Unmask Me If You Can (The Survivors, #4)

by Galen, Shana

  He waved a hand. “I need to stand up and stretch my legs. I want to have a look outside.” It must have been raining for days. He wondered what effect that had on the trail.

  “Maybe tomorrow,” she said, her voice shaking. Jasper had never been very good with horses. That was Nicholas’s forte, and he’d always been in charge of the troop’s horses when they’d been fighting Napoleon on the Continent. But Jasper knew enough of skittish animals to move slowly around them and speak softly.

  “Maybe today.” He slid the sheet aside, revealing both of his legs. His feet were bare, his ankles bound to the posts at the bottom of the bed’s footboard. “I promise I will just walk around. Nothing more.” He reached for the bindings and the pain in his side lanced through him. Damn it. He looked up at Miss Carlisle, whose face had paled.

  “Will you loosen the bindings?”

  “I really think you should rest another day. The fever has not yet passed and moving too much may open your wound again.”

  “Will you loosen them or do I have to open the wound by doing it myself?” He met her gaze, knowing he could be as stubborn as anyone when he wanted. She glared right back at him, hands on her hips. Her blue eyes turned darker and her small, sweet mouth turned down. Bloody Christ. She wouldn’t do it. He could see the defiance in her small frame from her head to her toes.

  “I found them!” Richard announced. He dropped them in a pail beside the ladder and lowered it with the use of a rope attached to a pulley system down to the first floor. Jasper hadn’t noticed that contraption before. Rather ingenious. He made another mark in the Impressed column for Miss Carlisle. Then Richard was scampering down the ladder, scooping his toys into his arms, and heading toward them. He stopped mid-step. “What’s wrong?”

  Jasper looked at Miss Carlisle. It hardly seemed possible, but her glare intensified. Then it vanished, and she turned and smiled at her son. “Not a thing, darling. I need to help his lordship with the bindings on his feet.” She moved to the end of the bed and knelt on the floor beside the headboard.

  “Why are his feet tied?” Richard asked.

  “I didn’t want him to fall out of bed and hurt himself.” She lied smoothly. He shouldn’t have added that to the Impressed column, but as a consummate liar himself, Jasper admired the trait more than he ought.

  Miss Carlisle grasped his ankle and loosened the rope, and Jasper found himself riveted to the sight of her hands on his skin. He’d never thought of his ankle as an erogenous area, but her touch was making him reconsider. While Jasper tried to tamp down his lust, Richard held up one animal after another to show to Jasper. There were about seven in all—a horse, a hedgehog, a fox, a baby fox, a chicken, a pig, and a cow. They were carved from smooth wood and then painted. Jasper could fit three in one hand, but each was about the size of Richard’s small palm. “These are good craftsmanship,” Jasper said, not certain what other remarks to make about wooden animals. “Did your mother carve them?” He rather doubted she had that ability, but from what he knew of her so far, he wouldn’t put anything past her.

  “No, sir. We bought them at the little shop in Penbury. You must have seen it when you came through the village.”

  A shop with toy animals. Even if he had seen it, Jasper wouldn’t have noted it. “I’m certain I did. What was it called?”

  “The Curious Cabinet. It’s my favorite shop in all the world.”

  As he prattled on, one rope binding fell away, and Jasper moved his foot from side to side. His feet felt rather numb and no wonder, as he hadn’t moved them for days. He watched as Miss Carlisle moved to his other ankle, her small fingers working the knots on the binding and brushing against his skin in the process.

  “And my friend Martin lives there.”

  Jasper arched a brow, though no one could see it with his mask on. “You have a friend named Martin?” This surprised him. He hadn’t thought Miss Carlisle would risk friendships.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Richard.”

  “I mean, yes, sir. He’s six, and sometimes we play with our animals together. Mama said I can go to his house for dinner one day.”

