Make Me Love You (14 page)

“I hope you will not be here long enough for it to matter.”

That was not exactly what she’d hoped to hear after being honest with him and revealing so much personal information. “Well, I will continue to share my feelings with you.
You
are already doing exactly that. So I suppose we don’t need to agree to anything.”

If he couldn’t tell that he’d finally annoyed her, then he was blind. But he didn’t reply because the food arrived and he finally let go of her wrist. She almost laughed it was so obvious that he’d only done so because he was hungry and the sooner she was done treating his wound, the sooner he could eat.

She made quick work of dabbing the paste over and around the stitches, though she stood back as far as she could from him to do it. “Let that dry while we eat. I will bandage it before I go so the paste does not rub off while you sleep.”

“You know I don’t want your help?”

“Yes, you have made that quite clear.”

“Then why do you persist?”

“As I mentioned earlier, you’re going to be my husband, so it’s my duty to assist you.”

“Your life will never be pleasant here. You need to think about that very carefully and figure out that you only have one option.”

She raised a brow at him. “To leave? That is actually the
only option I don’t have. So maybe
you
need to do some thinking instead and give in graciously—if you know how to do that.”

“Get out!”

She almost said,
Make me!
But she bit the words back. She had to stop succumbing so quickly to anger! Where had this willingness to fight with him come from? If he weren’t bedridden, she wouldn’t dare. And Alfreda’s herbs were likely to get him out of that bed sooner. More fool her for helping to that end!

B
ROOKE DIDN
’
T LEAVE THE
wolf’s den, although she stared at the door for a few moments, tempted to walk out. She finally chose to ignore Dominic’s order and picked up one of the two food trays that had been set on the little dining table and took it to Dominic. A small vase of flowers had been added to one tray. Marsha must have tried to make amends to the viscount for delaying his dinner until Brooke was ready. He probably wouldn’t even notice how pretty the flowers were. She knew she ought to offer a smile as she set the tray on his bedside table, but she couldn’t quite manage it. He was lucky that she didn’t dump it in his lap.

“Would you like me to feed you?”

She had to stop goading him! It got her the glare she expected. He didn’t thank her for putting the tray within his reach or for handing him the dinner plate. Did the man have no manners at all, or was his abundant rudeness reserved just for her?

After removing the ceramic dome that had been put over
his plate to keep it warm, she took it back to the dining table, where she intended to eat, far from him. She was doing it again—reacting to his churlishness and forgetting her resolve to make him like her. So she removed the dome from her plate and took her tray with her as she went to sit in the chair at his bedside. She would be pleasant despite him and show him it would be nice to have her around.

He didn’t reiterate his order for her to leave. He was probably too busy eating to care just then. The baked fish was served with a tangy cream sauce topping it. Brooke found it quite tasty. Crisp vegetables filled the other half of the plate. The dinner trays also had biscuits, little bowls of butter, and cinnamon scones for dessert.

Dominic didn’t appear to have any trouble reaching for whatever he wanted to add to his plate. But then, aside from the wound on his thigh, nothing was wrong with his body and his arms were long. She imagined she was going to be impressed by his height when she saw him standing. Would she find him even more intimidating then? She wished they could come to some sort of peace before then.

With fork in hand, Brooke tried to introduce a topic of conversation that didn’t touch on their impending marriage. Since she was curious about his family, she asked, “Your mother isn’t in residence?”

He didn’t answer. Actually, he must have debated whether to respond, so she was pleased when he finally got around to saying, “She lives permanently at our house in London now. There are too many bad memories here for her to want to return to the moors.”

“You’re estranged?” she guessed. “You could say the same thing about me and my mother, but I didn’t have the luxury of
leaving home. Until now, that is. Odd that we would have that in common.”

He gave her an incredulous look, which ended in a dark frown. “We don’t have
any
thing in common. That’s a nasty habit you have, of jumping ahead with your assumptions, particularly when it couldn’t be further from the truth. I am quite close to my mother. She merely refuses to come back to Yorkshire because all the memories of my sister are here, which is understandable. And she was raised in London. The social whirl and her old friends there at least distract her from her grief.”

Since he mentioned his sister without getting enraged this time, she added carefully, “Yet keeps her from you. Does she even know you were wounded?”

“She knows I dueled and why, but, no, I didn’t want to cause her worry over this wound. But I’m in the habit now of spending half of each year in London with her. We keep a town house there and another in Scarborough on the coast. Here is where we come to hide.”

To hide from what? she wondered, but pointed out, “It’s not possible to hide when you are in the open with next to nothing blocking your house from view.”

“You haven’t grasped the size of Yorkshire, have you? We are the proverbial needle in a haystack.”

“Then you probably shouldn’t have built a road that leads straight to your door.”

“We didn’t. It winds.”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it. She knew very well he didn’t mean to be funny, which was why he was scowling at her now for laughing. She didn’t care. At that moment she decided to be herself while she was here . . . well, mostly—at least
when he wasn’t frightening her with his scowls and bared teeth. Though maybe she should ask if he would mind.

