As You Wish (18 page)

“Monday night. The night David came over.” His voice was soft with misery.

Patricia remembered letting David out and then Ryan appearing in the hall. Then he was gone and she remembered going into the parlor, too tired to think and too agitated to sleep. After that, nothing cohesive. “Oh that. It’s okay. You’re here now.”

“I broke a trust. I should never have used the keys to the house like that. I can’t be trusted.”

She brushed her fingers through his hair. There was so much pain in his voice, but she felt too muddled to heal it. There had to be a line of inquiry to tell her what she needed to do. “Why?”

“Because I’ve lost control. I’m getting too involved again, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

Patricia tried to remember what had happened that night. It seemed distant, like a cookie-cutter comedy she’d watched last summer. Ryan had pressed her against the wall in the hallway, kissing her and touching her. It had felt so brilliant and wonderful when everything else was blunted and blurred. Her whole body had burned with need. “You stopped when I told you to.”

“I shouldn’t have been here at all. I shouldn’t have been watching you through the window.” He raised his head to meet her gaze. “I was spying on you and David through the window. I saw him kissing you, and I couldn’t stand it.”

“You were jealous?”

Ryan groaned, leaning his head on his hands again.

“You stopped when I told you to.” She stroked his cheek with her fingertips. “I still trust you. Please come to bed and hold me. I feel so weak, and I need you.” Her arms were too heavy to lift. Her throat tightened. She felt helpless, and this time she hated it. Only the security of his arms around her would make her better. He seemed to pause for an eternity before he stood up and reached for the corner of the blanket. She slid back to allow him under.

“I can’t refuse you anything, Princess,” he murmured, brushing his lips across her temple.

Patricia nestled her head in the hollow of his shoulder, sighing. “I feel so safe with you.”

“I wish you were safe with me.”

She thought she should be alarmed by that comment, but she was too tired.

* * * *

Ryan escorted the cleaning crew to the ballroom, where Mrs. Dudley waited. He left them groaning at the size of the task and closed the doors to contain the noise. He wouldn’t mind groaning himself. Lack of sleep left him achy and with burning eyes.

He’d been sitting in that chair, watching Patricia until he fell asleep. Or sort of fell asleep. Until he’d managed to get his head into a good position, he woke up every time he nodded forward. The only rest he’d gotten was with Patricia curled in his arms after dawn. She was still out. He’d meant to tell her everything this morning when she woke him and asked him to get into bed with her, but he hadn’t been able to. She wouldn’t have understood anyway.

He’d knelt by her bed, ready to confess. But she hadn’t cared that he’d been standing outside watching her kissing David, or that the sight had driven him to use his keys to get in the house and attack her. She wanted to know if he was jealous. Jealous didn’t cover it. He thought he might be getting obsessed again.

Obsessed with another woman he couldn’t have.

The door chime rang, and he went to answer it.

Rita slouched against the outside wall. “You look as bad as I feel. Was she up all night or something?”

“No. I slept in a chair.”

“You didn’t happen to notice that this place has, like, fifty bedrooms, did you?” She stepped inside. Yesterday’s rain had stopped, but the air was sharp as unexpected needles.

“I wanted to be close if she woke up. I thought you weren’t coming until tonight.”

Rita moaned. “We had massive accidents last night because of the rain. Some of the bridges iced up, and people went careening into poles and embankments and guardrails and each other. I was up all night gazing deeply into strangers’ eyes. It sucked, but I thought I’d swing by here on the way home. How’s the patient this morning?”

“She was sleeping an hour ago. She actually slept most of the night. She had some soup last night, but she hasn’t had any breakfast yet.” Ryan flushed, remembering feeding her because she couldn’t control the spoon. Mrs. Dudley had the comforter in the washer.

“Have you ever thought of going into nursing?” Rita asked. “Big guy like you would be really handy in ER. Is she making sense yet?”

“She was this morning. She didn’t think I was a werewolf at dawn.”

Rita laughed. “See, I knew there was a real boy in you, Pinocchio.”

Ryan waited at the bottom of the stairs until she’d turned into the hall before going to the kitchen. Patricia would be up soon, and she’d need some breakfast that wasn’t soup.

