Her Defiant Heart (12 page)

Jenny's efforts to unhook it were unsatisfactory. She did not want to ruin the coil she had taken such pains with only hours earlier. When she stamped her foot in frustration, the chair teetered. One of the sashes around her neck slipped beneath her collar. Not only did it itch uncomfortably, it made her want to sneeze. She reached for it, intending to draw it off.

If Jenny had not been concentrating on her work she might have noticed the cessation of her employer's light snoring. Christian Marshall had turned on his side moments earlier, opened bleary eyes, and immediately confronted a vision that almost stopped his heart.

In the murky gray light that filtered into the room, he saw the shadowy outline of a woman in the process of using his drapery rod to hang herself. Given her intent, there was no doubt in Christian's mind as to her identity. As far as he knew there was only one woman in his household who might have reason to contemplate suicide. The chair rocked, and he sucked in his breath. She lifted the rope around her neck.

That is when Christian made his move.

Throwing the covers back, he leaped out of bed. His legs, weak from inactivity, nearly gave way. In spite of that he stumbled toward Jenny and flung out his arms to catch her as the chair teetered again. She screamed when his hands clamped around her waist, but because her voice was still so fragile, the sound she made was pathetically weak. The chair tipped over, set in motion more by Christian's lunging than anything Jenny did, and thudded to the floor. Christian and Jenny followed the path of the chair, and since Jenny tried to save herself by grabbing the drapery rod, they were in turn followed by the heavy velvet drapes, the rod, and a light sprinkling of plaster dust when the valance supports were torn from the wall.

Christian twisted, taking the brunt of the fall, and brought Jenny down on top of him. They both narrowly missed the chair. The drapery rod caught Jenny across the shoulders, but it wasn't a painful blow. She ducked her head instinctively, burying it against the crook of Christian's shoulder. The rod slipped to one side and the drapes cocooned them.

Christian raised his head, groaned, and lowered it to the floor again. His eyes were closed. Jenny thought he had passed out, but when she started to move away, his large hands tightened on her waist. In one fluid motion he turned them both until she was lying beneath him. The drapes were tangled between them. She had been here before, she thought giddily as she stared up into cool aquamarine eyes. They were piercing in their slow perusal of her face.

"It
is
you," Christian said finally. She looked far healthier than the last time he had seen her. Her complexion was agreeably flushed, and her wide brown eyes with their splinters of cinnamon color were bright. Her beautifully molded lips were slightly parted, moist, and pink. The body that pressed against him was familiar as well, uncomfortably so. His hands could nearly span her waist, and her breasts, in spite of the ridiculously severe gown she was wearing, felt full against his chest. "What in the hell do you think you were doing?"

With great dignity Jenny replied, "Don't swear at me, please." When this request merely had the effect of narrowing Christian's stare, Jenny's small chin shot out with a measure of defiance. "What do you imagine I was doing?"

"I asked you."

Jenny shrugged. The movement was awkward because he was so heavy on her. "I knew you might not approve of opening the drapes, but really, don't you think you are making too much of it? I only wanted to bring some light into the room. The drapery rings were rusted to the—"

Christian's hands left her waist and grasped her shoulders. He gave her a little shake. "Do you take me for a fool?"

Bewildered, Jenny blinked widely. "I assure you, I don't," she said.

Christian frowned, his mouth shifting to one side as he continued to regard her skeptically. "You weren't trying to kill yourself?"

"Kill myself?" She looked past his shoulder to the window and saw the holes where the flimsy valance hooks had been. "Hang myself, you mean?"

He nodded.

Jenny could not hold back a smile. A bubble of laughter caught in her throat, but it didn't stay there long. It tripped lightly along her tongue and tickled her lips.

Her husky laughter teased Christian's senses. He was sure he didn't like it. "I don't understand your amusement. Your intent was quite obvious."

"Obviously it wasn't," she said. "Would you please let me up?"

