Bittersweet Obsession

by Tess Oliver

  She ignored the lascivious way he looked at her but a pale pink blush colored her cheeks. Her fingers busily pulled the linen strips apart and she laid them across the tray. “I have some pins to hold these in place.” She looked at him. “I’m afraid you’ll have to remove your shirt.”

  He leaned forward and even though the intense edge of pain had been dulled it had not been erased completely. He winced as he reached for the tails of his shirt. “I’m afraid I might need some help with this.”

  She hesitated a moment and the blush in her cheeks deepened but she bravely reached over to assist. The tips of her fingers grazed his skin as she lifted the shirt up and over his head. His reaction to her touch was profound and he was certain it had nothing to do with the opium. It was the lightest touch of her fingertips on his bare skin and yet she might just as well have reached beneath the fall of his breeches and taken hold of his hardened shaft.

  He lowered his feet to the ground and sat on the edge of the bed. His head spun with the effects of the laudanum and the drugging sweet scent of her hair and skin as she reached around his chest to wrap his ribs. She leaned forward to bring the strip of linen around his back and her cheek brushed against his chest. He could not hold back a deep groan and his breeches tightened.

  She straightened and blinked up at him with the innocence of a kitten. “I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”

  He knew it was wrong, nearly lecherous but he grinned. “If you only knew, Sweeting.” The tincture of opium had broken down all his barriers of control and lucid thought. His broken ribs were the only thing allowing him to endure the exquisite torture of her ministrations without grabbing her into his arms.

  His breathing had been strained enough by his injury, but his chest heaved with effort every time she leaned closer to him. The feel of her soft touch and her delectable fragrance still clung to his skin as she pulled away.

  When she reached the scar on his side she stopped and fingered it lightly just as she’d done so boldly in the stables. He closed his eyes relishing the feel of her fingers. “It is such a strange coincidence that we should both have such a scar and in the same place,” she said quietly. His heavy lids opened and he gazed down at her face.

  She glanced down to the place she’d been stabbed then continued with the bandages. “It’s almost as if we’d been connected there in some way.” She waved off the idea with a small laugh. “I sound ridiculous. Besides mine has not formed a scar yet, but I have no doubt that it will be an unsightly mark for eternity.”

  He watched her but could not speak. Her mention of a connection between them had rendered him mute and the opium had not helped. It felt as if his tongue was the weight of lead

  She stood back proudly and admired her handiwork, and he struggled to keep his composure. He ached with need for her, and she arranged her supplies on her tray as calmly and practical as any good nurse.

  “Well,” she said, “I suppose I shall let you get some rest now.”

  He smiled inwardly at the fantastical notion that he could relax in any way after having her stand so close and brush his skin with her own.

  She propped up his pillows but his throbbing erection kept him from leaning back immediately. Jane reached toward the linen wraps she’d wound so carefully around his ribs and tugged at them. “Secure enough, I think. However, if you are a wild sleeper, I will not stand by my work in the morning.”

  Sleep would not come easily tonight. He was certain his usual scenarios of war would be replaced by lustful visions of Jane. This would be both a blessing and a mild form of torture.

  Her hand still rested on his chest and he took hold of her wrist. For the first time since she’d carried in the tray, she seemed to sense the heat surrounding him. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingertips and palm. He heard her sharp intake of breath as his mouth pressed against the soft, sensual skin of her hand.

  “You know, I’ve given it some thought,” she said with a distinct tremble in her voice, “it would be much better for your safety if we make a point of not touching—” Her words were lost on a soft gasp as Angel pushed the tip of her finger into his mouth and then removed it slowly.

  “—or coming in physical contact with each other,” she continued but there was little conviction behind her tone.

  He lifted his heavy lids and gazed at her, her wrist still in his grasp. “Watch you flit around this house and never touch you?” He placed her hand on his chest. “Then you might just as well take a dagger and stab me through the heart. It would hurt less.” He released her. “I will take my chances with Zander.”

