Tides of Love (Seaswept Seduction Series) (12 page)

Caroline Bartram was the one person who knew about his childhood and what had happened to make him run. And, he only told her in a fevered delirium. She had found him, bloodied and shivering, lying between stacks of stripped pine outside a lumber mill. He'd left Pilot Isle little more than six months before, his anger too raw for his mind to subdue, and far too savage for his hands to defend. She had dressed his wounds and listened. Simply listened.

He remembered the relief telling someone brought.

Flicking another chip of paint loose, Noah sighed. Each day, he struggled to make room in his heart for his brothers. Although this scared the hell out of him. He recoiled every time Zach touched him, yet, deep in his gut, he suppressed the powerful urge to return the touch.
Crazy,
when he and Caleb had barely gotten past gruffly spoken greetings as they passed each other on the street.

This would have to change. Had already changed.

This morning, Noah did the unexpected: he asked Caleb for help. In an impulsive attempt to reduce the amount of time he and Elle spent together, he sent his brother a note requesting his aid in getting the fishermen to take him on their daily runs. With Caleb's assistance, the captains agreed, if Noah, in turn, agreed to salt fish and drain nets. In plain truth, if he agreed to work like a mongrel. He welcomed the challenge, welcomed any excuse to leave the coach house before dawn and return after dusk, too exhausted to eat Elle's meals, much less eat them
with
her.

Unbelievable, given his vow to never depend on his family again.

He'd broken that easily enough. The other one he'd made since returning involved avoiding Elle. He cocked his head, listening for her lively step on the path.

Her buoyant laughter gave life to a hushed night.

He heard only the spiked chirp of a cricket and the crash of waves in the distance and denied the sharp stab of disappointment.

Noah angled his spectacles against his brow and pressed his knuckles beneath his eyes. The
Elle Vow,
as he liked to think of it, he must keep. Because he had no room for a woman in his life—in his heart.

He wasn't certain he'd left room there for anyone.

Chapter 5

"This may seem a trifling detail, but so great inconvenience constantly arises from carelessness in this matter."

C. Wyville Thomson

The Depths of the Sea

Elle slipped on the stair's worn edge, banging her shin. Two more to the coach-house landing, then she completed a quick check of her dressing gown. Ties tied, buttons buttoned. Covered to the neck, albeit inappropriately.
Oh.
Shoes. She wiggled her toes and tried to shake off the grass and dirt. Sighing, she drew a salty breath of courage and pounded on Noah's door. No time to worry about him giving her the evil eye over such a minor detail as bare feet.

"Suffering cats, Professor, be home." A rumble of thunder sounded; she threw a frantic glance at the sky.
That's all I need,
she thought, and gave the doorknob a good tug.
Locked.
Merciful heavens, if Sean Duggan found them—Annie said he was staggering drunk—he would kill them both.

"Please, if you're there, let me in."

The door opened, the gas lamp in Noah's hand revealing tousled curls and a muscled chest sprinkled with hair. "Elle?" Noah fumbled for his spectacles. His eyes narrowed, his gaze lingering on her unbound breasts before lifting to her face. He mouthed one word—
inside
—and hauled her in by the wrist.

Elle jerked from his grasp before he could close the door. "I need your help," she said and dropped the wadded bundle of clothing she held to the floor. "Annie Duggan... oh, Noah."

He raised his head, stopped buttoning his shirt. "The student who's been transcribing my notes?"

"Sean, her husband"—she clutched his arm, dug her fingers into firm muscle—"he hurt her. I knew—I knew it was happening. Bruises on her arms, her wrists. I begged her to let me help her, but she protected him.
Why?
Now, it's gone too far, and I have to hide her. Somewhere. But not at Widow Wynne's. He'll look for her there. I pulled some clothes off the line. Hers are bloody and torn. I have to get her out of Pilot Isle on the dawn skiff. I have to."

"Take a breath and tell me where she is."

