No Greater Love (10 page)

“What … what is that supposed to mean?” he said with a pained grunt.

“Just that. You have been very short with me this week, leaving rooms when I enter, not being pleasant company at all.”

“Georgia—”

“You are now in a position where you cannot leave. Perhaps you would like to explain your attitude. If you wish rescuing, that is.”

“Georgia, this is no time to have this discussion, and in any case, you know damned well what’s been bothering me. Avoiding you seemed to be the only sensible thing to do.” He tried to push himself up, with no success. “Furthermore, I thought the subject was closed, and may I remind you that you were the one to close it?”

“I was?” she asked with a little frown, trying to puzzle this out. “I’m sure I hadn’t meant to.”

He groaned and hitched himself forward a fraction of an inch. “Ahh … my ribs.”

“Oh, dear. I do think we really should get you out of there, Nicholas, before the floor gives way altogether.”

“And how, my dear, do you propose to accomplish that? I weigh twice what you do.”

“You’ll just have to push while I pull, unless, of course, you intend to dangle there for the next hour or two? I’m afraid you have no choice.” She placed her hands on the waistband of his trousers. “All right. On the count of three.” And then she pulled for all she was worth.

Nicholas shoved with his arms at the same time, and he came popping out of the hole with such force that she flew backward and landed against the wall, hitting it so hard with her head that she saw stars.

“Georgia? Georgia, sweetheart, are you hurt? Are you all right?” She opened her eyes to see Nicholas kneeling over her, his hands on her shoulders, his gray eyes looking into hers with concern.

She sat up straighter and rubbed the back of her head. “I’m fine, I think. But you’ve torn your chest to ribbons, Nicholas. Oh, look at you! And that’s the second shirt this month!”

“Never mind my poor flesh, you’re worried about my shirts?” he said with a smile. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?” He touched her cheek, and Georgia’s face went hot. She found that she very much wanted him to touch her other cheek as well. It was so nice to see the warmth back in his eyes. “Oh, Nicholas, I have missed you,” she said with a rush of relief. “If you meant to punish me, you succeeded.”

“Did I?” he replied very softly, the expression in his eyes changing from concern to something else. “Perhaps the blow to your head finally knocked some sense into you. Shall we see?” He seemed to move closer to her, and then he did touch the other cheek. He took her face in his hands and his head bent toward hers. She could feel his warm breath on her cheek, the heat of his body radiating into hers, and her own breath quickened. Georgia fuzzily thought that he was inspecting her very closely indeed, and in a rush of confusion she wiggled away.

“I’m perfectly fine.” She picked herself up off the ground. “But you need some salve on those scrapes. Wait just one moment, and I’ll fetch some.”

She was back almost momentarily with a basin of water, a cloth, and the ointment. “Take what’s left of your shirt off, Nicholas. I know it’s cold, but it can’t be helped.”

He did as he was told, and Georgia examined his chest. He really was a fine figure of a man, she thought, assessing the damage. His bare chest was shaped into sleek, strong planes, his ribs ridged with muscle. She was fascinated by the thin line of black hair that ran from a small, silky patch on his chest directly down the center of his stomach. Baggie’s barrel-shaped chest had been covered in a thick mat of hair, as had his back. Nicholas was a great improvement over that design. She had an irrational desire to reach her finger out and trace the line with it.

“Will I live?” Nicholas asked, and, embarrassed, she was called back to her task.

“Probably.” She dipped her fingers in the salve and carefully dabbed at his bleeding chest. Nicholas looked down at her, a pained expression in his eyes.

“Am I hurting you?” she asked with concern.

“Not exactly,” he said, his breath pulling in sharply.

“Don’t try to be brave. It’s foolish. If it hurts, say so, and I’ll be more careful.” Her palm brushed over his nipple, and it went hard. She looked at it in surprise and had to force herself not to snatch her hand away.

“Oh…” he said with that now-familiar catch of laughter. “You’re right. It hurts.”

She gave him a long look, then went back to applying the salve. His skin felt hot under her fingers and she lightened her touch.

“No, you don’t have to do that,” he said. “It’s better the other way.’’

She looked up at him with a frown. “You want me to hurt you?”

