Kissed; Christian (19 page)

Jessie gasped, for Ben was bare beneath the blanket. She forced her gaze to remain, for the wound seemed hideous and she wanted so desperately to help. It was evident that he had bled a great deal, for there was blood encrusted upon his leg and a fair amount soaking the pallet beneath him. Yet it no longer bled, and for that she was deeply gratified.

Casting the old man an angry glare, Ben snatched the blanket back before Jessie could see more. He flushed, but noting her horrified expression, he turned again to the old man. “What the devil do you know!” he snapped. “What are you trying to do? Frighten her to death?”

Amazingly, the old man glowered back at him. He snorted. “Tryin’ to save yer ungrateful hide, is all,” he grumbled. “What do ye think she’s here fer, anyhow?”

Returning his gaze to Jessie, Ben assured her, “Really, coz, ‘tis not as bad as it appears.” He gave a resentful nod in the old man’s direction. “The slug’s already been removed—and not too gently, I might add. ’Tis why it looks so bad and bled so much.”

“I see,” Jessie replied. “Who removed it?”

Turning to pierce the scowling white-haired old man with an indignant glare, he ground out, “Take one guess.”

“I’m certain, Ben, that he was only trying to help.” She shook her head, trying to keep at bay her emotions. “At any rate,” she told him, her eyes questioning, “It is not his fault you were wounded tonight, was it?”

“Crotchety pain-in-the-arse old man!” Ben grumbled, but his eyes misted suspiciously. He averted his gaze.

“Please...” She glanced up into the old man’s gentle brown eyes. “Bring me water and rags, and accept my apologies for my cousin’s discourteous behavior. It must be the pain that dims his sense of gratitude.”

The old man stared at her a long moment, clearly unused to such apologies and evidently bemused by her defense of him. He nodded suddenly and hurried away to do her bidding.

“You know not what you’re doing, abetting that man,” Ben said, still unable to look at her.

“Shush,” she said.

Reassured that anyone as contrary as Ben was too mean to die, she turned her attention to Jean Paul. In truth, she had no idea what else to say to her cousin, for she was seeing a side of him she’d never known existed. Nor was she entirely certain she wanted to know what had occurred tonight.

Christian moved away as Jessie neared, but she noted the way he watched her so intently. He didn’t trust her, she knew. Well, she didn’t care. She ignored him as best she could, turning to peer down into the slumbering man’s face. Her eyes widened and her gaze immediately returned to Christian. The resemblance between them was uncanny. How, she wondered, could Jean Paul not know Christian was his flesh and blood? Deciding they were a pair of stubborn old fools—and that they deserved one another—she turned again to Jean Paul.

Placing the back of her hand to his nostrils, she felt his warm breath against her skin and sighed in relief. Hesitantly, fearful of what she might discover beneath, she lowered the blanket from his chest to examine the wound at his shoulder.

It didn’t appear nearly as bad as she’d expected—Ben’s was worse, in fact. Still, judging by the stain upon his shirt, he, too, had bled quite a lot. Taking in the wide expanse of his chest, she peered up at Christian, unwittingly comparing the two. Christian gave her a narrow-eyed look, and her cheeks heated. She glanced quickly away, though Lord help her, she could scarcely keep her thoughts from straying where they should not, even now.

She felt suffocated with him so near.

She examined Jean Paul’s wound, completely at a loss as to what to do next. It appeared as though Quincy had ministered to him, as well, and she was silently grateful to the old man, for she truly doubted she could have done the unpleasant task herself. The awful truth was that Jessie wasn’t even certain she’d have known how to remove the ball in the first place—nor did she have the strength of stomach for it. The very sight of so much blood made her dizzy and sick. She wasn’t precisely experienced in this sort of thing, after all. She peered up at Christian in exasperation, silently asking him what he wished of her, because she didn’t know what to do.

“He regained consciousness a short time ago,” Ben revealed, “for an instant.”

Peering over her shoulder at her cousin, Jessie nodded and turned to place a hand to Jean Paul’s forehead. “He’s quite warm,” she added softly. “I-I’m not certain what to do... when I was ill, my maid Hildie would sponge me with cool water. It seemed to help—at least I think it did.”

