by Shana Galen
Her chest rose and fell as she tried to calm her breathing and push the ache of attraction away.
A moment later Lord Jasper called quietly, “Miss Carlisle, I’m finished.”
“I’ll be down in a moment,” she called back. She was grateful that they were speaking in hushed tones because she wasn’t certain her voice would have functioned. She still hadn’t composed herself and she still felt a flush heating her face. She shouldn’t have spied on him. He deserved privacy, and he wasn’t some object put here for her to lust after.
She should have felt ashamed of herself, but that wasn’t the sensation overwhelming her at all.
OLIVIA CLIMBED DOWN the ladder a few minutes later, studiously avoiding looking in Lord Jasper’s direction. She kept her head down, her eyes on the floor.
“I’m under the sheets,” he said. “I may not be decent, but at least I’m not indecent.”
She nodded, afraid if she spoke her voice would betray the tumult of emotions she felt. And if she looked him in the eye, would he know she had seen his body bare and uncovered? She went to the chair and lifted his trousers from the back, where he had hung them neatly. How strange to touch something that had so intimately touched him. She would wash them in the soapy water she’d saved from the dishes and then hang them to dry. Happy to have something to occupy her, she knelt beside the tub and began scrubbing.
“Where is your son?” Lord Jasper asked.
Olivia caught her breath. She couldn’t nod in answer to that question. She’d have to give a response. She cleared her throat. “Sleeping,” she said. “It’s his bedtime.”
She rinsed the trousers in the clean water in the second tub, rung them out, then moved to hang them on the drying rack near the hearth. What she saw there made her pause. Lord Jasper must have washed his own small clothes and hung them to dry. She didn’t know when he’d done it, but there they were. Pretending she didn’t see them, she laid the trousers on the rope beneath them.
“I hope you don’t mind that I did some of my own washing,” he said. She shook her head, not trusting herself to look at him. “I would have washed the trousers, but I didn’t want to fall over. I thought you’d rather not have to lift me into bed again.”
The image of her lifting his naked body into bed made her flush even warmer. She should move away from the fire. She was becoming overheated.
“I don’t mind.” She squeaked the words more than spoke them.
“Miss Carlisle.” His voice had an edge to it that might have frightened her if she wasn’t so completely mortified already.
She began to gather the plates from the table. She would wash them and be thankful for another activity. Never had she been happy to wash dishes before.
“Miss Carlisle.” This time it was more an order than a query. She looked up and met his gaze. Her breath hitched at the way his gaze seemed to caress her face. Quickly, she looked down again.
“Do you need something?”
“I trusted you to give me privacy.”
She glanced at him again, looking back down just as quickly because she could well imagine her face was the picture of guilt. “I-I did.”
“Then why won’t you look at me?”
“I-I suppose seeing such personal items...” She gestured vaguely to the rack by the fire.
“We both know that’s not it.”
Olivia squeezed her eyes shut and clasped her hands together. Would he call her names? Accuse her of behaving wantonly? She didn’t think he would attempt to punish her with his fists. He didn’t have the strength.
“You couldn’t stand not seeing what was underneath, could you?”
She twisted her hands. How had he known? Had he been able to read her thoughts, to know she wondered what he looked like without his clothing?
“And now that you’ve seen you can’t even look me in the eye.”
She raised her gaze to his then. She might as well accept responsibility for what she’d done. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to look. It just...happened.”
His hazel eyes, so pretty ordinarily, flashed fire. “And now you can’t stand to look at me, is that it?”
She touched her hands to her flaming cheeks. “I...I...”
“You’re disgusted by what you saw.”
With her hands pressed to her cheeks, she felt her jaw drop. “Why would I be disgusted?”
“You can’t have thought it attractive. I’ve sent men and children screaming at the sight of it.”
She stared at him. When had he shown other men and children his bare backside? Unless... “Are you speaking of your face?” she asked.