"Downstairs. In the school. When I got home, I noticed the door was open. I figured it might be Rory hiding from Zach. Might be you, fixing the floor or something. After Daniel left, I went inside. Under my desk, she was crouched under my desk, crying and moaning. I'm not even sure she recognized me. Sean will know to look at Widow Wynne's, but he won't think—"

"Calm down, Elle. I'll go get her."

"Thank you."

He studied her face, reading her like a book. "Stay put." As an afterthought, he pressed a soft kiss to her brow. Then he turned and strode through the doorway, his footfalls thumping on the staircase.

She wedged her shoulder against the wall, bringing her fingers to her brow.
Grands Dieux.
Had Noah just kissed her?

* * *

Annie's shrill scream jerked Elle from her contemplation, and she forgot Noah's command. Slowing as she entered the schoolroom, she glanced into each darkened corner, not knowing what she would find. Moonlight struggled past the pane of glass set high in the wall, coloring Noah in weak tones where he knelt before her battered desk.

"Come on, no one's going to hurt you here." His words were soft, his arm stretching toward Annie in a calm, gradual motion.

Annie whimpered and shifted, her cloth slippers and the border of her lavender dress disappearing beneath the desk.

"Trust me," Noah said, conviction in his expression, protection in the hand he offered. Elle did not have to see his face or grasp his fingers to know. When Annie remained hidden, he glanced over his shoulder, drawing Elle into silent consultation.

"Dear." Elle stepped in behind Noah, cursing the creaking planks. "I promise, we won't let anything else happen to you. I'll help you get home." This much, she
could
promise. She had just enough money hidden beneath her mattress to return Annie to her family in Atlanta.

"Home? Mother?" Annie scooted forward on her bottom, her gaze seeking, searching. A thin band of light slashed her face, highlighting the darkening circle around her eye and the streak of blood on her chin. A brawny fist had matted her hair close to her head. She rested a hand on her protruding belly, glanced at Noah, and whispered, "I had to run, Professor. My baby. He'll kill my baby."

Noah's fingers curled into a fist behind his back, but the hand he offered Annie did not so much as quiver. "Of course, you did. Come on, now. You're not doing the baby any good sitting here on a cold, damp floor." With careful movements, he lifted Annie's tattered shawl from her waist to her shoulders. "Elle brought clean clothes for you to change into. Come upstairs. I'll light the parlor stove, warm it up, nice and safe." Moving prudently, he leaned in, slipped his arms beneath her. "I won't hurt you," he whispered, lifting her high against his chest.

Elle stepped aside as he maneuvered his swaddled bundle through the doorway. She mounted the staircase, searching the overgrown shrubs for a wild-eyed man with whiskey on his breath. At the top, she rushed inside and slammed the door, flipping the metal latch. Crossing the room, she watched Noah brush a pile of papers to the floor and settle Annie in a towering leather chair. The girl's bones seemed to melt, and she slithered to a half sit, head lolling, arms dangling.

Elle knelt before her, tucking a lock of hair behind Annie's ear. "Noah?"

He appeared by her side, light from the gas lamp in his hand shimming in his pupils. "I have few medical supplies here. Do you think I should get Dr. Leland?"

Unchecked, she flicked a glance at his right hand, the knuckles marred by gashes from Magnus's teeth. "No, um, I don't think Annie would want to involve him. I can handle this."

"Fine. What do you need?"

"Blankets, a towel, soap, water." With a gentle touch, she probed the swollen skin circling Annie's eye. "Liniment?" she asked, catching his gaze.

He paused, reviewing the list in his mind, then nodded. Placing the lamp on the desk at her side, he left the room.

Elle tugged Annie's ruined dress from her shoulders and hurled the rag to the floor. The one she had snatched from the clothesline would hang on her student's gaunt frame but at least it was dry. And absent of bloodstains. Elle swallowed her rage, lightening her touch as she slipped the peach cotton over Annie's head and smoothed the material past her thickening waist. She finished securing the bone buttons, then chafed her Annie's hands until her own stung, pleased to hear the girl's whimpers quiet to soft mews.

