“Damn, that feels good. Damn leg itches like fury sometimes.”
“Hello there. You missed almost your entire bath. How are you feeling?”
“Woozy. Shaky. Dizzy. But I am okay. What are you doing?”
She had re-soaped and wet the cloth and gone to work between his legs. “Giving you a bath. Would you rather do this part yourself? You may, if this bothers you.”
A silly grin spread over his face. “I don’t think so. Just keep on with what you’re doing. I’ll watch.”
“From the looks of things, perhaps we had better take care of another matter before I finish. My, you are certainly manly, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been known to go all night, if that’s what you mean.”
“Blair, shush. Surely not. I think you’re just bragging a bit, aren’t you?”
“Touch me there, and you’ll see.”
“Okay, is that a dare? It does look like something is getting lively.” She made a lather in her hands and washed him barehanded, taking her time until he rose fully to the occasion.
“Is this all right?” She caressed him with one hand.
He leaned back and closed his eyes, muffled a roar of delight. “That is more than all right.”
And she finished pleasuring him, feeling dreamy and nearly as satisfied when he came as if they had coupled. Soon he fell back to sleep, lying in the chair, and she covered his naked body with a blanket.
He slept long and deep, and she sat with him, reading from The Woman in White. When he finally stirred, the sun was low in the sky, the room filled with shadows.
He cried out as he awoke, pointed, cursed someone. “Shoot me, you bastard.”
She went to him, remembered what he had said, and waited until sure he was fully out of the nightmare before taking him in her arms.
“Hush, Blair. I love you and you are safe.”
He settled, took a deep breath, and wrapped his arms around her snugly, holding on. “I love you too,” he whispered. “So much. So very much.”
“Shall I fetch Simmons now?” she asked after a while. “He needs to replace the splint.”
“I’m hungry. Do you suppose we could get something to eat?”
“Yes. All right. That would be good. I’ll have Annie fix us something. Perhaps while I’m gone Simmons could help you dress, too. I fear that if I try to do that it will lead to something else and we will purely starve to death.”
“Yes, send him. That is a fine idea.”
She was closing the door when he called her name, and she turned. “That was wonderful. The best bath I’ve ever had. Thank you for staying with me.”
Her throat clogged. No good to cry, that would be silly, but still the tears came. Without speaking, for fear he would hear the tears in her voice, she closed the door at her back and hurried off to the kitchen. If only the days of their marriage could continue to be so enjoyable, she would be utterly happy. That was probably too much to hope for.
Chapter Eleven
She gave Blair the remainder of the morphine dose, and after Simmons delivered a tray of food and left with only a nod, she undressed, glad she hadn’t worn a corset today. She was about to again disobey Blair’s demand that she not sleep with him.
Her skirts fell into a puddle around her feet. In only her pantaloons and camisole, she stepped over them, circled the bed, and sat on the edge to remove her shoes and stockings. Tonight she wouldn’t bother to braid her hair, for she was so very weary. The pins came out easily, and she laid them on the bedside table, then ran her fingers through her hair so it tumbled down her back. She turned down the bedcovers and crawled under them. His arm lay stretched out toward her, and she took his hand in both hers, placed his knuckles against her heart, lowered her head to the pillow, and curled her knees.
For a long while she lay very still, listening to the rhythm of his breathing, then closed her eyes and let weariness overtake her.
Blair clawed his way out of the depths of sleep, pursued by a ragged-jawed monster chewing away at his leg. He lay for a moment, tensed against the fierce agony. Something trapped one arm, and he reached out blindly to free it, opened his eyes. Rowena lay curled beside him, holding his hand against her breast. Her heart beat steadily under his fingers.
Her hair, loosened from its usual pinning, spread around her on the pillow. In the glow from the lamp her features were indistinct, but he knew them so well he imagined the blue eyes The silken skin was slightly flushed. She was truly there, and his heart slowed to match the rhythm of hers.
My God, how could that be? But it was. Their hearts beat as one.
Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled, bent her head, and kissed his hand.
“Are you in pain? If you’ll let me go, I’ll get your morphine.”
For a moment, he didn’t comprehend what she’d said. Where was Simmons? Was this one of his dreams?
“Rowena?”
“Yes, darling. It’s me. It’s okay to let go. I won’t go anywhere.”
“I can’t.” Pain mixed with panic seized him, and he gritted his teeth against groaning.
“Why?”
“You’re keeping me safe. From the darkness. If I let you go, you’ll leave. They will return. Dear God. Please help me!”
“Blair, listen to me. You’re safe and I’m here. I’m here to help you, and I’m not going anywhere. But I have to get your medicine. To help with the pain.” She gently worked her fingers loose from his grip. “I won’t leave. I’ll just reach over you and get the glass.” To prove what she said, rather than trying to pull away she inched closer. On her knees, she leaned across his chest.
Her warm body touched his, reassuring him she was really there. He turned her loose. Unable yet to believe her, he shut his eyes and clenched both fists against the agony creeping in waves up his leg. She would be gone when he looked. It was best, that way he would not hurt her in the midst of a nightmare. But the pain, oh, God, the pain. Like a fire consuming him.
