“It was horrible.”
“No worries. It’s gone now. If you’d like, I can take a look around the place and make sure you’re not in for any more surprises.”
“You don’t mind?”
Mind? More time with Helen? “Not even a little.”
Paul strolled around the parlor where they’d found the birdeater, lifting picture frames from the wall and peering behind them as he went.
“Was it poisonous?” Helen asked, hitching the belt of her robe, which she’d donned the moment they’d returned to her flat.
“Aye. Quite. Nasty little whankers. But you’re a doc. I’m sure if I’d been bitten, you would have saved me.” He smiled wide. She blushed, shifting in place while she folded her arms in front of her.
“You really shouldn’t be here. It’s not proper.”
“Don’t be silly. Nanara is right down the hall.”
“Perhaps, but still …” she hedged.
“It’s an emergency. Besides, do you always do what’s proper?” He passed her, inhaling the scent of her lilac shampoo. When he reached the hall, she followed him.
He checked the pictures, but found no more spiders in the hall, either.
“I try to.”
He reached Doc’s old bedroom. Her bedroom now. The bed was the same as he remembered, but the quilted coverlet was different. The old dresser held an array of feminine articles on the marble top. Perfumes, a hairbrush, hair wax and pins. A silver-handled comb caught his eye, as well. Nice things. Expensive things.
On one of the dresser’s risers, a silver picture frame displayed the image of an older man. He wore a black suit, a cape, and a top hat, and he carried a silver-topped cane. The man oozed wealth and success.
Helen appeared at his side. “My father. It was taken three years ago at the opera house. He loves the opera.”
Her voice sounded wistful, as though she missed her father a great deal. Yet she’d never spoken of him before. It was more than distance that separated father and daughter. He could tell by the extra something in her voice.
“We’re friends, right?” he queried.
“I think so.” She grinned ruefully. “I don’t have many, so I should probably take them where I can find them.”
“Then tell me why you came here. The real reason.”
Immediately the grin vanished, and a frown took its place. “I can’t.”
She had a way of looking at him that turned the temperature in a room down a fair number of degrees. She employed it now, her eyes so sad she looked ready to cry. “Something is wrong. Anyone who knows you can see it.”
“It’s my problem.”
“Problems are better shared, in my experience. Now, here you are, a beautiful young woman with a bright future. You’ve completed medical school, you have money and opportunity, yet you travel halfway around the world to treat insect bites and play midwife. What gives?”
She sat on the edge of the bed, the tears behind her eyes shimmering. She didn’t cry. He suspected she wouldn’t in front of him if she could help it. Last night at Castle-Winters, he’d caught her by surprise.
“I embarrassed them. My mother and father. They sacrificed so much so I could become a doctor, and I took their faith and their love and betrayed them.”
“Rubbish, love. I can’t see you doing something like that.”
“It’s not rubbish. I did something unforgivable, and rather than subject them to the pain and humiliation that would come every time they were seen with me, I chose to leave. Thank heavens for Doc, so I had somewhere to go. Otherwise, I don’t know what I would have done.”
“You mentioned that you liked to frequent pubs and dance. Drink on occasion. Is that what you’re talking about?” He sat on the bed next to her and finally gave in to the temptation to feel her hair. To his shock, when he touched the strands, she leaned into him rather than away. “Lots of people like to do that. Not in this town, of course, but we’re a little on the slow side of progress here in the bush, if you haven’t noticed.”
“No. It was so much worse than that.”
She shouldn’t be here. Not like this, alone with Paul. She couldn’t help it. She only wanted to feel beautiful and cherished for a little while. Was that so terrible?
Helen’s frame melted when he touched her hair—when his voice wrapped her in such warmth and comfort. She wanted to confide everything in him, to know that someone would be her friend regardless of what she’d done. A part of her suspected Paul would be that person. That he would care about her, no matter what had happened.
But she’d worked so hard creating the world where she now lived. She had earned a place in the community. She had earned a place as Paul’s friend, and despite the fact she wanted to be a strong, independent woman, she didn’t want to lose his friendship.
If she told him everything, the whole truth, would he abandon her like so many others had? Including her parents?
“We’ve already established that you didn’t kill anyone. What could be so terrible that you can’t even tell me?” he whispered against her ear, the moist heat of his breath sending shivers down her spine.
She squeezed her eyes closed. If she pretended hard enough, she could make believe nothing had ever happened. She could go back to the time before she’d made such a horrible mistake.
Just five years ago, she’d been the delight of her mother’s life. She’d spent endless hours at her mother’s side, attending luncheons for this committee or that charitable cause. Her parents had been so proud when she’d been accepted to medical school. She’d attended her classes and concentrated on her studies. Then she’d met Maria, who had a free spirit and a lust for life and adventure Helen had never encountered before. Together, they’d bobbed their hair, attended parties and dances. They’d Charlestoned their way through their first year of medical school like two peas in a pod. Constantly together. Constantly looking for more ways to have fun.
She’d kept her marks high, completed her assignments, and graduated from school with honors. But her parents had been mortified by her behavior. And when the extent of her wild and wicked ways had come to light, her mother had refused to be seen in public with her.
