No Other Love (23 page)

“What? Oh. Yes, he told me.”

The man nodded. “About time.”

“I agree.” Nicola stood up and leaned over the bed, feeling his forehead. “You are doing better.”

“Thanks to you.”

“Well, I don’t want to see any of my handiwork undone, so I suggest that you rest and let your body go about its business of healing.”

“But I want to hear about what happened,” he protested, even though he was obviously having trouble keeping his eyes open.

“Later. I will tell you all about it later. But I won’t have you tiring yourself.”

“Promise?”

Nicola smiled. “Yes. I promise. Now go to sleep.”

He nodded, his eyes closing, and Nicola sat back down in her chair. She wondered how much Jack’s friend knew about her and her past with Jack. It was embarrassing—as well as irritating—to think of the sort of picture Jack had doubtless painted of her.

There was a soft tap, and a moment later the door opened, and Diane, the woman whom Nicola had met the other day, entered the room quietly. She carried a tray, from which emanated such a savory smell that Nicola’s mouth began to water. She realized suddenly that she was starving to death. It made sense; she had not eaten since almost this time yesterday.

“Jack told me to bring you some food,” the girl said, looking no more friendly than she had the other night. “It is only stew.”

“Stew would be wonderful. It smells delicious,” Nicola told her honestly, standing up and reaching out to take the tray. “Thank you.”

The girl shrugged and handed it over to her. Nicola wondered why the girl seemed antagonistic toward her. Perhaps she felt slighted that Jack had not trusted her to care for his friend but had sent for Nicola. Or, she thought, more likely she simply resented the intrusion of another female into this cozy den—especially when Jack had brought in the intruder. Nicola did not doubt that the girl had probably woven some pleasant fantasies with Jack at their center.

Or perhaps they were not fantasies.

Nicola was surprised at the sharp stab of jealousy that pierced her at the thought. It would not be unusual, no doubt, for the leader of the gang to have the only woman at the hideout as his mistress. He had said that the girl belonged to one of the other men, but perhaps that had been merely a pretense. Just because she had remained faithful to their love did not mean that he had. Jack was, after all, young and virile, and it had been ten years since she had seen him. It was absurd to think that he might have lived celibately all that time, especially given the fact that he despised Nicola and thought her a traitor to their love.

Nicola dismissed the girl rather more sharply than she normally would have and returned to her seat, putting the tray on her lap. Even her pique was not enough to erase her hunger, and she devoured the food. Whatever else the girl might be, she was a wonderful cook; even the rough brown bread with its slab of pale butter was ambrosial.

As she ate, Nicola’s mind was a turmoil of thoughts. What did Jack want here? How did he feel about her? Obviously he had come back for revenge on his nemesis, Exmoor. But that did not explain the fact that he had kissed her. If he hated her so much, why had he pursued her? She was adept at healing, which might be adequate to explain his overcoming his dislike enough to ask for her help for his friend. But it certainly did not take care of his reasons for following her home from the village. Nor did it explain his passionate kisses and caresses. No matter how much he despised her, he seemed to want her still.

Or perhaps those kisses had simply been his way of proving that he had mastery over her, that he could control her by using her own desire. He had made her respond to him against her will, and what could prove his power more than that?
Had his lovemaking been nothing more than a way of getting back at her?
That was a lowering thought indeed.

Even more confusing was the fact that Nicola did not know how she felt about him. She had loved him more than anything, had never given her heart to another man—or even been interested in one. She remembered the way her heart had leapt in her chest this morning when she saw his face and realized that Gil was alive. But the fury that had swept her when she understood that he had let her believe for ten years that he was dead was also branded into her heart and soul, as well as the searing hurt and loss when she saw how low he had rated her love.
Could she love a man who thought her capable of such treachery? Was Jack Moore still the man she had loved, or had he changed beyond all recognition?

She spent a good part of the afternoon on such gloomy considerations, so that it was something of a relief when Perry woke up later, complaining of thirst, and she had something to do besides dwell on unproductive thoughts. She brought him a glass of water and helped him sip it, glad that with him conscious, she could manage to help him raise his head enough to drink without calling Jack for help. The less she saw of Jack, the better.

After that, she made her way downstairs and dipped out some of the meaty liquid of the stew, which she fed to Perry. It was a slow, tiring process, which required most of her strength to support him as he sipped the soup. It sapped Perry’s strength, as well, for after a few minutes he closed his eyes and slipped back into sleep.

However, he woke up less than an hour later with a trifle more color in his pale cheeks and a clearer look to his eyes. This time she managed to prop him up on pillows into a half-reclining position, and it was easier then to spoon the fortifying broth down him.

“No,” he said, when she moved to help him lie back down when he had finished. “Let me stay up a bit. I fancy a little time spent awake.”

“Good.” Nicola stepped back, pleased. “As long as you don’t exert yourself.”

“I don’t think I could if I wanted to,” he retorted. “I feel weak as a kitten.”

“You will get your strength back before long. Don’t fret about it. Resting is the best way to let your body heal itself.”

“I would say that your work had something to do with it. Jack told me you pulled out the ball.”

Nicola made a face. “So I did, and no doubt I made a terrible mess of it. I apologize for causing you pain.”

“I scarcely remember it. One of the benefits, I presume, of lying at death’s door.”

“I suppose you could call it that.” Nicola smiled. “Well, since you are awake and feeling so well, I shall take the opportunity to change your bandage.” She went over to the small bedside table and began gathering her supplies.

“Tell me what happened,” Perry said. “With you and Jack, I mean. He told me only that you had seen his face. He’s depressingly closemouthed.”

Nicola had to smile. “Don’t you know that it’s not polite to pry?”

