He looked so flustered she had to laugh. “I see. Very well.”
“I do beg your pardon,” he went on as he ushered her out the door. He offered his arm, and she automatically reached to take it before both of them recalled the attire she was wearing and they moved apart. He continued, “I should have explained my reasoning first. I realized that we could get help at the house. Megan will know if there’s been something about you in the news or she can learn it. We’ll call on my sister Kyria—if you’ve gone to a party in London, she’ll recognize you. And, of course, the most important thing is that you need to be someplace safe.”
“You think I’m in danger?” Alarm rose in Sabrina again.
“I don’t know that you are.” Alex hailed a passing cab, and once again they went through the confusion of his reaching to hand her up, then remembering she was dressed as a man. Inside the vehicle, he went on, “Perhaps there is some other explanation for your bruises and your loss of memory and your disguise, but I don’t want to take the risk. Do you?”
“No, you’re right. But, Mr. Moreland—”
“No, please, call me Alex. Or Alexander if you would like to be formal. It seems wrong that I should call you Sabrina and you call me Mr. Moreland.”
“All right. Alex. But surely you don’t want to bring danger into your parents’ home.” Sabrina looked up at him. He grinned, and it lit up the angular planes of his face in a way that made her stomach flutter.
“Don’t worry. They wouldn’t even notice.” When she raised her eyebrows doubtfully, he laughed. “You’ll see. Anyway, I’d back our butler to keep anyone out the door. He has a paralyzing stare.” He raised his head, looking down his nose as if he had detected an offensive smell, and Sabrina had to laugh.
It was strange that she could feel so at ease with a man who was, really, a complete stranger. But when she met him, she had immediately thought she knew him. It had so startled her that she’d gasped and stopped. For a wild, hopeful instant, she had thought he would say her name and everything would fall into place. But it had quickly become clear that he didn’t recognize her.
Still, she couldn’t help but relax, and it had been easy to tell him everything. There was a strength in him, a competence that was immediately reassuring. He was just so...calm. He hadn’t turned a hair at her peculiar attire, nor had he said that her even more peculiar story was ludicrous. No name, no memory, masquerading in men’s clothes, bruises and a knock on the head—none of that had fazed him. He had simply listened and nodded, as if such things happened every day.
Having no knowledge or experience, she could rely on nothing but instinct. Instinct told her to trust Alex Moreland.
Still, she felt impelled to protest. “But that’s too much of an imposition, surely. Your mother cannot like having some girl she doesn’t know shoved into her life. Look at me.” She glanced down ruefully at her attire. “I’m masquerading as a man, and she knows nothing about my family or what I’ve done. She’s bound to be shocked.”
To her astonishment, Alex let out a crack of laughter. “Trust me, it will take more than that to shock the duchess. Mother will be delighted. She’ll want to question you on everything, of course.”
“But I can’t answer her questions. I don’t know anything about myself.”
“Oh, not things like that. She’ll want to know where you stand on the vote for women and what you think about factory workers’ conditions, foundling homes, that sort of thing—and if you don’t know, she’ll be delighted to tell you all about them.”
“Oh.” Sabrina gazed at him blankly, wondering if he was joking. And what had he called his mother—the duchess? Was this an affectionate nickname? Some sort of slang that was another thing she did not remember? Surely the woman couldn’t really be... No, that was mad; Alex could not be a duke’s son.
Sabrina found it hard to believe that his mother would be quite so sanguine about her, as Alex thought, but it seemed silly to keep insisting on her own unsuitability. Besides, what else was she to do? She had no place to stay, no idea where to be. If she could only relax, take a little time, perhaps it might all come back to her.
As the carriage rattled on, she studied Alex. He was looking out the window, his face just as handsome in profile. Then he turned and smiled at her, and she realized that, no, he could not possibly look as good as he did straight on. She could not remember what she considered an ideal appearance in a man, but Sabrina had the feeling that Alex Moreland was a perfect example.
He wasn’t hirsute, as so many men were these days—no mustache or beard, neatly trimmed sideburns, his thick dark hair cut short. But then, he had no need to hide any feature. His face was perhaps a little thin, but it suited the angular lines of his face. He could have appeared somewhat severe, with those sharp, high cheekbones and the slashes of straight black brows, except that his green eyes were warm, his mouth full and inviting.
Realizing she was staring rudely, Sabrina glanced away. They were passing an elegant row of houses—no, there was only one door, so it must be all one house. Made of blocks of gray stone, it looked as if it had stood there looming over the street for centuries. She thought it must be some government building, perhaps, but the carriage rolled to a stop, and Alex reached over to open the door.
Sabrina’s jaw dropped, and her stomach fell to somewhere around her knees. Was this his house? She watched as Alex climbed out and turned to her expectantly. She followed him, filled with a dire suspicion as to why he had called his mother the duchess.
“Is this—” Her voice came out barely more than a whisper, and she cleared her throat. “Is this your home?”
“What?” Alex turned back from paying the driver. “Oh, the house. Yes. I know it looks a little...grim. But it’s much nicer on the inside. You’ll see.”
Nicer? She wasn’t sure what he meant by that. It certainly couldn’t be grander. The door was opened by a footman; at least he was not dressed in livery, which she had half expected after seeing the size of the house.
“Good day, sir.” The man took Alex’s hat and turned to her expectantly. There was nothing to do but hand her cap to him, revealing the tumble of her hair. If the footman was surprised or confused by the odd picture she presented, he didn’t show it.
“Hello, Ernest. Where’s my mother?”
“I believe she’s in the sultan room, sir. Her callers left shortly before you arrived.”
“The sultan room?” Sabrina asked in a hushed voice as they crossed the floor of the large entryway, arranged checkerboard fashion in black and white marble tiles. She could not keep from staring around the huge hall, two stories in height and decorated with portraits and landscapes as tall as she was. A wide staircase, also in marble, dominated one side, splitting at the landing to go up in opposite directions. “There’s a sultan here?”
He laughed. “No. Never been one as far as I know, though my grandfather knew some pretty odd sorts, I’m told, so perhaps there was a sultan in there somewhere. It’s called that because my great-grandfather decorated it when he was in some sort of Arabic fever. It looks rather like the inside of a harem. Or perhaps it’s a sheikh’s tent. We were never sure. At any rate, it’s rather ghastly, but we’re all used to it, and it’s more comfortable than the assembly room. Grandmother apparently tried to rename it the red salon—you’ll see why—but that never stuck.”
“Wait,” Sabrina blurted, plucking at Alex’s sleeve. “When you called your mother the duchess, you really meant it? She’s a...a...”
“Duchess? Yes.”
“Oh, my.” She could feel