by Wendy Vella
Changing into a clean dress, she let Grace braid her hair. Once she was presentable, Essie headed down to take her morning meal, determined to put all her silly thoughts behind her. She was a healer, and people relied upon her. She would help Max heal, and then see him off her property and never think of him and his lion eyes again.
Making her way back downstairs, she took tea with Bertie and made herself eat porridge with a dab of honey and milk. Josiah came back in when she was nearly finished.
“He’s not happy with the meal I placed before him. In fact, he said it wasn’t enough to keep a small boy alive, let alone a full-grown man. He then asked for ale.”
“There will be no ale,” Essie said slowly. “He will eat what is put before him or go hungry.”
“He’s not a child, Miss Essex.”
“I understand that, but he does have a bullet hole in him, and as I am the one who took it out and stitched him up, it is I who am responsible for him. If he has no wish to abide by the rules I set, then he can leave.”
“Perhaps you would like to inform him of that,” Bertie said, looking rueful.
“I shall. I shall also inform him if he is to stay here, then it must be under our rules.”
“Even on such short acquaintance I can see he is not a biddable man, Miss Essex. In fact, he reminds me a great deal of your brothers.”
“Lord save us all.” Essie sighed as she regained her feet. “Did he ask you to inform anyone of his whereabouts, Josiah?”
“No, he said there was no one who would miss him.”
Essie refused to feel sad about the fact that Max had no one to worry about him. Instead she marched back to the room he occupied. When she entered, he was reading one of her books on herbal remedies.
“I hope you do not mind me reading your book, Essex.”
“I do not mind.”
His smile suggested he knew she did. It mocked her, and made her toes curl inside her boots.
“Now I wish to address the matter of your meals, sir.”
“Max.”
“I am caring for you, therefore you will eat what I say. If you do not like the rules I set, then by all means leave.” She hadn’t meant to sound rude, but it had come out that way.
“I thought you did not want me to leave. I think you said I would not make it to the doorway with my injury.”
Essie gave him a look that would have spoken volumes to each of her siblings. She was usually the quiet Sinclair, the peacemaker, the even temperament among six fiery ones. Why, then, was she struggling to find that calmness with this man?
“I only want to help you, sir, and to do that you must allow me to know what is best for you.” There, that had been spoken in her usual calm, rational manner.
“I shall try, but invalid food has never agreed with me.”
Essie did not buy the contrite look on his face, but she remained silent.
“Why has your brother left you alone?”
“He will return in a few hours, and I am not alone. I have three servants, and how do you know my brother has left?”
“Josiah told me. Where is the rest of your family?”
“They are in London, where I shall be in a few weeks.”
“You are to go to London?”
He seemed surprised by that.
“I am. Why do you ask? Do you perhaps live there, sir?” She could read nothing in his expression.
“I live nowhere.”
His answer was frustratingly evasive. She wanted to know more about this handsome stranger, and yet had no right to push for answers, especially if, as she suspected, he was poor, with no possessions to his name. It would be wrong of her to pursue the matter, especially if it embarrassed him.
“You miss them, your family?”
Essie nodded, her throat suddenly tight as she thought about her siblings. She did miss them. After the disaster of her first season, she had then endured another, but had pined for Oak’s Knoll, and her eldest brother had told her that if she wished to go home for a while, he would not stop her. Cam had joined her, in between trips to visit friends.
“Very much.”
“Then why live here, and not with them?”
“You ask a lot of questions, sir.”
“You interest me.”
“There is little to interest anyone, I assure you. And like you, I do not like to discuss my personal life.”
“So you do not believe you are beautiful or interesting? I wonder who has made you believe these things that are obviously untrue.”
“No one, and this is a silly conversation. Please do not attempt to flatter me with empty words. I assure you I am not easily fooled.”
Essie did not want to be of interest to anyone, and most especially not this large, disturbing man. She needed to keep her exposure to him to a minimum from now on. Bertie and Josiah could care for him. She did not want to feel her pulse race anymore, nor the unsettling feelings he produced inside her.
“If there is nothing further you need, I shall leave.”
Max made himself move, then hissed in pain… loudly.
“Are you in pain?”
“Some,” he said, feeling no guilt for his words. He’d been shot, stabbed, and his body had been beaten badly, so he was used to pain. But what he wasn’t used to was the need to have the woman touch him, or the need to have her close. So he would do what he could to achieve that.
She intrigued him. More than that, she made him hungry for her, and no woman had made him feel that way... ever. He understood lust, and he understood greed, but he doubted Essex Sinclair understood either.
Max knew people, and his experience had taught him that most wanted something when they came in contact with him. Rarely did they want just companionship or friendship. However, he had a feeling Essex Sinclair was different. In fact, he thought that perhaps Essex Sinclair was exactly as she seemed, a beautiful woman with a good heart. Was it true? The thought was disturbing, because Max had not met any such people in his life before.
“Your bandages are not too tight.”
