by Candace Camp
“Stubborn, yes. That is easy enough to see. Accustomed to getting your own way, naturally. But this willingness to work, to sacrifice…it surprises me.”
“Your opinion of me constantly amazes,” Nicola told him dryly. “If you thought that I was such a fluff, so unwilling to do anything, merely selfish and stubborn, it is a wonder that you asked me—no, I should say, commanded me—to come take care of your friend. What did you expect to have to do, hold a gun to my head to force me to treat him?”
“No. I knew only that you were good with herbs and remedies, and I knew that whatever you would do would be more than what he had without you.”
“Careful. Such high encomiums might turn my head.” Nicola sat down beside Perry’s bed with a weary sigh.
“Obviously I was wrong,” Jack said stiffly. “You have done more than I ever imagined, and I thank you.”
Nicola glanced at him. She had some inkling of how much those words had cost him. Nor, if she was honest, how could she really blame him for supposing a woman of her station in life would be unlikely to devote herself with great energy to healing a common highwayman. After all, she was a stranger to him. So she relented enough to give him a smile.
“You are welcome.”
He looked as if he might say more, but at that moment Perry groaned and started to roll onto his side. Nicola and Jack jumped up to catch him and gently, but firmly, make him stay on his back.
“These bed linens are soaked,” Nicola commented. The patient’s profuse sweating, as well as the wet cloths they had been applying, had done their damage. “We cannot have him catching a cold, as well. We must change them.”
Jack cast a worried glance at his friend. “You want to move him? I suppose Saunders and I can do it.”
“No. We can manage, I think, with him in the bed, if you will help me. First, I need fresh linens.”
“Of course.” It was obvious from the blank expression on his face that he hadn’t a clue where they were, but he left the room and returned a few minutes later with a pile of fresh bedding.
Quickly and efficiently, Nicola undid the sheets on one side of the bed, then helped Jack pull the patient on the loose sheet over to the other side of the bed. She remade half the bed with clean linens, after which, they pushed and squirmed and tugged Perry as gently as possible back to the clean side, and Nicola finished replacing the wet sheet. They laid a fresh blanket atop him, which Perry, of course, immediately pushed down.
“At the risk of incurring your wrath yet again, I must say that I am surprised at your skill in making a bed.”
Nicola laughed. “I admit that that is something I did not know how to do until the past few years. But in my house in the East End, I have pitched in with work as well as money.”
“Your house in the East End!” He looked at her oddly. “You never lived there!”
“Oh, no, not I. ‘Tis the unfortunate women I take in. Several of them live there, and we feed as many others daily as we can.”
“Who lives there? Why?”
“Women who have no other place to go,” Nicola said simply. “At first I intended it only for pregnant women who needed a roof over their heads—girls tossed out by angry fathers, tavern maids and serving girls whose jobs were taken away when they began to show, even prostitutes who got careless and were too afraid of the butchers to get rid of it.”
Jack stared at her, dumbfounded. “Haymarket ware?” he asked. “Tavern wenches? You created a home for them?”
“Yes. It isn’t nearly adequate.” Nicola got up and went to the basin to wring out a cloth and wipe Perry’s sweating face.
“I am astonished that you even know about them, even speak of such things, let alone—”
“Oh, you would find that I am quite ostracized by many members of the Ton,” Nicola said with no sign of regret. “I have offended many a matron by talking about such things. But what is the point of hinting around the subject? I haven’t the time or the energy, not when there is so much that needs to be done. Some women, I have found, are more relieved than anything else by my plain speech. It can grow quite wearisome always talking around a subject. And just as many as those who won’t speak to me give me money to help me with the work.” She grinned, thinking about her money-raising efforts. “Indeed, there are one or two women who won’t speak to me in public because of their husband’s wishes but who give me money in private.”
