HerOutlandishStranger (10 page)

“Please, allow me,” she said. She enjoyed the warmth of his
skin and the fleece of his beard as she ran her hands along the lines of his
face. But she was slightly unnerved by the intense blue gaze that watched her
every move as she snipped with the marvelously light scissors he’d pulled from
his sack. After her earlier fancies about his eyes, she had trouble looking at
them now.

She leaned back to examine her handiwork. His face so close
to hers made her heart thud too quickly.

“With your hair pulled back, all you require is a gold
earring and you could pass as a pirate captain,” she said, hoping to shake the
knot of longing in her chest.

He laughed, but the deep sound filled her, and his amusement
only seemed to draw the knot tighter.

They sat by the crackling fire. Eliza reveled in the unusual
near-cleanliness of her skin and in the heat radiating from the man next to
her. They were both glad to take a rest.

“I am almost happy at this moment,” she said wonderingly. “I
would never have suspected I could experience such contentment so soon after my
father.” She leaned her head on Jas’ broad shoulder. He froze as he always did
when she touched him. Then at last, as she hoped he would, he lifted his arm so
she could duck under. His arm wrapped around her.

She leaned against him, savoring the warmth of his
encircling arm. At least during the day he allowed her to show some signs of
affection, she reminded herself. Not during their nights together.

At night, when she lay against Jas, she could think of
little except his overwhelmingly male presence. What did he dream? Was he as
aware of her as she was of him? She wanted to speak to him at those times, but
felt too shy.

Whatever the reason, she often reached out to him. Yet if
she even lightly touched Jas as he lay next to her, he’d instantly awaken and
leap up as if she had flayed him with stinging nettles. She was usually so
embarrassed he had caught her, she’d pretend to sleep. He would tuck a cloak
around her before disappearing for too long in the night.

Her embarrassment did not linger, though she wondered how
ashamed she would feel when she recalled these moments once she was back at
home—if she was fated to ever made it to England. Survival seemed precarious in
this world.

At least she could feel that embrace at this moment, with
his arm firmly around her, his hand at her waist. She wiggled closer.

She didn’t crave what Brian Archer had done to her years
earlier. That was unpleasant. Although there was that dream in the cave. The
fire, Jas’ arm around her, recalled that hallucination of warmth and pleasure.
She rubbed the top of her head against Jas’ side. He again drew a sudden, deep
breath.

“Are you troubled?” she asked.

“Nope. I’m fine.” But he sounded as if he were in pain. She
didn’t know why she couldn’t seem to leave the poor man alone.

Unfortunate man to be chased by such a hussy, she thought
with a flash of faintly malicious humor, but she had no intention of relieving
his discomfort by moving away.

She wished she could stop, but she seemed to act without
thinking. No, her brain wasn’t thinking, but her body had some fearfully strong
opinions. Maybe sorrow turned some women into ravenous animals, seeking
consolation anywhere they could. Or maybe she was falling in love with the
strange Mr. White.

“Jas?” she asked softly. “Do you…” She stopped, then blurted
the question that had nagged her. “Have you ever been, ah, have you ever lain
with a woman?”

She blushed when he laughed. “You always surprise me, Eliza.
I thought you didn’t ask questions like that.”

He sobered then, and just when she wondered if she had
disgusted him, he answered. “Yes, I have.”

Another silence. Then, harshly, as if she’d dragged the
unwilling question out of him, he asked, “What about you, Eliza? Have you ever
been with a man?”

She could have told him the whole truth, but she didn’t want
past shame to ruin her enjoyment of their half-embrace. She chewed on her lip.

“I was engaged once.” She suddenly wanted to change the
subject without drawing attention to her elusive answer. She said, “And the
night before I met you.”

She stopped, wondering what she could say next. With the arm
that enfolded her, he silently gave her a swift squeeze against his side—too
hard. It drove the air out of her. “Nothing,” she said with a small laugh. “I
suppose the drug my father gave me created a very improper hallucination.”

They sat together before the fire, edgy in their silent
embrace.

She turned her face up to his. He did not kiss her but
quickly withdrew his arm.