His eyes, hooded by the mask, narrowed. “What do you think I am speaking of?”
Best not to answer that question. “I did not see your face, my lord. I...” I was looking much lower. “You were turned away.”
He did not move and since she felt practically frozen in place, the entire room was still for three long heartbeats. Then very slowly his mouth quirked up in something of a smile. Or perhaps it was more aptly termed a smirk.
“Then what was it you saw?” He gestured to her. “What has your face so pink?”
“It was a very quick peek. As I said, it was more of an accident.”
“If you weren’t looking at my face, what were you looking at?”
“Nothing! Not intentionally, at any rate.”
“So you caught an accidental glimpse and then looked away immediately.”
She nodded. “Exactly.”
“Your gaze didn’t linger?”
“No!”
“You didn’t stare?”
“No!”
“Miss Carlisle...”
“Oh, very well!” The truth seemed ready to explode out of her. She could turn purple and expire from embarrassment or she could just admit her sin. “I looked. I saw your bare backside. I didn’t intend to, but I did.”
“I see.” He seemed amused, but it was difficult to tell with the mask.
“And, no, I didn’t look away immediately. I should have, but I suppose I was interested. I’ve never seen—” She made a vague gesture toward him.
“You’ve never seen...?” he asked, and she knew from the tone of his voice he was enjoying this exchange.
“That is all I am saying. I apologize.”
“You’ve never seen a naked man?” he asked, pressing the issue where she did not want it to go.
“Correct. I assure you I will not violate your privacy again.”
“I believe you, but indulge me for a moment, Miss Carlisle.”
“No.” She shook her head. “No indulging.”
He went on, ignoring her. “What did you think of what you saw? Did you like it?”
She wasn’t certain how to answer. She felt embarrassed, guilty, and decidedly too warm. She needed a few moments alone. “Excuse me. I should tend to Clover.”
Immediately, his smirk faded. “You don’t plan to go out into the dark alone. It’s still raining.”
She listened, cocking her head. “It’s slackened enough that if I throw my shawl over my head I shan’t be soaked to the skin.” And she lifted her shawl, tossed it over her head, and then made the mistake of looking back at him.
Olivia balked.
Her patient had swung his legs over the side of the bed and was sitting with only a scrap of cloth covering his...lower regions.
“What are you doing?” Did he plan to deliberately expose himself to her?
“I’ll go out with you.” He said, his voice sounding rough. She immediately understood why as he gritted his teeth as he spoke the next words. “It’s not safe for you to go alone.”
“You will do no such thing! The last thing I need is you lying in the mud bleeding.” Naked and bleeding, she thought, but she would probably implode before she had the courage to say those words.
“You could slip and—” He’d tried to rise but grimaced when the pain was too much for him. She thanked God when he sat back down, remaining covered.
>
“And you think to assist me?” Anger slowly replaced her mortification. “I don’t need your help, my lord. I’ve been tending my own horse and my own house by myself and in every kind of weather for years now. All you will do is hurt yourself, and then I will have to worry not only about the horse but about an injured fool as well.”
His back went rigid and he turned a gaze hot with anger on her. “Did you just call me a fool?”
“If you think you have the strength to walk to the stable and back with me, then yes. You are a fool.”
He made a low noise in his throat that sounded very much like a growl. “Madam, no one has ever called me a fool. No one has ever dared.”
“Well, they should have.” She knew she should be frightened, but she was too annoyed to care. Later she would probably shake with delayed nerves. How dare he assume she couldn’t take care of herself and her horse? How did he think she’d managed all these years? And she hadn’t just had herself to see to. She’d had a baby and then a toddler to care for as well. The man couldn’t even stand and he thought he would save her. In her mind, that was the exact definition of a fool.
She marched over to the bed, hands on her hips, eyes trained above his shoulders. The black half mask he wore did nothing to hide his anger. She could see it in the tenseness of his stubbled jaw and the tightness in his shoulders.
