Excerpt of Never Marry a Stranger by Gayle Callen

Emily Grey 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’d become a strong woman, but his entrance into the drawing room had 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’d 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 as 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’d seen him on a boat in the stormy English Channel. He had dark, auburn hair that glistened by lamplight. His amused eyes were hazel, not just one color, but changeable the more she looked at him. When she’d 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 he’d been 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 from the 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 thinking that marriage meant security, but she’d found it herself, without needing an actual husband. She’d learned never to rely on anyone else.

At last she leaned back to look up at him, smiling with happiness, forcing tears to glisten in her eyes. “Matthew!” She repeated his name with gladness and joy.

He was smiling down at her, which gave her some ease, but he studied her face closely. Should she kiss him, distract him from thinking too deeply? She was fully prepared to do what was necessary, but…something stopped her.

“They called you Emily,” he said slowly, as if testing out her name on his tongue, his voice a deep rumble of masculinity.

She grinned as her hands stroked down his shoulders. “I was Emily Grey, but you made me a Leland.” She let her smile fade. “But now I don’t know what to do. I want to show my happiness for your safe return, and cry at the same time. Do you truly remember nothing?”

He shook his head. “A fine homecoming for a wife who hadn’t allowed herself to hope I would return.”

His hands slid down her back slowly, coming to rest on her waist. She’d wanted to distract him, but strangely, just his touch was distracting her. She could not risk such a mental failing.

“How could I hope?” she asked, fingering his lapels. “They said you were dead. I was ill when your mother told me. Even now I remember how lost I felt. But to you, I am just a newly introduced stranger.” As a tear fell from her lashes, she was grateful for such a mask behind which to hide. Though she was playing with fire, she reached to touch his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin and roughness of stubble.

Suddenly, his hands tightened on her waist, pulling her even more intimately against him. His gaze was centered on her mouth.

He thought she was his wife. He could claim his marital rights.

She found she couldn’t breathe, her breasts rising and falling against the hard wall of his chest. Though he was not an exceptionally tall man like his cousin the duke, he still leaned over her, powerful and intimidating. If he ever remembered everything—

He bent even closer, his mouth just above hers. She felt his breath, knew an intense ache that she couldn’t identify. To her surprise, at the last second he turned his head and pressed his warm lips to her cheek. He let her go so quickly that she stumbled back against the bed.