He tried not to react as her finger slid under the bindings and touched his skin.
“Your body has suffered a trauma, sir, it will likely be painful for some time. But to ensure a full recovery, you must rest.”
Max schooled his features to look solemn. “I shall try to do as you say, Essex.”
“Miss Sinclair,” she chided him, but it was accompanied by a sweet smile. He felt as if he’d received a treasure.
Christ. What the hell is happening to me. Has she created some potion to enslave me?
“Essex,” he said, a bit more sharply than intended. “I will call you that.”
Her lips tightened, but she said nothing, and then left the room.
Max had learned early that to survive you had to be the strongest and meanest of those around you. He’d become that and more. He was never weak, and subtleties and gentleness were beyond him.
Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he made himself stand. Dizziness had him holding one of the posts. When his head steadied, he made himself walk slowly around the room. He needed to be ready to leave here, and to do that he had get his strength back.
“I often marvel at the stupid acts of men. I can now add you to the top of that list, sir.”
Essex was standing in the doorway, hands on hips, green eyes fired with anger. Max wanted to go to her, to wrap an arm around her slender waist and kiss that angry snarl off her lips. Instead he made himself walk back to the bed.
“I need to keep my strength up, as I must leave here soon.”
“I told you to rest.”
“I do not take orders from anyone.”
“Then leave my house, for I have no wish for you to stay if you will not accept my word.”
She had not yelled, but he heard the anger in each word. She then left him again. Minutes later he heard the front door shut. Easing himself gently back into the bed, Max felt his heart thudding hard in his chest, as
if he had been running. He was weak, there was no doubting that, but he was never laid low for long; this would be no different.
Max had not had a woman speak to him as Essex Sinclair just had in many years, and wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it... or her. The smile that shaped his lips told him that perhaps he liked it. Her anger was refreshing. He would need to apologize, of course.
His smile grew.
He must have dozed, because when he woke he heard voices in the room next to the one he lay in.
“I’ll not be getting off it, Elder Sinclair. I need to tend my animals.”
Curious, Max threw back the covers and was about to get out of bed when a man entered. He had the look of the other one who had brought him his morning meal, well-built with the same smile.
“Good day to you, sir, my name is Bertie.”
Max nodded.
“I would not advise you to leave your bed yet, as Miss Essex was most displeased when she found you walking about earlier.”
“I wish to stand.” Max didn’t take orders.
“You’ll not be strong enough to.”
Max slid his legs to the floor. As he pushed upright, his head swam again and he grabbed the bedpost.
“Are you wishing to go anywhere particular?”
“What’s going on in there?” He nodded to the doorway through which he’d heard the noise.
“Miss Essex is treating a patient.”
Hating to admit he was feeling weak, and hating to have another man see him in such a state, he rested a hip on the bed.
“She is the only healer nearby?”
“There is an elderly lady in the next village, but as that’s a full day’s ride, the locals from Crunston Cliff are happy to have Miss Essex back. Her family have been here for centuries, and one has always been a healer.”
“Back?”
The man’s face remained pleasant, but his eyes were suddenly guarded. Loyalty in a servant was an excellent thing, even if it stopped Max getting the information he wanted.
“Can I send word to anyone to collect you, sir?”
“No, there is no one.” Max continued to endorse the fact he was alone. “Is my horse still here?”
“Yes, we have settled it in the paddock behind the stable. Now, if you need no further help returning to bed, I shall leave you.”
Max waited until the man had left, and then struggled back into bed. He then listened for the next two hours as Essex treated people. He caught snatches of conversation; there was a boil on a knee, a pain in the stomach. A small child had hurt her wrist, and another had an infected cut. The man she treated now was being lectured, and not liking it one bit.
“You’ll not be telling me to stop, Miss Sinclair. I have no time to sit about like a lady drinking tea.”
“All ladies do not sit about drinking tea, Mr. Clever. Some of us are even intelligent enough to raise families, run households, and work.”
Her words were clipped and colder than a winter’s day, and had Max smiling. He wished he could see the fire in her green eyes.
“While I would not care if your health affected only you, I do care about your wife and five children. Therefore, I am telling you that if you do not take today to rest, you will have to do so for a great many more if your injury gets infected and your stitches tear. Now, I have no intention of seeing my work ruined, so if your wife cannot talk some sense into you, then I will tell your mother, and she will.”
“Oh now, there’s no need to do that, surely?”
“There is every need if you do not immediately go home. And I shall be checking.”
Max muffled his snort of laughter. Lord, what a woman.
“I-I’ll be heading home at once then, Miss Sinclair.”
“A very sensible move, Mr. Clever.”
Her next patient was a woman called Emily Brunt. Her voice was soft, and Essie talked to her gently, so he could not pick up a great deal of the conversation, except that she had lost another child, and that was when the smile fell from his lips. Essie talked to the woman for some time, and then Max heard sniffing, which suggested the woman was weeping. He closed his eyes. Crying women were something he had never been able to tolerate.
