Behind the Mask

by Linda Winstead Jones

  “I burned the gingerbread,” she breathed.

  “Just a little,” he assured her. “If it was truly burnt I think the smell would not be so pleasant.”

  “But it’s not like your mother’s,” she insisted. “Sarah wants this Christmas to be perfect, for you and for Josh, for the whole family. But if Mary’s baby doesn’t come, or if she feels she can’t leave, she and Caroline won’t be here.”

  “Perhaps you’ll have to teach me to cook,” Alex said with a smile.

  “Are you suggesting that even you could cook better than I?” He heard the levity return to her voice. “Now I really am insulted.”

  “Try me.”

  Medora moved a little, he could tell by the slight rustle of her clothing, but she didn’t leave her chair. She remained there, so close, and took his hand in hers to turn it palm up. “What’s this?” she said, laying a smooth object in his hand.

  He closed his fingers around it. “An egg.”

  Something heavy slid across the table, and he reached out to touch the rim of a small bowl.

  “You know what to do,” Medora said calmly.

  Alex cracked the egg on the edge of the heavy bowl and carefully broke it open. When he had set the shell aside, he checked the sides of the bowl with his fingertips, to see if he’d spilled anything.

  “Perfect,” Medora said, as if she expected nothing less from him. “Give me your hand again.”

  He offered her his hand, palm upward, and she deposited something very small, very lightweight in the center. Touching the object with a single finger, feeling the texture, he identified it easily.

  “A raisin.”

  “No,” she answered quickly, that wonderful touch of merriment in her voice. “Try once more, please.”

  Alex lifted his palm near to his face and took a deep breath. “It’s a raisin.”

  Medora leaned close to him and placed a soft hand on his knee. She smelled so good; felt so right. He enjoyed having her close more than he should.

  “No. Wrong again,” she whispered. “What you’re holding in your hand is Alexander Stark’s heart.”

  Alex reached up slowly until he cupped Medora’s chin in his free hand. “In that case, there’s only one fitting end for the tiny, shriveled thing.”

  He placed the raisin between her lips. She didn’t laugh or back away.

  “How is it?” he asked. He placed one finger against her mouth, reluctant to pull away.

  “Tough and bitter.”

  “Not sweet at all?”

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “And what of Medora’s heart?”

  She hesitated for a moment. Then, rather than answering, she took the hand he’d fed her with in her own and placed it solidly beneath her breast so he could feel the beat of her heart in his hand.

  He drew her forward, cupped her chin and guided her slowly until her mouth was against his. Her lips were soft, and they trembled against his. Not with uncertainty, but with restrained longing. He recognized that reaction easily, because he felt the same need and suffered the same doubt.

  But Medora didn’t pull back, and he didn’t push her away. He couldn’t bear to draw away from her lips, even though he knew it was wrong to allow her or anyone else to get this close. But it felt so damn good, and it was just a kiss... just a single stolen kiss.

  He parted her lips with his tongue, and she uttered a small sigh, of surprise, of pleasure. Then she closed the small space that remained between them to sit on his thigh, never once taking her lips from his. Her arms snaked around his neck, and she tasted him as he had tasted her, probing gently with her tongue.

  Alex held her tight, drowning in the vivid sensations that grew with every passing second. Lost in the warmth and passion of Medora’s mouth, of the body she pressed against his until he ached to bury himself in her. He wanted to make love to her, to claim her as his own. That could never happen, but he couldn’t force himself to pull away. He didn’t want to leave behind this moment of such pure and wondrous perfection. Not yet.

  One hand crept upward until he was able to slide his fingers into her silky hair. It was piled atop her head, but soft tendrils had fallen to brush her neck and her back. It was easy work to slip out the pins that held it firmly in place until the heavy tresses fell. He buried his hands in Medora’s hair, deepening the kiss until it became a kind of delicious torture where he touched and tasted and inhaled what he wanted most.

