An Unexpected Gift (15 page)

His words halted her progress as nothing else would. She turned back. “It’s been nearly a fortnight. It should have started healing well before now. It isn’t still bleeding, is it?”

“No, it hasn’t bled since the night Fingers brought you here.” He crossed the room, unfastening his shirt.

“What are you doing?” Her voice came out higher than normal. She felt the sudden urge to flee from the room.

“You asked that I take my shirt off the last time you examined the wound. I assumed you would want me to do the same today.”

“Yes, yes. Of course.” Flustered, she forced her gaze away from the sculpted planes of his chest only to have it land on his flat stomach and the muscles there. She jerked her gaze to the window, feeling the need to fan herself. Her cheeks heated as he came closer.

“I believe you actually have to look at the wound in order to see how well it is healing,” he said in a dry voice.

“I was waiting for you to remove your shirt.”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t remark on her obvious lie. She didn’t understand why she was affected so by his nearness, by seeing him in a state of undress when she had never been affected by any of the men she cared for on the battlefield, and she’d seen a good number of them without any clothing at all.

Clearing her throat, she did her best to assume a professional attitude. He was her patient, nothing more. “Turn a bit to your left,” she instructed as she looked at his side.

She touched the wound with gentle fingers and felt him shudder. “Sorry, my hands are cold.”

“I know of a way to warm them.” He took her hand in his, but before he could do anything more, she pulled free.

“So do I,” she said and rubbed her hands together in a brisk manner for a few minutes. “They should be warmer now.” She probed the edges of the newly healed scar. “Does it still cause you pain?”

He laid his hand over hers, flattening it against his skin. “It’s feeling better now.”

She slid her hand from beneath his, ignoring the wild fluttering of her heart. “Who removed the stitches?” she asked, determined to keep the encounter impersonal.

“I did two days ago.”

She nodded and walked around him to examine the exit wound on his back where the lead ball had passed through his body. “They should have stayed in until at least today, but I see no signs that you aren’t healing well.” She didn’t know which she felt more relieved about—that he would be completely recovered soon or that she could leave and not have to be in such close proximity to him when he was without a shirt.

He turned and moved closer. Olivia backed up a step. He kept coming, crowding her until she backed into the nearby wall.

“What are you doing?”

“You ask me that question quite often, do you know that?” He plucked a pin from her hair and dropped it onto the carpet.

“Stop that.” She touched her chignon. It seemed to still be in place.

He grinned and removed another pin.

She made a grab for it, but he dropped it to the floor.

“Do you realize I’ve never seen you with your hair free?” He pulled another pin free.

Olivia felt her hair start to uncoil and slip free from the remaining pins. “Because it isn’t proper.”

“When has anything I’ve done with you been proper?” he whispered.

She trembled as his lips brushed her ear. “You and I have done nothing.”

He leaned forward until their lips were all but touching. “Haven’t we? I distinctly remember us sharing a bed, not once but twice.”

She wanted to close the distance between them, wanted to feel his mouth on hers, wanted to know at long last what it would feel like to be kissed by him. Instead, she turned her head away, praying he would move back and at the same time hoping he wouldn’t.

“We didn’t truly share a bed. You were always above the counterpane,” she said in a voice that shook a little despite her attempt to keep it even.

“But I wanted to be under it.” He traced small circles on her breast, coming closer and closer to her nipple causing it to contract into a tight bud. “I wanted to be under you.”

Her eyes drifted closed with each completed circle, his touch sending heat curling low in her stomach. She knew she should stop him, remove his hand, do anything to stop the madness of the sensations spiraling within her.

“Olivia.” He touched the very center of her nipple.

Even through the fabric of her gown, she felt a jolt of sensation. “I love how you say my name.”

His hand stopped moving.

She opened her eyes to find him staring at her, his gaze dark and unreadable. Had she spoken aloud? She hadn’t meant to. “I…um…everyone pronounces my name ‘Ahlivia,’ but you say ‘Ohlivia.’”