“You’re thinking awfully hard, love. Why don’t you just tell me what happened so I can stop wondering about it?” Paul stroked her hair.
Her cheek pressed against his chest. She inhaled the deep, rich scent that was so uniquely Paul. When had she fallen into him like this? She should make him leave. She couldn’t be trusted to do the right thing when he touched her like this. Heat pooled in that place between her legs, and her breasts tightened. She licked her lips, in anticipation of a kiss she shouldn’t want.
“I can’t, Paul.” She wanted to raise her head and make him leave, but it felt too good to be held.
“I suppose there isn’t a rush. You’re not going anywhere, and I’m not going anywhere. I wish you felt like you could trust me.”
“I do trust you.” It was herself she didn’t trust. If she let him know how deeply she’d come to want him over the past few weeks, he would take advantage. She couldn’t blame him for that. He was a man.
But she would take advantage of it, as well. And she could blame herself.
“No, love. If you trusted me, you’d tell me anything. I know you can trust me, but you don’t. I know I’d never hurt you.”
She lifted her head at his words. The blue of his eyes was dark, almost violet, in the dim light of her bedroom. His brow furrowed while he looked deeply into her eyes, mesmerizing her with the gentleness she found there.
No, he would never hurt her. But there was more to it than that. She didn’t want to hurt him. Once he knew the whole truth, he wouldn’t want her anymore. At least, not for anything meaningful. She knew what it was like to be used, to be unloved, and she’d sworn she would never feel that way again.
She’d been selfish for far too long. It was time to think of someone else. Paul deserved someone kind and pure and whole.
She wasn’t even a virgin.
11
After he left Helen’s flat, Paul walked to the docks and stared past the ships at the ocean for more than an hour. His body hummed with desire, aching and pulsing until he couldn’t think. Finally, he found his Rugby and went home.
Paul opened the door of his house, entered the bleak, empty interior, then closed the door silently behind him. Two steps into the main room, he knew he wasn’t alone. “Who’s there?”
“Don’t get your strides in a bunch, mate. It’s just me.”
“Tim?” Paul asked, flicking the light switch and swathing the room in golden light. “What are you doing sitting in the dark?”
“Sulking, if you must know. Annie’s thrown me out again, hasn’t she. I stole a bottle of Swan’s out of your icebox.” Tim lifted the bottle of grog over his head before finishing the beer in one draught.
“Can you blame her? Perhaps if you were to actually marry her instead of just making ankle-biters …” Tossing his keys on the table beside the door, Paul sat in a leather chair by his small, dormant fireplace. “What happened?”
“She screamed at me and told me to leave her alone.”
“And what had you done, mate?”
“Nothin’,” he slurred. “I haven’t even been home in goin’ on five bloody days.”
“You don’t think that’s a problem?” Paul shook his head. Tim had a wonderful woman in Annie Sullivan. She was honest and pretty, funny and kind. Everyone knew how much she loved Tim, yet Tim couldn’t bring himself to stay home longer than it took to make another baby. “You’re cracked. And you know she isn’t going to wait forever for you.”
Tim smiled. “Yeah, she will. She’s my Annie, and she always will be. She’s just not speaking to me at the moment.”
“Like I said, you’re cracked. If I had a woman like her waiting for me, do you think for one bloody second I’d be standing here talking to you?”
“What about the new doc? You’ve been spending a fair amount of time with her, haven’t you?”
“That’s business.” He wanted it to be more. But he’d made a promise, hadn’t he? That promise meant a lot to
Helen, and he was going to live up to it if it killed him. And based on the condition of his body at the moment, it might.
“Sure it is.” Tim laughed, then finished his beer.
“You whanker. You need to keep your eyes on your own. And if you don’t start squaring things with Annie, you’re going to end up miserable and alone. You need some sense beat into you, mate. That’s your problem.” He paused. “You sleeping here, then?”
“If that’s jake with you, yeah.”
“No worries. Just don’t drink all my grog.”
Paul sauntered into his bedroom, the only other room in the house, and closed the door. He collapsed on the mattress without taking off his strides or his boots. He was too tired.
No, not tired, really. Worn out.
If he were to be perfectly honest with himself, he was lonely. It was hard work pretending to be happy all the time when he was about as unhappy as a man could be.
He could pinpoint the exact moment when he’d become lonely, in fact. The day he’d fought Bessie Monro. That’s the day he’d met the most beautiful, complex, confusing woman on the planet. She was everything he’d ever wanted, and hadn’t known he’d wanted. She was delicate at the same time she was strong. She was vulnerable and passionate, and lonely, too.
What was it about her that made him want to protect her? He’d never come close to falling in love before. Was that what this was?
Once, a few years ago, he’d thought about getting married. But that had nothing to do with love. It had been a business decision; survival in the bush. Times had changed, and he’d made a life for himself alone.
He’d been fine. Until she’d shown up.
Until she’d maneuvered herself into his heart.
The clock next to the bed ticked in the dark. He lifted it, holding the face to the moonlight that drifted through the window. Almost two in the morning.
He wasn’t going to sleep tonight.