“Ah, Mr. Wilcox, there you are. Are these your keys?” Mrs. Dudley held up a bundle of keys. “I found them on the floor in the music room, though I have no idea how they got there.”

Ryan held out his hand. “I don’t know,” he lied. The keys felt heavy in his palm. Patricia must have dropped them. She’d been so sick, she might not even remember him giving them to her.

“So is our little princess awake and ready for her breakfast?”

“Our what?” He caught himself before he squeaked in panic.

Mrs. Dudley smiled. “That’s before your time. I forget that you haven’t been with the family as long as I have. All the servants used to call Miss Patricia
‘our little princess’
when she was a girl. Her grandfather used to call her that. It was a happy time. She was always such a sweet, biddable little girl.”

“Mrs. Dudley?” One of the members of the cleaning crew leaned around the door. “I think we need some help.”

Mrs. Dudley rolled her eyes. “I’m coming. Can’t do a thing without being told,” she muttered on her way through the door.

Ryan stood in the kitchen, staring out the window. He could see the wall of the secret garden from here. They called her their little princess because she was sweet and biddable. They had no idea.

Chapter Twelve

Rita walked into Patricia’s bedroom. Patricia wished she’d propped herself up in bed so she didn’t look like an invalid.

Rita grinned and held up a plastic bag. “I’m back, and I brought
Buffy
. I figured a whole season of TV might keep you in bed for a little while, and since we had all those conversations about Ryan being a werewolf, I thought you’d like it.”

“I’m not going to be in bed recuperating long enough to watch a season of TV,” Patricia muttered. She shoved at the blankets but couldn’t succeed in getting them off her chest. Rita must be planning a long, pathetic recuperation. If she stayed in bed too long, Ryan would get bored.

“I got you this show called
Firefly
too,” Rita continued, setting the bag on the nightstand and taking out the DVD sets. She paused over the back of one box. “I don’t know if it’s any good, but the box was intriguing, and it’s the same people who did
Buffy
. If you don’t like it, I’ll keep it, because this skinny guy in the vest looks totally mouthwatering.”

“I certainly am not going to stay in bed long enough to watch two seasons of TV,” Patricia insisted. The blankets must weigh tons, because she couldn’t move them. She couldn’t lounge here forever.

“Then you’re in luck, because this other one didn’t go a whole season. It says there are sixteen episodes.”

“I’m not going to be in bed long enough to watch that much TV. I’m fine, and I can go back to work tomorrow.”

“Right. Look, it’s a flying pig.” Rita pointed out the window.

Patricia almost glanced over her shoulder. It made her wonder if Rita was right and she really was sick. “I’m just a little weak and tired. I’ll take some vitamin C and get on with things.”

Rita picked up Patricia’s wrist and started counting her pulse.

“Come on, I know what you’re doing.” Patricia tried to pull her hand away but couldn’t.

“I’m proving that you’re as weak as the proverbial kitten. You walk into a hospital full of germs and you’re going to have a staph infection, strep, and half a dozen other cooties before you take off your coat.”

“I’ll take an antibiotic.”

“And help the next generation of resistant bugs grow up healthy and strong.” Rita perched on the edge of the bed. “Do you remember Dr. Zackofsky?”

“I remember.”

“He said,” Rita continued, ignoring Patricia, “sometimes when you get a cold—”

“It’s your body’s way of telling you to sit down.”

“You aced the oral, now how are you going to do in the practicum?”

“But I don’t have any symptoms.”

“You’re tired. So tired you passed out in the rain in your driveway. Your heart is tripping along like a bullet train, and I’m pretty sure I could cook an egg on your forehead. Then there’s that sore throat you’re trying to hide. You’ve got symptoms. Face it, Trish, you’ve been on the go for the past two and a half years. You spent your vacations studying for your boards, and you spent your research months researching and doing clinics when the rest of us were sleeping in and partying. You need a rest. And the last couple weeks haven’t exactly been a bed of roses with David Hoess spreading rumors about you guys getting married.”

“We still might be,” Patricia muttered.

“Don’t tell me that. It’ll wreck my whole lousy day.”

“He’s going into politics. I could be First Lady.”

“You said.”

“It’s a powerful position.”

“Why not just be president yourself?”

“I don’t want to be president.”

“Then why do you want to be First Lady?” Rita countered.