She wet the cloth again and wrung it out, then folded it and placed it on Perry’s forehead. “My house has grown considerably. I soon found that there were many other women who needed help, women beaten by their husbands or fathers—or the men who run them as prostitutes. I could hardly turn them away, especially when they had children with them. The house is bursting at the seams, and now I have to turn away all but the most needy. We have purchased a second house, and we are in the process now of making it habitable. I have help, of course. Penelope—my good friend—helps me when she can, though she has to keep it secret from her dragon of a mother. The assistant vicar at St. Swithin’s has made it a project of his church’s, and some of the women from there help. One of the women who I took in, one of the ‘Haymarket ware’ as you called them, has proved to be remarkably capable, and she has taken over the daily running of it—with an almost terrifying efficiency, I might add. Needless to say, I have bullied money from everyone I know.”
Nicola cast him a teasing smile as she said, “Perhaps you would like to donate some of your ill-gotten gains to it.”
“Perhaps I will.” He shook his head wonderingly. “I confess, you astound me, Nicola.”
His use of her name surprised her. It was the first time he had called her anything except “Miss Falcourt,” in that mocking way he had. But her first name had slipped out effortlessly, familiarly, and somehow the sound of it on his tongue made her heart turn in her chest. She did not wish him to know that, however, so she kept her head turned away from him, ostensibly watching their patient.
“Why? Because I have a heart? Or the wit to do something about it?”
“I don’t know. I only know that you are not what I expected.”
“What you expected?” She looked over at him at that, puzzled. “Why would you have expected anything of me?”
He hesitated, then shrugged. “From what I heard of you. What the villagers said. ‘The kind and gracious Miss Falcourt.’ I thought you must be either a saint or one of those patronizing females who come now and then and cast a few treats at the peasants, collect their groveling thanks and return to your luxuries. When I met you, of course, I realized right away that you were no saint, so that left only the ‘noble lady of the manor.’”
“Never a consideration that I might be simply a person who does what she can to help, was there? I must say, Mr. Moore, that you are an absolute morass of prejudices and assumptions.”
He grinned unexpectedly. “Your acid tongue was something of a surprise, as well, though I must say, I derive a certain enjoyment from it.”
“I won’t!” Perry said loudly, making them both start, and they turned to look at him. His eyes were wide open and staring wildly, his face flushed and beading with sweat. He reached up and felt the cloth that lay across his forehead, then crumpled it up and flung it across the room with an oath. “I’ll be damned first!”
At his roar, Saunders woke from his pallet on the floor and jumped to his feet, looking around. “Wot the devil?”
“It’s all right, Saunders. Our friend is simply getting a trifle loud,” Jack said, but his face was more worried than his light tone implied.
Nicola, too, felt a piercing thrust of fear. Perry was clearly delirious, and his fever seemed to have spiked suddenly. She stood up and reached over to feel his wrist, but he twisted his hand around and grabbed her arm, his fingers digging in.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” he snapped. “I’ll see you in hell before I—”
Jack was by her side in an instant, prying Perry’s fingers from her ar
m. “Leave off, Per. She is trying to help you. We all are.”
Perry swung at him, his fist thudding ineffectually into Jack’s wide chest, and he let out a string of oaths. He turned his head away, his voice fading out, and his eyes closed.
“Are you all right?” Jack asked, turning to Nicola, reaching out to take her arm and inspect it.
“I am fine,” Nicola said shortly. She despised the rush of satisfaction she had felt when Jack sprang to her aid—and, even more, the tingle of pleasure that the touch of his fingers on her arm had brought. She pulled her arm out of Jack’s grasp and turned toward the man in the bed. “He is growing worse quickly.”
“What can we do?”
“What we have been doing. I—I know of nothing else.” She cast Jack a worried look. “I wish Granny Rose were here. I am afraid that I have reached the limit of my skills.”
“Then they will have to do,” he replied grimly. “Saunders…” He turned toward his man. “Fetch more cold water.” He swiveled back to Nicola. “All right, let’s get to work.”
