Nicole Jordan (13 page)

Glancing down at his gleaming boots, she arched an amused eyebrow. “I warn you, you aren’t dressed for some of the places we will visit. Your bootmaker would be horrified if you were to ruin those, and you didn’t bring your valet from England.”

“Thorne’s servants are more than adequate to the task of caring for my boots,” Max replied blandly.

“Very well, then. You are welcome to come.”

For the better part of the day, Max accompanied Caro on her rounds, watching as she dispensed jellies, herbs, and medicines and checked on the progress of injuries and illnesses.

Dr. Allenby’s patients were scattered across the island and were mostly Spanish and English, he realized—easily differentiated by their attire. The Spanish women were garbed in black like much of the female population in the Mediterranean, while the English wore simple but more colorful attire.

Most of the islanders welcomed Caro warmly.

“They seem very fond of you,” Max remarked after visiting the first half-dozen patients.

“They are even more fond of Dr. Allenby,” Caro said. “He is beloved on Cyrene, despite his gruff bedside manner. There is scarcely a family whose lives he hasn’t touched. But he is getting old. I don’t know what we will do when he is no longer able to serve his patients.”

“Can the islanders not rely on you?”

“I am not qualified to be a surgeon. And I don’t wish to be a physician full-time.”

“Why not?”

“Because working for Sir Gawain interests me more.”

“But you obviously have a natural gift for healing.”

“It seems so. I’ve always had a desire to help creatures in pain. From the time I was a child, the islanders brought their wounded and ailing animals to me to tend. Becoming Dr. Allenby’s assistant, however, was much more challenging. Even after ten years, some of the men here still don’t trust me, I suppose because they feel threatened. A few even consider me a witch.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “Superstitious, are they?”

“Highly.” Her mouth curved wryly. “During the Inquisition I would have been burned at the stake. But at least here I am accepted. In England I would never be permitted to practice any form of medicine. The typical British citizen would have to be on his deathbed to suffer care from a woman. Instead they prefer the services of quacks and charlatans.”

He heard the hint of scorn in her voice and had to sympathize, even when Caro turned an arch look upon him.

“Admit it, Max, you yourself had reservations last year when Dr. Allenby gave me the nursing of John Yates.”

“But you quickly proved yourself,” Max said, “and your gender ceased to matter to me. Believe me, I’ve seen enough men die of minor wounds to appreciate good medical care.”

And he had watched her deal with difficult patients all morning. She was unfailingly kind and patient, and employed the same gentle teasing she had used on Yates and the doctor to get her way. The islanders obviously respected and even adored her.

Caro clearly appreciated them in return. When she and Max shared a simple midday meal with a large family of peasants—their only means of paying for medical services for two of their young children—Caro showed them as much deference as she would have wealthy aristocrats, and probably far more fondness.

The next patient, though, received her with outright hostility—a bedridden farmer whose foot had been severely gashed by a plow. The wound had grown so putrid and painful, he could no longer bear to put any weight on it. He allowed Caro to treat and bandage the injury only because his wife stood over him, threatening mayhem if he didn’t behave.

Caro made light of his animosity once she and Max were settled in the gig. “
He
is one of the ones who considers me a witch,” she jested.

But she
was
a witch, Max silently agreed, feeling a sudden arousal when the jolting gig caused his thigh to press intimately against hers. A bewitching temptress who made him feel a fierce heat, despite her unconventionality and her masculine occupations.

By late afternoon they were driving in the foothills, through a wild scrubland that Caro had called “maquis.” Max recognized various shrubs and mountain plants—low-growing clumps of rosemary and broom, taller thickets of laurel and myrtle and evergreen junipers. And all around them, a sweet, fresh scent filled the golden air.

The effect on his senses reminded him of Caro, Max realized. Sweet, a little untamed, and thoroughly compelling.

“This island setting becomes you,” he said honestly. “You’re in your natural element here.”

Caro merely raised one eyebrow and smiled. “I suggest you ply your charm on more gullible females, Max.”

“I don’t know any other females here besides you.”