“I can take it. It’s better to get the stuff thoroughly in the wounds and avoid infection, isn’t it?”

“The wounds are not that deep, Nicholas. They are merely scrapes.”

“Merely scrapes? So say you. Would you see me fester and die? Please, Georgia. Thoroughness is everything. Have you not told me so time and again yourself? Do what you must. I promise not to scream.” He rested his hands on her hips and bowed his head as if to brace himself.

She carried on massaging the salve into his chest in smooth, gentle strokes, and she could not help but feel real sympathy for him, for tears had started to his eyes, and he groaned once. He was clearly in pain, even though the scrapes had not initially looked that serious to her.

“There, that should suffice,” she said reluctantly stepping away, for she had enjoyed the feel of him under her fingers. Touching him made her feel pleasantly odd, and she had not minded his hands touching her in the least. She capped the jar. “Does it feel any better?”

“Yes. No. Oh, Georgia.” He turned away from her and covered his face with one hand.

“Nicholas? Are you sure you have not bruised yourself internally? You really should not be experiencing such discomfort.”

He made a strangled noise in his throat, then muttered something about finding a clean shirt. Georgia found herself alone in the room. She shrugged and went back to her painting.

But after that, Nicholas seemed to have forgiven her for whatever transgression she had committed, for he no longer left the room or spoke brusquely to her. In fact, she often found him watching her, and it was with a combination of curiosity and that other expression she did not recognize, the one he had worn when she had bumped her head and he had bent over her. All she knew was that when she did find him looking at her like that, it made her feel weak and achy and overly warm.

She didn’t understand it in the least.

Nicholas carefully placed the thick, flat piece of slate on top of the foundation he’d prepared. Binkley had brought the first load from Horsham, and Nicholas was anxious to get the tiles into place before he returned with the second. Martin, who had gone off with Binkley, had shown him how to produce the correct pattern, and it was detailed work that did not allow for wandering thoughts—a blessing, for his thoughts had been wandering far too frequently recently, and in all the wrong directions.

His attention was distracted as he caught a flash out of the corner of his eye, like sun reflecting off glass, and he looked again at the woods that led toward Ravenswalk. He’d had the odd sensation over the last few weeks that he was being watched, and this indicated that his instincts might be right. He very much wanted to know who was doing the watching, and why. He knew it couldn’t be Jacqueline: she had been away since early January and was not expected to return until late spring. Whoever it was, the person was being very careful to keep his presence unknown. Nicholas went back to his work, frowning.

And then he saw it again, unmistakably coming from the woods, and this time he decided he was going to discover just what was going on. He quietly made his way over the roof, ignoring the ladder in the front, instead dropping over the back side of the house and climbing down the old ivy root. He skirted the side of the wood and noiselessly came up behind the old path. He was as familiar with these woods as the back of his hand, and he knew he was well-concealed. His eyes scanned the area around him. Nothing. Absolutely nothing, except for Georgia, who was moving about in the front garden where she had been working for most of the warm morning.

And then his eye fastened upon the odd sight of a boot dangling just above eye level. He moved slightly forward and peered up into the branches. And there was Cyril, sitting in the crook of two boughs. He had a telescope clasped to his eye and his concentration was absolute.

Nicholas thought carefully. That a boy of seventeen had nothing better to do than to sit in a tree and spy on his relatives struck him as very odd. But it also occurred to him that this might be the perfect opportunity to further his acquaintanceship with his cousin. Cyril had steadfastly refused to answer a single letter Nicholas had sent to him, and he had stayed well out of sight—until now. It was clear that Cyril was not uninterested in Nicholas’ activities, nor Georgia’s for that matter. Nicholas wasn’t particularly bothered about the reason for that interest, prurient or otherwise. He had caught Cyril red-handed.

“Good morning, Cyril,” he said, and the tree shook as Cyril started and nearly tumbled down. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

“Oh, N-Nicholas,” Cyril stammered, having gone first white and then red.

“Will you come down, or shall I come up?”

Cyril’s mouth opened and then closed. He slung the telescope over his back and hurriedly climbed down the tree, landing clumsily on the ground.

“A good choice,” Nicholas said. “I doubt it would have been a comfortable perch for two of us.”