“Got it,” she said, and knelt at his side on the mattress, lifted his head from the pillow, and offered the glass of liquid.
He drank greedily. When the glass was empty, he sank back with a sigh. “Don’t go away, please. Stay with me. Don’t let them return. I know it’s wrong. You should go away, but…” His voice trailed away.
His body went limp as if sinking into a featherbed. For as long as he could, he watched her beautiful face, until it disappeared into a wavering pit, a world of flashing lights, darkness, and echoes of her fading words, “I’m not leaving you. I won’t, so don’t ask.”
He awoke with a start from a dreamless sleep. Sunlight poured into the room. All the drapes were open, a tray sat on the nightstand, and Rowena was seated in a chair by the windows, watching him. As soon as his eyes opened, she rose and crossed the carpet on bare feet to lean down, take his hand, and kiss him on the cheek. The warmth of her soft body soaked through to his. She had not yet dressed for the day, but wore a morning frock, a simple dress without a corset or underskirts. The pale fabric hugged the long line of her legs. Dark circles bruised the skin under her eyes, but she smiled, bringing a sparkle to their sky-blue color.
“Good morning. Do you have any pain?”
“A little, but it’s not bad yet.”
“Good, then perhaps you can eat something. You are too thin. Put your arms around my neck.” She leaned over him. The soft mound of her loose breasts pressed against him, and he embraced the passion that overcame the pain. “Come on, arms around my neck.”
He did as she asked, and she cupped a hand behind his head and pulled him to a sitting position, then propped pillows at his back. “There, better, hmmm?”
“Rowena? What are you doing? You’re not my nursemaid. This is Simmons’ job.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I can care for you just as well as he can. Besides,” she added, kissing him playfully on the tip of his chin, “you asked me to stay, and so I shall.”
She turned back the covers and slid th
e chamber pot from under the bed.
“I’m not… You’re not… No, call Simmons. I was not in my right mind.” He could not allow this. Not this. “I should not have asked you.”
“Too late for that. Why are you embarrassed? We are married. I’ve seen all of you, touched you, bathed you, for goodness’ sake.” The fair complexion of her cheeks flushed at the memory.
“Then that was real, not a dream. But all the same, it was different.”
“Don’t be silly. I will not look, if that’s what you’re worried about. Besides, you have done the same for me.” Resolutely, she went back to the window and stood with her back to him until he finished.
“You can’t lift me into the chair.”
She smiled, brought a washcloth for him, and when he was finished scrubbing his hands and face, set the tray on his lap. “Now eat. Every bite.”
He picked up his fork and speared some cold potatoes, then eyed her. “What are you up to?”
“Oh, don’t be dense. I’m trying to make myself indispensable, what else? Why? Don’t you like it?”
Damn her, how could she be the one who was so dense? This was no life for her, caring for a man who might well be a cripple the remainder of his life. If they were truly married, it could be annulled. What about all that other mad behavior? Trouble was, he liked having her around just fine. He especially liked her in his bed, and he tried not to think of that. She kept him sane, but that was not her job, and he could not allow it. Simply could not allow her to ruin her life caring for him.
“Well? You haven’t answered me.” She smiled, an attempt at winning him over.
He wolfed down the remainder of the meal from the night before and leaned back. “You may go, and take my tray now, please. Send Simmons and Grady in. I need some morphine and I’ll want to get out of bed before the damned stuff knocks me out.”
His sharp tone changed her pleased expression to one of disappointment. But he had to give it to her, she did not back down. Picking up the tray, she looked him in the eye, held his gaze for a long while.
“It does not matter what you say to me, you know. I’m not going anywhere, and you’re going to keep your promises.”
“What? I didn’t promise you anything but a roof over your head.”
“Yes, yes, you did. Besides our wedding vows, you promised to dance with me at the Thanksgiving celebration, and you promised to buy me a horse and teach me to ride. I’m holding you to both of them.”
In a movement so swift he couldn’t anticipate it, she kissed him full on the mouth. Her tongue darted out swiftly and her eyes sparkled. She swept from the room before he could say a word. He still did not remember the wedding vows, certainly not the horse thing, and the other, whatever Thanksgiving was, and Christmas on the way. He could not keep such foolish promises, and surely she couldn’t expect him to. The idea saddened him. He stared down at his splinted leg. A hell of a thing, surviving the worst the war could hand him only to be run over by a damned dray and crippled.
It would not be permanent. He would not allow it. He would ask Grady to get him some of those sticks, they called them crutches, and as soon as he could, he’d be back on his feet. Be damned if he’d let life choose when he gave up. He would pick the time and place, by God, not some damned doctor. One more thing. He had to stop loving that beautiful woman, convince her to stop loving him. Desire trickled through him at the thought of her. He wanted her, and she wanted him. When he held her, anything seemed possible. But what a fool he was to think that way. It was only romantic nonsense.
A knock sounded on the door, then Simmons came in with Grady in tow.
“Lady Rowena sent us. Said you wanted in your chair. Have you had your morphine this morning?”
“I don’t want any yet. Just help me into that damned contraption and then leave me alone. And stop calling her Lady Rowena.”
