She picked up the thick braid that hung lifeless and dull over her shoulder.
“Yes, we’ll wash your hair too. Now, what do you say?”
She looked ready to dance. “Oh yes, Phillip. I should like that very much. I’m beginning to feel crawly.”
“Don’t insult me. I’ve kept you quite clean.”
She paled. She looked away, her lips clamped together.
He cursed under his breath, but she heard it and stared at him. “Forgive me, but if I hadn’t taken care of you, then I fear you would be a lovely angel in heaven.”
“I’m sorry, Phillip, truly I am. It’s just that it’s so very difficult. You’ve been very good to me and you don’t even know me.”
He’d know her better if she just told him who she really was. He nodded and left the bedchamber.
When he returned, two large buckets filled with hot water slung over his arms, Sabrina was sitting up in bed, staring at him as if he were bringing her Christmas presents. He laughed.
“No, don’t leap out of bed just yet. I’ve got to fetch the tub.”
Three minutes later, steam was rising out of the copper tub. “Do you have soap?”
“I wish you wouldn’t doubt my scavenging skills.” He lifted a bar of soap and smelled it. “It’s jasmine. No, just stay there another moment. We need more water. You’ve lots of hair.”
After he’d filled the tub, he turned and paused a moment, watching her unbraid her hair. “Who owns this hunting box?”
“Why, it’s Ch—” She looked like she wanted to bite off her own tongue. She began pulling the tangles from her hair, not looking at him now. “Of course I don’t know. I told you, Phillip. I live in London. I only visit Yorkshire rarely.”
He slapped his palm to his forehead. “How could I be so stupid as to forget that?” He grinned, ignoring the killing look in those incredible eyes of hers, and pulled back the covers. “Come, Sabrina, your bath awaits.”
She tucked the dressing gown tightly about her and swung her feet over the side of the bed. He held out his arms, but she ignored him. She stood up and almost immediately fell against him. “Oh, my, I can’t believe I’m so weak. These were perfectly sturdy legs; just a week ago, they ran and jumped and danced in the drawing room. Why aren’t they working as they should? It’s very unsatisfactory.” He just supported her, then kissed the top of her head.
She didn’t notice. “If you would please just help me to the tub, Phillip, I’ll be all right then. You can leave.”
“Let’s see just how much of your request I can give you.” He picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bathtub. Very slowly, he eased her down at the side of the tub. She looked up at him then, her eyes clear, and said firmly, “Thank you. I’ll be fine now. You can leave now, Phillip.”
“I’ve no intention of nursing you back to health only to have you drown in a bathtub. Be quiet and hold still.” He held her up with one arm and began to unknot the sash at her waist.
She was trying to keep her balance and slap his hands away at the same time. “Please, don’t. I can see to myself, truly I can.”
He knew she was embarrassed. Being unconscious while he cared for her was one thing, but being wide awake, knowing that he was looking at her, well, that was quite another. He sighed deeply. He set her firmly against the side of the tub. “Very well. I’ll go see to our dinner. Call me if you get into trouble.”
She grasped the edge of the tub, not even trying to move until he was gone. She heard his boots on the stairs. She got the sash unknotted. She shrugged out of the dressing gown. Then she looked at that tub. The rim seemed higher than it had just a moment before. She tried very hard. The third time she very nearly managed to pull herself over the edge of the tub. She gritted her teeth and concentrated all her energies on climbing over the side. It seemed higher than a mountain. Her fingers suddenly slipped on the edge of the tub, and she yelled as she fell backward onto the floor. She was stunned for a moment, then very cold, the wood hard and icy beneath her back. She had to get up, she had to. She could do it. She wasn’t helpless. Very well, she’d lie here quietly, but just for another moment or two.
She heard him coming but she didn’t have the strength to even pull the dressing gown over her. Then two strong arms clasped her about the waist and raised her to her feet.
She wished she were unconscious. She even closed her eyes tightly, praying for oblivion. Naturally oblivion wasn’t anywhere near.
