Corey McFadden (20 page)

As carefully as she could manage, she pulled off the skirt and petticoats, then divested herself of the bodice. Standing in only her chemise, she pulled a clean cotton nightgown from a drawer. She pulled the chemise over her head and inspected the dark, purpling splotch across her ribs. It looks as bad as it feels, she thought to herself, wondering how long it would be before she felt whole again.

There were four quick taps on the door. Grabbing up the nightgown, she pulled it quickly over her head, flinching at the shooting pain in her side from the movement. Moving as fast as she could to the door, she paused before it uncertainly. Surely it must be he!

“Who is it?” she called softly, hoping her voice would carry through the thick paneling.

“Giles.” His voice was so low that she could barely hear him.

Relieved, she pulled back the lock and opened the door, closing and locking it as soon as he entered.

His eyes swept over her, and for an instant she thought she saw that haunted, hungry look he had worn a few days ago. Saying nothing, he took her hand and led her to the bed, seating her on the edge. He had an armload of bandages and a dark colored glass bottle.

“I had to fob off Mrs. Davies with a tale of a drunken gentleman who has taken a fall,” he said, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “She was all set to come running until I explained the gentleman was mortified and didn’t wish anyone to know.” He paused a moment and looked at her in confusion. “Actually, I didn’t stop to think that you might prefer Mrs. Davies to me,” he said.

“Oh no, I don’t want anyone else to know about this, and you’ve already...I mean...” she broke off, flushing to the roots. “Oh, Sir Giles, there is so much more to the world than I ever knew, and I feel like such a fool!” she cried.

He turned to her, his brown eyes warm in the lamplight. “Stay in your world, Joanna,” he said softly. “Don’t let the scoundrels and knaves spoil it for you.”

He rinsed out the cloth he had used earlier in fresh water. “Now, my nursing skills are slim, nonexistent to be precise, but I believe we have to get you cleaned up and bandaged, and hope that there is no festering,” he said, applying the warm cloth to the scratch on her cheek. “Are there any other injuries you know of?”

“Well, there’s one on my thigh—a long scratch that’s bleeding. I think one of them was wearing a ring. But I’ve already washed it,” she said, reddening.

Giles said nothing, but Joanna could see the tightening around his mouth. He finished washing the scratch on her face and turned to pour something out of the bottle onto a fresh cloth.

“This will sting a bit, but my doctor gave it to me to clean my cuts when the cart fell on me, and since I am still alive, I figure it won’t kill you,” he said genially, just before he clapped a noxious cloth across her cheek.

“Ouch!” she cried. “That burns!”

“That proves it’s good for you,” he said, smiling, then pulled the cloth away. “Let me look at your thigh,” he said softly, kneeling down in front of her. “I’m sorry. I know you are embarrassed, but it will be much worse if it is not kept clean.”

Joanna sighed and raised her nightgown enough to let him see the scratch, which stretched nearly to the point of indecency. She bit her lip in embarrassment, refusing to look, as he carefully washed the scratch and applied the offending medicine. She looked up as he pulled the cotton nightgown down over her legs. His head was bent down and she could not see his face.

“I’d like to bandage your ribs, if you’ll let me, Joanna,” he said, standing, still not meeting her eyes. “I’ve broken a rib myself, so I think I can manage—at least until we can get the doctor here tomorrow to see it done properly.”

“I don’t want the doctor...” she began.

“I know, but you’ll have him nonetheless. I must be sure you are well, and I don’t trust my own medical skills. Besides, the local doctor is a good man, and he will keep our confidence.”

They stared at each other for a moment, then Joanna slowly pulled open the front of her nightgown. Shrugging her shoulders out of it with a wince of pain, she let it fall to her waist.

She heard his soft intake of breath and closed her eyes. She could feel the bandage slipping around her, his gentle fingers wrapping it tightly under her breasts. She knew she should be perishing of mortification, yet she felt that odd feeling again, the way she had felt when he had held her a few days ago, as if she needed something badly, but what? His hands were hot against her flesh, and the heat lingered after his hands moved on.

His breathing was ragged when he finished. Abruptly he turned away. Joanna buttoned her nightgown slowly, the memory of his hands on her, burning, burning...what was the matter with her?

