by Wendy Vella
“Do you think the fever will take hold?” Josiah asked as he placed a bowl filled with the enticing aromas of beef stew in front of Essie. He was a replica of his brother; both men were of average height and of stout build, with gray hair.
They sat at a sturdy wooden table near the fire in the dining room. The table still bore the marks of their childhood, and she felt the usual pang of longing for the rest of her siblings as she looked at it, remembering a time when they had been seated like peas in a pod.
“I hope not, but in truth there is no way of knowing.”
“Eat the bread too,” Josiah said, nudging it closer to her plate.
“There is no equal to you in this, Josiah,” Cam said, spooning in a large mouthful. “I have found nothing in London to match this stew.”
“And believe me, he has tried,” Essie said. She took a mouthful and let her senses adjust to the taste as she identified each ingredient. Like her siblings, Essie had a heightened sense, and hers was taste. Anything too sweet or sour, anything off, would taste twice, three times as strong as it would for other people. She was always careful to take a small bite of anything new to ensure her senses would not be overwhelmed with what she was eating.
“It’s a simple stew, Miss Essex, have no fear.”
“I never fear when you are cooking, Josiah.”
Cam sniffed the air and sighed. His heightened sense was smell; he was like a bloodhound when walking the streets of London. Woman who wore too much scent made him shudder, and food that was off made him turn green.
“We are to leave for London soon, Essie.”
“I will need to ensure he has recovered fully, Cam. Surely you can see that?”
“We shall discuss this tomorrow evening, and remember Aunt has her ball coming up; and needs our help with preparations.”
“No, she doesn’t,” Essie said. “Aunt has been organizing balls since before we were born. She just said she wanted our help to lure us back to London to attend.”
Her brother smiled, flashing his white teeth. It softened his face and removed the cynical edge he often wore. Life had played its hand on the Sinclairs, but none more so than Cam.
“Likely you’re right, but as I wish to attend I have no problem with that.”
“I know you have a particular liking for Miss Priscilla Partridge, which is why you wish to return to London, and I would not want to stand in the way of true love,” Essie teased her brother.
“Indeed, she is a lovely young woman,” Cam mused as he used a large chunk of bread to clean his bowl. “However, there is that small matter of her perfume, which is off-putting.”
“It’s perfume, Cam, not body odor.”
“True,” he mused. “And she does have nice... eyes.”
Essie snorted, knowing full well that Miss Priscilla Partridge had large breasts.
“I pity the poor woman who eventually ends up with you as her husband.”
“She will be a woman envied by many. I am considered something of a catch, you know.”
His black hair needed a trim and hung over his eyes, his shirt was open at the neck, and he wore no waistcoat. They were always like that here, and never stood on ceremony. He looked handsome and healthy, and as the latter was not something he had always been, her heart was happy to see it.
“Really? I wonder when that happened, as on my last visit to London I heard nothing to indicate it was the case.”
“Heartless wretch, you know very well I am in high regard.”
“And so humble.”
Cam smiled, and she understood what set young ladies giggling. There was a wicked glint in his green eyes that could not quite be trusted. Of course she would trust him with her life, but she was not a silly young lady, just his sister.
“Myrtle adores me, anyway. I just fed her some stew, and all is forgiven.”
“You’ll not be feeding that hairy beast from my table.” Josiah scowled.
“That is no way to talk about your brother, Josiah.” Cam winked at Bertie as he got to his feet. “Now, if my nursing duties are over, I shall retire and get an early night. I must look my best for our return to London.”
“I can’t leave him if he is not well, Cam.”
He kissed her head. “I know, love, but he may be stable in a day or two, and then Josiah and Bertie can watch over him. Make sure you get some sleep.”
“I will.” Essie squeezed the hand he held out to her. They had grown closer since Dev and Eden, their siblings, had both wed. Their younger siblings were still in the schoolroom.
She watched his tall form leave the room as her thoughts returned to her aunt and uncle’s ball. She knew they were hosting the event in hopes of finding her a husband. Of course she’d told them she had no wish to marry, but her aunt did not believe her.
It was all right for Cam to be still unwed, as he was a man and therefore it did not matter when he chose to marry, as time was on his side. She, however, was fast approaching spinsterhood, which pleased her, but no one else. Ignoring the pang of disappointment that she would never have a family of her own, she too got to her feet. She would have her siblings’ children to spoil, and that would be enough.
“That was a wonderful meal, thank you, and now I will check the patient.”
“And no doubt we will find you there in the morning,” Josiah said.
“I shall try to find my bed, I promise,” Essie lied. “Tell Grace not to wait for me,” she added, knowing that otherwise her maid would have a long wait.
She carried a candle down the hall to Dev’s room. Heading straight to the bed, she found the patient sleeping. Laying a hand on his forehead, she felt the heat. Not too hot, and yet hotter than he should be. She hoped this did not mean a fever was coming. She checked the bandage, and found it was still clean.
Expelling a breath she had not known she was holding, Essie decided to read for a while, and then she would wake him to take more medicine. She reached for a medical treatise, and sank into the deep chair that her brother had often sat in while reading to his younger siblings. Soon she was lost in the world of medicine, one of her favorite places to be.
