The Companion

by Deborah Simmons

  And before he could argue or comment in any fashion, she rose to her feet, as if what she had just said was of little consequence. But it was, and Kit knew it. He had seen them himself on his way home, in London and on those few times he ventured forth from Hawthorne Park, men who had risked everything and now had nothing. And he found himself deep in thought before he realized just what she had done.

  Unlike his grandmother, Chloe never raised her voice or argued. She simply laid out the best course in the plainest, most reasonable terms with unassailable logic. As for the rest, it was implied. She didn’t tell him what to do, she simply expected him to do what was right, and though he resented the hell out of it, Kit knew she had done it again.

  Only this time he wasn’t in the mood for her manipulations. How often had she played with him since her arrival, twisting and turning his thoughts and emotions until he forgot all about his guilt and his grief? Kit had reached the very limit of his endurance. And instead of mulling over her words, he surged to his feet, angry that she had left the room without his leave, that she didn’t seem to care that he wanted her beyond all reason, and, worst of all, that she dared give him a reason to live when he didn’t want one.

  Kit caught up with her in the grand salon. Or rather, he shouted at her, and she halted, eyeing him with that unperturbable expression that so annoyed him. “Maybe I don’t want to think about it,” he said. “Maybe I don’t want to listen to you or to sit still for your so-called healing. Maybe it’s time I paid you off and sent you on your way, Miss Chloe Gibbons.”

  Kit thought he detected a hint of hurt in her dark eyes, but that didn’t stop him. It seemed that this was his last chance, his final opportunity to push her away, drive her from his home and his life forever, and he grasped at it, throwing the worst things he could think of at her head.

  “Who ever heard of a hired companion for a man, anyway?” he demanded. “There’s only one thing a man wants from a woman like you, and it isn’t companionship! You might remember what it is from the night in the folly when I put my hands and my mouth on you, when I tried to get under your skirts.”

  Kit watched the blush stain her cheeks, but didn’t heed it, and, driven by something he could not name, he continued to lash out at her. “Just in case you’ve forgotten, Chloe, shall I tell you exactly how you can heal me? Shall I tell you just what I want to do to you?”

  Although she shook her head, Kit said it, anyway, using the foulest word possible for the sex act, and, at last, he got a response. She flinched as if he had struck her, and the color drained from her face.

  “I know what you’re trying to do, but I won’t listen to this, Kit,” she said, walking away from him with a dignity that he decried. Her calm rejection of his hateful barbs only infuriated him further, and he hurried after her, but she had already reached the stairs.

  Kit increased his pace, consumed by the need to finish this now, to end whatever was growing between them before it was too late. But his limp slowed him down, aggravating his temper. Cursing, he wished he could forget his injury and run up the stairs as he had before the war, catching Chloe easily, though he was not quite sure what to do with her when he caught her, whether to toss her from Hawthorne Park or to keep her forever.

  Kit had no chance to do either, for as he took the steps too fast, his cane slipped and he lost his footing. His bad leg went out from under him like a useless prop, and he fell, tumbling down the stairs to lie prone at the bottom. And there he lay for long, dreadful moments, overcome by a gut-wrenching fear so potent, he dared not breathe. In that instant he was back on the field at Waterloo, pinned beneath his beloved mount, watching the animal and all else around him die and knowing he would be next.

  “Kit!” A voice called him back to the present, and he lifted his lashes to see Chloe’s lovely face hovering over him, anxiety creasing her brow. “Are you all right?” she whispered in that sultry voice of hers that promised sin and gave comfort. Right now he would take the comfort, though the sin looked pretty good, too.

  For as he lay there on his back, afraid to move lest he discover some new injury, Kit thought of all the men he had known who were paralyzed or had lost limbs or lives, and suddenly he wanted very much to be right where he was and to not trade places with any of them. For the first time since his return home, he preferred life, not death, and not just any life, but this one, with this woman.