He ran the barely there touch of his thumb across her lips. “Olivia,” he whispered. His fingers skimmed down her arm leaving gooseflesh in their wake until he clasped her hand in his. “Olivia.”

“Yes?” The word was no more than a breath of air.

He placed her hand on his chest, holding it there when she tried to pull free. “Touch me.”

“I…I…it’s not proper.”

He closed his eyes just as she swore she saw desire flare within them. “Please.”

She lifted her other hand, let it hover over his skin. Oh how she wanted to touch him, to feel the muscled hardness of his body. Even now where he held her hand against him, she felt as though he branded her with the blazing heat from that single point of contact.

He released a deep sigh, her hand rising and falling with the motion, and opened his eyes. With a derisive smile, he released her. “I apologize. I’ve forgotten my place.” He gave a small bow and turned away.

She felt bereft at the loss of his touch. Without thinking, she laid her hand on his back. He stiffened but didn’t move away.

“Where is your place?” she whispered, not knowing if she asked him or herself. She’d always felt as though she didn’t fit in with the members of society, and she didn’t fit in with the servant class either. She was stuck somewhere in between, often feeling barely tolerated by the
Ton
and put on a pedestal she didn’t deserve by her few servants for what she’d experienced in war.

She ran her fingers down the length of a scar running from the top of his shoulder to just below it. Of their own volition, her fingers moved to touch each nick and mark on his back, ending at the most recent one she’d cared for herself. He stood still, his only movement the flexing of muscles as she traced his scars. His head hung forward. She found herself leaning closer and closer until her cheek rested against his back.

He shuddered and reached back for her hands, folding her arms around him as he pressed her hands one over the other to his stomach. The muscles there jumped at the contact. He held her without uttering a word.

Olivia felt strangely at peace. She couldn’t explain it, but holding him this way while he held only her hands, she felt…protected and protective.

Slipping one hand free, she slid it up his chest to his throat. His pulse thrummed against her fingertips, and his breathing grew ragged, but still he didn’t move. She touched his jaw, the faint stubble of his whiskers pricking her fingers.

“Lazarus,” she whispered his name, not knowing why, but needing to.

He lifted his head and turned in her arms, hunger etched across his features. “Will. My name is Will,” he said in a hoarse voice.

“Will,” she repeated, wanting something she didn’t know how to voice.

He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t hold back any longer. He pressed a kiss to her lips. A gentle touch, then again, and again, each kiss making his hunger grow until he wanted to devour her, to lose himself in her as he had no other.

His hands slid into the silky mass of her hair. He’d wanted to touch her like this for far too long. Angling his head, he deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping into her mouth. She gave a low moan and pressed closer. Her hands slipped from his shoulders to twine around his neck. Her fingers grazed his nape, sending a shower of ice through his veins.

Pulling her hands away from the back of his neck, he broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers while he fought to control his breathing. “I burn for you.” The words escaped him unheeded.

“And I melt for you,” she whispered in return. “I’ve never responded to a man’s nearness the way I do you. I cannot explain it.” She looked down. “How did you get so many scars?” she asked, tracing a finger across an old knife wound that sliced across his pectoral muscle to the edge of his nipple.

“They are a matter of course in my business.” He watched her touch him and felt himself harden even more than before.

“And the scar on the back of your neck?”

Will froze. He had been certain he’d removed her arms from around his neck before she realized what her fingers had touched. Of all the scars he carried, he hated that one the most. “I fear you are mistaken. I have no scar there.”

“You do. I felt the ridges of it for just a brief moment, but it is there. You didn’t mind me touching the others, why do you lie about this one?”

He pushed out of her embrace and stalked toward the window, raking a hand through his hair. How could he tell her what was done to him? It would show what a true coward he was. She would never look at him the same way again.

He felt her come stand beside him and suddenly the words, words he’d never spoken before, came tumbling out of him. “My father died in a horse-riding accident when I was but five years of age. My mother, my sister, and I went to live with her brother and his family. He was a vicar and had limited funds to support us all so when a baronet showed an interest in her, her brother was quick to marry her off.”