  Her lips parted but she was speechless. She stared at him with her breathtaking gaze.

  “Thank you for wrapping my ribs.”

  “I— I will carry this tray back downstairs then.” The teacup rattled on the tray as she hurried out of the bedroom.

  Chapter 17

  Jane was pleased to be behind the door of her room and readying for bed. The morning had started badly and had progressed strangely leaving her feeling rather unsettled. After tending to Angel, she was completely dumbfounded by his actions. She’d convinced herself that he did not care for her, but the way he’d looked at her boldly and touched her seductively, seemed to prove her wrong. But her own reactions shocked her more. She should have been repelled, even enraged by his lustful advances, but she found herself brazenly intrigued. She could blame her faint memory, she could blame the mental fatigue brought on by trying desperately to remember the past, she could blame her current state of mind for the inability to decipher right from wrong, but she would be lying to herself. She was drawn to the man and it was as simple as that. There was no complex interpretation and no twisted reasoning. She was captivated by Angel Van Ostrand.

  They had not seen Angel for the remainder of the afternoon and she was amazed at how keenly she felt the disappointment of his absence. Zander had emerged from his bedroom, completely oblivious to the events of the morning. He’d been entertained by some monotonous task in the kitchen but then his sights were set on music. Jane had played for him. Dr. Van Ostrand had crept from his bedroom, still weak and hunched over from his headache, but the music seemed to revive his spirits some.

  The drapes had been drawn in the parlor and as she played flashes of lightning had lit the room, each bolt followed by the sound of thunder. The sound grew closer with each streak of light. A particularly loud roar of thunder seemed to agitate Zander which in turn had agitated the doctor. Dr. Van Ostrand had decided to fix Zander a tonic to calm his nerves. There had been grave concern in the elderly man’s face as he led Zander from the room.

  Aside from the raging wind, rain, and thunder outside, the remainder of the afternoon had remained relatively quiet. Neither the doctor nor Zander had appeared again, and after nibbling a tasty repast of eggs and biscuits, Jane had retired to her room with a candle and a book.

  Jane glanced over at the bedroom hearth. The fire dwindled with each passing moment. Ellie had offered to add coal to it, but Jane could see that the household was not flush with money and the bitter cold of winter would not be leaving soon. Besides, she had her luxurious pile of quilts to keep her warm from the draft that seeped in through the aged window frames. Her only regret was that she did not have more than a single candle to light the room.

  Jane spread open the book about St. Leon and his elixir for immortality as far as it would go and leaned almost dangerously close to the flame to see the words.

  A gust of wind pelted her window panes with bullets of rain, and a spurt of air bent the candle flame. It flickered in an awkward shape for a moment before bouncing back. A crack of thunder rattled the same window panes, and she startled at the force of it. St. Leon and his alchemy exploits would not hold her attention, and she thought back to the vision she’d had earlier of the nursery. Dark cherry wood walls surrounded the entire room save one small hexagonal window placed up too high for a child to see out of. A wooden rocking horse with a red saddle and stra
nds of real horse hair for a tail stood in one corner. The thought of it brought a warm feeling but she wasn’t sure why. More vividly, she remembered hiding in the nursery even though she could not recall what she’d hid from, but whatever had been standing outside the door of the nursery had been more frightening than a winter storm. That she could remember.

  A howling gale circled the manor and the walls groaned in protest. She walked to the window to look out and was momentarily startled by her own reflection looking back at her. “Silly girl, Jane.” The warm breath that followed her words left a circle of moisture on the freezing glass. A tree branch whipped past her window startling her yet again. Perhaps she should have convinced the good doctor to provide her with a nerve tonic as well. The blackness of the night and the fury of the wind and rain blurred the scene outside. Her feet tingled with cold and she tiptoed amongst the shadows cast through the room by the lone candle. She chuckled at how an active imagination, a stormy night, and a near dark room could turn even an ordinary bed post into a skeletal, frightening specter.

