Barely a Lady (14 page)

“Don’t be a brat,” Jack suggested, scooping up the cards and shuffling. “And I resent being called a toff, you guttersnipe.”

Thrasher laughed as if Jack had tickled him. Jumping up to retrieve his wig, he plopped it on his own head. “Now I’m a toff too.”

“Oh, good,” Jack retorted. “Now
I
can cheat.”

“I think I got here just in time,” Olivia said, stepping into the room. “I fear the house is about to fall prey to scoundrels.”

“Scoundrels.” Thrasher nodded. “That’s us, all right.”

“It occurs to me, my lady,” Jack said, leaning his head back against the chair and raising pleading eyes to her, “that you have not kissed me today.”

Harper had removed Jack’s headwrap that morning, exposing the still-swollen and bruised injury along the side of his face. Olivia caught herself wanting to kiss the length of it. She wondered if her smile looked as strained as it felt.

“It occurs to
me,
” she retorted, hands on hips, “that you haven’t eaten your dinner. Shall I get you some gruel?”

The face he made would have once had her in giggles. “Only if you want to finish the job of killing me. I beg you, Livvie. No more gruel.”

“Soup, then. A bit of bread.”

“A kiss.”

“You have been very ill, Jack.”

He pouted. “The last I heard, nobody died from a kiss. In fact, it’s been proven a kiss can wake a person from death.”

“Only in fairy tales.”

“Who says they’re fairy tales? Maybe they’re true stories that have been exaggerated a bit, like
ton
gossip.”

Olivia felt the old thrill of his infectious humor and fought against it. “Oh, like that fable of the gambling countess.”

His grin was wry. “I certainly hope so.”

She nodded. “So you’d have it that if I’d just kissed you before now, you would not have been rendered unconscious.”

“No. I just would have wakened sooner.” He grinned again, his green eyes preternaturally bright against his pale, bruised face. “Can you really think I could stay away from you, Liv?”

Olivia was proud of herself. She held her place against the sudden blast of anger that buffeted her. Imagine his staying away from her? Of course she could imagine it. She could imagine it, because he
had
managed to stay away.

Something must have showed on her face, because Jack frowned. “I wouldn’t have stayed away. If there is anything I do know, it’s that.”

For a long moment, all she could do was open and close afist in an effort to control herself. She ached to batter him with the truth. To make him face what he’d done to her.

But that kind of truth had no place in her life right now. She couldn’t afford it. If she let one real memory out of the box, the rest could well sneak out behind it, and that she couldn’t bear.

She almost laughed at that lie. The memories were already out, churning emotions she feared she couldn’t control. But Jack wouldn’t understand that now. And she couldn’t force it on him, not until he understood her anger. Her grief. Her years of despair.

If only he didn’t still keep that damned flask beneath his pillow. She could see a corner glint beneath the snowy linen.

“It’s all right,” she said, careful to keep any tremors from her voice. “How is your leg?”

He looked down as if surprised to see it there. “Much better. It seems honey is good for something besides crumpets.”

She nodded, careful to keep her hands to herself. “Thrasher, would you be so kind as to get this churl a bit of roast beef?”

Thrasher jumped up from his chair. “I can cadge him a bit of chocolate, too, ’f ya want. Them Belgians make it real proper. Easy as pie to snatch.”

“Keep your famblers to yourself, you scamp,” Jack warned.

Thrasher had barely made it out the door before Jack turned back to Livvie. “I said something wrong just now,” he said, reaching out a hand.

She took it rather than risk his wondering. “Not really.” Her resistance began to melt just with his touch. “It’s just… well, you were so hurt. You almost did stay away.”

God forgive her for such a facile lie. God forgive her for hating him even more for the need of it.

“I’m sorry, Liv,” he said, looking absolutely sincere. “I would never upset you for the world.”

“But you did,” she said before she could stop herself.