CHAPTER FOUR
“I have food.” She came after her patients had gone, with the shaggy dog on her heels, and settled a tray on his lap. Her expression was polite, and held none of the fire he’d seen or heard in her while she was treating her patients. She’d changed her dress, and this one was lavender. No lace or frills, no ribbons or trimming. Just a plain dress that fitted her lovely breasts and fell to the floor. Her hair was in a braid and hung over her shoulder. A piece of wool was tied around the end.
“Do you not have ribbons?”
“Pardon?” She lowered the teapot and looked at him.
“You have wool tied around your braid.”
“Ribbons come undone.”
“Then you have some?”
She nodded. “Why do you ask?”
“You do not dress extravagantly, and I wondered if you do not have the funds to do so.”
She laughed. More a giggle, actually, and it was a lovely sound. Her face softened and her eyes twinkled, and Max felt the urge to sigh. But as he was not one who did so, he gritted his teeth instead. The woman was far too appealing.
“My brother is a baron. And while we once did not have money, I assure you that is no longer the case. I like to live simply when I am here, and there is nothing more to it than that.”
Her family were nobility. He searched his memory for a Lord Sinclair, and located one. Why had he not connected them? It was unlike Max to not do so. This woman had robbed his wits.
“I intended no insult,” he said in a gruff voice. “You would look beautiful in a sack.”
She blushed, the color filling her cheeks. Max grabbed her arm as she turned to leave, and his fingers slid down to circle her slender wrist.
“You are beautiful, Essex.”
“H-how does your injury feel this afternoon, sir?”
She still did not believe him, and it frustrated him that she could not see what he could.
“It is better, thank you.” Max did not pursue the matter. It wasn’t his way to do so. The problem was, he had found himself doing and thinking differently since arriving in this house and meeting this woman. He cared that she did not see her beauty, and that was not like him. Max cared for nothing and no one.
“Excellent.” She laid a palm on his forehead. He felt something when she touched him, a tingling through his body, and what followed could only be described as hunger. He had known her for less than a day, and he wanted this woman with a desperation he’d never before experienced.
Why?
He had lain with plenty of women, and most were wealthy and bored. Some of noble birth, others, daughters and wives of rich merchants. All dressed in expensive gowns and smelled of sweet perfumes. Essex Sinclair smelled of her herb garden, and wore frumpy gowns, and her hair in a single braid that hung to her waist. What the hell was her allure?
“And you have no pain?”
“No.” He snapped out the word with more force than was required because she unsettled him. The dog growled at his tone, so he glared at it.
“What is that animal’s problem?”
“Myrtle is an excellent judge of character. She also does not like raised voices.”
“She needs a haircut.”
“No, what she needs is a wash after Cam threw a mug of tea over her.”
The dog looked from Max to her mistress and back to him again.
“Now, sir, rest is the best—”
“God’s blood, call me Max, woman.” He reached for her as she turned away. Wrapping his fingers around her waist, he pulled her back. “After what we have shared, I insist upon it.”
“Let me go, please.”
He didn’t; instead he gave her a tug, and tumbled her onto his chest. Before she could say anything, his lips were on hers. One of his hands c
upped her head, the other her waist, and the feel of her pressed to his chest made his head swim. He’d wanted this, her lips pressed to his, since this morning when he’d woken with her in his arms.
“Essex,” Max sighed into her mouth. He gentled the kiss, coaxed instead of demanded, and soon he felt her response, but it was her tears that stopped him.
“Why are you crying?” He held her shoulders, her face close to his. Tears spilled over her lids and down her cheeks. “Tell me.” His words came out raspy as he brushed the tears aside.
“I-I don’t want this.”
“This, being kisses? This, being held by a man who wants you very much?”
She managed a nod, but her eyes remained on his, almost as if she was begging him to understand what she had not said.
“You are a stranger. I know nothing about you, and yet….”
“You are aware of something between us, as am I,” Max finished for her.
“How is that even possible when we have known each other no more than a day?”
Max shook his head, unable to answer. It was a mystery to him also.
“I would never hurt you, Essex.”
“Yes, I know.”
“You can’t know that,” Max said, contradicting himself. “And it is wrong of you to trust so easily.”
“I have known bad men, and you are nothing like him. I can sense that if nothing else.”
Him. Jealousy and rage lanced through him. Someone had held her like this. Kissed her soft, sweet lips. The thought made him furious.
“Who hurt you? Tell me his name.”
She braced her hands on his chest and pushed back, and Max reluctantly released her.
“It matters not. What matters is that I will never allow a man to break me as he did.”
“Any man who would hurt you is no man at all, Essex,” Max said, taking her hand in his. Lifting it to his lips, he kissed the palm. “Tell me his name and I will make him pay.”
“He is dead. Now I must go, another patient has arrived.”
She was lying; no one had arrived, because Max would have heard them.
“Max.” She turned back at the door.