  The night rail Ellie had given her provided little barrier and she shivered with cold. She jumped back beneath the safety of her covers just as a monstrous wind pushed against the house. The walls and floors creaked as if the earth beneath had moved and then a final burst of cold air doused the candle. Darkness surrounded her. She reminded herself that she was safe and sound in her bed and all she needed was to close her eyes and sleep. Then the lack of light could be easily ignored.

  Her fingers shook as she pulled the cover up to her chin. She temporarily considered ducking completely beneath the quilts as if the darkness would not reach her beneath the silky down coverlet. She shut her eyes tightly and tried to remember pleasant things but the only pleasantries were in her recent memories— the tender care Ellie had given her since she’d arrived, the cozy bedroom she laid in now, and the heated gaze and possessive touch of the man sleeping in the room at the end of the long, pitch black hallway.

  Lightning temporarily illuminated the room but it only added to the imagined figments that now invaded her bedroom. A thunder clap nearly the shook the massive house from its foundation, and before Jane could stop her feet, they hit the cold floor at full speed and fled down the dark hallway only to run directly into a tall figure at the end.

  A moan of pain echoed through the empty space as she smacked into him, but still his arms circled her and the panic she’d felt moments before disappeared. She pressed her face against the wraps she’d painstakingly tied around his chest hours earlier. He still wore his breeches and his feet were bare.

  “Did I hurt you? I didn’t mean to run into you, but it was so dark.”

  “That was what prompted me to come check on you,” Angel said. “You’d mentioned that you were afraid of the dark.”

  He’d remembered her fear of the dark. Standing within the embrace of his strong arms, she did not give the lack of light any thought. She shivered from the cold on her feet.

  “Come inside my room,” he said, “there are still glowing embers burning in the hearth. You can warm yourself there.”

  His movements were slowed by the fresh injury, but he dragged a quilt from his bed. She sat on the small settee near the hearth and he sat down hard next to her. A groan followed. He fumbled with the cover until it surrounded both of their shoulders. They sat close enough that Jane could feel his muscular arm and thigh pressed against her.

  “It seems the wraps did not help much after all. You seem to be in more pain now than you were when I put them on.”

  “Earlier, I’d taken some of my father’s laudanum. It has worn off now.”

  She sat forward and turned to look up at him. The glow of the embers only enhanced his incredibly handsome face. “Shall I get you some more? I’m sure your father won’t mind.”

  He shook his head. “Not necessary.” With effort he lifted his arm and lowered it onto her shoulder. She rested her head back against him. There beneath the security of his arm, the clamor of the weather outside, the shadows of the house, and the suffocating darkness no longer frightened her.

  A sharp draft pierced the room and a strand of smoke from the hearth followed it, twirling through the air like a transparent gray phantom. She truly relaxed for the first time since the storm had moved in. “I guess the torrents of rain will turn the ice into mud and slush by morning.”

  “It’s good that I worked the horses today then.” Angel looked down at his ribs. “Not that I could have done much with them now. Hopefully my stable hand will return tomorrow.”

  “If I hadn’t been so clumsy then this whole thing wouldn’t have happened.”

  “As I’ve told you before, you are not to blame.”

  She pulled the corner of the blanket tighter around her. “Tell me, Angel, tell me more about the day you found me. Exactly where was it?”

  She could feel the muscles in the arm he had draped around her tighten. There was a long pause before he spoke, but when the words came out they sounded strained. “Not much to say. Your body— you were wrapped in an old wool blanket floating in the water of the frozen pond.”

  A shudder ran through her and he tightened his hold on her.

  “Was there no indication of who might have left me there?”

  “Jane, the storm has you agitated. You don’t really want to know this.”

  She pulled out from under his arm and turned to face him. As hard as it was for her to hear about the incident, it seemed to be a great deal harder for him to tell her. His long lashes curtained his brown eyes, and it was obvious that he knew more details.