Cyril just stared at him. He couldn’t have looked more guilty.

Nicholas held out his hand for the telescope. “May I?” he said, taking it and examining it. He put it up to his eye and pointed it at the Close, then handed it back to Cyril. “It’s heavy, but I suppose it’s been working well enough.”

Cyril just nodded, then swallowed, his larynx bobbing up and down.

“Do you know, I was wondering, Cyril. You surely must have noticed the sorry condition of the Close while you were sitting up there day after day. As you have also no doubt noticed, we are working very hard, Georgia and I, to put the Close to rights.”

Cyril shrugged.

“I imagine you must sympathize with the situation. After all, the property is entailed to Ravenswalk, which will one day be yours. We are very shorthanded, as you have seen, and we would be appreciative of any help we could get. I don’t suppose you have any ideas? We can’t afford to pay for extra help, you see. We would need someone strong, able-bodied, who had a great deal of energy.” Nicholas looked at him thoughtfully. “Someone just like yourself, in fact. Someone who has time on his hands, who would like to stay out of trouble. But I suppose that to ask you would be out of the question.”

“Well … I s-suppose I c-could help,” Cyril said uncomfortably. There had been a small sharp flicker in his eyes that Nicholas hadn’t missed. He wasn’t sure if it boded good or ill, but he wasn’t going to stop to find out. Someone needed to take Cyril in hand, and he couldn’t think of a better way to do it.

“Really? You would be willing to help? Ah, Cyril. Now, that is truly Christian of you. It really is. Georgia will be so pleased.” He put a firm hand on Cyril’s back and gave him a pat that almost amounted to a shove, propelling the boy forward. “Come, we shall tell her together, and then you must share our luncheon with us. It will be modest, I warn you, but we can’t ask you to work on an empty stomach.”

“No. How k-kind.”

He looked thoroughly annoyed, Nicholas thought with satisfaction as he led Cyril down the path with an iron grip.

“Cyril!” Georgia said, jumping to her feet as they came toward her. She could not believe her eyes. Nicholas had Cyril collared almost like a dog with a bird. It was a most compelling sight, for she had been feeling very annoyed with Cyril for his ill treatment of Nicholas. She was surprised for more reasons than one. For the first time she saw them side by side, and the resemblance really was uncanny. She could see how easily it was that she had mistaken Nicholas for Cyril that first day. But despite the similarities of feature and coloring, Nicholas was very much the man and Cyril the youth, and a very red-faced youth at that.

“How nice to see you again,” she said, giving Nicholas a look of inquiry as if to ask whether it was nice or not. She really couldn’t tell.

“Isn’t it,” said Nicholas. “I found Cyril studying birds, and he says he has so much idle time on his hands that he would be happy to help us in our work, Georgia. Isn’t that generous of him?”

“Most generous,” Georgia said. She could see that Nicholas was up to something and she waited for his lead.

“I thought that as soon as we have eaten, I will take him up onto the roof,” he said. “It will help to have someone, since Martin has gone off for the day.”

“Oh … oh, n-no,” Cyril said pleadingly, looking truly alarmed. “P-please, sir, I have a f-fear of h-heights. Anything else. Anything…”

“Very well. Georgia has started on the gardens. I’m sure she would appreciate your help there. And you do seem to enjoy spending time in the outdoors, do you not Cyril?”

“Yes, sir.”

Georgia was impressed: Nicholas had already begun to command a reluctant respect from his cousin, despite the fact that Nicholas was wearing the simplest of work clothes and Cyril was dressed in a style appropriate to the heir to an earldom.

“Why don’t you come in, Cyril?” she said politely, throwing Nicholas a look of high amusement. “It is nothing exceptional, of course, but it is home, and the meal should be ready shortly.”

“Very well. Thank you.”

He looked around him with dismay as he entered, and Georgia watched him carefully, wondering what was going through his mind.

“It’s a pity, isn’t it, Cyril?” Nicholas said, leading him through die hall. He pointed at the high ceiling, where the plaster, once ornately molded, was buckled and peeling. “They’re all like that,” he said. “Mind your step. We’ve shored up the worst of the floor, but it can still be dangerous. Here. The dining room is in better order, and not all the furniture was taken, so there is a table off which to eat.”