by Wendy Vella
“I’ll go and see to the ladies now then, and leave the matter in your hands.”
“Ladies?” Max felt a shiver pass along his spine, and could find no reason for it.
“They just arrived, and Silver is showing them around the warehouses, as they were happy for him to do so. But I want to be there should they ask any questions he can’t answer.”
“Very well.” Max nodded.
He wasn’t sure what had him on his feet. Intuition, longing, or just a need to stretch his legs. But seconds later he followed Mrs. Floyd out the door, and walked to where he could look down into the warehouse.
He had been restless since leaving Oak’s Knoll in the early hours of that morning. Restless and aching. His clothes felt uncomfortable and his skin the wrong fit. It was her fault, of course. Essex Sinclair. Just thinking about her heated his blood. He’d known the woman for two days. How was it possible he could think of nothing but her?
Did she think of him? Had she been upset and angry when she found him gone? She had every right to be so. After all, he’d taken her innocence and fled, after convincing himself his actions had been for the best. Strangely, with time and distance that thought had not comforted him.
The night they had made love had recreated itself in side his head so many times now that he loathed going to sleep in case she visited him again. The colors of her hair and eyes, the taste of her lips and skin. Her smile, and the sounds she had made as he’d run his mouth over her body.
He’d left, vowing never to think of her again, and thought of nothing else.
Guilt sat heavily on his shoulders for what he had done, and yet had he not left then, Max feared he would never have found the strength to do so, and that would not do.
“I rely on no one.”
His eyes ran over the shelves and rows of plants, then down the tables laden with supplies.
“Essie.” The name left his lips as he saw the back of a woman’s head.
How he knew it was her, he knew not. Only that for the first time since he had left her his heart felt light, and the ache inside him began to ease.
His feet didn’t seem able to move, so he stood and watched her as she walked down the rows. Bending occasionally, she’d sniff something, or brush her bare fingers over an item. He remembered how they had felt on his skin.
“Turn around,” he whispered, and was rewarded seconds later. Although he could not see her face clearly, the impact made his hands clench. His need for this woman had not eased by even an inch. He had dreamed of her, lusted after her, and longed for her every day since leaving her at Oak’s Knoll.
“Damn you, why?” he whispered. “What is about you that has caught and held me?”
Max usually bedded a woman and then never thought of them again, but not this one.
He’d known she was coming to London, but had doubted their paths would cross; it seemed he was wrong. Was she here to replenish her supplies? Or was one of her beloved family sick or injured? Was that why she was now walking about in his warehouse, just feet from where he stood?
“And yet you can never have her,” he whispered.
She wore a deep, rich burgundy bonnet and spencer, the latter covering her lovely breasts. Breasts he had laved in kisses, and pressed to his chest. Her dress was cream with burgundy stripes. Max knew fabrics, and this, he could tell, was good quality. Gone was the woman who often had her hair falling all over the place or bound by wool, and wore worn dresses. Essex Sinclair was now an elegantly dressed young lady of London society. Her gloves were off, he guessed so she could feel and smell. Looking down the row, he found another woman. Would it be the sister, or sister-in-law, or another?
He didn’t hesitate; in seconds he was taking the stairs down. She would be shocked to see him, and yes, likely angry, but he cared little for that; he wanted to see her. The sense of anticipation thrumming through him should have been enough to keep Max where he was. No good could come from this, but still his feet carried him toward her. Approaching quietly from behind, he stopped a foot from her.
“Hello, Essex.”
She had a handful of dried sage in one hand, and he heard the crackle as she crushed it, sending a waft of scent into the air. Her shoulders rose and then fell before she opened her hand and dropped the herb. Turning, she looked at him.
“Max... Mr. Hunter?” He saw the flare of joy as her eyes ran over his face, and then it was gone, replaced by confusion. “Why are you here?”
“You look beautiful,” he said, not wanting to give her an answer. He’d let her deliberately believe he had nothing to his name. No money or house, when the truth was very different.
“I-I— Thank you.” Her eyes ran over his clothes, taking in the cut of his jacket and shine of his boots. He saw the moment she came to the right answer.
“Y-you’re Mr. Huntington?”
“Essie, I never told you about my life because—”
“Mr. Huntington, this is Miss Sinclair and the Duchess of Raven.”
Silver interrupted him as he made his way to where Max and Essie stood. At his side was Eden, Essie’s sister.
“Your Grace.” Max bowed low, and when he rose he saw the hurt and anger on Essie’s face.
“You are Mr. Huntington?”
“I am.” Max watched her expression as she slowly came to the realization of just who and what he was.
“Is this your warehouse, sir?”
“Essie—”
“Please answer the question.”
“It is.”
“Y-you played me for a fool.” The whispered words made him wince.
“I never denied or confirmed your words, Essex. You came to the conclusion I was penniless on your own.”
“You told me you had no one and nowhere to go. You told me your name was Mr. Hunter. That is a lie!”
