But it was evident he had been in this country a long time. Well, at least five years from what he'd said. But she hardly thought he would have acquired his social skills and fluency locked away in a cell. In a cell...
They were expensive enough, hard to come by, reserved for the best class of patient. Or the most dangerous....
Simon had not been in the common ward. She had seen him coming down the corridor. He had been going to take a bath.
She looked up and noted the simple shirts and breeches, all in white, on the shelves above her. The noise outside was dying down, and she knew how relaxing and refreshing a bath could be. As long as they were stuck there, they might as well make the best of it.
She checked on her sister and then went over to the huge tub and turned on the spigots, testing the water to make sure it wasn't too hot. Simon watched her, his golden eyes boring into her back, admiring the sway of her hips in the plain hunter green gown as she moved to gather towels and fresh clothing.
He was still wondering if he was dreaming. But no, the angel seemed real. She had the most wonderful auburn hair he had ever seen, reminiscent of an autumn day so crisp you could bite it.
Her eyes were a remarkable shade half-way betwixt blue and green, and alternated with her emotions. When she had been terrified for her sister, they had been almost baby blue. When she had stood up to him over the bottle of opium they had sparkled with emerald fire.
Now they looked like the ocean on a bright summer's day. Simon could almost smell the sea, feel the breeze in his hair, the taste of the surf on his lips.
Or was it her own taste, her sweet skin lightly salty from prolonged lovemaking? Her own nectar running from her lush secret cove to flow over his tongue as he...
The undulation of her hips, like the pendulum of a ticking clock, nearly unmanned him again. The sight of her magnificent breasts, which she once again forgotten about covering with his scrap of towel, were like a hammer-blow of lust to his long-starved body.
Who on earth was Gabrielle that she could be so utterly lacking in affectation or self-consciousness? This couldn't possibly be her husband, could it? he thought with dismay as he glanced over at Antony.
But no, he had used the word cousin. Which was not to say that cousins never married. But if anything, he would have matched Antony with the other sister, whose hair was like pale flax, and who was also clearly pregnant.
But no, the man had mentioned her husband, and no loving spouse would ever have put anyone he truly cared about in a place like this, would they? Least of all a doctor.
One look at Antony's earnest face, handsome in a rugged, world-weary way, told Simon all he needed to know. Gabrielle was not married.
"Are you ready for a bath?" she asked, stroking his shoulder to call attention to her presence.
He started. "Are you sure it's safe? Or even wise?"
"It seems to be more quiet out there, and Antony will help ward them off if they do try to break in."
"And, er, you don't mind?"
She shook her head. "I've told you, I work with Antony at the clinic. I've cleaned patients before."
"And he doesn't mind?" he whispered. "I mean, you haven't got any sort of um, understanding or anything?"
She blushed prettily. "No, I'm not married or engaged, if that's what you're asking me. Are you?"
He laughed harshly. "No, of course not."
"Not even in the past, before all this?" she asked curiously. He certainly was handsome enough to have had his pick of the ladies...
"No, never." He waited for the inevitable jolt of pain, but nothing happened. Surprised and relieved, he let her help him up.
"Good, then," she said with a smile, wondering why this simple piece of information should make her feel so elated. "In that case, there's no sin or harm in my seeing you naked or helping you."
He stripped off his loose cotton lower garments and got into the tub, and sat back with a sigh. "Perfect."
She let him soak there for a time as she helped Antony make Lucinda more comfortable and then gathered his discarded clothes and set out fresh ones. Then she realised she really needed to cover herself as well.
She grabbed a bibbed apron such as one of the matrons would wear, and threw it around her neck to cover her rosy nipples. Simon felt as though the sun had been eclipsed as her breasts disappeared from view. Once she had tied it in place, she removed his towel and placed it on the counter by the tub.
"Thank you for the loan. Would you like me to scrub your back with a sponge?"
"So long as you promise not to do it so roughly that you tear all my skin off."
"I promise my ministrations will be as gentle as you like." She took a tentative swipe. "Soft enough?"
"Perfection. But your bare hands would be even better."
"Then you shall have both."
She continued scrubbing him with her long strong fingers, and they squeezed the wet sponge down over his back. The rivulets were like a caress all of their own. To his shame he could feel himself hardening once more.
"Done this often, have you?" he asked quietly, trying to learn more about the remarkable woman with hair like flame and eyes of aquamarine.
"Not on too many men. My brother when he was young, but he's dead now. Various men at the clinic who can't struggle any further for help. Many dead people, of course."
"And me, the walking dead."
"You stop that. You're not to say such things." She leaned forward so that her breath tickled his ear. "And you certainly look lively enough to me from here."