  Her earlier hesitation was gone, he felt it melt away, and her lips moved against his tenderly, naturally. She pulled her lips from his just long enough to whisper his name hoarsely. It was such a soft whisper, little more than a breath of air, but it was enough to break the spell that allowed him to believe that he could have this woman, that she could want him. He had no right to love her, and he certainly had no right to ask her to love him.

  He took his mouth from hers, trailed his mouth along the soft column of her throat. “I like this lesson,” he whispered against her warm skin, his voice hoarse, drunken. “What comes next?” His voice was purposely dark, biting, as bitter as she’d claimed his heart to be. “I can’t wait to find out.”

  Medora backed away from him, and he could feel the tightening of her muscles. She was surprised. Embarrassed, perhaps.

  “This is part of the cure, isn’t it? Another lesson, a part of the job. Tell me,” he said stridently as Medora left his lap. “How many patients have you had? Exactly how many blind men have you guided into the land of the living by way of your bed?”

  He heard her move, heard her gasp, but he didn’t expect the weak slap that followed.

  “Not fair,” he protested calmly. “I couldn’t see the blow coming.”

  “You deserved it.” Her voice shook.

  “For the kiss? You seemed to enjoy it well enough.”

  “For the suggestion that I... that I—”

  “How quickly you shift from adept teacher to stammering maid.”

  She left the kitchen without another word, and when she was gone Alex dropped his head into one hand. Another damn headache coming on. Another of the bad ones that pounded against his skull and teased him with lights that flashed beneath his eyelids. But the headache wasn’t what made him feel so ill.

  Why had she done this to him? Why had she touched his hand and his arm and his face with such tenderness? Why had she kissed him that day he’d tried to send her away? Why had she kissed him so ardently and made him question everything he knew to be true? Pity? Sorrow? Was it all just a part of her job?

  Her motivations didn’t matter. It would be too easy to fall in love with a woman like Medora, to let her heal all the wounds he’d brought home with him. He wouldn’t do that to her.

  Medora understood what Alex was doing, but that didn’t mean his words didn’t hurt. She sat on the rock that faced the ocean, hugged her knees to her chest and did her best to hide in the folds of her long coat. A hood covered her head but strands of hair, the strands Alex had freed as they’d kissed, whipped across her face.

  How long had she dreamed of a kiss like that? All her life? She remembered with frightening clarity the moment she’d realized her love for Alex, a moment as clear as the minutes that had just passed. Well, it had been love as an innocent fourteen-year-old perceives it.

  The occasion had been a town social, and Alex had danced with her, just once, at the insistence of his mother. All evening she’d watched him dance with a succession of girls prettier than she, girls who wore brightly colored dresses with ribbons and flowers in their hair, girls who could laugh and talk and dance with ease.

  She’d always been so tongue-tied around boys, and with Alex in particular. Josh was closer to her age, just a year older, and she had exchanged a word or two with him on occasion. But Alex, so dark and tall and wonderfully assured... when he looked her way it was as if her mouth ceased to function.

  During their all-too-brief dance, he’d smiled at her. A brilliant smile that had stolen her heart completely. A
nd he’d gazed at her so hard, really looked at her, with those eyes so dark they were endless.

  She’d fallen in love with him in that moment. Because he was perfect. Because he was handsome. Because for a few flawless minutes he had danced with her and looked at her as if she were the only woman in the world.

  When the betrothal had been announced little more than a year later, she’d been so happy she thought she might burst. It hadn’t taken long to realize that Alex didn’t share her happiness.

  Those days were gone. She wasn’t a naive girl any longer. Alex wasn’t perfect. They might never dance again and he would surely never look at her the way he had that night. And still, she loved him.

  He was trying to push her away, trying to separate himself from her and from everyone else. If he knew the truth, if he knew who she was, what would he say? The prospect of Alex discovering her true identity frightened her, because she knew him well enough to know what his reaction would be.

