He cocked his head. “That is a shame, Nell. I know how much joy they brought you. I hope you did not stop because…”
Apparently thinking better of his words, he allowed them to trail off and stood.
“Because of you?” She raised a brow at him, hoping she made him feel small and foolish, much the way he had so oft made her feel. “Do not be a sapskull, Needham. I have scarcely thought of you at all these last few years. I would certainly not let you keep me from doing anything I wanted, as I am sure you already know if you have followed the gossips as you say you have.”
“Of course.” There was a flash of something in his expression, in his eyes. “Stay here, Nell. I will be back in a moment.”
He did not wait for her response. She watched him go, his robe fluttering around his lean calves, and wondered at the emotion she had glimpsed. Hurt? Surely not. If he had felt anything for her—if the love he had once professed to feel for her had been true—he would never have had another woman in his bed. Nor would he have left her for three years.
If he had loved her, he would have fought for her. Instead, he had left.
He disappeared through the door connecting their chambers. She stared bemusedly at the space where he had once been.
TOJACK’S AMAZEMENT,Nell was still where he had left her when he returned with the supplies he needed—cloths, basin, water, soap, soothing salve, and a small pot of aloe.
She watched him in silence, her small ankles crossed, her night rail primly lowered so the hem brushed the tops of her feet. It was apparent to him that she had arranged herself to expose as little of her skin as possible. He had already seen, known, tasted, and loved every exquisite inch of her. But her need to hide herself from him was a manifestation of the walls she continually rebuilt each time he applauded himself for tearing them down.
Her high forehead was bright red from the sun she had absorbed the evening before in her determination to thwart him. Fortunately for her, he had a remedy for that as well. Thanks to his travels, he had learned a great deal about seeing to his own ailments and injuries.
Jack brought his collection to her and knelt at her feet on the Axminster, laying out all his accoutrements. “You did not flee,” he observed drily.
She pursed her lips at him. “My feet hurt like the devil.”
Ah, that explained it. She was in too much pain to be defiant.
“You never should have walked in those bloody boots,” he told her, dunking the clean cloth into the bowl of water as he thought of the fashionable yet highly imprudent footwear she had been sporting the day before.
The water was not as warm as he would have preferred, but it would have to do. He lathered the cloth with soap, glancing up at her when she made a hissing sound he recognized all too well.
She was irritated with him.
“Perhaps you ought to have issued your warning yesterday, my lord.” Her voice was tart.
“I did.” He flicked his gaze back up to her gorgeous face. Not even hours beneath the sun she was unaccustomed to having upon her skin could alter her beauty. Even sunburnt, weary, and in pain, she was so lovely she made him ache. “You told me to go to Hades. Repeatedly.”
She pursed her lips. “I do think I also told you to affix leaden weights to your ankles and wade into the lake.”
She had.
He had chosen to ignore the barb then as he did now. He took her left ankle in hand and lifted her ravaged foot. Just seeing the angry, red blisters on her heel left him shaken. She had done herself such grievous injury, all to escape him. And what had he done? He had followed her.
“Surely you were in pain yesterday,” he observed instead, gently using the cloth upon her raw flesh.
She hissed out a breath in much more violent fashion, her entire body jerking at the touch of the cloth to her heel. “I was too busy attempting to flee your odious presence to take note. That smarts like the very devil, Needham. Must you be so rough? I do think you take too much enjoyment out of causing me pain.”
Never. He never again wanted to hurt her. Not physically. Nor emotionally.
He cleaned her broken blisters with slow, gentle strokes before returning the cloth to the basin and wringing it out, rinsing the soap. “I have no wish to hurt you, Nell. I am attempting to help you. Witness me, on my knees, before you.”
It was true. He had never been on his knees before any woman other than her. He could recall all the occasions upon which he had been situated thus. And on all those occasions, his face had been buried between her pretty legs instead of hovering over her injured feet.
She studied him, her fingers clawing the arms of her overstuffed chair with such strength, her knuckles were white. “I do not trust you.”
She had made that more than apparent. For the last three years.
He dropped the wet cloth back into the basin and took up the clean, dry towel, gently dabbing at her puckered flesh. When she flinched and winced, he took note, slowing and gentling his ministrations. As he did so, he could not help but to admire her feet. They were dainty, so small. At least half the size of his own beastly affairs.
“You can trust me, Nellie,” he said at last, daring to use the sobriquet he had once used for her.
