Never Marry a Stranger Read Free Page B

love-at-first-sight couple. What—or who—had induced her into this mad scheme? His parents said she hadn’t come to them until last year, just after they discovered his supposed death. Obviously she had chosen him from the list of the deceased.
    He put the license back where he’d found it. He would have to exercise the ultimate patience, even as he played the befuddled husband. He shouldn’t be enjoying this so much, he knew, but couldn’t seem to help himself.
    Husband, he thought again, looking down at her.
    Off the top of his head he’d claimed amnesia where she was concerned. But if he were pretending to believe all of her lies, was he supposed to treat her as a wife in truth?
    Even share this bed?
    Something wicked stirred to life inside him.
    Matthew shook his head and looked away, rallying his control. He’d spent his life mastering his every impulse; he would take things slowly as he figured out Emily Grey. How bad could she be if his parents already loved her?
    Her eyes blinked several times, then opened, showing him the captivating blue, as well as her confusion.
    And then she saw him and gasped.
    “Hello, Emily,” he said softly, smiling. “Your husband is home.”
    Emily opened her eyes, thinking groggily that she was supposed to be in the drawing room. Instead she was lying on her back, beneath the canopy of a bed—in her husband’s bedroom.
    It all came to her suddenly, and her wary gaze found the man who’d brought her here, who now watched her after his pleasant greeting.
    The dead man she’d claimed as her husband.
    She’d thought she had become a strong woman, but his entrance into the drawing room stunned her so that she’d been speechless, unable to think about what to do. She’d fully expected to find herself tossed from the house.
    But he hadn’t denounced her. When he said he’d lost part of his memory, her relief had been so absolute she must have fainted. How appallingly weak of her. Weakness was a liability; only her strength and her wits would see her through this now.
    She found herself studying Captain Matthew Leland, trying to remember the man she’d known for only a few hours not quite two years ago, the man whose death she’d used for her own convenience.
    But he wasn’t dead. He was very much alive, and alone with her in the bedroom they were supposed to share as husband and wife.
    But he wasn’t her husband.
    She wouldn’t panic. This rare illness of his had given her the chance to continue playing the role of his wife. She was strong now, and had learned she was capable of doing terrible things in order to survive. And she would survive this.
    “Matthew?” His name came out in a feigned whisper of disbelief.
    Casually, he leaned against the bedpost, arms folded across his chest, and a small smile turned up his lips.
    He was a handsome man, as she’d thought from the first moment she saw him on a boat in the stormy English Channel. He had dark, auburn hair that glistened by lamplight. His amused eyes were hazel, but the more she looked at him, not just one color, but changeable. When she first met him, she’d thought his eyes intense, as if he would focus only on her whenever they spoke together. With a classically square jaw and thin lips, he was the picture of what a handsome man should look like. He was still broad with muscle, perhaps even more so since serving as a soldier in India. His coat almost seemed too tight across his shoulders, as if he hadn’t had time to purchase a new one since he’d been back.
    Well, of course he hadn’t. He’d rushed straight from the ship to tell his parents that he was alive—only to find a wife he didn’t remember.
    What would his wife do?
    Without a second thought, she flung herself fromthe bed and into his arms. He didn’t even stagger, so strong was he. She thought he hesitated, but at last his arms came around her and she was enveloped by warmth—but not security. She would never delude herself. She’d grown up