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked, his voice harsh.

Her eyes flew open. “What’s wrong?” she asked in alarm. He was angry with her. What had she done? But his face, when he turned back to her, held that ravaged look, a look of hunger and pain.

For a long moment their gazes held. Joanna caught her breath. She could feel his need now, and it was answered by her own.

Slowly, without conscious thought, she rose and stepped toward him. “Hold me again. The way you did the other day,” she whispered.

His arms came about her gently, his hands stroking her back. She could feel his face buried in her hair. She burned up and down the length of her body with the heat of him pressed against her.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, pulling back to look at her. “I haven’t thought of anything but you since the moment I first laid eyes on you.” He stared into the soft brown depths of her beautiful eyes, mesmerized by the lights that danced within. Almost as if of its own volition, his hand reached up to her face. Fascinated, he watched his fingers trace a gentle line down her soft cheek, then cup her chin. He drew his face down, down to hers, then lightly touched his lips to hers. For the briefest instant they held suspended, then with a moan he deepened the kiss, his arms going about her again, but gently, as if he thought she might break at his touch. Then his lips found her cheek, burning hot along her neck, her throat.

“I can’t touch you anywhere without hurting you, my love,” he whispered into her hair. “I can’t kiss you...I can’t hold you,” he broke off. His hands moved up and down her back. He reached down with one arm and placed it under her knees, swinging her carefully up onto the bed and sitting down next to her.

Joanna’s senses swam. Her skin was on fire beneath his touch, and she felt as if she could not remember how to breathe. She was spinning, spinning down, pulled by some unknown feeling, some urgent need she could not name.

Without warning his lips moved against hers, as his mouth found hers in searing possession.

Shock chased through her but she could not pull away. His lips were hot and hard against her own, stoking the fire that burned inside her. With an answering moan, her lips parted under his as he pulled her against him, very gently. He raised his hands to her neck, tangling them in her hair, pulling her closer as his tongue found the inside of her mouth, plundering, seeking.

Joanna gasped with the shock of the intrusion and the hot pleasure that flooded through her at the intimacy of his touch. Almost without knowing what she did, her hands slid along his back against the hard length of him, feeling under her fingers his muscular strength.

Giles fell her press against him, and groaned as the heat of her flooded his loins. Oh God, it had been so long! She tasted so sweet; her lips were full and ripe and made to be kissed. His hand slid down her back, coming to rest on the swell of her buttocks. He felt like an adolescent with his first woman. He was in danger of losing all control. His other hand slid under her arm around to the small, soft mound of her breast. He felt her gasp beneath his lips, then she pulled away, her heavy-lidded brown eyes shot through with confusion and uncertainty.

For a moment they stared at one another, breathing raggedly, the heat a tangible thing between them. Then, abruptly, he thrust her away from him, holding her at arm’s length in a grip tight enough to bruise, his face tortured, his eyes dark with passion and pain.

“Ahh, Joanna, please forgive me, I had no right,” he rasped. He could see in the lamplight that her lips were again swollen and purpled, this time from his assault. With a clumsy finger he traced the swelling as if he could soothe it away. “I feel like an animal,” he said softly, his hand lingering against her cheek. “But I cannot keep my hands off of you.”

“I’m afraid I must beg your pardon, Sir Giles,” she whispered shakily. “I am so confused. I have never felt such things before. I’ve never behaved...never in my life...you must think I’m....”

“Hush, don’t even think such a thing,” he said, smiling at her, his eyes warm. “You are a perfect lady and I am a cad to take such advantage of you. And, by the way, you must not call me sir. It’s just Giles.”

Joanna gave him a tentative smile and drew a deep breath. She was confused and ashamed, yet oddly exhilarated. What she had done was mad, dreadful, yet she knew without doubt that if he reached for her again she would melt into his arms and feel joy in his touch. Was this what she was at heart? No better than the tart Ambrose had suggested she become?

He sat back, his hands gentle now on her arms. “I promise I will behave myself, but I will not leave you here alone tonight. There is some devilment afoot and I trust no one. Tomorrow I’ll see to getting you a better lock for your door—the one you have could be pushed open by a child. I’ll sit in your chair while you sleep, if you won’t be too uncomfortable with me here.”