Disgusted, she knew what he was going to say before the
words left his mouth.

“We should walk.”

Angry that he should interrupt the moment, she jumped to her
feet. And the world grew spotty and black at the edges.

“Sit back down. How do you feel?” he asked. “Gah, I let you
go too long without food.”

She sank to the ground. “Ugh. No food.”

In answer, he leaned over and handed her one of his squares
and the water. The thought of putting anything in her mouth repulsed her, and
she tried to shove it back to him.

“Go away,” she moaned. “Or I will throw your hideous square
of dirt at you.”

“Sorry. You’ve got to eat it,” he said, not sounding the
least apologetic. “Or at least, try. Remember? You felt better after you ate.”

She groaned but obeyed him and nibbled at the square, trying
not to open her mouth too wide.

When she finished, she sat up. He still watched her steadily
and she gave him a tremulous smile. “You were correct. It seems eating is not
so ghastly after all. I only wish I knew what is wrong with me. I fear I shall
grow more and more weakened.”

After stalling and wiping invisible crumbs from her hands,
she drew a breath and announced her decision. ”Mr. White, I thought I was
better but apparently I was mistaken. We should find a place for me to stay
until this passes. Alone. I will not have you infected with the illness.”

“Eliza, I’m not going to catch it.” His troubled eyes,
ice-water blue now, held her attention for several long seconds before he
continued speaking in a gentle, pleading voice. “Can’t you guess what is
happening to you?”

She shook her head. “No indeed. And…I-I confess I am afraid.
I have never experienced an illness such as this.”

“Eliza, listen,” he said in the gentle voice that dismayed
her more than any of his occasional outlandish moods when he broke into odd
language, which he did less and less often these days, or when he mumbled to
the piece of wood, which he still did frequently. “You are not ill. You are
going to have a baby.”

She threw back her head and laughed in relief. Just another
of Mr. Strange White’s passing fits of absurdity. Then she blushed. “Oh Jas. I
may be green but I know what is required to grow a baby. And I assure you that
I would know if that had happened.”

Jas reached for her hands and held them in both of his in an
oddly formal way. She felt another pulsation of fear. Not of him, never him
anymore, but of what he was about to say. “Yes, something like that could not
happen without your knowledge, Eliza. Usually. But I recall, you told me…there
was a time when you were neither awake nor really asleep. The cave. You called
it a hallucination. Could it be that while you were knocked out, I mean
unconscious…”

Jazz stopped. He would make her draw from her own memory.
Not add to it. He continued hesitantly. “You said there was a man.”

“The dark-haired man.” Her face turned white as paper. “My
God, the phantasm. But it was a dream. Nothing more.” She wrenched her hands
away from him and covered her face with them. Her whole body trembled. “No,
it’s impossible,” she whispered against her hands. “Oh dear God.”

Neither of them spoke. Only the sound of the crackling fire
broke the stillness. And then Eliza broke down and started to cry.

Jazz knelt by her, waiting and watching her for the long
minutes as she denied the truth, then raved at it. At last she looked up, still
pale, her enormous eyes wide with horror.

She leaned toward him and clutched the front of his cloak as
she looked into his face. “I know you spoke gallantly by suggesting I had no
role in this…dreadful matter, but I assure you, Jas, it was just so. I do not
understand. I did nothing. I-I think… I thought nothing happened, but I truly
don’t recall clearly. How could it be? I told you how my father had given me a
drug. I was hidden. I don’t see how.”

He pulled her against him and hummed soothing noises. They
sat that way, leaning into a slightly awkward embrace. He couldn’t bring
himself to let go. She broke away at last. She straightened up and wrapped her
arms around her herself in a hug.

“I need to be alone,” she said softly. “No, you stay. I will
go.”

“Don’t go far,” he told her.

She turned away and he clambered to his feet.

“Eliza, wait.” Jazz hesitated as he picked his words so she
heard only familiar language. “Listen. Please, you must listen and believe me.
You were the victim of a despicable coward. He used you for his own purposes
when you were completely unable to resist. You are as innocent as a newborn. I
know this is a fact and you know it. No one can ever tell you otherwise. Tell
me you will not do anything until you grow used to this…this situation.”