“Reckon you had a rough night, huh, Captain? She said to let her know when you were settled. Seems she wants to read to you, or some such.”
Blair snorted. “My robe’s at the foot of the bed.”
After helping him into the robe, the men moved to each side, slipped his arms across their shoulders, then walked him to the chair. Each step brought a renewed jag of pain, which he tried to ignore. By the time Simmons pushed him to his favorite spot near the windows, the pain had burned its way deep into the damaged leg.
Without comment, Simmons prepared a dose of the morphine and injected it into his arm.
“Thank you, and you too, Grady,” Blair said by way of apologizing for being such an ass. It was all he could do.
The morphine shot through his bloodstream, and he put his head back, allowed the floating sensation to take over and lift him away, ease the pain.
When he began to come out of it a bit, she sat beside him, reading softly from The Woman in White:
Let Walter Hartright, teacher of drawing, aged twenty-eight years, be heard first.
It was the last day of July. The long hot summer was drawing to a close; and we, the weary pilgrims of the London pavement, were beginning to think of the cloud shadows on the corn fields, and the autumn breezes on the sea-shore.
For my own poor past, the fading summer left me out of health, out of spirits, and if the truth must be told, out of money as well. During the past year I had not managed my professional resources as carefully as usual and my extravagance now limited me to the prospect of spending the autumn economically between my mother’s cottage at Hampstead and my own chambers in town.
He let the words drift through his senses, the sound of her voice gentling his soul, and after a while he reached out and laid his hand on her knee. He was weak, a lost soul, and could not give her up, no matter how hard he tried.
Rowena’s voice caught at his touch, and she swallowed hard, throat burning with unshed tears. She continued to read until she reached a stopping point, then marked the page and set the book aside. Rising, she dropped to her knees beside him, and he cupped her chin in his palm, gazed at her with those incredibly dark eyes.
“No matter what I say, do not leave me. But please, do be careful when I am sleeping. I promise I’ll be on my feet in no time. In time to dance with you and teach you to ride. And I promise I will see this woman—what’s her name?—the one who reads bumps on heads and does her magic cure. And I have not had a drink since the accident. I will not touch it again.”
At that moment she loved him so much she could scarcely speak. A great sob tore from her throat, and she buried her face in his lap, crying, even though all she wanted to do was laugh.
“Please stop. I thought you would be happy.”
“I am,” she managed between heart-wrenching sobs.
“Then show me.”
“In a minute.” She drew a huge sigh, hiccoughed a few times, and raised her head. “I’m a real mess now, I suppose. But here I am trying to show you I’m happy.” She managed a smile.
He dug in the pocket of his robe, came up with a white handkerchief, and mopped her face, then tented it over her nose. “Blow.”
She did, and he made a big production of wiping and folding and wiping some more. Then he handed the kerchief to her. “I think it’s soiled.”
The smile spread, and she tossed the proffered ball of cloth, tossed it in the trash receptacle near the bed. “I trust you have more?”
“Yes, indeed, I do. However, I would prefer that you didn’t require them.” He stared out the window at a new mantle of snow, the sun reflecting off it so bright it hurt one’s eyes to look at it. “Know what I would like to do?”
“No, what?”
“Go outside. Get the stink blowed off me. There’s very little wind today, though.”
She climbed to her feet, laughing along with him. “I think we can manage that. Shall I call Simmons or Grady?”
He took her hand. “No, just you and I. Can you manage?”
“Yes, I can manage. Let’s see, we’ll need heavy coats, I’ll need boots. A blanket to wrap
around your legs.”
“Ask Annie to pack us a picnic lunch. We can sit in the sun and eat together.”
She could scarcely contain her excitement at such an adventure. But even more exciting was the reversal of his attitude and his desire to do something normal with her.
“You wait. Right here. Don’t go anywhere.”
He chuckled. “I’ll try.”
“I’ll get everything arranged and be right back. Blair?”
“What?”
“You’ll be all right while I’m gone?”
“Yes, I’ll be fine. Just hurry back, will you? It might start to snow and ruin our plans.”
“The way weather is around here, that wouldn’t surprise me.” She hurried out the door and down the hallway to the kitchen, skipping like a child and singing a little tune under her breath.
After instructing Annie on including cheese, bread, wine, and apples from the storeroom, she raced to the closet to fetch coats and hats, and boots for herself. She had never dressed from her morning frock, but they would see no one, and she did not want to take the extra time to get into all the folderol women were supposed to wear.
Staggering under the weight of winter garments, she trotted back to Blair’s room. The door was closed. She was sure she had left it open, but maybe not. It was a struggle to uncover a hand enough to turn the knob and push the door open.
“I’m back, darling,” she sang, dumped the head-high pile on the bed, and turned. His chair was empty.
“Oh, God. Oh, God. Blair? Where are you?” Frantic, she checked the bed—but he could not have moved out of that chair alone.
“Get away from me, dammit,” his voice shouted.
On the floor, somewhere on the floor. She dropped to her hands and knees, crawled closer to the chair, because if he’d fallen out he would be right there, on the floor.
He shouted again, this time something indistinct and panic ridden. Muffled.
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