"Forward little thing, aren't you?" he said, his laughter rumbling deeply in his chest.
"Until my father died, I was a quiet young girl. Being under my brother's thumb and now working for a living has really altered my life considerably. The clinic has shown me a whole new world. I'm not the shy Society miss I once was. A change I view as all to the good."
"I'm not so sure about that, my dear," he said, sounding almost dejected. "There's so much corruption in the world. It would be nice to keep some things safe, innocent and pure."
"I'm pure and innocent, just not naïve."
"Well, perhaps that's all right then."
She giggled. "I'm glad you approve."
He grinned. "I can hardly do otherwise. You really are the most splendid woman. So brave and kind." He licked his lips, hesitating, then added in a whisper, "And you have the most magnificent breasts I've ever laid eyes on, let alone touched."
She gasped. "I thought you said you couldn't remember-"
"Believe me, your breasts are not something I'm ever likely to forget. Especially when you sat on my chest and leaned-"
"Stop that," she hissed. "You men are all alike. We were nearly killed and you're thinking of, well, naughty things!"
He chuckled. "On my death bed I'll still be thinking naughty things, but only about you, Gabrielle. You're a woman worth remembering to the end of the world. Even if that happens to be tonight."
Her worried gaze shot to his rare golden eyes. "Surely not."
"They'll know we've talked. They'll see I've been bathed. It could well be all up with me soon."
She thought for a moment. "Between the seizures and the drug, I think we can convince them that you're half-dead and completely unaware by the time we ever get you back to your cell."
He paused to consider that, then shrugged one shoulder.
"Maybe."
"We'll do whatever we can to convince them."
He reached for the hand she had rested on the side of the tub. "You don't know what this means to me. Your faith, your help. I mean, we've never even met, and yet you seem so familiar. But that's what happens before I get the seizures. Something will trigger them. A familiar smell or sound, and the next thing I know I'm, well, raving."
Antony overheard the last part of the conversation. "There are different kinds of seizures. I know some render you completely unconscious. But you spoke to Gabrielle, heard her questions. Just try to remain ca
lm. Agitation is not good for you," he advised.
"Well, I usually have a fairly quiet time of it. But seeing that huge savage nearly rape your cousins was enough to upset any decent man," he rejoined dryly.
"I'm truly grateful for all your help," the young doctor said in a tone which rang with sincerity. "I promise I'll do whatever I can to help you. In the meantime, you need to tell me, have you always had fits like that?"
"No. Only since they put me in here." He began to wince again. "And before. In Fr-"
"Oh, God, he's seizing again. Antony!"
"Keep his head above the water. Talk to him, soothe him. Rub some of your lavender on his chest, and the rosewater on his temples."
"How is Lucinda?"
"Still bleeding. Hell and damnation. If only I had come five minutes sooner."
"If you had, you might have been killed yourself. Only a man as large as Simon could have handled that lunatic."
"T-t-thank you for the vote of confidence," he said between chattering teeth.
"Is the water warm enough?"
"Yes. It's just the seizure."
"Hold him so he doesn't slip under."
Without hesitation she grasped him around the torso. His arms came up around her in a damp embrace. He rested his head against her bosom. Even clad in the cotton apron the contact was electrifying. She could feel her nipples puckering, almost longing for the caress of his lips.
What madness was this? she thought with a shudder of icy-hot desire. His every touch set her afire, made herself more conscious than she had ever been of her womanly body.
Even under her thick gown and yards of petticoats she could feel herself tingling in the pit of her belly and between her legs as if he had touched her intimately.
Yet he had been more in control of the wildfire that had sprung up between them, for all he was supposed to be insane. He had lashed out from the fit, but he had been frightened, not angry or deliberately aggressive. She had been about to kiss him when he had brought her to her senses by telling her not to turn him into a romantic hero.
Yet it was difficult not to, especially when he was so magnificent naked...
She raised one hand to stroke his long, lank hair back from his forehead. "It's all right, it'll pass in a minute. Then we can tidy up your hair and beard and we can even shave you if you like."
She ran one finger experimentally along the bristles and was surprised to discover how soft they were.
He sighed. "No point. When it grows back it itches like mad. But thank you for the offer," he said, opening one eye to look at her now that the pain had eased.
"We can trim it down at any rate, so you don't look like a hedgehog."
Simon gave her a small smile, and she wondered again who he reminded her of. Very few of the men she knew sported such heavy facial hair. If Simon were clean-shaven...
Then their quiet world exploded.
Chapter Four
All their heads shot up in alarm as the sounds of crashing and splintering seemed to come from just outside the door.
