For her part, the little maid began to move restlessly beneath his ministrations. Soon, she was busy kissing him back, though not in a particularly satisfying way. She was hesitant, almost shy. As if perhaps she’d never—

Bloody hell, he was kissing a virgin! The thought cleared his muddled senses and iced his ardor. Chase would never know how he was so certain of that fact, but he’d have staked what was left of his life on it—the woman had never been kissed. Never been held in this manner. Never been anything.

Reluctantly, Chase lifted his head and looked down at her. For an instant, she remained where she was, a bemused look in her brown eyes, her lips parted and moist. She was a taking thing, he decided, mildly surprised to discover that she wasn’t nearly as plain as he’d first thought. Up close, he could see that she was delicately made, her nose perfectly drawn, her eyes thickly lashed, her body whip thin, but gently curved.

She was, in fact, quite fetching. It was a pity she was a virgin. Chase avoided innocent women like the plague; they were far too prone to nervous twitters for his liking. He loosened his hold, and she instantly scrambled out of his arms and off the bed. Her feet thumped on the floor, and she whirled to face him, her eyes flashing fire.

She was even prettier mussed and upset, he decided. Her eyes shone with indignation, the velvety brown depths sparkling gold. Her skin, an unfashionable tan, was now touched with pink.

For some reason, Chase found himself grinning. “That’s enough pleasantries for now. I am, after all, a wounded man.”

“Pleasantries?” She sounded as if she was about to choke. “You call that a pleasantry?”

“Among other things.” He nodded a greeting. “’Tis time for an introduction. Who are you?”

“I was going to ask you the same question,” she said. “Who are you?”

“I asked first,” Chase said gently. “So you have to tell me first.”

She smoothed her skirts, the gesture amazingly calm, considering she was a virgin and had just been sitting in his lap. By his reckoning, she should be…upset. Instead, she eyed him with something ridiculously near disgust, even though her lips were still plump from his kisses. “I am Miss Harriet Ward. And you, sir, are in Garrett Park, my home.”

So she wasn’t a housemaid, after all. Garrett Park…the name meant nothing to him. “Where is this place?”

“North Walton. Near the coast.”

The coast. His memory came flooding back. He’d been on his way to catch a ship. He’d left his home, his family, everything. Not because he’d wanted to, but because he’d had to. Because he’d lost the right to be a St. John.

The thought tightened his throat, and it was with difficulty that he managed to say, “How did I come to be here?”

“We found you, in the forest.” Her gaze flickered to his forehead and back. “Remember?”