  “I said I would think about it.” She rose, and Jasper almost wished she’d tie him again just so she’d have to keep touching him. “There you are.” She took a step backward, her hand on Richard’s shoulder so he moved back, and away, from Jasper as well. “Just move slowly so you don’t fall.” Her voice trembled, and Jasper had the feeling if she hadn’t had to hide her fear from her son, she would have run as fast and as far from him as she could. As it was, she continued moving backward, putting the table between herself and her son and Jasper.

  “Mama, I can’t show him my animals over here,” Richard complained.

  Jasper set one foot on the floor then the other. Just the act of sitting up made the world tilt. “She just wants you out of the way, Master Richard. It’s a good idea as right now the room is spinning and I see three of you.”

  “Three of me?” This was obviously an entertaining thought for the boy. He held up one of his animals. “How many of Horsey do you see?”

  “Six.” Jasper heaved himself up from the bed then rested an elbow on the wall behind the headboard. He didn’t really see six wooden horses, but he really did feel like he might lose consciousness at any moment. It wasn’t the fever, though surely that played a role, as much as the searing pain in his side that made him want to double over and moan.

  He gritted his teeth and stood. It was all he could manage at the moment, and he was determined to support himself. When he felt a good deal steadier, he lifted an arm and peered at his side. White linen bound his upper abdomen, covering the stitches. He slid it down and peered at the epicenter of the pain. The skin looked raw and red, but the stitches were neat and even. He didn’t see any indication of infection. He’d seen that all too often during the war, and he knew the signs. He wished he had a mirror so he might have a better view.

  Slowly—no reason to fall over by moving his head too quickly—he looked over at Miss Carlisle. When he saw her face, all thoughts of a mirror vanished. She had both arms wrapped around her son’s shoulders. Her eyes were huge in her face, like twin bruises against her waxy complexion. She was trembling, and even her son must have known she was afraid because his face had fallen and his eyes welled with tears.

  Jasper failed to understand how she could fear him. He could barely stand on his own. What did she think he’d do to her in this condition? But he wanted to calm her and the boy, not chastise them. “I said I wouldn’t hurt you.” He kept his voice low and level. “Even if I thought to hurt you, I couldn’t. I’m completely at your mercy, Miss Carlisle.”

  She blinked and swallowed visibly. “We are not used to visitors, my lord. And with the mask, you look—” She gestured as though unable to find the words.

  “Like a monster,” her son added helpfully.

  “Richard!”

  Jasper held his hand up then regretted releasing the wall and grasped it again. He lowered himself onto the bed, resting his elbows on his knees and breathing far more heavily than his minimal effort should require. “It’s fine, Miss Carlisle. He’s only curious.” Like everyone else in the world. “Perfectly natural.”

  Jasper raised his head to look Miss Carlisle and her son squarely in the face. She had relaxed slightly, but she still had her arms around Richard and kept the table as a protective barrier.

  “If you think I look like a monster with the mask, you would be even more terrified if I removed it.”

  Richard’s eyes widened—not in fear but in fascination. “Do you ever take it off?” he whispered.

  “Richard!”

  Jasper held up a hand again. “Of course. In fact, I’d like to remove it and bathe my face and hair.” He’d like to bathe more than that. Miss Carlisle had kept his wound clean, but the rest of him felt grimy.

  “We usually bathe in the stable,” she said. “But with all the rain, the path is muddy, and I fear you’d return from
your bath dirtier than you left.”

  Not to mention the fact that even if the stable were close by, he couldn’t have walked the distance in his present state.

  “Then perhaps I might trouble you for a basin of water, a towel, and some privacy?”

  “Of course.” She nodded. With what seemed practiced efficiency, she shooed her son up the ladder and into his loft, then she gathered the necessary supplies. Jasper did not move. He didn’t want to scare her, but he also knew he’d need his strength for the coming task. She set the basin of water, a clean cloth, and a small bar of soap next to a chair in one corner. Then she grasped a long piece of floral fabric that had been secured to the ceiling. Turning to him, she pulled the fabric to the side and tied it with a ribbon on the other corner. “This should give you some measure of privacy. I’ll go into the loft with Richard and won’t come down until you give the word.”