So, trying to keep her tone light, she confessed, “I’ve never been able to be myself with anyone except Freda. I was trying to explain that earlier—before you annoyed me. But it seems fitting that I be myself with you since you will soon be my husband. Don’t you agree?”

He raised a curious brow. “Am I supposed to understand what you’re implying? How could I stop you from being who you are? Actually, explain that remark. Is something wrong with you?”

She choked back another laugh. “Not a’tall. I’ve just been stifled, raised in a house that never felt like a home. I was an unwanted daughter, you see. And when no more sons arrived after me, I got blamed for that. So your calling me a spoiled earl’s daughter could not have been farther from the mark.”

“As if I would believe that any more than I believe that you and your brother aren’t thick as thieves. Don’t try to garner pity for nonsense of that sort.”

She bristled. “I bet you don’t even know the meaning of the word
pity
—and you probably even kicked puppies as a child. I assure you it’s been quite obvious that you are a man without grace or kindness. Really, you don’t need to work so hard at convincing me of that,” she added drily.

That got her such an icy look she shivered. So much for conversation and getting to know each other before they reached the altar. And when would that be? Was there a time limit involved?

She didn’t ask and said no more to him. When she was finished eating but still had two biscuits left, she put them on his tray. She did it out of habit. She was used to sharing her food
with Alfreda. After taking her tray back to the dining table, she wanted to leave, but she had one more task to perform.

She approached him again. “Did your doctor leave a supply of bandages?”

He waved a hand at his night table. She hadn’t noticed the shelf underneath it until then, but a tall stack of white cloths was already cut into long strips.

She shook one out, then stared at his left thigh, wondering how she was going to get the cloth wrapped around it without getting too close to him. She didn’t think she could, was already blushing, and keenly felt his eyes watching as she hesitated.

“You should not stare like that,” she said curtly.

“You shouldn’t deign to tell me what I can and cannot do.”

“I didn’t. I wouldn’t presume. ‘Should not’ implies that what you are doing is making me uncomfortable.”

“Is that supposed to make me ashamed for doing so?”

“No, I—” She snapped her mouth shut. He wanted a fight, she realized, anything to get her out of there soon. He was simply still trying to get her to refuse to marry him. Was it going to be like this every time she came in here to help him?

Maybe it was. Maybe he hated
needing
her help, too, and that’s why he was so nasty about it. No. She had a feeling that his animosity was never going to end, even when he was hale and—

She’d hesitated so long he yanked the bandage from her hand. She sighed in relief as he started to wrap the cloth around his muscular thigh. “Be careful you don’t rub off the salve. Freda advises airing wounds, not covering them up. They heal quicker that way, and I have an herb to help with that, too. But until the wound has fully drained, you need the bandage.”

“Whatever will get me back on my feet sooner.”

That had been said tonelessly. She glanced at him. Though his brow was dry, he was still pale and likely tired.

As he tucked in the end of the cloth strip to hold the bandage tight, she tapped the potion bottle on his bedside table. “You can take a sip of this when you are ready to sleep. It will keep you from waking due to the discomfort of your wound. An undisturbed sleep is wonderful medicine. Or you can drink more whiskey, which will basically do the same thing. Just don’t mix the two.”

“Why not?”

“It will make you grow warts.” She grinned to show she was joking. He scowled, not amused, so she added, “It might make you queasy in the morning is all.”

“Take it with you. I don’t trust potions that haven’t been given by a doctor.”

He clearly didn’t trust
her
was what he meant. She didn’t take offense. There was no point.

She picked up the bottle. “I will come in the morning to apply the salve again. Have hot water on hand. A hot compress should be soothing for you.”

With that she headed straight for the door. She didn’t expect any thanks and didn’t get any. Lines had been drawn. They were basically at war. Well, in
his
mind. She just needed to persevere, to be patient, and to fire only soft bullets in return.

So she forced herself to say “Sweet dreams” before she closed the door on whatever nasty rejoinder he would have for that.

W
HEN BROOKE OPENED HER
eyes in the large, darkened room, she didn’t know where she was. She sat up, startled, and looked around, then lay back down on the soft pillows, remembering she was in Yorkshire at the home of the angry, churlish, handsome man who was going to be her husband. She reached for her pocket watch on the night table to see that it was eight thirty. She’d overslept.

When she’d got back to her room last night, she’d taken a sip of that sleeping draft the wolf had refused, and when it didn’t work quickly enough, she’d taken another sip. She was afraid she was going to have trouble sleeping in this room every night. Because of the door that connected her room to his. Because while she couldn’t open it, he could from the other side.

She saw that Alfreda had already been here. On the washstand was fresh water, still slightly warm, though the drapes were still closed. Brooke opened those now and smiled down on the park below. It was quite lovely with the morning sun
shining on it. She might read a book today, if she could find one, on one of the many benches.

The tall bookshelf in her room was empty, as had been all of the other furniture before she’d unpacked. The room’s decor made it obvious that a woman was the previous occupant. The large four-poster bed was covered with a thick white spread that was dotted with pink flowers and edged with a set of ruffles.