“Unless you want to open those stitches I sewed or drag yourself back up from the floor, I suggest you lie back down and rest. You can prove what a strong man you are another day.”
His eyes narrowed, looking like little more than slits with the mask over them. “You will rue the day you gave me that challenge.”
“I’m sure.”
But he lay down and tugged at the covers. When even those eluded him, she pulled them up to his shoulders for him. Clearly, he was exhausted because he was fighting to keep his eyes open. “If you were a man, I would pummel you bloody. Since you are a female, we will have it out in words. Later.”
“Why not just punch me?” She didn’t know why she’d said it. Perhaps because she could only exist in a state of fear for so long before she broke and teased the angry tiger into action. “You’ll feel better and I won’t have to wait for what I know is coming.”
His eyes, which had been drooping, opened. Surprisingly clear now, they focused on her face. “I don’t hit women.” And then his eyes closed and he did not move again.
Olivia waited until she was certain he was asleep before she felt his cheek. It was warm but not overly so. The fever was waning. She wished he would allow her to remove that mask. It couldn’t be comfortable, and if he wasn’t wearing it, she could bathe his brow with a cool cloth. She’d settle for preparing more herbal tea when she returned. If he stirred in the night, she’d force some down his throat.
Her hand lingered on his cheek and then slid to his slightly parted lips. She licked her own lips in response to the softness of his. Hers tingled, and she swallowed hard trying to ignore the feeling. She had no time for infatuation. She had chores to see to. And now that her anger was fading, she realized how reckless she’d been to call him a fool and challenge him. She’d surely pay for such imprudence on her part.
I don’t hit women.
She had heard that before. She was neither young enough nor naïve enough to believe it anymore.
Five
By Jasper’s count, he was out for two more days. At least. He’d paid for overtaxing himself by standing up and then arguing with Miss Carlisle. He’d had no strength to do anything but sleep and allow her to spoon tea and broth down his throat. He was completely disgusted with himself. Never had he been so weak, so pitiful. Here he had been sent to find Miss Carlisle and bring her home. Instead, she had found him and was stuck playing nursemaid. He hated himself for needing a nursemaid. And he was helpless to do anything but accept her kindness.
Finally, on what he thought was the third day, he opened his eyes and felt somewhat like his old self. His body didn’t ache. His head didn’t pound. His flank was still tender, but he could all but feel where the skin was beginning to knit together. He turned his head toward the window and was surprised to see the pale light of early morning filtering through the lace curtains.
Sunlight.
He’d almost forgotten what it looked like. It seemed like he’d been trapped in a nightmare world of pain and darkness for years. But now the sun was out. The rain had stopped, and he was awake. All good signs.
His gaze slid to the chair between the bed and the window. She’d placed it carefully—not close enough that he could reach out and grab her but near enough that she could be of help if he needed it. Jasper vaguely remembered an argument where she called him a fool. He remembered thinking she’d seen his burn scars. He’d been angry about that, so angry he’d said words he didn’t mean. But then he’d realized she’d just seen his bare buttocks, and her prudish response amused him. An arse was an arse. Why should seeing his embarrass her?
Unless she had liked what she’d seen?
And then he’d been interested in her blushes. Had she liked what she’d seen? He had his suspicions about what had happened between her and Withernsea. He’d assumed she would have an unshakeable antipathy toward men after the abuse she’d no doubt suffered. But perhaps time had healed those wounds.
He shook his head, grateful it didn’t throb in protest. It wasn’t for him to worry about her body’s wants and desires or lack thereof. Even if she hadn’t been a job for him, he knew he was little more than a scarred monster. No woman would want him, especially not this one.