  He nodded. “I don’t suppose you have any clean clothing that will fit me?”

  She shook her head. “Your shirt is a complete loss. It was stuck to your skin with dried blood, and I had to cut it off. I could wash your trousers, but I haven’t any way to dry them save hanging them by the fire. The rain has made a clothesline outside impossible.”

  Clean trousers were something. He could wash his own small clothes and hang them on the rack by the fire as well. Of course, that would mean he’d be naked until his clothing dried, but he would be under the bed sheets and thus unlikely to send Miss Carlisle into hysterics.

  “I’d appreciate that. Thank you.”

  She started for the ladder then paused. She spoke without turning around. “I suppose you should call for me if you need assistance.”

  “I won’t,” he said.

  “But if you do...”

  “I’ll call out.” But the last thing he wanted was for anyone, especially this woman who was already afraid of him, to see his scarred face.

  She climbed nimbly up the ladder, giving him nary a flash of her ankles, and Jasper made the slow, onerous trek to the chair just a few feet away. There he sank onto the chair, stripped down, and proceeded to tackle the difficult task of washing his body.

  Four

  He was naked. A naked man was in her cottage, and she was sitting in the loft doing nothing. Olivia didn’t know if she was terrified or excited. Probably a little of both.

  Fortunately, she had Richard to distract her. She helped him prepare for bed. It was a little early for his bedtime, but she didn’t know how long they would be up here. By the time Lord Jasper finished his ablutions, it might be past Richard’s bedtime. She resisted peeking down to see if he’d made it to the chair and helped Richard don his nightshirt.

  “Read me a story, Mama?” Richard asked.

  “Very well. You find the book, and I’ll light the lamp.” She took the tinder box from the shelf and lit the lamp she kept on the other side of the shelf. She did not look down, though she would have had a perfect view of Lord Jasper, a view from above that would have made the curtain useless.

  “This one, Mama.” Richard pointed to the page in the book that began the story he wanted, and Olivia smiled. It was a story of a mother bear who loses her cub and searches all night to find him. She can’t locate the baby bear and returns despondent to her cave, whereupon she finds the cub fast asleep in his usual spot. Richard loved it, no doubt, because he saw himself as the bear cub—bravely exploring the world and then returning safely to a mother who worried for nothing. Olivia liked it because it showed the love and dedication a mother, a mother of any species, has for her child. Like the mother bear, Olivia knew she would have searched all night for her baby. Unlike the mother bear, she would have gone to the ends of the earth before she’d given up. If her little cub returned home, she would probably never find him because she’d still be out searching.

  Richard climbed under his covers, and Olivia snuggled beside him, using her finger to follow the words in hopes that Richard might be able to read some of them one day soon. She didn’t need to look at the words herself. She knew this story very, very well.

  When that story was done, and Lord Jasper still had not called for her, she started another. About halfway through, Richard went limp, and she closed the book, tucked him in and blew out the lamp. The loft was darker now, but the lamp and the fire below still burned and she had plenty of light. She sat beside the bed and watched her son sleep, tracing the line of his brow, the slope of his cheek, and the roundness of his lips with her eyes.

  Finally, he rolled over and settled into a deeper sleep, and she pulled her knees to her chest and rested her head on them. She had a thousand things to do before the day dawned tomorrow, and none of them could be done in the loft. She hoped the rain finally passed because she would like to air out the cottage and sweep the floors. Not to mention, her garden was more of a pond at the moment, and poor Clover was restless in the stable. Olivia had gone to feed and groom her, of course, but, like Richard and her, the horse wanted to stretch her legs.

  Lord Jasper had wanted to stretch his tonight too. She had known that when he began to feel better he would be more of a threat. She had just thought his recovery would take longer. He still had a fever, and he was obviously still weak. She did not think if she had been in his position she would have been able to stand. But Lord Jasper was obviously a remarkably strong man. When he’d stood beside her bed, she couldn’t help but note he was also a large man. She felt like a child standing in his shadow. He could have grabbed her and hurt her or Richard with very little effort indeed.