“That’s not all,” he said quietly, watching her too closely. “Is it? I know that it’s been longer than two weeks since I’ve seen you. I can’t imagine it, I swear to you. But… evidence doesn’t lie. What happened between us, Liv?”

For a moment, she couldn’t even breathe. She was so afraid she would blurt out the truth.
You threw me away like last night’s garbage. You listened to a liar and damned your own child, and then you made a new life with someone named Mimi.
“Oh, I think we were simply too young and precipitate when we married. We didn’t give ourselves time to know each other well enough to withstand troubles. And then…”

“I joined up.”

She blinked. Swallowed. “Yes.”

“What about Gervaise? Did he join with me?”

She laughed. “Are you mad? Can you really imagine Gervaise slogging about in the mud?”

He rediscovered his grin. “You’re right. I hope I am not in considerable debt to him by now over your little card games. Or have you finally allowed me to cover your losses?”

Olivia felt those words like a punch. He still didn’t believe her. “If you want me to stay,” she said, letting go of his hand, “you will never mention gambling to me again.”

“Oh, I know you got in over your head, Liv,” he said, reaching for her again. “It’s perfectly understandable. You’d never had that kind of blunt to throw about before.”

Evading his clasp, she stepped back. “I mean it, Jack. I will tell you this one time and then never again. I. Never. Gambled. If you cannot believe me, we have nothing more to say, and I will leave you in Sergeant Harper’s capable hands.”

“But Gervaise—”

“Lied.”

“Oh, don’t be absurd, Livvie. Why would Gervaise lie?”

Again, she fought for reason. One word of truth here and the rest would pour out like poison. Drawing in a slow breath, she was proud of how calm she sounded. “It is one of the troubles I spoke of, Jack. You found it easier to believe everyone but me. Your lack of trust began to eat at us.”

“How can I trust you when I don’t remember what happened?” he demanded, oddly angry.

“You do remember that I made a vow that I didn’t gamble. You knew I would never break a vow. But you never questioned what anyone said about me. You never defended me.” Tears welled in her chest, but she refused to let them gain ground. “I won’t allow that to happen again.”

She saw the distress in his eyes and desperately wanted it to be real. “Give me a chance, Liv,” he begged, once again trying to take her hand. “I probably don’t deserve it, but I want to make it up to you. Let us get to know each other again. Please.”

She’d meant to keep a safe distance from him. She meant to pull away. Instead, somehow she found herself taking his hand. She found herself sitting back down.

“I’ll try.”

He leaned back in his chair, as if the last few minutes had exhausted him. “I’ve been trying so hard to remember,” he said, and suddenly she saw that he really was plagued by his uncertain memory. His eyes were dark with it. “It feels as if it’s all just out of my reach, as if I could recover it by merely closing my eyes. But I try, and it skips away, and I feel… furious. Frightened. Upended. There is something bad lurking in the fog, and I simply can’t see it.” He looked up at her then, and the pain in his eyes pierced her. “What is it I’m afraid of, Liv? What have I done?”

And suddenly she wanted to lie for him. She wanted to hold him to her and promise it would be all right, when she knew it couldn’t. Obeying old instincts, she reached over and gently pushed back that rogue lock of hair. “We’ll find out,” she told him. “I promise. What has fallen out of the fog so far?”

“Well,” he said, fingers pressed to his injury, “I know this is going to sound odd, but”—he shrugged—“lions.”

Olivia stared at him. He was frowning, as if waiting for her to laugh. “Lions?”

“Yes. They’re looking in the wrong direction.”

She blinked. “Who? The lions?”

His answering smile was a bit lopsided. “Odd, isn’t it? But I have this thought suddenly stuck in my brain, and it won’t let loose. Lions. And the conviction that they’re looking the wrong way, whatever that means.” His smile grew. “I don’t suppose Lady Kate has a menagerie I’ve been hearing in my sleep? I certainly wouldn’t put it pasther.”

“She is a good friend,” Olivia retorted more hotly than she’d intended.