“Do what you can for him.” The tone of Christian’s voice, the gravity with which he spoke, gave Jessie the impression that he’d come as close to begging as he was able.

She peered up at him.

“That’s all I ask of you.”

Their gazes locked, held, and Jessie fought the urge to throw her arms about him, comfort him. There was so much pain evident in his deep blue eyes. “Christian... I—” Truly, she wanted to help—despite everything—but she just didn’t know how. She shook her head, not in negation, but in regret. And then anger flooded her once more, that he should put her in such a horrible predicament. She averted her gaze. “You should have abducted a physician in my stead! God’s truth, I know nothing of the healing arts!”

“You don’t understand,” Christian murmured low into her ear, and despite the gravity of the situation before them, a chill swept down her spine as his warm breath stirred her hair. “I—” His voice caught. “I had no choice, Jess.”

Jessie shivered. “Why not?” she asked, swallowing. She peered up at him. “Your fa—Jean Paul,” she amended hastily, furiously, glancing briefly about before speaking again. “He could die without a physician’s care—I don’t understand why you would risk that! Why?”

His blue eyes glinted strangely.

“Because,” he snapped. His jaw worked, and then suddenly his expression hardened. “Damn it, I simply cannot! Do what you can, or get the hell out of the way!”

Jessie worried her lower lip, torn between the desire to rail at him and the need to aid Ben and Jean Paul. She pretended an interest in Jean Paul’s frilly sleeve cuff, rubbing it absently between her fingertips. Lord help her, but outrage nearly won out. She dared not meet his gaze, lest he see the awful pain he’d once more managed to inflict upon her. She held her tongue, resigning finally to do all that she could, though it seemed insane not to procure medical aid from a knowledgeable physician. There was so much to lose.

“I’m certain you’ll at least do what you can for Ben,” he said, and his tone was almost an accusation.

Jessie met Ben’s sympathetic brown eyes over her shoulder. Her cousin seemed angered by Christian’s disregard of her, yet he said nothing. Out of deference? Loyalty? What?

Rising abruptly, Christian peered down at her, his fists clenched at his sides. He closed his eyes, and when he reopened them, his expression was shuttered; only his eyes revealed his pain. “Please, Jess...”

He couldn’t know what he was asking of her—what if she failed? She nodded, placing a hand to Jean Paul’s chest, taking comfort in his smooth, even breath.

Silence seemed to permeate the small cabin, and then suddenly Christian turned and walked away, his footsteps a hollow echo upon the planking.

How could he put her in such a dreadful position? How could he drag Ben into his sordid affairs—and yes, she was certain the blame for everything,
everything
that had transpired this night, fell to none other than Christian. Gritting her teeth, she set about the task of removing Jean Paul’s bloodied shirt.

“You love him don’t you, coz?”

Jessie shot Ben a wrathful glare. He was watching her intently, his knowing gaze as penetrating as Christian’s.

“As I love walking barefoot through snow,” she replied. But even as she spoke the words, her heart ached with the lie; she feared she did love the rotten knave.

Quincy reentered the room, lugging in a small black kettle filled with water and a handful of rags. The kettle, he set down before her, sloshing water onto the floor; the rags, he dropped beside her. “That’s it, mum.”

“Thank you,” she said woodenly.

The old man sighed wearily and stooped to speak softly to her. “I’ve seen worse, mum. He’s just all out from my removing the slug, is all. Ye watch an’ see iffen he don’t wake up soon.” He winked conspiratorially. “Now... his lordship, on the other hand...” His gaze locked with hers. “ ’Tis him what needs you, Miss Jessie.”

Jessie averted her gaze. “Thank you,” she murmured, flustered. For the first time, she thought to wonder how the old man knew her name.

How could he possibly think Christian needed her?