Chapter Two
Something woke Essie. Stretching, she knew instantly where she was, as she had spent many nights sitting with her patients. Stoking the fire back to life, she then lit the branch of candles she had put beside her chair and carried it with her to check on the patient.
The noise had come from him. He was thrashing about on the bed.
“Damn!”
He was shivering; fever had taken hold. Checking the wound, she found it seeping, and quickly got her supplies. She took off the bandages, cleaned the wound, and applied a fresh pad with salve on it.
“You must stay calm.” She talked to him as she worked. Once finished, she bandaged it again, although this time it was not as easy, as the man was now shivering violently.
His pulse was rapid and he was rolling his head from side to side. Gathering all the blankets she could, Essie piled them on top of him and then found two bricks to heat. She ran into her surgery and grabbed more herbs to bring down the fever.
She spent the next hour forcing liquid down his throat and placing bricks around his body, but nothing seemed to be warming him up. She feared for his heart if he did not stop shaking, but could think of little else to do. She felt helpless in the face of his obvious distress. Had her siblings been here they would have helped. She could wake Cam, his strength added to hers—
“H-help m-me.”
“I am trying.” She took the hand he held out to her and squeezed it in reassurance. “You must try and hold still, or you will tear your stitches.”
“S-s-so c-cold.”
Not giving herself time to think, Essie stripped off her dress, shoes, and stockings. Clad only in a thin chemise, she pulled aside the covers and climbed beneath. Making her way to where he lay beneath the mound of blankets, she took a deep breath, and careful to avoid his bullet wound, she lay along his good side and wr
apped her arms around him. Placing her leg over his, she tried to warm him.
“Try to calm your breathing,” she whispered as she lay her head on his chest. “Let me warm you.”
His body was shuddering so hard Essie thought it was only a matter of time until his heart stopped beating.
“T-talk t-to me.”
He could barely speak. His teeth banged together hard.
“I’m one of seven,” Essie began. She told him of her family and the others that had joined it, James and Lilly, and how the additions had only strengthened what they already had.
“We’re different,” she said softly. “The seven of us are not like other people. And I’m not as strong as them.” Essie wasn’t sure why she had said those words. Perhaps because for so long they had rolled around inside her head, gaining momentum. Or perhaps because she knew that the man would remember nothing of what she had told him in the morning. Whatever the reason, it felt good to finally speak her thoughts.
She was the weak Sinclair. The one who was just so much less than the others. Looks, personality, and even her heightened sense. She knew, and was sure her siblings did too, although they were too nice to say anything on the matter. But the truth was, she did sometimes feel unworthy.
And you’re pathetic for thinking it.
“It’s like I’m the pale version of them,” she whispered. Looking at the man, she saw his eyes were closed. He hadn’t heard her, which she knew was a good thing. People would never understand about the Sinclairs and their senses. Even she sometimes struggled with what they could do.
His shivers were easing, and soon she would get off the bed. As soon as he was completely still. Yawning, Essie thought she would wait a few more minutes and then find her own bed.
Max was warm to his toes. His left side burned from the bullet hole he had received yesterday, but his right felt warm in a nice way. Opening his eyes, he looked to see what was pressed to it.
Curls the color of midnight lay across his chest, and then he remembered Essex Sinclair, the beautiful healer who had saved his life. The memory of her climbing onto the bed and warming him flashed through his head. She had heated him with her body and soothed him with her gentle words, telling him stories of her family and the hopes and dreams she had for her little home, and he had heard every one. She’d said she was different, as was her family, and he wondered what she’d meant.
She’d also told him she was not as strong as her siblings, and he wanted to know what she meant by that too.
Max remembered the first blissful contact of her body. The heat had been instant, almost magical, as if something had flowed from her into him, a healing warmth had banished the wracking shudders from his body.
One leg was draped over his thighs, and a hand on his chest, as if she was keeping him in place. A lover, determined her man stay exactly where she wanted him. Max almost wished that he had not slept, so he could have enjoyed every second of her lush body pressed to his.
He studied the long, elegant fingers with her short, clean nails, and something moved inside him. An uneasy feeling swept over him that this woman was in some way important to him. He pushed it aside. Max didn’t collect people in his life, and no one had ever found a special place inside him, nor would they. He felt gratitude and nothing more. It was simply because he was weak at the moment; the feeling would pass.
He picked up her hand. Such strength flowed from those fingers, and she had used them to heal him; it was a humbling thought. She had never met him before yesterday, yet had taken him into her home and cared for him with her body and her mind.
He remembered male voices, and knew there was a brother. Was there also a husband, perhaps? The thought was not a pleasing one, which confused him more. Max didn’t care about people, especially not women. If she had ten husbands, and as many lovers, it was no concern of his.
She had forced vile concoctions down his throat last night until finally he had begged her to help him rid his body of the ice that chorused through his veins. Seconds later he had felt the blessed heat of her lying on top of him.
