Destitute On His Doorstep (22 page)

‘I am, Mary. It won't be the first wound I have stitched.'

‘Then I'll leave you to get on with it while I prepare you some hot water for a bath.' She stepped away from Jane and wrinkled her nose distastefully when the stink of the gaol assailed her. ‘I'll get you a needle and thread.'

Trying not to look at Francis, Jane dipped a clean cloth in the warm water and wrung it out. It was necessary for her to stand close to him, and because of the way he was positioned, she was forced to lean against his outstretched thigh. There was a dangerous gleam in his eyes and Jane knew he was thinking about how close she was. She wanted to curse the blood of her bold ancestors that coursed through her veins, rendering her incapable of tamping down her desire.

Taking a deep breath, she proceeded to cleanse the
wound. Her touch was gentle as she wiped away the blood, not unduly concerned as it continued to bleed freely. She pretended he was just another person she was treating, one of many she had treated in the past, but the ruse did not work. Touching Francis's warm, naked flesh with her fingers made her feel things no innocent maiden should feel. She could hear his breathing, smell the manly scent of his skin, and see a pulse throbbing in his neck.

‘Mary was right, it will need a stitch or two.'

‘You could cauterise it,' he suggested matter-of-factly, shrugging when she looked appalled. ‘Why not? I've had it done to me before.'

‘No, that is the easy way and the most painful.'

‘Right. Needle and thread it is then,' he agreed, smiling gently.

Jane was thankful for the rare light-hearted moment, hoping to hide the effect he was having on her. From the moment he had entered the gaol to rescue her, something had changed between them, or maybe it had happened before that, that changes had been taking place inside her from the moment she had laid eyes on him. It would take more to sort out than she could hope to summon just then, with his expression of undisguised interest on his darkly handsome face.

When Mary had brought the needle and thread and left to prepare Jane's bath, after passing the needle through a candle's flame she looked at him. ‘This will hurt,' she said, moving closer still to him.

‘I've suffered worse,' he replied, his tone warmly reassuring.

She looked at him, conscious as always of an unwitting
excitement. Flushing hotly, she bent her head, the movement sending a shiver of sunlight slanting through the window over her bright, dark head. Then, raising her head, she met his look with a little frown, her body taut, every muscle stretched against the invisible pull between them. Becoming absorbed in her task, aware that his gaze was fixed on what she did, Jane hesitated a moment before she pushed the needle into his flesh, but he didn't even flinch or utter a sound, so she pulled it quickly through.

‘Why did you say what you did to Justice Littleton?' she asked softly, hoping to distract him from what she was doing.

‘And what might that be? Remind me, Jane.'

‘You told him that I was to be your wife. I don't recall accepting your proposal—indeed, I remember telling you most adamantly that I would not marry you.'

He grinned down at her bent head. ‘I was hoping you might have changed your mind. Besides, it added logic to my proposal that you stay with me at Bilborough. As my future wife Justice Littleton will assume you will be safe under my protection and will not attempt to leave until the charges have either been dropped or acted upon.' With his gloved hand he tipped her face up to his, forcing her to pause in her task. ‘Have you changed your mind, Jane? Will you be my wife? Will you give me leave to hope?'

She flushed and lowered her eyes, a gentle smile curving her soft lips. ‘I might—but I would be grateful for a little more time. So much has happened to me since our last meeting that my mind is all confusion. Do you
think this is the end of it—that I will not be put on trial for witchcraft?'

‘I very much doubt it. Justice Littleton is a shrewd and clever man. I think he has the measure of our friend Atkins and will drop all charges against you.'

‘I pray that will be so. It seems impolite of me not to have uttered one word of thanks to you for coming to my rescue.'

‘It was the least I could do. After all,' he murmured, gazing down at her shining head, his words full of meaning, ‘one good deed deserves another.'

Something in the tone of his voice made Jane pause without taking her eyes off the wound. She took a moment to consider his words before realisation hit her. Apprehensive, looking up she met his steady gaze. ‘You know, don't you?'

‘That you and Tom are the same?' He nodded, warm, tender light in his eyes and a teasing smile tugging the corners of his mouth. ‘I should have realised sooner, but when I returned to Avery I was looking for a lad, not a lovely young woman called Jane.'