“It’s all right, Sabrina,” Phillip said, and lifted her into the tub.
The blessed hot water swirled up about her chin as he released her. She didn’t look at him, she couldn’t. She also knew she was being silly, but she couldn’t help it. To the best of her memory, Phillip was the first person to ever see her without her clothes on, at least since she reached ten years and didn’t need her nanny anymore.
He said easily as he rolled up his sleeves, “I’ll wash your hair. Can you wash the rest of you?”
She had to think about that. “I’ll try, but I still don’t like this.”
“Taking young virgins is not one of my pastimes of choice. Calm yourself and lie still. If you don’t have the energy for the rest of you, I’ll get to it.” He didn’t wait for her to perhaps curse him, which she didn’t do well, not having had sufficient models in her young sheltered life. He washed her hair, complaining endlessly “. . . you’ve got too much hair. Look at all the bald men, you’ve got enough to cover every bald head in an entire village. There, about done. Now, I’m going to wash the rest of you, then we’ll rinse everything at once.”
She didn’t try to fight him. No, she just tried to make herself into a small ball, but even that didn’t work. When he soaped the sponge and washed her belly, she yelped. He ignored her, efficiently washing the rest of her even while she squirmed about. Actually, he was enjoying himself. Laughter was better than lust. She was an experience in contortions, not in seduction.
“Close your eyes, I’m going to wash your face.”
Her mouth was opening to curse him, very probably, when the soapy sponge rubbed her face. She sputtered and cursed him then. He laughed at the indignant expression in her eyes, the only part of her face that wasn’t white with suds.
“Hold your breath, under you go.” He pushed her head into the bathwater. She came up, sputtering for breath.
“You did that on purpose. You’re trying to make me mad so I won’t be embarrassed. Well, it’s working, but I want you to know that I realize that you’re manipulating me and I don’t know—”
He pushed her head under again.
“Now we’ve got your hair to deal with.”
When all the soap was finally rinsed from her hair, he wound a towel about her head. He thought briefly about how he could save her further embarrassment, but saw that she was exhausted. If he hadn’t come quickly to her, she would have slipped down into the water and drowned in the tub.
He picked her up and eased her down in front of the fire, holding her while he toweled her dry. She hung on to him, knowing she had no choice, not really caring now in any case. She just wanted to collapse onto the warm carpet and sleep until spring. But then something very strange happened. One moment she just wanted to sink into herself. The next moment she felt an awareness of him deep within her. She’d never felt anything like this in her entire eighteen years. She was naked and he wasn’t, yet he wasn’t doing anything hurtful to her. He was strong. His hands were large and steady as he moved the towel over her. He turned her slightly to dry the front of her. Oddly, she wasn’t embarrassed. She stared up at him, into those beautiful eyes of his. It wasn’t embarrassment that made her shudder when that towel traveled over her belly.
15
Phillip felt her shuddering, trying to pull away from him, and cursed to himself. He’d frightened her. “It’s going to be all right. I’m nearly done drying you. Just hold still, Sabrina.”
“I’m trying,” she said, but then she looked up at him, met his eyes,
and knew that if he didn’t let her go very quickly she was going to embarrass him and kiss him until she was breathless. Oh, dear, surely she wasn’t supposed to ever feel like that. It was because she was still ill, because she was still weak, because she trusted him, at least in this. In what?
Phillip felt a ton of lust bearing down on him. No, no, he wasn’t about to take advantage of her. Here she was shuddering from fear, from cold, from—he didn’t know what, and he wanted to mount her. He was a bastard. Without looking at her again, he bundled her up in the dressing gown and carried her to a chair next to the fire.
“It’s time for your servant to carry out another duty. Behold your new maid.” He turned away from her before she could reply and pulled the blankets and sheets from the bed.