Jack’s eyebrow rose. “Do you believe I think less of you because you’ve taken refuge with her?”

“The point is, I don’t care. She is my friend, and nothing will change that.”

He lifted her hand and kissed it. “Then she shall be. I’m the last person to choose your friends, Liv.” Again, he stopped. Frowned. Closed his eyes, as if the memories were teasing him again. “I remember being cold. And hungry. God, I was so hungry. We must have been on a fast march.”

“You have lost weight.”

He rubbed at his stitches. “I can’t tolerate this. I want so badly to remember, and every time I try, I end up with a ferocious headache.”

She instinctively clutched his hand. “Well, then, stop. You’ll remember when your brain is recovered enough.”

He shook his head, holding her hand as if afraid he’d fall. “Sit with me for a bit, Liv. Please.”

So she sat. She pulled Thrasher’s chair close and watched as emotions alien to Jack Wyndham flickered across his eyes: fear, anxiety, loss. Vulnerability. She saw and knew that Lady Kate was right. The Jack Wyndham who had come back to her wasn’t the one who had walked away.

Jack had never needed her before. He had
wanted
her. He had loved her. But he had never sought her out when he felt unsure or sad or frightened. But then, she had never believed he’d ever really felt such things.

Lady Kate had also been right about him having been a golden boy. It had been such a blessing to bask in his light. Olivia had a terrible feeling that it would be an even greater privilege to be his light when he faced darkness.

She wondered, suddenly, whether that playfulness Jack showed with Thrasher, the playfulness that would have once been the sum total of Jack, was now only a mask hiding what he couldn’t allow anyone else to see. What he now asked her to see.

It frightened her so badly she almost pulled away. She didn’t want to love him again. She didn’t want to be the repository of his dreams and fears and sins. She had enough to carry on her own.

But, oh, how could she turn from such pain?

Keeping hold of his hand, she went down on her knees beside his chair. “Tell me, Jack. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

His smile was so strained. “I’m still thinking about that kiss,” he teased, his voice sore and tired. “I know I don’t deserve it. But, please, Liv. I have the most absurd feeling I’ll perish without it.”

She saw sincerity in his eyes. She felt the almost frantic clasp of his hand, as if he was afraid to let her go. She realized in that moment just how much danger she was in. She simply couldn’t tell him no.

Getting up, she leaned over the chair and laid a hand against his battered cheek. She briefly closed her eyes and inhaled the secret scent of Jack. She felt the tug of that unbreakable tether that still held her to him. Sighing, she brushed her fingertips against the rough stubble of his beard.

“You’re right,” she whispered. “You do need a bath.”

And then she kissed him.

Where had the anger gone? All she could feel was a worn kind of joy, swirling through her like the attar of long-dead roses. All she could think was how she had missed him. How she had lost the comfort of his arms when she needed them, how she’d lost the exquisite pleasure of his touch.

She knew better. Didn’t she know better? But blind to everything but his mouth and his scent and the delicious rasp of his fingers against her skin, she realized that she should have known that this was inevitable. His eyes were so sweet, so grateful, as if heat and hunger were miles away. As if, for once, the two of them met as imperfect humans who needed each other for solace. For communion. For support. She closed her eyes again and met him mouth to mouth, and she was lost.

It was no different. No. It was better. Deeper, the taste of him harsher, hungrier. She was the one this time to let her hands wander. She spread them against his chest to tease herself with the soft crinkles of hair that peeked out of the open collar of his soft cotton shirt, to taunt herself with the memory of how that hair narrowed to an arrow that bisected his belly. She rediscovered the sleek power of his muscles and the hard lines of his arms. She melted against him when he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her more fully onto his lap.

“Your leg,” she protested, pulling her mouth away.

He tangled his hand into her hair, sending pins flying, and pulled her back to him, and she heard him sigh. She felt the warm lift of his breath against her lips, and she opened to him.