He gazed out the window, not seeing what was really there, but instead the past playing like a farce across the stage of his mind. “The baronet was an abusive bastard who started beating my mother within days of the marriage.”

“I’m sorry.” Olivia slipped her hand into his.

“I was seven years old the first time I took Mary and tried to run away. He had his coachman find us and bring us back to him. I was given nothing to eat for four days and had to watch Mary eat every meal I was denied.”

“Oh.” The sound of distress escaped Olivia without her notice.

“I didn’t mind. I was glad Mary wasn’t punished. She was three years younger than I and didn’t understand what was happening. When he lost his temper, he no longer just beat my mother; he would take his rage out on me, too. For every blow he landed, I made plans. Plans to get Mary and me away from him for good.”

“Why did your mother not try to protect you?”

“She had become a shell of her former self, jumping at shadows, barely speaking, afraid of what would cause the baronet to strike out at her. One day she just disappeared as though she ceased to exist. I never knew if she left Mary and me or if the baronet succeeded in finally killing her.”

Olivia squeezed his hand.

“I was ten when I took Mary and ran away again. We got farther than before, but that bastard found us. He told me I belonged to him, and I always would belong to him. But he didn’t punish either of us. Instead he seemed almost sorry for what he’d done to my mother and me in the past. He took me to Tattersall’s and bought me a pony.”

“Perhaps he was trying to make amends,” Olivia murmured.

“You couldn’t be more mistaken.” Will moved away, keeping his back to her. He didn’t want to see her face when he told her the worst of it. He clasped his hands behind his neck, his fingers touching the scar that made him the man he was. “You see, he used that pony to torture me. He starved it from the very first. Whenever I tried to help it by feeding it, even weeds from the nearby fields, he whipped the animal until its hide was nothing but bloody flesh. He made me watch,” Will whispered the last, still hearing the high-pitched screams of the horse as it felt the lash. “I could stand it no longer, so one day I took his hunting rifle and shot Star in the head. I figured a quick death was so much better than the prolonged death he was suffering.”

“Star was your pony,” Olivia said, her voice thick with tears.

Will nodded. “The baronet became enraged when he saw what I’d done. He said I robbed him of one of his possessions so I would have to take its place. He had me dragged to the blacksmith. He branded me, and I lived in the barn like an animal.” Will turned to face Olivia then, ignoring the tears streaming down her face. “I carry his mark on the back of my neck. And every day he reminded me of that fact by flashing the signet ring he used as the brand in front of me.”

“Oh, my God. How did you get away from him?”

“I planned, and when the time was right I spirited Mary away. I waited until he went to London on business, to ensure we would not be caught. Once I had Mary safely hidden, I went back and waited for him to come to the barn. I had a knife, and I was ready. I stabbed him over and over and over again. I was twelve years old. Do you see what kind of man I am?”

Olivia moved to stand in front of him. “You had no choice. He would have killed you eventually.”

“Do not make excuses for me. Since then I’ve done a lot of things that, if I were not blackmailing you, would send you running from me in fear. I’m not a good man.”

She sniffed and wiped away the last of her tears. “I think you have so much good inside of you. I don’t think you even know how much.”

“Do not make me into someone you wish I was instead of who I am,” he said, angry that she didn’t see him for the brutal man he was despite what he’d just told her.

“Will.” She touched his jaw, making him meet her gaze, her eyes a darker blue than he’d ever seen them. She moved closer until there was no space between them. He felt every inch of her along his body. “I know you are a good man. I know it here.” She touched her heart. “Prove it to me. Kiss me again.”

Never one to turn down a lady, he took her mouth with his. Lost in the haze of desire, it took him a moment to realize someone pounded on the door while calling his name. He broke off the kiss. “What is it?” he demanded.

“Hammond’s men have taken Harry. Fingers has gone to try and get him back.”