Indeed, they’d embarked on a three-week flirtation that had ended in the back garden of Garrett Park with a very brief kiss. He’d left the following day, his pocket stuffed with the draft for funds that he’d finally wormed out of his grandfather. Harriet was certain that he never again gave her or his grandfather another thought.

For her part, Harriet had been similarly disaffected. Still, she’d been glad for the episode as she’d thought it would be the only taste of passion she’d ever have—her only brush with the fires within. Apparently she’d thought wrong. Mr. Landry’s kiss, which she’d managed to romanticize over the last two years, suddenly faded into insignificance. It was a mere peck on the cheek in the face of this new kiss.

A real kiss, she realized. From a real man. One who was obviously very experienced in such matters.

Harriet dipped the cloth back into the basin, noting that the patient’s eyes opened reluctantly. He gave her a sleepy half smile, his lids lowered over his eyes. “That felt soooo good.”

Harriet resolutely subdued the hot tingle that flashed through her. What was it about this man that ignited such feelings? Perhaps it was the mystery. Yes, that’s what it was. She was a tidy person, one who liked all the chess pieces left on the board in their proper places. And this man, lying before her, was definitely out of place. She lowered the warm cloth to his face once again. “Better?” she asked in her most practical, efficient voice.

“Somewhat.” His hand wrapped about her wrist, holding her hand to his cheek, his eyes shimmering with a surprising heat. “If you really wanted to make me feel better, you’d kiss me again.”

She pulled back—as far as she could considering he held her wrist in an uncompromising clasp. “Really, Mr.—” She paused. “If you don’t know your name, what will we call you?”

“Good question. We’ll think about that while we’re kissing.” His eyes twinkling up at her, he pulled her wrist to his mouth, where he placed a warm kiss to her bare skin, the wet cloth dangling useless. “I can do both, you know. Think and kiss. I’m quite talented.”

She tugged on her arm, alarmed at the wave of heat that shivered up her spine. “I am in no mood to kiss you, and I have no desire to think up names for you either.”

He tugged her closer, his lips curled into a smile that was as hard to resist as Cook’s cinnamon scones. Harriet found herself wanting to smile in return, a response she firmly suppressed. Whatever else he was, the man was obviously a wastrel. The last thing he needed was encouragement. “Please release my arm.”

“Once you kiss me.” He wagged his brows. “You’d better do it. I’m injured, you know; I could hurt myself pursuing you.”

He was so ridiculous that Harriet’s smile almost broke loose. “Look, Mr…. whatever your name is, I—” She stopped and frowned down at him, a thought suddenly occurring. “For someone who has just realized that he has no memory, you are in a spanking good mood.”