Christian considered the request a moment before he eased away. He sat up and rubbed his wounded thigh. His nightshirt had climbed above his knees, and when he glanced at Jenny, he caught her staring at his naked legs. He smiled humorlessly when she blushed deeply and quickly averted her eyes.

Jenny used the toppled chair for support and got to her feet, smoothing her dress and making the same attempt with her hopelessly creased apron. She righted the chair and moved it back to the desk, putting some distance between herself and Christian. "I was only trying to open the drapes," she explained. "My hair got caught in one of the drapery rings. I was trying to free it."

"What about the rope around your—" He stopped as she lifted the drapery sashes from around her neck. "I see."

"I hope so." She wondered if he had hurt his thigh. She knew about the war wound from members of the household staff. There were as many versions of the story as there were people to tell it.

Unaware of Jenny's interest, Christian stopped massaging his leg and looked up at the window as she had done moments earlier. "I suppose the rod would not have held your weight anyway," he said grudgingly. "If you wanted to hang yourself there would be better locations."

"There certainly would be." She added quickly, "Not that I've been looking for any."

Christian grunted softly and cleared away the draperies that were still covering his broad shoulders like an emperor's cloak. "What's wrong with your voice?" he asked. The hint of huskiness was unnerving because there was something very attractive about it.

"Dr. Turner says it may stay this way forever. Would you rather I didn't speak?"

"Scott, eh? Don't pay attention to anything that charlatan says. Bastard thinks I'm a drunk."

Jenny refrained from responding. She watched Christian draw up his legs and settle his elbows on his knees. He cupped his head in his hands, supporting it, then gently moved his head from side to side to clear the fuzziness. Jenny observed that the area around his eyes was drawn and haggard. His skin was sallow and it contrasted horribly with the unkempt growth of his fiery beard. He had lost some weight. His cheeks were sunken so that the bones of his face stood out in hard relief, and his lean fingers seemed almost skeletal.

"Not a pretty picture, is it?" he asked, glancing at her face and divining her thoughts. "I haven't had a bender like that since... hell, I don't think I've ever been on a bender like that." When she remained quiet, he prompted her for a response. "Say something, dammit. I don't care if you sound like your throat is filled with gravel."

"Please don't swear at me," she said with considerable dignity. He was coarse and ill-mannered, but her thoughts remained her own. Her need to remain at Marshall House meant it would be unwise to bite the hand that was feeding her.

"My, I do not know if you could affect more priggishness. Have you met Dr. Turner's wife Susan? A matched set of bookends, that's what you'd be."

"How kind of you to say so," she said. "I shall look forward to making her acquaintance."

Christian snorted. "Don't just stand there. Help me up. The damn—er, the
darn
—floor is tilting."

"I shouldn't wonder." She circled the desk and went to his side, holding out her hand for him to take.

He shook his head. "If I pull on your hand, you will be sitting on the floor again."

Jenny realized the truth of that. She hunkered down beside him and put one arm about his shoulders and a hand beneath his elbow. With a little cooperation on his part, she managed to get Christian to his feet. She escorted him back to the bed, letting him lean on her, and plumped his pillows before he collapsed like a felled tree onto the feather tick. Belatedly she understood how much his errant rescue of her had taxed his strength. Jenny rearranged the covers, pulling the dark counterpane up to Christian's chin. His eyes were closed now, and he groaned softly a few times, but he did not object to her fussing.

Jenny stepped back from the bed and caught sight of the breakfast tray out of the corner of her eye. She couldn't imagine that he would want anything to eat, but good manners, as well as her new position in his home, compelled her to ask.

"God, no," he muttered, turning on his side away from the tray. "Take it out of here. The smell alone is enough to make me—"

"I understand," she said, picking up the tray. "I'll come back later with something more agreeable. I can clean up then also."

She was gone, the door locked behind her, before Christian realized he had never asked her what business she'd had in his room in the first place. He'd find that out later, he thought fuzzily. He thumped on his pillows. He kept one under his head and clutched the other to his chest. In minutes he was asleep.