She didn’t answer.

The flat despair on her face made him stop her, physically
this time. He stepped toward her and put a firm hand on her shoulder. In a
sharp tone he said, “Tell me you will do nothing drastic, or I will not let you
leave.”

“No, of course I shan’t,” she replied monotonously. She
moved away without looking back.

He resisted following her, though he occasionally checked
the CR to make sure she was in the area. After one of the longest half hours of
his life, he was about to follow her trail, but just as he pulled out the CR to
trace her, she returned, carrying an armful of sticks.

He ran to her and roughly pulled her to him. The pieces of
wood tumbled to the ground.

She sagged against him then gave a tremulous laugh. “I hoped
you’d still be here.”

“Oh Eliza, what do you think I’d do? Abandon you for
something that is not your fault? I told you I know that you are completely
innocent. Please believe me. At least believe your own memory, or lack of it.”

She knelt, picked up a stick and fed a piece of it to the
flames. She sat down heavily on the ground, gazed at the bark as it smoked then
caught fire.

She shook her head. “I am not so innocent as you believe,
Jas. You know I have tried to, ah, entice you. And since you have such
remarkable powers of forgiveness, I will tell you that I had already shredded
my reputation. My good name, my virtue—they were gone before I ever came to
Spain with my father.”

“No, really?” He couldn’t help sounding pleased. He cleared
his throat. “Would you tell me how it happened, or is it too awful to
remember?”

She tossed another chunk of wood into the growing fire then
toyed with a piece of ripped and dirty lace that hung from her sleeve. Jazz
noticed she wore the same blue dress she had worn in the cave. He felt his
usual stir of desire, but ignored it, concentrating his attention on her pale
face. A streak of dirt lay on her fine-skinned cheek, tracing the path of a
tear.

At last she spoke. “Forgive me if my tale is not entirely
lucid. I have never related the story to anyone before.

“My father is—was—a younger son. He did not have a fortune,
but he had enough to provide my sister and me with a respectable dowry. His
brother, my uncle Simon, is a wealthy man and he also planned to give us a
marriage portion. This changed my life and not for the better.”

She smiled faintly. “My Uncle Simon is rather a blowhard, as
his son, my cousin John, would say in his less respectful moments. You must
understand that family is dear to me though I do not know if they would receive
me. Ah, no. Especially now that I am…
enceinte
.” She raised her knees and
rested her forehead on them for a moment.

Jazz edged closer to her. He relaxed when he heard how calm
she sounded as she continued. “Jane had already had her Season with my uncle
and was engaged to a worthy young man. Not a duke or earl as she’d planned her
whole life, but a man she loved. And he cared for her, I think.”

A smile that had briefly touched her lips vanished. She rose
to her feet and rushed the story as if she could relieve tension by talking
quickly.

“I took fairly well during my time in London. I had a cadre
of admirers. One or two even wrote me the most abominable poetry. I recall an
ode to my dark-lit pansy eyes that melted his soul. Oh, how my sister loved to
laugh at me about my eyes that were melting candles shaped like flowers!”

Jazz couldn’t help laughing. “Gah, and I thought some of our
poets were bad. Did you at least have fun? Dancing and so on?”

“Yes, I suppose, though I did not particularly enjoy the
rush of the Season. A play, an opera, a dance, they are all agreeable
entertainments. Yet day after day, with nothing else to do but be fitted for
gowns and admire hats. Oh, it was too much, like a feast with too much rich
food. I wanted to return home to the country a month after I had arrived. I was
not Jane, who loved her Season.”

Eliza’s face lit for a moment as she grinned at some memory.
“My poor sister lived for courtship and marriage. I believe my first
recollections are of her wedding games. She cast me as bridesmaid or groom to
her bride in every game we played together as children. No, now I recall rare occasions
when she allowed me to be the bride in her game. She was two years older than
I, so naturally I longed to be with her and put up with her endless play at
marriage and royalty no matter how dull I thought them.”