  More than anything, she wanted the slim chance of recovery the physician in Yorktown had offered to become reality for Alex. She wanted him to be able to see again. But if his mother’s prayers were answered... if Alex recovered his sight... he would surely send her away.

  There was normally little afternoon activity in the Wentworth Tavern once the noontime crowd had cleared. Travelers usually rose early, ate a hearty breakfast and continued their journey. The evening activities—new arrivals, locals who stopped in for a drink, meetings around the long tables—rarely started before dark.

  But this afternoon there was a new guest, a sailor who had, to hear him tell it, been serving with a privateer and would soon be heading home. He was loud, and he demanded his rum with coarse shouts directed at Medora. Elias and Josh were absent, and the girls who had been hired to do the cooking and serving had not yet arrived to prepare the evening meal.

  Alex had been wondering if there was a way to apologize to Medora without encouraging this impossible relationship. She’d been so silent since he’d heard her return to the tavern. What else could he expect from her? He could think of no way to defend his harsh words without giving away more than he dared. So he sat in the main room not far from the door to his bedchamber, listened to the unrefined sailor demand more rum and followed intently Medora’s movements and her softly spoken responses to the sailor’s questions.

  “Ye work here?” the sailor asked, the shifting tone in his voice alerting Alex.

  “On occasion,” she answered. “I’m a friend of the Stark family.”

  “Yer a purty one,” the sailor cooed. “Would you like to earn a coin or two on the sly? I been asea two month an’ without the company of a woman.”

  Alex stood slowly.

  “Don’t turn your back on me like that, wench.” A bench scraped against the floor, and Alex knew that the sailor had stood and that he was somehow threatening Medora.

  “I’m not the kind of woman you’re looking for,” she said, her voice calm and strong. Still, Alex could hear a hint of fear there.

  “I think ye are.”

  What he heard next was a sharp intake of breath, not a scream, but that warning sound sent Alex toward the muffled sounds of movement.

  “Release my arm,” Medora said, and now she did sound frightened.

  “Just a kiss then,” the sailor demanded. “A welcome home from the sea for a lonely salt.”

  Alex followed the sounds of the coarse voice and shuffling boots on a wooden floor until he could reached out and grasp the back of the man’s collar. With a jerk and a surprised shout, the sailor flew backward. Alex spun the man around and pressed his face against the table. Hard.

  “We don’t want or need your business here,” Alex said blandly. “Get out.”

  With that, he shoved the sailor aside and released him so that the man stumbled and fell to the floor with a thud.

  “Ye can’t treat me like this!”

  The man rose to his feet quickly. The blow that followed caught Alex by surprise, but thankfully it was a weak clip that glanced off of his jaw.

  “Stop it!” Medora shouted. Alex ignored her, as he reached forward and gripped the sailor by the throat.

  “Out.” Alex squeezed. He took a step forward with the offensive man caught in his grasp. “And don’t come back.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” the sailor asked, his voice strained thanks to the pressure at his throat. “Bloody hell, yer blind.” Alex could feel the air in front of his face stir, and it almost seemed that the gray he always saw changed, darkened.

  Instinctively, he reached out and grasped the man’s wrist, stilled the hand the sailor had been waving in front of his face.

  “Yes,” he said, continuing toward the front entrance with the man in his control. “But that won’t stop me from beating you to within an inch of your life if you dare to show your face here again. Wouldn’t that be embarrassing?” he added as they reached the door and he pushed the ill-mannered man onto the ground.

  The sailor muttered to himself as he slunk away. Alex stood in the doorway until he was sure the man was gone.

  “What a foolish performance,” Medora snapped. “What if he’d had a knife or a pistol? Heavens, Alex, you could have been hurt.”

  “I couldn’t let him maul you,” he answered.

  She didn’t respond. Did she think he was reserving that right for himself?

  “Besides, he stunk to high heaven.”