“Cyrene has plenty to offer. I told you I mean to introduce you to our island’s beauties. Doubtless you will find many of them to your liking.”

“I’m not averse to meeting Cyrene’s beauties. Just make certain you don’t burden me with any innocent young debs who only have marriage in mind. I have no desire to be tied in a parson’s noose.” He sent her an appraising glance. “
That
is one of your prime attractions, my lovely Caro. You aren’t set on landing a husband.”

“No, I am not. But I am curious why you have such an aversion to marriage.”

He answered her truthfully. “Because of the complications a wife or family would present.”

“Complications?”

“I don’t want to risk losing anyone else I care for. For the first time in nine years I have no close ties to anyone, and I mean to keep it that way.”

He saw compassion immediately darken her eyes. Realizing he had grown too grim then, Max flashed her a grin. “Celibacy, however, is not a condition I relish.”

A responsive smile curved her lips. “I can always concoct a potion to cool your lust.”

“A potion won’t have any effect. I want you, Miss Evers.”

“Well, you cannot have me. You will just have to content yourself with someone else.”

“Tell me,” Max prodded, “why you are so resistant to our becoming intimate again.”

Her smile faded. “For one thing, I have too much else to occupy my time just now, seeing to Dr. Allenby’s patients.”

“But you will need an occasional respite, surely.”

“Perhaps. But I don’t think it wise to become intimately involved with gentlemen I work with.”

“We aren’t working together yet. And if I do wind up joining your organization, it will only be for this one mission.”

She hesitated, as if wanting to say more, but then merely replied, “It is better if we just remain friends, Max.”

“Very well, we can be friends for now,” he said.

Caro sent him a look that said she didn’t quite trust him. “I assure you, you will be far more satisfied with some sophisticated beauty who will gladly indulge your carnal needs. Mrs. Julia Trant is a ravishing widow. She would be happy to entertain you in a discreet liaison. Or if your taste runs to the more exotic, Señora Blanca Herrera de Ramos is reputedly between lovers.”

Max appraised her with sardonic amusement, not bothering to refute her. Even at the end of the long day, Caro Evers was still more appealing to him than all the sophisticated beauties who had ever indulged his carnal needs.

True, she looked the worse for wear at the moment. Her somber gown was marred by various stains of her profession, while curling tendrils of dark hair escaped from the severe knot she wore. Yet he could remember those silken tresses falling loose around her naked shoulders so that her nipples peeked out from between the wet strands—

Max felt the hard clutch of desire at the memory. Not for the first time today he found himself craving to free her glorious hair from its imprisonment, to bury his hands in the lustrous, springy mass, just as he wanted to bury himself in her supple, slender body.

He silently muttered an oath. All day he’d determinedly ignored the slow burn of his own body. Caro brought out the most primitive instincts in him. She made him feel dangerous and male, both predator and protector, carnal and tender at the same time. It was all he could do to keep from reaching for her when she pushed her rebellious hair out of her eyes. Yet just now they were approaching another farmhouse for her next call.

An hour later Caro climbed into the gig for the final time and gathered up the reins. She was tired, Max could tell from the slight drooping of her shoulders. And she didn’t object when he confiscated the reins from her.

“Allow me,” Max said. “You’ve run yourself ragged today, and I have done nothing to help. Home?” he asked.

“Yes, home. But I have one last patient to see there.”

It took them nearly half an hour to return to Caro’s estate in the south-central part of the island, and by then dusk had begun to fall. Her two-story, galleried manor house was built in the Spanish style, but the stables seemed properly English to Max. The cobblestone yard had a long row of spacious box stalls, as well as a large barn, a carriage house, and living quarters for the grooms and stable hands.

When they came to a halt in the yard, a groom appeared at once, still chewing on a crust of bread. Seizing the gig’s reins, the young man looked expectantly to Caro for his orders.

“When you finish unharnessing the gig, Humberto, will you saddle Mr. Leighton’s horse? Then you may return to your supper.”

“
Si,
señorita.”