Through the remainder of the night they worked on Perry, fighting to keep his fever from soaring, as a battle raged in the man’s body. He had reached a crisis point, and Nicola was unhappily aware of how close to the edge the man lay. The infection could gain too strong a foothold, the fever roar out of control, and his body might not be strong enough to overcome it, even with the help of the poultices and oral remedies that Nicola had been giving him.
They kept cold cloths on his forehead and the back of his neck constantly, changing them as his body heat warmed them, and they bathed his chest, neck and face with cool water, over and over, no longer pausing to sit or rest. Saunders and Jack lifted him and kept him still as Nicola forced him to sip water or meadowsweet tea or the bitter mixture of feverfew.
Nicola’s back ached from standing bent over the bed, and her head pounded from fatigue and lack of food, for they had been too preoccupied with their patient to eat an evening meal. It seemed as if their task was never ending. But she called on her reserves of strength and stubbornly worked on.
Numbed and tired, she moved so mechanically through her routine that it was some minutes before the change in the patient’s condition registered on her weary brain. Suddenly she realized that while they had been working, Perry had subtly, gradually, become cooler.
Nicola stopped in mid-motion, looking down at her patient. He was lying quietly, his chest rising and falling in even breaths. “Jack!”
He turned toward her from where he stood at the washbasin, pouring in fresh cold water to use for their rags.
“Look!” Nicola whispered, scarcely daring to raise her voice. She pointed to Perry. “I think his fever has dropped.”
“What?” He came closer to the bed, seeing, as Nicola had, that Perry’s labored breathing and restlessness had grown calmer, his face less flushed. Jack wrapped his hand around the other man’s wrist. He turned to Nicola, wonder dawning on his face. “You’re right. He is cooler.”
“He passed the crisis!” Nicola cried, tears springing into her eyes. “I think he is going to be all right!”
Jack let out a laugh. “Saunders, go tell the others. Perry’s improving!”
“Yes, sir!” Saunders was already hurrying to the door.
Jack let out a whoop and startled Nicola by picking her up off her feet in a bone-crushing hug and whirling her around. “You did it! You saved him!”
Nicola clung to him, giddy at the way he was spinning her about the room, and laughed with joy. Jack stopped and set her on the floor, giving her a resounding kiss of sheer exuberance. They parted and stepped back, suddenly aware of their close proximity, of the impulsive touch of their lips. His gesture had been natural, an overflowing of relief, excitement and joy. But now, as they looked at each other, other sensations, other emotions, shimmered on the edge of their consciousness. Arousal, suppressed and displaced for the past day, now hovered, on the verge of exploding into passion.
Footsteps pounded on the stairs, accompanied by the babble of excited voices. Nicola whirled and moved away from Jack; a moment later the door opened, and three men and Diane poured into the room. Jack laughed, saying that Perry was not up to a party yet, but indulgently watched them crowd around their friend’s bed.
They remained for a few minutes, until Jack shooed them away, and then once again it was only the two of them. Nicola could not help but think of that moment before the others came in, of the desire that had boiled up in her. It had been the excitement, she told herself, coupled with weariness, that had made her let her guard down. It would not happen again. Not looking at Jack, she resumed her seat beside Perry’s bed, curling her hand around his wrist to feel his pulse, no longer so tumultuous, and his temperature, still noticeably cooler than it had been. She leaned upon her arm, her eyes on Perry’s face.
The next thing she knew, light was streaming through the window and she was awakening with a jerk. She sat for a moment, blinking and trying to orient herself. A glance at Perry’s face reminded her where she was. It was morning, and obviously she had fallen asleep sitting by his bed. Guiltily, she reached out and touched his arm. It was cooler, and he was sleeping deeply, his breathing calm and even. He was better, his body healing itself in blessed sleep.
Nicola sat up stiffly. Her arm, upon which her head had been resting, had gone numb, and now tingles were shooting through it. Her neck, bent at an odd angle, was stiff, as was her back, and she stood up slowly, rolling her head and bending this way and that.