  Medora sighed, then said, “It was a foolish stunt.” She reached past him to close the door.

  It could have been a trick of the lights that danced behind Alex’s eyelids, but as she crossed between him and the open door, the grays shifted again. A shadow, a shifting of the light perhaps.

  She closed the door, and it was gone, whatever it had been. Had he really caught a glimpse of Medora? Had it been her shape blocking the bright light that his eyes sensed? Was it possible that his vision was returning?

  This could be just the beginning.

  It might be nothing.

  No one could know. Not unless it happened again and then again. He wouldn’t tell anyone, not unless he saw a real, true improvement. There was nothing crueler than false hope.

  If he regained his sight, if he became whole again, what of Medora? He could offer her a life, a good life. He could love her easily.

  He reached out, locating her face effortlessly, tracing her jaw with his fingertips. “I’m sorry. I must apologize to you yet again. I don’t want you to think that I’m like that seaman.”

  “I don’t,” she answered softly. “You needn’t apologize to me, Alex.”

  “Don’t let me off so easily,” he said, his voice low. “I’m angry, still, and that anger does make me do foolish things.”

  “We all do foolish things.”

  He could almost believe, listening to her soft voice, that she had truly forgiven him. But she didn’t take his hand and draw it to her lips, didn’t reach out to touch his face as she so often had. Just as he’d planned, he had succeeded in isolating himself from Medora. That was best, for now.

  For now.

  5

  Are you sure you won’t come with us?” Josh asked again, but Alex only shook his head. “It’s to be an event,” Josh added in a hushed voice, gesturing dramatically even though Alex couldn’t see his brother’s antics. “Music, dancing in the street—”

  “Cold wind, drunken soldiers, boring speeches,” Alex interrupted. “I suppose one of those boring speeches will be yours?”

  “It won’t be boring,” Josh said indignantly. “This is a momentous occasion.”

  Medora watched, silent, afraid to encourage or discourage. Alex didn’t want to leave his haven, at least not yet. He was comfortable here after several days of acclimation. But to leave the tavern, to step into an unfamiliar street where he was likely to be jostled and disoriented—it was too much to ask.

  But he couldn’t hide here forever. She didn’t really think he would. Since the afternoon he’d tossed o
ut that rude sailor, he’d been more confident. More daring. He was almost the Alexander Stark she remembered from years ago.

  “What about you, Medora?” Josh asked, turning to face her. If Alex decided to attend the celebratory renaming of the town, she would have no choice but to stay away. She’d been careful here, she’d hidden when it was necessary, but beyond these doors she would have no control. Nowhere to hide. Too many townspeople knew her only as Meghan. A single shouted greeting would give her away.

  But if Alex didn’t go, he’d be left alone in the tavern. She couldn’t stand the thought of him sitting in the main room all alone and in silence. He hated the silence.

  “I don’t think so,” she said softly. “I haven’t been feeling well today. And besides, if a guest should arrive someone should be here, and know Elias wants to attend the ceremony.”

  She didn’t fool Josh, not for a second. He stared at her just a moment too long and lifted his dark eyebrows in silent censure before he surrendered and turned away.

  “Never mind that this night will not come again,” Josh said, obviously nettled. “Hide here like two mice if you must while the rest of the town rejoices.”

  He waited to see if his words were going to have any effect and sighed grandly when he saw that he was wasting his time. When Josh left, he slammed the door solidly behind him, leaving Medora alone with Alex.

  For a long moment neither of them moved. The main room suddenly seemed huge, cavernous, the space that separated her from Alex an impassable one.

  “Would you like a tankard of wine?” she asked, moving to the plank bar Elias usually manned during the evening.

  “If you’ll join me,” Alex agreed.

  She didn’t fool herself that Alex cared for her company. He just didn’t want to be left alone.

  Medora filled two tankards half full, and sat across from Alex as she placed his wine before him.

  “Port Freedom,” she said, making conversation. “It’s a good name.”