It had been so long since he’d spent any time with a woman that being constantly in Miss Carlisle’s presence was discomfiting. Jasper had decided long ago that he wouldn’t pay for a woman as though a body was a commodity to be purchased. He’d resigned himself to celibacy, and it was generally not too difficult. He didn’t see many women who attracted him, not in the rookeries, where he spent most of his time. Both men and women there had been ravaged by poverty. Their bodies proved the outward manifestation of their ruined spirits—pox on their skin, rotting teeth, oily hair, broken bones.
But he wasn’t in the rookeries now, and when his gaze lifted to Miss Carlisle’s face it was difficult to pretend she didn’t stir his blood. In sleep she was pretty in an innocent, almost child-like way. He felt more protective than anything else. But when she was awake and moving about efficiently, ordering him to swallow the tea, or challenging him with her hands on those slim hips, she was spectacularly beautiful. Jasper had wanted to pretend his heart thudded because he was weak, but that wasn’t the only reason.
Enough!
She didn’t want him, and he should stop torturing himself imagining she would ever overcome her past or see him as anything more than a scarred wreck of a man.
He threw back the covers and sat, making himself move gingerly so his head wouldn’t spin. Wrapping the sheet around his middle, he shuffled to the fireplace. His small clothes were dry. He slipped them on and then lifted his trousers. They were dry as well. He pulled them on and wished his shirt or coat had been salvageable. But he’d survived several weeks in the Russian winter. He could tolerate England’s crisp fall with a bare chest. Shoving his feet into his boots, Jasper lifted the door’s latch. It didn’t open. A key hung on a nail high enough so the lad couldn’t reach it, but Jasper used it to unlock the door. He wondered if the lock was to keep her son in or others out.
Jasper closed the door quietly behind him so as not to wake Miss Carlisle or the lad and surveyed the yard. Leaves and small tree limbs littered the muddy ground, while a light breeze rustled the branches that remained and made him shiver. To his right was the trail down to the shore. To his left, footprints marked the path to the stable. He went left, pausing after only a few feet to marvel at the view of the ocean. It was calm today, the waves rolling in gently and white wispy clouds on the pinkish horizon. It was too early for the morning tide, and he didn’t spot any ships. He imagined he coul
d see halfway to America up here, though from the letters he’d read from his friend Rafe, who’d traveled to the former colonies, the distance was much greater than that.
Turning from the view of the ocean, Jasper trudged through the thick mud until he spotted a small building with a wide window. This must be the stable. As he neared, he heard the horse nicker. The animal was probably hungry and eager for fresh air.
Jasper lifted the bar on the stable doors, wincing a little at the twinge of pain in his side, and swung them open. Inside an old brown mare lifted her head and neighed at him, her ears flicking back and her eyes rolling nervously. Jasper spoke quietly to her. He wasn’t quite up to mucking out stalls yet, but he found the feed easily enough, as well as a bucket of clean water. Obviously, this reassured the horse because she only snorted when he entered her stall and opened the window. She lifted her head and blew out a breath then went back to eating. No doubt when Miss Carlisle woke she would take the horse out to stretch her legs.
There was little else to see in the stable, so Jasper left. He would have walked back to the cottage except the footprints he’d followed wound around the back of the stable. He followed them to a clearing where neat rows of vegetables had been planted. At least they had been neat rows at some point. Now the plants had toppled over and what might have been carefully tended soil was little more than a shallow, muddy pond.
Jasper walked on, his side beginning to throb now, past the rear of the cottage, and toward the path leading back down to the ocean. The path he’d taken to the cottage. A fist had closed around his heart, but he tried to ignore the ominous feeling that he would be trapped here by more than his injury. There was no ignoring the truth, however, when he looked down the steep incline of the path. What had been a somewhat challenging but traversable path was now little more than a steep muddy descent. Rocks and tree limbs that had provided purchase had been washed away, and Jasper stared at what amounted to a precipice. A few yards down, the path curved. It had once been a gentle curve but was now a jutting of land where the rest of the cliff ended. Jasper supposed the lower half of the trail might have fared better, but he didn’t think he could make it down in order to assess the terrain.