  All his imagined reasons for driving Chloe away now seemed foolish indeed. She was his salvation. Not only had she pulled him back from the abyss, but she was the best thing that had ever happened to him in all his long, selfish existence, before the war or after. He only hoped that it wasn’t too late to take what he wanted, what he so desperately needed, and make a real future for himself.

  “What is it? Where are you hurt?” Chloe whispered. She knelt over him, the curve of her breasts nearly touching him, and Kit was delighted to discover that at least one part of his prone body was still functioning properly. Gingerly, he began to move, and he was grateful that nothing seemed amiss, except for his injured leg, which throbbed painfully.

  “Shall I call a doctor?” Chloe asked.

  “Not unless he’s from Bedlam, intent upon putting me there, for its no less than I deserve,” Kit muttered.

  Chloe looked slightly alarmed by his words, so he forced a smile through gritted teeth as he lifted himself to his elbows. “Just get me the cane,” he said.

  One of the footmen, drawn by the noise of his fall, hastened to retrieve the fallen prop, while Chloe helped him to his feet, putting her slender shoulder under his arm as he pushed off the floor with his good leg. Kit’s pleasure at her assistance was tempered by the look on her face once he stood upright.

  “I’m sorry, Chloe,” he said, knowing that she had no right or reason to forgive him. He grasped the cane and waved away the footman with a gesture of thanks even as he clung to her, unwilling to let her go, for fear he had succeeded in driving her away for good.

  “You ought to be ashamed of yourself!” she said, confirming his worst fears. “You might have broken your neck!”

  When Kid blinked at her in surprise, she scowled. “You have behaved abominably! And I don’t know if I should accept your apology,” she added. But her first telling thought had been for him, and Kit felt hope enter into his life again, after a long absence.

  Nodding in agreement with her words, he attempted to put some weight on the injured limb and groaned as it nearly buckled beneath him. Although such was not his intention, the sound diverted Chloe from his misdeeds, for she immediately leaned close, an expression of anxiety back on her beautiful face.

  “You had better soak that in a tub of hot water,” she said, eyeing his leg in a proprietary fashion that started another part of his body to throbbing.

  “No, I’m fine,” Kit said. Indeed, he felt better already, better than he had in years.

  Chloe ignored his protest. “I know!” she exclaimed, glancing up with bright expectancy. “This is the perfect opportunity for you to try the hot springs. The weather is unusually fine, so I don’t think you will catch a chill, and the water there will never grow cold. It should ease you considerably.”

  Kit groaned again, but not with pain. The last thing he wanted to do right now was to trudge up to the woods and wash with that smelly stuff, but he could see there would be no stopping Chloe, and he hadn’t the heart to argue with her. Indeed, that heretofore cold, silent organ was thrumming with a wholly new urgency. Although the sensation was unknown to him, Kit suspected there was a name for it. Love. And who was he to deny the woman he loved?

  And so he let her help him toward the rear of the house, drawing the line when she suggested they use a carriage, or worse yet, a cart, to haul him to the glade. Quite sensibly, he told her that any such conveyance would be difficult to maneuver into the trees, and, anyway, he could ride well enough.

  “We ought to clear out some of the oaks and underbrush and create a broad approach to the spring if y
ou are going to use it more often, which you very well should,” Chloe said, giving Kit a sidelong glance that was meant to chastise, but only warmed him thoroughly instead. Surely no other being on this earth had ever basked in the glow of such concern, undeserved though it might be. “And you should encourage the tenants and neighbors to go there, as well,” she added.

  “Right,” Kit muttered. But he had no intention of inviting everyone in Yorkshire to tramp through his favorite glade and muck about. He might not particularly care for the foul-smelling hole, but he liked the seclusion of the woods and their proximity to the house.

  Already, as they rode under the first of the low-hanging branches, Kit could feel the serenity of the spot wash over him. When they reached the glade and dismounted, he tethered the horses, then turned to eye the odiferous water warily. The day was uncommonly warm, so he removed his coat, placing it on the grass to make a comfortable seat for Chloe, half hoping that she would be diverted by the pleasant surroundings. Or by him.