‘And a witch by all accounts,' she teased softly, pulling on the thread, having completed the second and final stitch.

‘You are the most beautiful witch I've ever seen.'

The soft flush deepened on her face and she turned away to concentrate on selecting an ointment. She spread pungent-smelling paste over the wound, before winding clean strips of fresh linen about his chest. ‘Dressed as I was at the time it was natural you would think I was a boy. I often wore breeches. It was easier for me to ride dressed like that—and no one took any notice of me.'

‘And your father didn't mind?'

‘He was away. He didn't know, and Gwen was so engrossed with her plants she hardly noticed.'

‘I was well and truly taken in.'

‘How did you find out?'

‘Something Alice said about my escape that day I was Atkins's captive. She mentioned that I had escaped from the church vestry in Avery. Only Tom could have known that.'

‘Alice paid me a visit before riding on to Bilborough to see you, the morning after the fire. I think I may have said too much.'

‘I'm glad you did. At least it put an end to the mystery of Tom. Why didn't you tell me, Jane? Was it because since returning to Bilborough and discovering I had taken your home, you had cause to regret saving my life?'

‘At first,' she told him truthfully, and then an impish smile twitched her lips, ‘and then I thought I would have a little fun and keep you guessing. But it would have made no difference at the time.' Her expression became grim. ‘ Mr Atkins tortured you for what you had done to him previously, and I knew he didn't intend letting you leave Avery alive. I have no time for personal vendettas. Mr Atkins didn't care about winning the war as much as attacking you.' She sighed. ‘It would appear Mr Atkins is still after your blood—and mine, too, for daring to disobey him.'

‘Now he's locked up he cannot harm us, Jane. So—you were concerned about me even then, all those years ago.'

‘I'm concerned about fairness,' she answered simply.

‘There's nothing fair in war, Jane.'

‘But that wasn't war.'

‘It's always war to men like Atkins. All part of the game they play.'

Jane stopped what she was doing to stare at him. ‘How can you take it all so blithely, when you could have been killed?'

‘And would you have grieved for me, Jane?'

‘As I would for any soldier,' she told him. ‘Enough blood was being shed without that kind of thing. I would have tried to help anyone who was in such dire circumstances. There,' she said, securing the bandage. ‘It is done.'

‘I thank you,' he said, getting to his feet and taking a moment to adjust the bandage.

‘Will you remove your glove?' she asked, seeing it was soaked with blood. When he cast her a dubious look she smiled. ‘Nothing I see can shock me, Francis.'

A wry smile touched his mouth, but it did not reach his eyes. ‘You're sure about that, are you, Jane? People shy away from deformity.' There was no self-pity in his voice, just bitter resignation.

Jane shook her head. ‘Are you worried that I'll swoon at the sight of it? I'd like to think I am made of sterner stuff than that. Please.'

He did as she bade, his eyes never leaving her face as he watched her reaction. His hand was badly scarred from the burns he'd received and two of his fingers were shrivelled and fused together. When she looked at the mutilation her heart ached for the pain he'd been made
to suffer, but she managed to smile as she gently wiped away the blood that had seeped inside the glove.

‘I've seen it at it's worst, don't forget, and I have to say that it's healed better than I expected. At least you haven't lost the use of it completely.'

‘No, and you're always so practical. It's thanks to your careful ministering that infection was kept at bay.'

‘I did what I could with what little I had at my disposal and the limited time. You escaped. That was the main thing.'

As Jane began to tidy everything away, something dark and unsettling was beginning to form in her mind, and she felt that what he had said—that one good deed deserves another, needed explaining further. ‘Why—why did you ask me to marry you, Francis?' she asked hesitantly.

Unaware of her unease, a slow, tantalising smile spread across his firm lips and his eyes raked her before gazing into the depths of her dark eyes. ‘Ever since I first laid eyes on you you've tormented me in one way or another. Once met, you are not the kind of woman it is easy to forget.'

‘But you did. You didn't remember me when I turned up at Bilborough.'