“So my mother tried to tell me. Fortunately, I have managed to ignore most of her precepts. One so rarely finds out anything if one doesn’t pry.”

“There is little to find out in this case. Jack removed his mask, and I saw who he was. I realized that he had let me believe for ten years that he was dead, when all that time he was alive. He also told me that he thought I was a liar, as well as shallow, traitorous, devious and generally wicked.”

“I see.”

“I doubt that,” Nicola replied briskly, laying the bandaging and salves on the bed beside him. “You know only what Jack has told you, and since he knows nothing of the reality of it, you cannot, either.”

“Indeed.” Perry cast a somewhat wary eye upon the materials, but said only, “It had always seemed to me that he had a fairly good grasp of what happened.”

“No doubt he did—of what happened to
him.
He sent me a note via his grandmother and the farmer’s child. And Richard, I am sure, showed up and told him those things about me and turned him over to a press gang. Richard is capable of almost anything. However, Jack knows nothing of what I did or thought or knew—because he saw fit to believe the words of a man who tried to kill him, who had him kidnapped.”

She was untying Perry’s bandage as she spoke, her fingers moving ever more quickly and forcefully as her words grew in anger, until Perry let out a grunt of pain. Nicola glanced down, instantly contrite. “Oh, I am sorry. I did not mean to hurt you. I should not have been talking about Jack. It only makes me angry.”

She sighed as she removed the pad and bent over to inspect the wound closely before she reapplied her ointments and placed a new pad over it. “Still red, but no pus. I think you are healing nicely, Mr.—”

“Just call me Perry. I have become unused to more polite forms of address. So you are saying that the things this Richard told Jack were not true? You did not turn the letter over to him and—”

“Of course not. I never received any letter. If I had, I certainly would not have given it to Richard. I hated the man! I thought he had killed Gil—Jack.” She retied the bandage and set the salve back on the table.

Perry frowned. “But Jack did not believe him without reason. His grandmother had taken the letter to you. He knew you had it, and then Richard had it. It was not unreasonable to—”

“Unreasonable? No. Jack was quite reasonable. Anyone who did not love and trust me might have thought the same. Anyone who did love me—indeed, anyone who really knew me—would have known that it was impossible. So you see—I have found out that a great deal of what I have based my life on was false. I thought Gil dead, but he was alive. I thought that he had loved me as much as I loved him, that at least, if I was to be alone all my life, I would have had a great and rare love. But I did not. I gave my heart to a man who did not love or trust me. I have held in my heart for ten years a memory of a love that didn’t really exist.” Tears sparkled in her eyes.

“No!” Perry said anxiously, reaching toward her. “Do not believe that. Jack loved you. He loved you more than life itself. I know it. I heard how he talked of you. He was devastated.”

Nicola took the man’s hand and patted it. “Shh. Please, don’t get in a taking. It is not good for you. Let us not talk of this any longer. You need to rest.”

“Devil take it, but I’m weak!” Perry admitted, falling back against his pillow. His face was paler, and sweat dotted his forehead.

“Yes. It was only two days ago that I took the ball out of your shoulder. So, please, stay calm. Don’t think about Jack or what happened. Just go back to sleep.”

He sighed and closed his eyes. “All right. For now. But later…”

“Yes, later.” Nicola watched as his breathing grew shallower and he slipped back into sleep.

She sincerely hoped that she would not be here too much later. What she would have liked to do was ride straight back to Tidings right now and hide in the comfort of her bed. She did not want to have to see Jack, and she dreaded having to talk to him. However, she knew that she could not leave just yet. Not only did she have a patient to tend to—who, although obviously improving, was not entirely out of danger yet—but she also had to wait for Jack’s men to return with Nurse.

Fetching Nurse had, after all, been her excuse to both Deborah and her aunt for leaving their houses. She could not return without her—or, at least, without her refusal. Jack had sent a man with her note to Nurse the night she had taken the ball from Perry’s chest. It would not take a man riding on horseback longer than a day to get to Larchmont, but escorting Nurse back would be another matter. Not only would she travel more slowly, but it would doubtless take her some time to get her affairs in order and to pack, provided, of course, that she decided to come. Nicola could not imagine her arriving before tomorrow evening at the earliest, which meant that Nicola would have to endure at least another day of being in this house with Jack. All she could hope was that he would try to avoid her as hard as she planned to avoid him.

Those hopes were dashed later that night, when the door opened and Jack came into the room. Nicola’s eyes went to him immediately, and she felt again the shock of seeing the man she had thought long dead. Her heart bounded, and she knew a quick rush of pleasure at the sight of his face. Following on its heels, of course, came the hurt and anger, the sense of vague humiliation at having been duped. She turned away, looking at Perry’s face.

Jack stood just inside the door for a moment. “I came to relieve you. I will look after Perry for a while. You go and get some rest.”

“I’m fine.”

“So am I.” Jack came over to the bed and stood across from her. Nicola avoided his eyes, assiduously studying her hands, linked in her lap.

“I slept while you were watching Perry, and now it is your turn.”

“There is no need for you to watch him.”

“There is no need for you to exhaust yourself, either. What good would you be to him then?” Jack pointed out reasonably.

“You are right, of course. I shall go lie down.” Nicola stood up, and her eyes slid involuntarily to Jack. He was watching her, and she wondered what he was thinking.
Had her words swayed him at all? Or did he still believe her capable of such treachery?
Nicola reminded herself that it really did not matter; what was important was that he had not trusted her to begin with.

She started toward the door. He said her name and started after her, reaching out his hand to take hold of her wrist. Nicola stopped, acutely aware of his nearness. She could not look at him. Memories of their kisses, ten years ago and just the other day, crowded her mind, and it was humiliating to her that she should feel such a jangling rush of emotions for him when he felt so little for her.