She looked across the bed. Jack was still there, seated on the other side. He, too, was asleep, leaning against the high back of the chair, his face relaxed and vulnerable. Nicola stood for a moment, watching him. Outside the birds twittered and chased one another. She heard a man’s voice and the closing of a door.
Perry was doing well enough now that one of the others could watch him, she thought. Indeed, he had been doing well enough on his own the past few hours, with her and Jack sound asleep. She could call to one of Jack’s men and instruct him to watch Perry, and she could go to her room for a few needed hours of sleep. She thought with deep satisfaction of stretching out on a soft bed for the next few hours.
She looked back at Jack, thinking that she should wake him, as well. He needed sleep just as much as she did. She thought again, as she had yesterday afternoon, that he was even more handsome in the daylight, for the lines of his face were clean and strong. Her eyes flickered over the neatly trimmed goatee and mustache, and the firm, wide mouth that centered them. His jaw was shadowed by a night’s stubble, as black as the curling hair on his head. Her eyes roamed upward, taking in the straight nose and the high curve of his cheekbones, disappearing beneath the black mask. She wondered, as always, what the mask hid and why, and as she stood there watching him, it occurred to her that while he slept, she could push up the mask and see the features he kept hidden.
Curiosity filled her, drowning out a faint voice of guilt that objected to this invasion of his privacy. She tiptoed around the edge of the bed, her heart pounding. Trepidation and eagerness swelled within her, setting her fingers trembling and her pulse pounding. Quietly, she stretched out her hand to him. Her fingers brushed the lower edge of his mask.
Suddenly his eyes flew open and his hand wrapped around her wrist like a steel band, imprisoning it. “Don’t.”
His voice was even harder than his touch, and his eyes glittered darkly through the mask. Nicola let out a little squeak of surprise, a flush rising in her cheeks at being caught in such an ignominious position. She tried to straighten up, but he would not let her. For an instant, they stood locked in the tableau. Then, as quickly as a snake striking, he jerked her down into his lap, his other arm going out to encircle her, and his lips fastened on hers.
Nicola did not know what she had expected—anger, jokes, recriminations—but it was not this. Desire exploded within her at the touch of his mouth, hot, hard and demanding. She felt the same passion bolt through h
im, and her body flared with heat. Thoughts of resistance—indeed, thought altogether—fled from her mind, and she trembled, pressing into him with equal fervor.
They kissed until they were breathless, consumed with flame. Jack stood up abruptly, sweeping her up into his arms, and started toward the door. Nicola made a feeble resistance, waving in the general direction of Perry’s bed and murmuring, “Wait. What about—”
He closed her mouth with a brief, hard kiss and flung open the door. Striding down the hall with her in his arms, he bellowed, “Saunders! See to Perry!”
Then they were inside his room, and he kicked the door shut behind him, setting Nicola down so that he could pull her into his arms once again. Hungrily they kissed, his hands sliding over her body, as they inched their way toward his bed. All the touches, the looks, the teasing flickers of desire that had occurred over the past two days, flamed into life now, sending a consuming fire roaring through them. Nicola trembled, her hands curling into his shirt.
“Nicola,” he murmured as his hand found and cupped her breast. “God, it’s been so long. Sweet Nicky.”
Pain lanced through Nicola at his use of the nickname Gil had often called her. She jerked away. “No! Oh, no!” She turned away blindly, her hands going to her face. “No, I cannot.”
“Bloody hell!” He reached out and grasped her wrist, whipping her back around to face him. “What sort of game are you playing? You want me—I felt it in you. Do you want to drive me mad? Make me beg for you?”
“No!” Nicola started to cry. “I am sorry. Truly. I did not mean—I swore I would not let anything happen. I don’t know what is the matter with me!” She looked at him, her eyes wide and filled with unshed tears. “But I cannot do this with you. I cannot be unfaithful.”
A red light flared in his eyes, and his grip tightened painfully on her arm. “Unfaithful!” he thundered. “What do you mean, unfaithful? You said you were not married.”
“I’m not! I never have been.”