‘No—but there was something about you that was familiar and it baffled me for some time. I remember telling you when you left me that day that I was indebted to you for what you had done for me. You see, I have not forgotten what I said.' With eyes that glowed he acknowledged the depth of his feelings. ‘When you befriended me that day, not only did you put yourself in danger, but in all probability you saved my life. And
now, if I am to have issue, then I am in need of a wife, and I could think of no other woman who would do.'

Jane tilted her head to one side, looking at him intently, unsmiling, for she didn't care for the dark thoughts and doubts that were forming in her mind. ‘Pray tell me, Francis, how do I torment you? In what way? Do you see me as some kind of temptress—a witch who pricks you sorely for the sake of amusement? How can I, a mere woman, trouble you so?'

Grinning lazily, he perched his hips on the edge of the table. ‘You're a witch all right, Jane. What other explanation can there be for this strange yearning that seizes me whenever you are in my thoughts? You must have cast a spell on me.'

Despite the tension building inside her, she managed to smile. ‘Please don't let Justice Littleton hear you speaking like that. He'll have me back inside his gaol before I can protest.'

Reaching out with his good hand, Francis took her fingers and drew her closer. ‘Aye, but you're an angel too, Jane, when you look at me as you did in the gaol—all soft and warm and clearly glad to see me.'

She gave a strained laugh. ‘Relieved, more like. I was beginning to think I had been abandoned.'

‘Not by me. Never by me,' he murmured, bending his head towards her face, his breath stirring the tendrils of her hair that covered her ear.

He placed his lips on her fingers, his gentleness causing her breath to catch in her throat. Gazing up at him in soft confusion, she was unable to fathom the tenderness that she suddenly felt for him. Recognising the quicken
ing of her own pulse, the effect of his burning blue eyes was total and devastating.

Yet she no longer felt complimented by a proposal that she was beginning to suspect had been given to return a favour, and suddenly she felt more hurt and degraded by this man who haunted her dreams than she cared to admit. When he had asked her to be his wife he had told her there were other reasons why he wanted to marry her. She hadn't asked what they were, but now she knew. Feeling that everything was moving too quickly and conscious of a need to sort out her thoughts, placing a trembling hand flat against his chest, she pushed herself away.

‘I'd better go. My bath will be getting cold.'

Francis pushed himself away from the table and went with her to the door. His hand rode on the small of her back as he escorted her across the hall. They were, for that moment, aware only of each other and did not see Mary and Isaac standing across the hall. In unison, their brows lifted in thoughtful surprise as they observed the master raise his hand and make so bold as to gently caress Jane's cheek. Jane looked up and smiled at him. Instead of the stinging slap the two servants expected, the intimacy was accepted without an attempt to brush away his hand.

‘Well, I never,' Mary gasped. ‘It would seem Colonel Russell has caught Jane's eye. What say you, Isaac?'

‘Aye,' Isaac agreed. ‘So it does, Mary.'

 

Jane went to her room where she could think things through more rationally. When she had taken her bath and scrubbed the filth of the gaol from her flesh and dressed in clean garments, as darkness descended she
stared out of the open window into the star-filled night, wrapped in the aura of a melancholy mood. She realised she had been too hasty in her decision to accept Francis's proposal of marriage, for the more she thought about it the more convinced she became that he had asked her to marry him to repay the debt. The thought struck at her heart like a lash, making her cringe with humiliation and hurt that was almost beyond bearing, until blessed, cold numbness came over her, until she felt nothing at all.

She felt that she was being propelled into a loveless marriage with a man who didn't want her, but was prepared to do the honourable thing because he was in her debt. Francis pitied her and played the saviour's role most heartily. But it wouldn't do. Not for her.

Focusing on her reflection in the glass pane, she scanned the pale, strained face looking back at her, at the eyes that were filled with a kind of hunger. Francis had seduced her with a mere touch. He had caught her and she was ready to own it at last. She wanted him. She was sick to her very soul with longing for him. She was indeed trapped—just like that little fish that had taken the bait. She loved him more than her heart and soul and wanted him more than life itself. She was dragging herself into hell with desire for him, but it wasn't enough. The man she married must love her in return, otherwise what hope did they have of happiness together?