Antony leapt to the cabinet and flattened himself against it. Simon grabbed for a towel, poised to leap out of the tub, while Gabrielle wildly looked around the large tiled bathing chamber for the chair legs and anything else they could use a weapon.
Fortunately the sound died down a moment later, causing everyone to collapse with sheer relief.
"They must have hurled something down the corridor. Where the hell are the authorities?" Antony wondered aloud, shaking his head as he returned to Lucinda's side.
Gabrielle shook her head as she knelt by her sister as well, then went to check on Simon in the tub. "I don't know." "I've never seen anything like it. It's like they've all gone mad in unison. I know the word lunatic derives from the Latin for moon, but it can't be just that." She considered her cousin's words for a moment as she started to help Simon wash his hair. "Simon, did you eat this morning?"
"A tiny mouthful. Why?"
"And do you feel different?"
"Well, yes. I've never had so many seizures before."
"Describe them."
He stared at her. "What do you mean?"
"Tell me what happened the first time, after you saved me. If you can't recall, tell me about this one."
He settled himself back down in the tub again. "Usually it's smell or sound, and I get the feeling of déjà vu."
"I don't speak French very well. What does it mean?"
"As if I've been here, done this before. As if I've met you in the past. I looked at you, touched your hand, and I was sure we knew each other. A long time ago, to be sure." He paused, stared at her and Lucinda for a moment, and then blinked.
"I have it now. You lived in Dorset, when you and your sister were young. You used to love going riding along the undercliff, taking tea at Lyme Regis with your nanny and groom, then going back home."
She stared at him. "How on earth can you know that, remember it, and not even know your own name?"
"They don't want me to remember me. That doesn't mean I can't recall you. You're certainly worth recollecting."
His golden eyes seem to pierce through her very soul as he stared at her.
Now her reaction to him, one of instinctual trust and attraction, was starting to make sense. She did know him! They had met before. But who was he? She had had a happy childhood with many people coming and going in the district when she had been growing up. Who was he? A friend of her father's? It was hard to tell how old he was...
But his eyes has already closed once more, so she had him lean back and washed and rinsed his hair until it gleamed.
Simon had ceased his shuddering, and time was pressing on. She needed to get him dry, decently clad. She was determined to groom him if only for his own peace of mind.
She had seen often enough in the clinic how even a bit of soap and water and a change of clothes could make a huge difference to someone who was unwell. Making him look more like his old self, even if he didn't have a mirror, would help Simon too, she was sure.
When she was sure he was fully soaped and rinsed, she helped him out of the tub and made him sit on a towel as she helped to dry him, fearing he might fall and hit his head.
As she worked and he blushed at his bareness and cupped his hands over his loins, she said, "Tell me about your deja whatever you said."
"Déjà vu. We've met before. I knew you were going to help me. Then there were all sorts of sparkling lights, a man with a candle. Then a, well, a dragon. Huge, green, blowing fire. The second time there was a huge bear with nasty fangs and claws. Just now I saw the floor shake and buckle. All sorts of colours. Things that looked like ghosts. Everything was very vivid."
"Are these things different from what you usually see?"
"Yes. I don't usually see things from a Gothic novel."
She looked over at her cousin. "Is it possible they put something in the food?"
Antony nodded. "Yes, but why? They're dangerous enough as-"
"The quacks here have a captive audience," Simon sighed. "They can do as they like. And if they end up with a few dead bodies, it's that much less they have to pay the resurrection men to have nice fresh corpses to operate on."
"That's horrible!" Gabrielle exclaimed.
"But practical. These are the dregs of society," Antony said with a shake of his head. "Few of these people have visitors, friends and family willing or able to see them every day the way you do your sister. If they die, no one is really going to ask too many questions."
Gabrielle shot an outraged look at her cousin. "You see? It's like I've said all along. If Oxnard really cared about Lucinda he would have made much better arrangements for her. I know there are private care institutions and nurses, people willing to help and not commit poor unfortunates." She went over to her sister and stroked her cheek.
"Thomas Eltham and Jonathan Deveril did it for Thomas' sister Jane when she was unwell after those horrible men used her as a plaything and left her pregnant and disea
sed. And just because a person is confused or forgetful the way Alexander was when he first met Sarah doesn't mean they're mad."
Simon began to shiver again. She heard his teeth chatter and hurried over to where he was sitting. She shoved a fresh shirt over him for a moment while she struggled to get his trousers on. She couldn't fail to notice his massive arousal. Even gaunt though his body was from near starvation, he was magnificent, like a piece of Greek statuary.
The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 6 Page 5