She pressed her fingertips to her brow. She had no time for this. There was shearing to worry about, and then packing the wool for market. And then the actual selling. If they didn’t get a good price, all would be lost.

All would be lost, too, if “Captain Frakenham” recovered his memory at an inopportune moment. Harriet had little doubt the man would be furious—and who could blame him? If, of course, he’d really lost his memory to begin with. She eyed him suspiciously but could tell nothing from his guarded expression.

Heavens, it was a complicated coil! And it was probably all for naught—if Gower hadn’t been suspicious before, he was now that he’d seen Mother’s horrible rendition of Captain Frakenham.

For lack of an acceptable target for her frustrations, Harriet rested her gaze on the supposed captain. “If you’re waiting for me to bring you your luncheon, you’ll starve.”

A sudden smile crossed his face as he pushed himself upright, his boots hitting the rug with a muffled thud. “You are a prickly thing, aren’t you?”

“I’m just far too busy to wait on you hand and foot.”

He stood, stretching as he did so. “What you are, my love, is difficult.” His gaze flashed over her, lingering on her face. “But tasty, for all that.”

Harriet couldn’t help but note that he was amazingly trim, power emanating from his every move. With his dark hair falling over his brow in startling contrast to the white bandage, his blue eyes shadowed by long, black lashes, he almost took her breath away.

Almost. She still had enough calm, orderly logic to remember that just because he looked like a prince, he was probably anything but. “I’m not trying to make anything difficult. You simply do not understand our position.”

“Ah, but I do. Your mother explained everything. The bank is breathing down your family’s collective necks for the final payment on Garrett Park, and the only thing that has kept them from being even more demanding is the hope that I, the good captain, will arrive with a cargo of gold coins.”

“One good coin might do us. We don’t need that much,” she lied.

“That’s good to hear,” he said dryly, clearly unbelieving. “Your mother told me how important it was that Gower didn’t suspect anything was wrong. So I simply pretended that I remembered things. Frankly, I thought I did a damn fine job, considering how little I had to work with. Your mother was none too forthcoming with any useful details about, ah, my past.”

Harriet sighed. “Mother is rather vague about most things.”

“So I’ve gathered.”

“And I suppose…I suppose I owe you a word of thanks for your efforts.”

He grinned, sexily impish. “Not if it’s going to cause you to rupture something.”

Oh, piffle. Why did he have to suddenly become so engaging? She preferred it when he was being an asinine jackanapes and her irritation could find an outlet. “Thank you for your efforts, but did you have to make up so many details? The name of your ship, the port where she’s berthed?”