Sabrina watched him work. He looked nice, despite his wrinkled shirt that was open a goodly way down his chest, a chest that had dark hair on it. She looked into the fireplace. This was better. He wasn’t here to make her think stupid things, to make her body feel stupid things. Still, she wondered about those strange feelings low in her belly when he’d touched her, stupid feelings for all that, feelings a woman didn’t need, particularly this woman. She pictured Trevor in her mind’s eye. Now, the revulsion she’d felt for him, that was what was appropriate to feel. That was safe because it was revolting. She’d just never imagined. Well, now she knew. She shook her head, bemused, and raised her head when he came back to brush her wet hair.
Sabrina slept through the afternoon and awoke near sunset. She lay quietly for some minutes, sniffing in the faint lavender scent of the clean sheets and the faint jasmine scent from her bath. She raised her hand to her hair, carefully arranged about her head. It was dry, all of it, and soft. No more oily braid. He’d complained constantly for five minutes, the length of time it took him to get all the tangles out of her wet hair. In fact, she grinned, then laughed. That made her cough.
The cough brought her struggling up to her elbows to catch her breath. She wasn’t surprised at all to hear Phillip’s booted footsteps on the stairs.
“Drink this, Sabrina. It’s got honey in it. I’ve kept it warm for you, just in case. It will soothe your throat. Slowly now. That’s right.”
It was strong hot tea. The honey in it made it slide down her throat.
She lay back against the pillow and gave him a brooding look. “I think that girl must have been mad.”
Phillip placed the teacup on the night table and sat on the bed beside her. In an unconscious gesture, he smoothed a lock of auburn hair from her forehead.
“What girl? Any girl I know?”
“The girl you were once engaged to, the girl you mentioned when you were trying to pry me open yesterday, and her name slipped out of your mouth, and then I had you.”
“Actually, she wasn’t mad, but perhaps she is now. Who knows? One can only pray.”
“What was she?”
“She wasn’t honorable. Do you understand that?”
“All I know is that if I made a promise to someone, I would stick to it unless someone was torturing me too much for me to bear.”
“Yes, that’s exactly how I feel about honor.”
“You don’t still pine for her, do you, Phillip?”
“Pine? What a foolish word. No, I rarely even think about her now. It’s just that she’s in London so I still see her and remember. Perhaps the memories are good to have. They keep perspective. They discourage acting before thinking things through thoroughly. Just why do you think her mad?”
“It’s obvious. With you about, Phillip, she would have been able to make so many economies. She would hardly have required more than one servant.”
“I am rather a good servant, aren’t I? Throughout my life I’ve done bits and pieces of things, but never so much in so little an amount of time. Actually, truth be told, I’m relieved that I was able to make food that we could digest. I have only one major failure.”
“Oh no, surely not. Even the flat bread that you didn’t mean to be flat was still all right. Come, what is this major failure? Come, tell me. I’m sure I can talk you out of it.”
“You don’t trust me. I’ve done everything I can think of, used every argument that came to mind, but it does no good. You don’t trust me. I’ve told you stories that have spanned my twenty-six years, but the recounting left you unmoved. You still don’t trust me. You haven’t told me anything that would enable me to help you. Now, you are a good liar. With a few more years, you should be nearly as good as I am. But lies aren’t what are needed here.”
She’d made one stupid remark about that Elaine person and just look where it had gotten her. A sermon about trust. Well, curse it and curse him. She smoothed the green coverlet over her lap and stared at the bedposts.
She’d closed down again. Well, damn. He felt a surge of anger and savored it. “You must know,” he said now, his voice turning hard, “that the servants who care for this house will be able to return any day now. The weather has warmed and the snow is melting. If I’m to help you return safely to your family—wherever they may live—you will have to make a clean breast of it. Was Diablo your horse, Sabrina? Did you grandfather shoot him?”
Her head snapped around so fast, he nearly laughed. But he didn’t, just gave her that hard-eyed stare. “How do you know about Diablo? I was only ten years old. My sister took him without my knowing of it and crammed him over a fence.” The memory swamped her. She felt her throat closing. It had been eight years ago.
“What happened?”