The moment Caro had spoken, several equine heads emerged through the open upper half doors of the stalls. With Max following, she went down the row, greeting each horse fondly, stroking faces and muzzles until she reached the last stall, which held an aging chestnut mare.

The mare whickered softly as Caro reached up to scratch between its dark, liquid eyes. “This is my most special patient,” she murmured. “This sweet lady belonged to my mother.”

From a grooming box on the wall, Caro retrieved a brush and cloth and then entered the stall. Max followed her inside, closing the lower door behind them.

“Like Dr. Allenby, she is getting very old,” Caro explained as she began to brush the chestnut coat that was sprinkled with gray. “She has trouble chewing, and her eyesight is failing, but I ride her occasionally because she likes to feel appreciated. And she has an old injury to her shoulder. I try to massage it regularly to keep it limber.”

“Lucky horse,” Max murmured.

Leaning against the stall wall, he watched while Caro groomed the mare and then began massaging the animal’s left shoulder.

Beside him, a three-legged cat sprang up on the ledge of the half door, sniffed at Max, then despite its obvious handicap, agilely leapt down into the straw. Meowing, it rubbed against Caro’s skirts until she picked it up and administered a generous dose of affection.

“He lost his rear leg in a fight with a dog, but he is an excellent mouser,” Caro explained. “I think he missed me while I was away.”

Clearly the cat agreed. Purring loudly, it sprawled contently in her arms—until the mare turned and pushed her muzzle against Caro’s neck, demanding the same attention.

They all wanted to be the recipient of Caro’s tenderness, it seemed. Max could sympathize, for he shared the sentiment.

Just then the groom appeared at the stall door. “I have done as you asked, señorita. Is there more that you require?”

“Thank you, Humberto. That will be all. Go and finish your supper.”

With a quick grin and a tug of his forelock, the groom disappeared again.

Setting the cat down in the straw, Caro returned to massaging the mare’s injured shoulder. The old horse closed its eyes and snuffled in obvious bliss.

Silence reigned for a time. In the deepening shadows, Max watched Caro stroke the horse, her fingers pressing gently into the tight muscles, kneading, easing the stiffness and pain away. It made him recall the feel of her hands on him that long-ago night.

Arousal stirred in him, sharp and insistent.

As the moments passed, the feeling grew stronger, more urgent, until a low oath escaped him.

“What is wrong?” Caro asked immediately, glancing over her shoulder.

“I was remembering that night. The way you touched me.”

For a long moment she said nothing. “You were in pain that night.”

“I am in pain now after watching you work your magic.” His mouth quirked. “I would willingly become one of your patients. I could curl up in your lap and have you pet and caress me….”

“You can fend for yourself,” Caro countered with a smile. “These animals cannot.”

“What about you? Who massages your shoulders after a long day such as this?”

“No one.”

“I would be happy to volunteer.”

“I am touched by your solicitude,” she said firmly, “but I will make do with a hot bath.”

“At the ruins?”

At his provoking question, she returned a quelling glance. “No, here at home. In
private
.”

Max went on watching her as the heavy ache of desire pulled at his groin. And as twilight settled over them, a deeper ache unfurled inside him—the need to touch her. He found himself drawing nearer to her, as if lured helplessly by a spell.

“You have remarkable hands,” his said quietly.

“Not so remarkable, really.”

“They are. I can’t forget the incredible feel of them.”

Her hands faltered in their task. When slowly she turned her head, Max allowed the heat of his gaze to travel from her lush mouth to her eyes and back to her mouth….

Caro felt all her muscles tense at the brilliant sapphire of his gaze. Not daring to risk any further intimacy, she gave the mare’s shoulder one last pat and turned to leave the stall. But when she tried to move past him, Max closed his fingers around her wrist to stay her.

Just that simple heated touch made her shiver.

“I remember everything about that night. Vividly.” His low, husky voice echoed through her like the memory of a caress. “I remember what your skin tastes like, angel. I remember the feel of you when I thrust into your wet silk. The husky cries you make when you shatter in my arms…”

Her mouth went dry, leaving her unable to speak.

“I want very much to experience that passion again, Caro. I want to make love to you.”