  But even though he unbuttoned his waistcoat and shrugged out of it, Chloe’s attention remained firmly fixed upon the lower part of his torso, on one leg in particular, much to his disappointment. Still, a man in love could hope, couldn’t he? Kit perched on a rock and tugged off one boot, then made a game effort with the other one, to no avail. The task was difficult on his good days, and having twisted the old wound beneath him in the fall only made it more difficult.

  “Here, let me get that,” Chloe said in a rather odd, breathless voice, and Kit felt a bit breathless himself as she knelt before him and put her hands on him. Warmth spread through him, from her fingertips to every part of his body, filling him with such sweetness that he seemed buoyant without even entering the water.

  But as he gazed down at her dark head, her satin hair, and lower to her beloved face and the gentle curve of her breasts, he was seized by another sort of heat. Suddenly, Kit was reminded of that sin he had been saving for later. It was already later, so what was he waiting for? Although momentarily distracted by the pain that came with the removal of his boot, when Kit felt her hands return to his calf, sin was, once again, foremost in his thoughts.

  “Let’s have a look,” Chloe said, and before Kit knew what she was about, she was gently pulling down his stocking. Somehow the unusual gesture felt more intimate than sex, and he stifled a moan as the brush of her fingers against sensitive skin sent a rush of blood to his groin. And then, as if that weren’t enough, she started kneading his calf. This time Kit couldn’t help it, he leaned back his head and groaned in pure pleasure as the tight muscles gave beneath her ministrations.

  She rubbed the lower part of his injured leg for a long time, then removed the stocking from his other foot, and fell into silence. Having sunk into a kind of erotic torpor, Kit lifted his lashes at last to find her still kneeling before him, staring thoughtfully at his groin. He blinked as that part of him jerked to life, but Chloe seemed to take no heed, and he realized she was eyeing his thighs, or more specifically, the thigh that had been shattered.

  Frowning, she glanced up at him. “I take it your wound is...higher up?” she asked. At Kit’s mute nod, she took on a determined expression. “Then I’m afraid the breeches will have to go.”

  If Kit had harbored any lingering doubts about the efficacy of his nether regions, his response to that statement set them immediately and permanently to rest. Indeed, he thought he might burst from the cloth that now constrained him far too tightly.

  “Chloe—” he began in a hoarse croak.

  But she cut him off with a firm shake of her head. “I discovered that father’s gout was much better when he could soak his foot directly in the water. I realize that at Bath and elsewhere, the bathers are fully clothed, but I fear that these breeches of yours are far too constricting.”

  Although those were his thoughts exactly, Kit didn’t think innocent Chloe was referring to quite the same sort of swelling that concerned him at the moment. Apparently she was oblivious to everything except his injury.

  “Unfortunately, we don’t have the smocks that they provide in Bath, either, but I brought along some towels. And, since we are secure in the privacy of your own property, I see no reason why a towel will not be sufficient,” she said, rising to her feet to fetch one from the back of her mount.

  Kit stared after her, dumbfounded. Obviously she was in her healing mode and oblivious to the impropriety involved in stripping off his breeches, let alone the danger to herself.

  “Do you need some help?” she asked, returning to eye him questioningly.

  “Lord, no,” Kit muttered. The thought of Chloe unbuttoning the fall of his breeches was more than he could take at this point. Already the pain his leg was long forgotten, replaced by an insistent throbbing elsewhere. Pushing off from the rock, he rose to his feet, surprised by the sensation of cool grass beneath his toes. Perhaps this wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.

  He glanced at Chloe, but she was still watching him with a matronly air. Hands on her hips, she looked rather like a governess waiting for her charge to obey, so Kit casually pulled out his shirt and lifted it over his head, tossing it to the ground.

  Now he had her attention.

  “What are you doing?” she asked in a squeak that little resembled her usual sultry tones.

  Biting back a smile, Kit adopted her own reasonable manner. “I’m taking off my shirt.”