“He broke his leg on the landing. He had to be put down. How did you know about Diablo?”
“You were delirious in your fever. You cried out about him.”
He read the fear on her face and he wanted to shake her. “Did I speak of anything else?”
“Trevor.”
“Yes, Trevor,” she repeated and turned away from him.
Phillip wanted to shake her but he couldn’t. When she was well enough to shake but good, it would be too late. He rose and looked down at her. “If you don’t tell me the truth, if you don’t arm me with the facts I need to protect you, then you reduce me to nothing. Listen to me. No matter what happened, I can help you, if you’ll but tell me the truth.”
“What happened to me has nothing to do with you, Phillip. I’m nearly well. By tomorrow morning I should be completely fit. It you would take me to Borhamwood, to the posting house, you need never see me again.”
“I can’t do that, Sabrina, and you must know that I can’t. You’re a young lady. You’re eighteen years old. I can’t assist you to escape from your family and put you on a common stage to London. You cannot begin to imagine the sort of man you could meet on that stage. No, I would never do that. Forget it, and tell me the truth.”
He would bend, but he wouldn’t break. He’d drawn the line across the path. She didn’t look at him, just shook her head. After he left her to go to the kitchen to make their dinner, she thought long and hard about her plan. It hadn’t been fair to involve him even in that. No, she couldn’t very well expect an honorable man to put her on a stage bound for London.
Phillip appeared thoughtful during the evening. He didn’t say much, but she knew he was aware of her, aware of how many bites of his stew she’d eaten, how many mouthfuls of bread she’d chewed. She knew he was worried about her. For a moment she felt uncertain. Then she thought about the hideous chaos that would await her at Monmouth Abbey were she to allow him to take her back there. It was all she could do not to shudder.
“You told me you were visiting friends here in Yorkshire,” she said, hating the interminable silence, for it wasn’t a comfortable silence, a companionable silence.
“Yes, that’s what I told you.”
“Who is this friend?”
He was looking down at his filthy Hessians. He said without looking up, “Undoubtedly he’s a friend of yours—Sir Charles Askbridge.”
Charlie. She had to keep calm, act all sorts of ignorant and indifferent. She s
miled. “Mayhap that name is a bit familiar to me.”
He didn’t pretend boredom now. “As you well know, Sabrina, Charles’s Yorkshire home is called Moreland. Even though the directions he provided me led me into Eppingham Forest and thus to find you, I would wager that Moreland isn’t too far distant from here.”
Moreland was no more than seven miles distant. Charlie loved to hunt in the forest since he’d been a boy. And he knew Phillip. How very close Phillip had been to his destination. She shrugged and pretended to study her fingernails.
“I imagine that you quite like Charles. Everyone does. What do you think of his younger sister, Margaret? She’s not much older than you are.”
Margaret was twenty, just between Sabrina and Elizabeth. She shook her head and stared at him with a vacant expression. He was angry, but he held it in very well. She was impressed. “You were riding by yourself. Isn’t that unusual for a viscount?”
“I left my incredible retinue of servants in Leeds. I struck out on my own, feeling brave and ready for adventure. Instead look what I got myself into. Would you like the rest of my traveling details? Of course you would. I imagine you are aware of the rounds of Christmas parties held outside of London at this time of year. Even though you look blank as a schoolboy’s slate, I know that you do. Don’t get me wrong. You’re an excellent actress. It’s just that I’ve come to know you very well. In any case, Charles invited me to Moreland and gave me directions that led me to this isolated place. I had sent my valet ahead. I had this romantic notion about becoming one with nature. What rot. So you see, Sabrina, it is probable that both Charles and your family are now out looking for us.” He added, his voice so serious she again nearly spilled her innards, “It can’t be longer than a day now, two at the most before they find us.”
She knew that he was right, but held her tongue. At last she had an idea. She yawned and stretched. “Your delicious dinner has lulled my stomach and now my head. I think I’d like to sleep now.” She yawned again and snuggled down under the covers.
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