Noah reentered, a serving tray in his hands, a frayed towel looped over his arm, the scent of coffee clinging to him. He shoved the towel and tray at her. In a moment, he returned with a patchwork quilt, which he wasted no time in tucking around Annie. Forcing her to drink the coffee, Elle heard drawers being opened and turned to find Noah standing behind his desk, raising a corked bottle like a trophy.

"Got it." The flickering light reflected red-gold on the metal instruments and glass beakers cluttering his desk, blue-black on the tidal charts and detailed oceanographic maps tacked in neat alignment to the wall behind him. "Alcohol." He thrust the bottle toward her. "I couldn't find liniment."

Setting the mug aside, Elle jerked the cork loose and soaked the grayed edge of the towel, the sharp scent stinging her nose as she swabbed Annie's lacerated skin. Using the soap and water Noah had provided, she washed Annie's face, her neck, her arms and hands, slipped the ribbon from her own hair and secured the girl's in a damp lump. Abrasions doctored, she forced Annie to drink the rest of the coffee. The girl blinked sleepily, winced in pain, then slid into a restive slumber.

Rain began to plink against the window, a comforting distraction. Elle glanced at Noah, who sat quietly by her side. His calm facade didn't fool her in the least. His unlaced leather boot tapped in rhythm to the mantel clock, and his breathing sounded harsher than required when sitting still. Arms hooked around the back of the chair he straddled, a pad of paper in one hand, a gold-tipped fountain pen in the other, he frowned in concentration and scribbled, paused. Light bounced off his spectacle lenses as he tilted his head to stare at her through round wire rims. His gaze was thoughtful and shrewd... and held the slightest edge of anger.

He'd collected himself, she noted, taking a hasty sip of Annie's coffee. Hair finger-straightened and shoved off his brow, wrinkled shirt buttoned and tucked in. He wore no belt. Before she looked away, she noted that his trousers were faded at the knee, frayed at the waist, and probably threadbare in the seat.

Hands shaking, she tried twice before managing to jam the bottle cork in place.
Juste Ciel,
for a room sealed tighter than a water cask for two years, a room that should have smelled of dust and decay, it smelled fresh and alive, of pine needles, salt air, and
him.
The scent swam past her defenses and made her, for a brief moment, imagine racing into Noah's arms, pressing her cheek next to his heart, her lips to the hollow beneath his ear. She wanted to accept the protection he had offered another woman and hold it close.

Making room beside an aromatic horseshoe crab carcass and a textbook opened to the last page, Elle placed the bottle on the desk. She had to remember her objective—to face Sean Duggan if he came looking for Annie. She had to handle him.

Somehow, she had to.

Giving her skirt a casual shake, Elle shoved the bloodied towel at Noah. Courage, she reminded herself, sometimes felt a great deal like fear.

"Don't even consider it." Noah yanked the towel from her and threw it to the floor.

"Consider what?"

"You're not going to wait for her husband alone." His voice lowered to a hoarse whisper as he glanced at Annie. "Look what that bastard did to his
wife.
Do you want him to get his hands on
you?
Have you completely lost what's left of your mind?"

How had he known?
Frowning, she kicked the towel underneath the desk. She hated when he used undeniable logic and left her with nothing to say.

He slammed the raised legs of his chair to the floor. "Blessit, do you think I'm stupid? Do you think I would let you walk into a situation like that without, God help us both, my devoted protection?"

"Never in my life have I thought of you as stupid."

His face flushed.

Elle had to curl her fingers into a fist to keep from cupping his cheeks, the charming blush making him look all of sixteen. Her heart remembered what it felt for him then, because it started thumping eagerly, reminding her of a time when she would not have hesitated to touch him.

"So, her husband has beaten her before." He slapped the pen and paper to the floor as he straightened, lamplight playing over the muscles in his shoulders and his chest. With a gleeful flutter, Elle realized her mediocre cooking had chased some of the hard edges from his frame.