  “Angel, please. How did this come to be? How did you know I was out there in the pond? There must have been some clues.” As memories and lucid thoughts returned to her, she began wondering and questioning everything. “Why did you not take me to the magistrate?”

  He lifted the cover on his outstretched arm and winced at the pain brought on by the simple movement. “It is cold, Jane. Come back under my arm. My ribs hurt less when your warmth is pressed against me. And I will tell you what I know,” he added after a slight hesitation.

  The embers had all but died, and she readily tucked herself back against his body.

  “There was a man in the village,” he said quietly, sadly, “he had a wagon and a stubborn horse. The animal wouldn’t budge, and I stood near enough to glance into the bed of his cart. Something, or someone, was wrapped in a blanket, and there was blood pooling beneath.”

  Her hand covered her mouth and she silently reprimanded herself to not show shock or he would not finish.

  “It was clear that the man was up to mischief, so we followed him and watched him drop you in the icy water. Once he left, we retrieved you from the frozen pond and carried you back here.”

  “Had you ever seen the man before?”

  Angel shook his head. “No, he was just some vagabond rolling through the village.” He stopped and stared at the hearth as if contemplating his next words. “I met him again, the night I fought in the boxing match. I grabbed him and threatened him with his life, but he knew very little. Someone had paid him to get rid of . . .” He didn’t finish and he didn’t need to.

  Jane sat silently in the security of his arm absorbing the horrors of what she’d just heard. Then more questions came. “Why did you not take me directly to the magistrate? Or was I too near death?”

  Another long pause. She could feel the movement of his chest as he swallowed hard. “Yes, you would have been dead for certain. My father was convinced he could save you.”

  “Well, then he truly is a brilliant physician,” she said with a yawn. Her lids felt heavy, but the thought of trying to sleep alone in her cold, dark room was not inviting. “Angel, would it be terribly inconvenient if I stayed here in your room tonight. I could stay right here.”

  He removed his arm and she immediately felt bereft.

  “You sleep in my bed. I’ll stay here.”

  “Never. The settee is too hard for you i
n this state.”

  “While we debate this, let’s both move to the bed. The fire is finished and the bed is considerably warmer.” With effort he stood. His tall silhouette cast a long shadow over the room. He put out a hand for her to take.

  Jane stared at it contemplatively. She had not imagined the hungry way he’d looked at her earlier or the way he’d used his mouth on her hand. Still, he’d had a dose of laudanum and was surely not in his right mind. And she truly found his nearness comforting.

  “You do not need to worry about the rules of civility out here, Jane. We are far from the propriety of London. I promise not to touch you. It will take all my will.” He smiled and looked down at his chest. “Anyhow, I’m hardly in condition to take advantage of you.”

  Jane placed her hand in his and he led her to the bed. “I’m hardly one to worry about rules of etiquette, especially since I hardly remember what they are. A few seem to remain intrinsically but the rest I don’t profess to know about or care about. Perhaps once someone has tried to murder you, polite manners are all rather meaningless.” She had not needed to convince herself. Propriety had not caused her to hesitate. It was her heart that made her stop. She was far too vulnerable when it came to this man. The closer she got to him, the longer she spent time with him, the more she realized that her heart was in grave danger.

  Jane stretched out a safe distance away from Angel. The bed was soft and the cover Angel drew up over her provided the cocoon of lush, warm security she needed to drift off to a deep sleep.

  Chapter 18

  It had been one of the longest nights of Angel’s life. The pain in his side had been nothing compared to the sweet torture of having the unbearably tempting girl nuzzled against him all night. Angel had barely slept, but Jane had dozed soundly in his arms. An hour after she’d curled up under the bed quilt, she’d inadvertently rolled against him and seemingly content with the warmth she’d found,stayed pressed there. With only an occasional soft sleepy moan or sensual shift of her tender body, she’d remained in a peaceful slumber the rest of the night.