  “But...but your shirt would have offered some...protection. For your privacy,” she choked out, her eyes focused unswervingly on the wide expanse of his chest. Having finally flustered her, Kit decided he could be forgiven for feeling supremely good about it. He might have lost a little weight and battered one of his legs, but he still had the basic body that had dazzled more than a few ladies in its time.

  “I hardly think it necessary for you to remove everything!” Chloe protested. She was staring and sputtering, and Kit knew a giddy euphoria. In all their encounters he had rarely shaken her preternatural poise, but she definitely appeared to be a bit nervous now. He grinned.

  “In for a penny, in for a pound,” he replied with a shrug. Then he put his hands to the fall of his breeches and looked at her expectantly. He watched the blush stain her cheeks, enjoying every minute of her discomfiture even as her admiration of his chest fueled the heat between them. When she still stared, as if unable to tear her gaze away, Kit very slowly slipped one button loose of its mooring.

  It did nothing to ease his own discomfort. If anything, his breeches only seemed tighter, for the unexpectedly erotic act of disrobing before Chloe made his body swell and surge painfully against the doeskin. He paused, savoring each moment of this new experience. Although more than one lady had deliberately removed her clothing for him, Kit had always been on the receiving end of such a display. Now he found himself excited by the reversal of roles, his senses heightened to a fever pitch by his smallest movement, by the audible hitch in Chloe’s breathing, by the way her dark eyes widened and fixed upon his body.

  He had her full attention now, and he gloried in it. For the first time since Waterloo, Kit felt good, whole, fine even, despite the limp that slowed him, and he took his time, anticipation stealing his breath as he moved downward to the next button. He fingered it provocatively as he watched Chloe’s face. When she wet her lips, Kit felt himself jerk against his own hand, but still he continued slowly, carefully releasing the fastening.

  He heard a low sound from Chloe, and his lips curved in delight. Another button slipped free, and the fall finally began to dip. Kit wore no undergarments, so he knew that the patch of his dark blond hair was visible, and excitement shot through him at the thought. If possible, Chloe’s dark eyes grew even wider as she stared and made another low sound, louder this time, before abruptly turning ’round.

  Kit released a shuddering sigh. He had to admit to some disappointment at the sudden end to his show, but then again, he was becoming pretty hard pressed, so to speak. He paused to take a few deep breaths and regain s
ome composure. Then he yanked down his breeches and stepped to the pool’s edge. By now the water’s odor was the least of his worries, so he ignored it as he dipped in a foot. It was hot, all right. Gingerly, he stepped against the rocky side and lowered himself in.

  Hooking his arm atop one of the smooth stones along the edge, Kit eased deeper into the water that bubbled up through fissures in the rock below, spilling into the hollow. He didn’t know whether the years had carved out the niche or someone had created it, but suddenly it felt very welcome. Although he had never been to Bath or Tunbridge Wells, he began to understand the appreciation for such places.

  His family had always complained about the mineral spring with its foul odor, thankful that the water piped into the house was from a different source entirely. But now Kit wondered why no one had made use of this delicious place before. As the heat enveloped him, he felt boneless, his body floating, his mind free, and he laid his head back and groaned out loud with pure pleasure.

  “What is it? Are you all right?” Before Kit could respond, his faithful nursemaid was crouched beside him, unabashedly peering into the water, as if she expected to see his leg puffing up like a Montgolfier balloon below. He smiled, with a genuine warmth that he could not recall ever feeling before in his life, even when young and whole and careless.

  Indeed, he felt like laughing with pure joy, and though he had been momentarily diverted by the sybaritic pleasure of the spring, Kit returned his attention to his starchy companion, who was once more eyeing his chest rather avidly. His body roused to life again, even more eagerly than before, egged on by the hot water and his own nakedness.

  Maybe he was prompted by the first real ease of his body or the first true lightness of his heart or just some devilment, but whatever the cause, Kit didn’t answer Chloe’s query. Instead he said the first thing that came into his mind. “Perhaps you should come in.”