A few minutes later, after sneaking past Tim, who slept like the dead on his settee, he meandered through the streets. In the distance, shouting and laughter came from Grogg’s. The occasional horse whinnied in its stable, but otherwise the night was quiet.
He tucked his hands in his pockets and strolled along the main street until he came to an intersection.
He could turn left, or right, or keep going straight. Left took back him to the docks. Straight ahead offered more of the same.
Right took him back to her place. He sighed and turned right.
There hadn’t really been a choice at all.
Helen rolled over beneath her grandmother’s quilt. Again. She’d been turning over, repeatedly, for no fewer than two hours. Paul had left her apartment at six minutes past midnight, according to the anniversary clock on the shelf beside her bedroom door. Helen had fallen straight back into bed.
It was now eight minutes past two in the morning.
She’d almost ruined everything! How could she sleep after that? She’d wanted to ravish Paul tonight. She’d wanted to feel his arms around her, his hands on her naked skin, his mouth on hers. Exactly what she’d been trying to avoid since she’d left home.
She tried to tell herself it was only because she hadn’t been held in too long. She was a mature, sensual woman, and having been introduced to the fine art of loving, she missed it.
But that wasn’t true. She might be able to lie to others, but she couldn’t lie to herself.
Climbing from beneath the quilt, she pulled it from the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders. She crossed to the window to close it, pushing the lace curtains to the side. A slight movement in the dark caught her attention. Paul stood in a shaft of moonlight across the street. He leaned casually against a post, his hat pushed back slightly and his arms folded over his chest. The material of his shirt pulled against the full, solid muscles of his chest.
He looked directly at her window. At her.
Heat rushed through her.
It was too late for her, she decided. She couldn’t place exactly when or where she’d fallen for him, but the tumultuous knots in her belly cried the truth. This was more than a mere infatuation. The feelings were so familiar, and yet so new. She’d never felt like this before. Not even with Reginald.
Her relationship with Reginald had been wrong from the beginning. Even before she’d known the whole truth about him. She closed her eyes, forcing the wicked memories out of her mind. When she opened them, Paul was gone.
A moment later, a tap sounded on the door of her apartment. She frowned.
There was no question it was Paul. He had a key to the outside door. The question remained, should she let him into her private flat? The very air around her screamed, “No!”
Her bare feet answered for her. Carrying her down the hall, her feet were the only part of her body that feared nothing. Her mind argued. Her heart skipped every other beat. Her stomach danced.
When she opened the door, Paul was leaning on the jamb, his hat in one hand and one finger pressed to his lips in a thoughtful posture. “I’m not sure why I’m here,” he stated.
“I’m not sure why I opened the door,” she whispered.
“Good. I’m not the only one confused, then.” His smile was like a warm summer day after a long, cold winter.
She pushed the door open and took a single step back.
He followed her into the apartment and closed the door behind him. “I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk. My feet found their way here.”
“I’m glad they did.”
“Are you?” The question was sincere. And direct.
She couldn’t blame him. She’d been running hot and cold since the day she’d met him. Afraid of herself, afraid of him. Afraid of feeling anything and, most especially, afraid of repeating the
same mistakes. The answer to his question would be a defining moment.
“I am.”
Paul brushed past her and went to her phonograph. He picked up a record, tilted it in the moonlight to read the title, then set it to play. Marion Harris crooned “It Had to Be You” in her subtle, jazzy voice while Paul tossed his hat on the back of the settee.
“That’s one of my favorites,” Helen commented, pulling the quilt tighter around her shoulders.
“Is Nanara sleeping?” he whispered, crossing the creaking wooden floor, then tugging on the edges of the quilt.
“Like the dead,” she answered. She allowed him to pull it free. When it dropped, his arm circled her waist, his other hand taking hers and pulling her against his chest. His body swayed so subtly she couldn’t be sure when they’d started dancing. The music surrounded them, brought them so close to each other it was like she was inside his mind. The too-sad melody mimicked her heartache, spelling out everything she’d been unable to say out loud.
Helen allowed Paul to draw her into his embrace, falling into the warmth and kindness that seemed to pour out of him. It was so easy to believe that he would never hurt her.
The truth could be something entirely different and probably was. But the question remained, hovering over her like some wild storm cloud. Was it worth the risk of being hurt again just to feel this way? A part of her jumped up and down like a child on Christmas morning. Yes! Yes! It was always worth taking that chance. To be loved. To love someone in return.
The wounded woman in her heart argued against emotions. She wouldn’t survive another blow.
“What are you thinking about, love?” He spoke in barely a whisper, yet the rich, sweet tones of his voice flowed over her like warm honey.
“Nothing. Everything.”
“I don’t know what happened before you came here, but I bloody well know what’s happened to me since. I can’t go on thinking that you and I will just be friends. I want more than that, Helen, and I think you do, too. Somewhere deep inside.”
She closed her eyes. Isn’t that what love was supposed to be? Two people who could read each other’s souls? Paul could read hers like a book. She had no place to keep that from him. What if she was supposed to be with him? What if they’d been created for one another, like Blue had said? What if she was his only chance at happiness? How unfair would it be for Paul if Helen stole his only chance for love simply because she’d made a bad decision?
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