“Yes, please, Giles, stay with me,” she answered softly, her hand finding his. “But don’t sleep in the chair. That’s silly with this big bed here, and you’ll be awake all night. You can stretch out here on the bed, if you can trust me to behave myself.” She hoped she sounded as if she were joking. In truth, she was not at all sure that she could lie next to him without seeking again the heat of his kiss.

He laughed softly and slowly stretched himself the length of the bed, lying carefully on top of the bedclothes. He turned his body in toward hers and put an arm protectively over her, below her ribs, his face against her neck, his other hand lacing through her hair. She could feel her heart pounding against him and knew he could feel it too. She was a whirlwind of emotions inside, exhilarated, frightened, confused—she did not know how she felt. Safe. She felt safe. Perhaps it was a false sense of security. Perhaps the light of day would bring new fears. Perhaps she was already lost, already too many steps down the road of ruin to turn back. But for now she would sleep in the protective circle of his arms, warm and safe.

Chapter Nine

“Giles, you are simply making too much of this. It has nothing to do with me if the silly boys misinterpreted her friendliness as an invitation. She certainly looked willing enough to me, what little I could see of her, surrounded as she was by admiring men all evening. She’s quite an accomplished flirt, Giles. You are much mistaken if you continue believing her to be all innocence. In fact, I am quite certain you’ve got it all backwards. Have you stopped to consider that she was a willing partner until she saw you? I swear, Giles, you are making a perfect fool of yourself over that cheap bit of muslin.”

Eleanor was trying to sound nonchalant and exasperated but she was growing more unnerved by the minute. She had never seen Giles so angry. Not even over some of her escapades with Violet. He had been lying in wait for her when she had finally crawled from her bed this afternoon, and he had damn near dragged her into the library, slamming the massive door shut behind them. There would be bruises on her wrist from the way he had pulled her in here.

She had thought it odd when Dalton and Hayhurst had not reported back to her last night. She had looked forward to enjoying the blow-by-blow account of their success. She’d seen nothing further of Giles or Miss Carpenter, either, but then she had not really expected to. It was a great disappointment, adding to the thudding of her head and the roiling of her queasy stomach, to learn now from Giles that her carefully laid plans had somehow gone awry. Apparently the stupid boys had not managed to compromise the chit after all, and had only succeeded in getting themselves run off the property.

And how was Giles managing to link her with the scheme? Her head pounded so badly she could barely think. Waking to find that she and her naughty count had drunk up all the brandy in her bedroom last night, she had crept downstairs for a splash of it to take the pain away. Now Giles stood between her and the crystal decanter which she eyed with longing, wondering if she dared brush past him to get to it.

She stole a look at his face. It was black as a thundercloud. His hands were clenched tightly as if he were contemplating pounding her with his fists. He stood with a tension that made him seem like a tiger about to spring. Well, he would strike her or not but she must have some brandy.

With a nonchalance she did not feel, she crossed the room, coming as near to him as she had to, and poured herself a liberal tot. “Join me, darling?” she found herself taunting. It was so hard to break old habits, and, after all, he had never struck her yet.

“You are a common drunk, Eleanor. If I took the brandy away from you, you’d have the shakes and hallucinations. Look at yourself. I’ve seen tavern sluts who were more fastidious about themselves.”

She wore her dressing gown tied loosely about her slender form. She hadn’t bothered to look at herself in the mirror before leaving her room— which she rarely did until she had a chance to fix herself up. She was aware that her hair was lank and her makeup from last night was no doubt blotched and smeared. Damn him! What did the little tart of a governess look like in the morning? Lovely? Fresh?

“You wound me, brother dear,” Eleanor replied, keeping the rising bitterness out of her voice. At least this was more like it, back to the usual harmless bickering. She could handle this. “You know perfectly well I am impeccable in my appearance whenever I am entertaining. I am simply tired this morning. It was a late night, after all.” Indeed, Count Damelio had been all she could have asked for. And more. His outrageous codpiece had not exaggerated by much. She had made him slip away to his own room at dawn. She had told him she was tired, but it had more to do with waking up together, a face next to hers on a pillow, up close, in the light of day....