  But he hadn’t.

  He’d made no move toward her or Richard and again insisted that he meant them no harm. She would believe that when he was gone. Men lied, and as far as she could see, he was no different than other men.

  Except for the mask.

  But the mask wasn’t what had drawn her attention tonight. When she’d sent Richard upstairs to safety and Lord Jasper was once again seated, she couldn’t help but steal peeks at his chest. Again. Olivia didn’t know why it should fascinate her so. It was just a part of his body. His very male body. When she looked at it, she had the urge to touch it the muscled ridges and the smattering of golden brown hair. She had touched his chest because she’d cleaned it and bathed it, but she wanted to touch him far less platonically.

  How could it be that she both wanted to run from him and wanted to touch him? She didn’t understand herself in moments like this. She knew why she wanted to run. Withernsea had made certain she would never see men as interesting or diverting. For years now, she had shuddered with disgust when she even thought about a man touching her. She avoided all contact when she went into Penbury, keeping her face partially obscured with a veil she wore because she claimed to be a widow.

  And Olivia wasn’t certain that Lord Jasper touching her wouldn’t make her shudder with revulsion. But for the first time she actually wanted to touch a man. She had the urge to run a finger over his strong jaw and his pale pink lips. She might thread her fingers through the straight ends of the dark blond hair that hung below his mask. She could imagine his hazel eyes fixed on her, and her chest tightened at the thought. Yes, she definitely wanted to touch him.

  The very thought made her head pop up and off her knees. Olivia couldn’t remember the last time she’d been attracted to a man. She supposed it had been when she’d been one of those silly girls during the London Season. So many of the young men then had been handsome and charming and graceful dancers. She’d found any number of them attractive and interesting.

  Never Withernsea. Even then he’d been older than she and had a look about him that made her cringe. But she’d enjoyed dancing with the younger men. She’d liked placing her hand on their arms and feeling the warmth of their breath as they whispered to her. She’d liked the light brush of an arm across her back or the quick clasp of a hand on her waist.

  Olivia felt her face grow hot. Perhaps Withernsea had seen how much she’d liked all of that and given her just what she’d deserve
d. That was what he’d said at any rate. She was a slut, and he was just treating her like the little strumpet she was.

  But she hadn’t been a strumpet. She hadn’t done anything inappropriate. And even if she had been a slut, it didn’t give him the right to...to...

  She bit her lip to stave off tears and heard the chair scrape on the floor. She should call down and see if Lord Jasper needed assistance. Or she could just take a quick peek. That was far quieter, and she didn’t want to wake Richard or make Lord Jasper feel as though he should hurry.

  She rose to her knees and leaned to the side so she might see around the wall of the loft. She only wanted to be certain Lord Jasper wasn’t lying on the floor, injured, but when she caught sight of the curtain, she could not look away.

  Dear God in Heaven.

  The curtain had parted slightly, or perhaps he’d never fully closed it, and she could see directly inside. She’d thought she would only be able to spot his head from this height, but with the curtain askew she could see far more than that. And what she noted was the man wore nothing at all. He stood facing the chair, his back to the room and her, and the firelight flickered gold over long legs, taut buttocks, and a wide, muscled back.

  Her mouth went dry and her face burst into flame. And yet it wasn’t embarrassment she felt. If she had, she might have looked away. It was desire. She hadn’t felt it in a long, long time—she hadn’t thought herself capable of feeling it ever again—but here it was. The longing was palpable, pulsing through her like the blood in her veins. The hair on her arms tingled, her chest tightened, and her belly felt warm and soft.

  With reluctance, she pulled back and out of sight. But not before she caught a glimpse of the side of Lord Jasper’s face. It must have been the side that was uninjured—either that or he’d lied about the injury—because it was absolutely perfect. He was a handsome man with a strong nose and a square jaw. He was also vaguely familiar. She had most certainly seen him at the theater or a ball all those years ago during the Season. And that meant he wasn’t lying about who he was.