“I could do a lot of good if I was First Lady.”

Rita patted her hand. “You will do a lot of good as a healthy doctor in Whitmer, Ohio.”

Patricia stared out the window. The gold leaves of the maples stood out against the backdrop of green oak leaves. The trees seemed to stretch on forever, hiding an entire city. Mrs. Magyar would be fine, but how many Mrs. Magyars were there in town who could be saved by hearing the right information at the right time? How many Mrs. Magyars were there in the country? How many could she hope to reach as a healthy doctor in Whitmer? How many could she reach as First Lady of the United States? “How long are you keeping me here?”

“Seven glorious days.”

“Seven days? That’s excessive. I won’t do it. I can’t. There’s too much to do.”

Rita laughed. “All I have to do is tell Ryan that’s the sentence, and he’ll keep you here. You have one devoted nursemaid. He’s one very uncomfortable chair away from sleeping at your feet.”

Patricia bit the inside of her cheek. This morning he had slept a little closer than her feet.

“So what does David have that Ryan doesn’t anyway?” Rita asked. She shook her head. “Never mind. I’m tired, and it’s making me punchy. I’ve got to go get some sleep because I’m on call tonight in ICU.”

“I’ll cover it for you.”

Rita snorted. “Oh now, see how sick you are? That wasn’t even a good try. Let me know about the yummy skinny guy,” Rita said, strolling out of the room.

* * * *

Ryan leaned on the door to Patricia’s bedroom. He didn’t remember ever feeling this tired. All day he’d been under Mrs. Dudley’s thumb again. Between her and the cleaning crew in the ballroom, he’d never realized how much there was to do inside the house. Most of his hours were spent outside. He still had a tree waiting beside a not quite deep enough hole out there.

All day today, he’d stayed away from Patricia. Mrs. Dudley brought up her meals, but she had left before the dinner tray was ready to go back to the kitchen, and she had shooed the cleaning crew out ahead of her. Patricia lay curled on her side, watching television with the tray on the nightstand beside her.

“I came to get your tray,” Ryan announced.

She reached out her hand to him.

An invitation he couldn’t resist. He sat down behind her, leaning her on his chest and wrapping his arms around her waist. Her hair smelled like peaches. Mrs. Dudley had helped her wash her hair today. He’d been downstairs helping the cleaning crew move furniture and imagining Patricia naked in her bath while Mrs. Dudley poured clear water over her head to rinse her hair. He’d almost dropped an antique armoire on his foot.

“I haven’t seen you all day.” She pouted.

“I was busy downstairs.” Ryan felt like he was lying even though it was true. “The cleaning crew came to clean the ballroom for your masquerade ball.”

“Masquerade ball?” She blinked. “Oh, for the art museum. I forgot about that.”

“Well, Mrs. Haddix didn’t, and she still isn’t entirely sure Rita and I aren’t holding you prisoner in the house.”

“Mrs. Haddix? Why?”

Ryan kissed her forehead. “You were talking a little crazy when she called yesterday. It sounded like we were keeping you here against you will.”

“You were, but I guess it’s for my own good.” She laid her hands across the backs of his.

“She isn’t so sure. I don’t think she’s going to be happy until she sees you healthy and not tied to a bed.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you tied me to a bed.”

“Patricia.”

“What?” She twisted to look at his face again. “I didn’t mean right now. Unless you want to.”

“Look, about—”

“It didn’t happen.” She turned back to the TV.

“What?”

“It didn’t happen. If you’re going to tell me how you can’t be trusted because you were watching David and me through the windows, and because you used your keys to get inside, forget it. It didn’t happen.” Patricia closed her eyes and sighed. “I trust you more than I’ve ever trusted anyone outside of my family. That hasn’t changed. You might not trust yourself, but I trust you. I feel so safe with you.”

“But you’re not.”

“Yes, I am. I would have felt better if I’d known you were watching through the windows. You stopped when I told you to, just like you promised. David didn’t.”

Ryan’s blood froze. He didn’t remember any bruises on her when he’d undressed her yesterday. She hadn’t been out of his sight for more than a minute. “What did he do? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No, but I had to tell him to stop repeatedly before he did. That’s not the point. I can trust you, and I need someone I can trust right now. I need you here.”