She listened to the protest of his bones as he stood with a groan and waited for his footsteps to fade as he left her, then she set out to do the best she was able, using the scalding water to cleanse both Ben’s and Jean Paul’s injuries. She ripped up the rags into small strips and bandaged their wounds, and later, once Ben had dozed and the water had cooled, she used it to sponge Jean Paul.

Only when her eyes began to droop did she leave off, curling beside Ben upon the floor. She lay there, with her head pillowed upon his chest, listening to the smooth, even rhythm of his breathing, and fell asleep just so.

C
hristian didn’t quite expect the sight that greeted him as he entered the cabin—should have, perhaps, but didn’t. Yet, it didn’t surprise him either. It did make his gut turn to see Jessie curled so familiarly beside her cousin upon the floor.

God’s teeth, at least she was still wearing her cloak, he told himself, though it had ridden up her leg along with her gown, exposing her for God’s and just about anyone’s eyes. He strode purposely toward them, muttering curses as he stooped to cover her with her cloak.

Unable to sleep, he’d come several times during the night; each time he’d found her awake, holding her damnable cousin’s hand, or gently sponging Jean Paul’s brow. And so he’d remained hidden in the shadows, observing unheeded, not trusting himself to remain in the same room with her. After a while, he’d not been able to bear even that, and he’d withdrawn to the solitude of his own cabin. Now he had to wonder over the wisdom of his decision.

It was obvious the woman was a dim-witted fool to be lying so near a half-nude, half-conscious man—cousin or not! What the devil was wrong with her? Didn’t she realize what she could do to a man with aught more than her presence? Christian might have been dead as a doornail and would have still scented her beside him; hers was a siren’s perfume that called to his senses more keenly than he cared to admit.

God’s bones, she’d nursed her cousin so tenderly that he’d found himself wishing it were him lying there wounded instead... with her soft hand stroking his so lovingly. What ailed him that he would crave her touch so interminably? Even to such a degree?

Why had he felt compelled to seek her out last night, when somewhere within, he had to have known she couldn’t help him.

Because he’d needed her.

The admission tormented him.

Stirring at last, Jean Paul groaned, and Christian turned as his father opened weary blue eyes to the morning light.

Behind him, Jessie roused at once; he was painfully aware of her every move, every gesture and sound. She hurried to Jean Paul’s side, ignoring him—or perhaps she did not see him—turning the full impact of her stunning emerald gaze upon his father instead.

“
Mon Dieu
...
un ange
,” Jean Paul murmured weakly. He blinked at Jessie, his eyes glassy with fever. “I am gone to heaven,
ma petite cherie
, yes?”

“You’ve been ill,” Jessie whispered, smiling sweetly down at him. She touched his brow and Christian shuddered. He found himself envying his father, as well; he couldn’t help himself.

“I thought you were on your deathbed, old man.”

Jean Paul turned to face him. “I’m much too stubborn to die, you realize.”

Christian flashed him a grin.

“Who is this divine
ange
, Hawk?”

Jean Paul seized Jessie’s hand, squeezing it. She snatched it away at once, so startled was she by the name he’d spoken.

Christian stiffened.

As she turned slowly toward him, he saw that her expression was one of shock and horror, and he braced himself for her anger.

“Nay!” she whispered, her face twisting. “It cannot be!”

Her gaze reverted to Jean Paul. Jean Paul wore a guarded expression now, his eyes shifting uneasily from her to Christian and then to Ben, who was now awake, watching. Jessie met Ben’s gaze then, her eyes searching his face for confirmation. And then her eyes narrowed as her gaze returned to Christian. She glared at him.

“What did you call him?” she asked Jean Paul, though her gaze never wavered from Christian’s.

“Not a bloody damned thing!” Christian thundered. Shoving away from the doorframe, he eyed Jean Paul wrathfully.

Jessie stood. “Well! No need to repeat yourself, sirrah,” she said with a glower for Jean Paul. “I believe I heard well enough the first time!” Her gaze met Christian’s. “Hawk!” she spat, as though the word were an oath. “I cannot believe I have been so dull-witted!” She spun about, going to the port window to gaze out into the harbor. “Good God, I should have known!” she whispered furiously, casting a wounded glance back at them.