Taking care not to wake her, Max pushed a tangle of curls from her face. She slumbered deeply, and her exhaustion was evident in the dark smudges beneath her eyes. Her skin was tinged with gold, no doubt from many hours spent outside tending the garden he had fallen in. He followed the sweet tilt of her nose and full lips. She was a beautiful woman, this Essex Sinclair. His eyes studied the delicate curve of one ear then continued down to the tip of her chin and below. One of her breasts was pushed high, the creamy swell rising above the edge of her chemise, and Max’s fingers itched to touch the flesh. In fact, his body was suddenly very aware of the fact that he had a near naked woman in his arms. Clenching his fingers briefly, he fought the urge to touch.
He’d never experienced such a need before, to possess a woman. An urgency to know her better.
Perhaps he had taken a knock to the head also, Max thought, and it had muddled his thinking.
He touched a soft cheek, and she woke slowly, like a petal unfurling to the sun’s rays. Her lashes fluttered, her fingers curled into his chest, and then she stretched slowly, inch by delectable inch of her body moving sensually against his, and it was like an erotic form of torture. He realized the exact instant she became aware of her surroundings because all the softness fled, replaced by tension. Tipping her head back, she looked up at him, and the impact of her gaze travelled through his body like a bolt of lightning.
He had travelled miles over waters, and their depths had held the color of those eyes. Blue-green and rimmed with darker blue, they held his for several seconds. Her mouth opened, and before she could speak he had dragged her up his body and kissed her. Soft, Max thought, and incredibly sweet.
Christ!
Just a brush of his lips over hers left his head spinning. Blood pounded through him, and he wanted more of her. Needed more.
“Open for me,” he rasped against her lips. She yielded, and he deepened the contact. Cupping her head, he explored her thoroughly.
“No.” She wrenched her mouth free.
Breathless, they stared at each other for long seconds.
“Dear Lord,” she whispered, and then she tore herself from his arms and began to scramble backward, burrowing through the covers like a frantic mole searching for the edge. Max guessed she found it, as seconds later there was a thump.
“Are you all right?” he questioned, moving gingerly to the edge. His side burned with the effort, just as his body still burned for her. Looking down, he found her on her bottom. Her chemise had ridden up, showing him the delicious curves of her thighs, and he looked his fill before she slapped down the hem and quickly climbed to her feet.
“Please avert your eyes, sir.”
“Not if you handed me ten gold pieces,” he said, watching the flush travel up her neck.
She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Max guessed that was because she had woken pressed to his side and he had just kissed her. And hell, what a kiss. His body was still painfully aroused. The woman had set him on fire.
“You, sir, are no gentleman to watch a lady dress when she has asked you not to. Th-then there is the m-matter of that kiss.”
“I am indeed no gentleman, Miss Essex, but I would ask you to try and stop any man from looking, considering the beauty you wear so effortlessly.” Max said the words as she dropped to her knees, appearing to search under the bed he lay in. Seconds later she was standing once again with a piece of gray wool in one hand. He watched as she efficiently bundled all that wonderful dark hair into a knot and tied the ends with two sharp tugs. “And that kiss was the inevitable result of waking with you in my arms. I defy you to state you did not enjoy it.”
She made a scoffing sound and came back to his side. Max ignored the kick his pulse gave as she stepped closer. The woman was dressed in rumpled clothes, her hair a mess, and had him more off-balance than all who had come before her. The beauty, Max realized, was in her bones. Hers was a powerfu
l attraction to any unsuspecting—or injured—man.
“Don’t flatter me, sir. I neither want nor need it, and for your information, I-I did not enjoy that kiss.”
“Your stutter would suggest you lie, and I will state again that you are beautiful.”
She laid a cool palm on his forehead, and he felt the same jolt of awareness at her touch, almost as if he had been stung by something.
“You doubt my words, Miss Sinclair?”
She ignored him, instead reaching for his bandage. Easing her hands beneath, she removed it gently.
“I will make you something to take for the pain, and redress the wound, but I fear you will need to stay in bed for several days.”
“You did not answer my question.”
“I have no time for Banbury tales, sir.”
“My name is Max.”
“I know, you gave it to me last night. Do you have a last name?”
“Just Max, Essex.”
“I am Miss Sinclair.”
“You were Essie to me last night when you talked of your family, and your hopes and dreams.”
Her eyes went to his briefly and then away. He knew she wondered why he had no wish to share his last name, and in truth he was unsure. Very probably she had never heard of him. But right here and now, he simply wanted to be Max to this woman.
“I-I…. You heard everything?”
She wasn’t happy about that.
“Every word.”
Her fingers clenched briefly.
“Are you sure I cannot address you by your last name, sir? It is highly inappropriate of me to call you Max, as it is for you to call me Essex.”
“There is no name other than Max that I wish you to use, and I think we can dispense with proprieties between us, considering what has transpired, don’t you, Essex?”
“Is there anyone I can send word to come for you?”
He shook his head, having no wish for anyone to know his location and bring danger to her household. “I have no one.” After all, someone had tried to kill him, and as yet he had no idea who.