a few days when she’s had a chance to rest, her memory will come back to her. Then again, it might take a while…or it may never return. Only time will tell. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

The patient stared at the bearded doctor. It all seemed like some terrible nightmare from which she could not escape. “Do you mean I could really be Lierin and not be aware of it?”

“Ashton insists that you are Lierin Wingate,” Dr. Page informed her gently. “None of the rest of us can say because we never met her.”

She cast an uncertain glance toward the younger man as she directed her question to the elder. “Is he supposed to be Ashton?”

“He is Ashton,” Amanda stated. “Of that I’m sure.”

The young woman turned to Ashton, and her consternation was evident as she asked, “But are you sure about who I am?”

The hazel eyes were soft as he made his reply. “Can a man forget his own wife?”

“Wife!” The word came out in a startled rush. She experienced a rising panic as she realized precisely the predicament that position placed her in. If what he said was true, she was married to a total stranger. She raised a shaking hand to cover her face and, accepting the darkness behind her lowered lashes, banished him from sight. “But I don’t even know you!”

“Madam, may I introduce myself?” His warm reply won her attention. A long moment passed as his gaze probed the dark, translucent depths; then abruptly he grinned and gave her a brief bow. “Ashton Wingate, at your service, my lady, and this is”-he swept a hand to the two women-“my grandmother, Amanda Wingate, her sister, Jennifer Tate. And this is the housekeeper”-he indicated the black woman-“Willabelle.” He assumed a more serious mien as he continued: “I believe Aunt Jenny and Willabelle will vouch for my identity as my grandmother as already done. They can also tell you that three years ago they were informed of my marriage to Lierin Somerton.”

Her bewilderment deepened. What he related seemed inconsistent, and she gave voice to her doubt: “But if we’ve been married for three years and your relatives live here in the same house with you…then why can’t they identify me?”

“’Tis simple really. They never had the opportunity to meet you.”

She raised a delicate brow, then reconsidered as the action intensified her discomfort. As she waited for him to continue, she wondered what kind of game he played with her. After all, he was the only one who said he could identify her.

Ashton recognized her skepticism and tried to soothe whatever fears she had. He did not fully understand her condition, but he was confident she was the same woman he had cherished enough to wed. “We were traveling up here when the steamboat was attacked by pirates. During the fight you were swept overboard, and I was shot. My men didn’t realize you were gone until I regained consciousness. They searched the river and along the banks for more than a week, but you were not to be found. We presumed you had drowned.”

“For three years you say you were under that assumption?” she queried.

“It was only last night that I realized otherwise.”

She had no wish to be blindly obstinate, but there were other views to consider. “Perhaps your wife did die, sir, and I am someone else who bears a likeness to her. Three years is a long time to remember exactly how a person looks.”

“Ashton, dear, show her the portrait of Lierin,” Aunt Jennifer suggested. “Perhaps it will help convince her.”

He complied, taking the painting from the table and holding it for the young woman’s perusal. He was not greatly heartened by her look of perplexity.

“Is that what I look like?” she asked, raising a bemused expression to his.

“Dear child!” Amanda’s amazement was complete. “Do you mean you have no idea what you look like?” She took a small hand mirror from the dressing table and gave it to the girl. “Here you are, my dear,” she said, smiling with pleasure. “As you will no doubt see, you’re somewhat bruised from the accident, but quite lovely nevertheless.”