* * *

Two hours later, Jenny eased herself quietly into Christian's bedchamber. This time the breakfast tray carried a light repast: one soft-cooked egg, a slice of dry toast, and another pot of weak tea. There was also a slender pewter bud vase with a white winter rose. Several of the housemaids were skeptical that this added touch would do anything to soften Christian Marshall's mood, but Jenny was insistent and Mrs. Brandywine had agreed. Jenny put the tray down and gathered the fallen draperies. Following the housekeeper's directions, she tossed them into the hallway to be picked up later and then locked the door.

"I'll take that key," said Christian.

Jenny ignored him, dropped it in her pocket, and turned to face him. She smiled a shade too brightly. "Good, you're awake. I was hoping you would be. I didn't think you'd want a cold breakfast."

Christian sat up in bed, tucked a pillow behind the small of his back, and knuckled his stubble. "I don't want breakfast. I want that key."

Her smile faltered. "We'll see."

"We damn well will
not
see. Give it to me."

Jenny hesitated before she finally shrugged. "Oh, very well." She reached in her pocket, pulled out the key to her own room, and walked over to the bed. She placed the key in Christian's open palm and watched his hand close over it quickly as if he suspected she might snatch it back.

"Thank you," he said dryly. He slid the key behind his back and under his pillow. When Jenny lifted the tray to set it on his lap, he shook his head and grimaced. "I told you I don't want any breakfast."

"All right." She set the tray down again.

"That's better." Christian leaned toward the bedside table and opened the top drawer. He put his hand in and felt around blindly, withdrawing only when he realized someone had anticipated his actions. "Where's the bottle I keep there?"

"I couldn't say, Mr. Marshall."

"I couldn't say, Mr. Marshall," he said, mocking her. He watched her turn her back on him and head toward the dressing and bathing area adjoining his bedroom. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To the next room," she explained patiently. "I'm going to pour some water so you can wash, clean your teeth, and shave."

"Where is Mrs. Brandywine? Is something wrong with her? Is that why you're here?"

"Mrs. Brandywine is fine. A little out of patience with you, it's true, but I suspect the feeling is mutual. I am here because she sent me." Jenny disappeared into the other room.

"What if I don't want to wash and shave?" he asked sourly. "Don't you ever ask anything first?" When there was no reply Christian expanded on his theme. "What the hell did that old harridan do with my bottle? It was here yesterday. Scott put her up to it. I know he did. She wouldn't have had the nerve otherwise. That's why she sent you up here to beard the lion. She doesn't trust herself not to give me what I want." He smiled a trifle smugly. "I know precisely how to get around her." He glanced at the tray, grimaced, then picked up the piece of dry toast and began eating it. It was not so bad. His dulled taste buds and churning stomach would have revolted against anything less bland.

"Can't you do something about all the light in here?" he called out. "If I wanted to make my room in the solarium I damn well would have done so. And what was Mrs. B. thinking, letting you in here? You might do anything. Strip me naked. Tie me to the bed. It's not as if you haven't done those things before." The pain behind Christian's eyes was sharp enough to make him wince. He couldn't remember a hangover equal to this one. Chewing hurt. "Has everyone in this house gone mad? Are you infectious perhaps? Should we have the house quarantined before it spreads to the rest of the city?" There was still no response from the other room. His voice rose. "Dammit! Can't I even offend you?" He thought his head would explode. "You don't ask! You don't answer! What else don't you do?"

Jenny stepped back into the room carrying a porcelain washbowl and pitcher in one arm and a small salver and water glass in the other. "I don't swear to make a point. Would you move the breakfast tray a bit so I can set these things down?" When Christian grudgingly complied, Jenny went on. "I don't purposely set out to hurt another person's feelings, and I don't raise my voice in anger. Not because I don't want to. I can't. If I had tried to make myself heard from the other room I wouldn't have a voice now." She sat down on the edge of the bed and handed him the water glass. "You can rinse your mouth with this. And don't look so hopeful. It's water, not gin."