Max winced. Yes, he had said those words.
“If you will just give me some time to explain, I—”
“I have had more than enough of men making a fool out of me to stand here and listen to more lies.” She was furious now the shock had worn off.
“Essie, what is going on here?”
This was the sister she believed outshone her in every way. Yes, she was pretty, but her beauty could not compare with Essie’s.
“What is going on is that we are leaving, Eden. Come along,” Essie said.
As Max was standing in her way, she could do nothing but glare at him.
“Please move.”
“Let me talk, I deserve that much.” He touched her simply because he could not do otherwise. The shock traveled up his arm as their skin connected, and then she was stepping back and away from him.
“There is nothing to discuss, Mr. Huntington. Good day.”
So cold and polite; all the fire had gone from her. The lovely healer was treating him to the disdain that he deserved. You took her innocence and left. How is she meant to behave?
Before Max could stop her, she’d turned and was dragging her sister by the hand down the row of trestle tables. They then came back up the next.
Frustrated, and yes, aroused from just seeing her, inhaling her scent, Max spoke. “I never believed you a coward,” he said as she drew level.
“I call it self-preservation, sir.” She looked at him briefly; her eyes were no longer expressionless, they were now charged with the heat of anger. “You see, I tend to trust on short acquaintance, and the results are never in my favor.”
“Essie, I just want to talk.” She seemed almost unreachable, miles apart from the woman he had met at Oak’s Knoll, the gentle, kindhearted healer. In fact, she looked just like him on any given day. Everything shut away, no weakness showing.
“There is nothing we need say to each other, Mr. Huntington, and please call me Miss Sinclair.”
Max was used to getting what he wanted. He rarely, if ever, failed, but looking at that elevated chin, he thought that perhaps he was going to have work a great deal harder with Miss Essex Sinclair. It surpris
ed him that he wanted to do just that, especially as any path that led to her would surely spell trouble for him.
“I will leave if you wish to purchase your supplies, Miss Sinclair.”
“No, thank you.”
“Stubborn to the point of stupidity,” he snapped, his own temper tweaking. “I had thought you more intelligent than that.” Max resorted to needling her to get a response. He knew he had no right to feel the bite of anger and frustration, and yet he did. “A healer does whatever they must for their patients, I believe you once said to me.”
She looked at him briefly; he saw the flare of emotion, and then she had closed herself away once again.
“A healer must also do what it takes to keep themselves safe, sir.”
“I am no threat to you!”
“As you will never be again, Mr. Huntington.”
With those words she continued on down the row and out the door, leaving Max alone, as he’d always been, only this time it was not by choice.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“To hell with that!” Max roared, stalking after her. He reached her carriage as she did.
His hand stopped the door from opening.
“I need your help.”
“I do not want to help you ever again, Mr. Huntington. So please step away from the carriage.”
“I have a boy in there,” he pointed to the warehouse next to the one she had just left. “He is sick, and unless I can get him help, he will likely die.”
The duchess was looking from Max to Essie, eyes wide as she tried to understand what was taking place.
“Call a doctor.”
“Essie!” Her sister looked horrified.
“I am not asking you to speak to me. I merely want you to look at Peter. He struggles to breathe, and today he is worse. I want to help him, as I’m sure do you, but unlike you I do not know how.” Max knew her soft heart would never allow her to walk away.
“How do I know it is not another lie on your part?”
“I would never lie about something as important as this, as you very well know.”
She faced him. “I know nothing about you, and do not care to.”
“Then care for the boy and leave.” Max knew he’d won when her shoulders slumped.
“Very well, take me to him, but I have nothing with me to tend him.”
“As you see, I do,” Max said, which made the sister’s lips twitch, but not Essie’s.
“Do you wish to stay here, Eden?”
“Not on your life,” the duchess said, taking her sister’s arm. “Lead on, Mr. Huntington.”
No one spoke as he led the way into the second building. Peter, he knew, would be seated down the end, sorting supplies. He could do little else, as his strength let him down, and while Max continually told him he need not work when he was feeling unwell, the boy insisted upon it.
Max was proud of what he’d achieved, and usually happy to walk through his warehouses, but not today. Today he wanted to turn and look at Essie, soak in her beauty and see her smile at him again. Something that was not looking likely in the near future.
He located Peter, and the boy struggled to his feet as they approached. The wheeze in his breath made Max feel helpless.
“Don’t rise, boy.” Max laid a hand on one bony shoulder and settled him gently back in the seat. Small and thin, Peter had pain etched in every line of his face. He was twelve years old, and his eyes were those of a much older person.
“You t-told me I cannot sit in the presence of ladies, Max.” His speech was labored, his breathing choppy.
“I know, but as one of them is here to look at your chest, you’ll just have to sit when she tells you to, so you may as well stay there,” Max reasoned with him.
“One of them’s looking at my chest?” The boy looked worried. He’d suffered far too much pain in his life already for one so young. “But that doctor you took me to last week said he couldn’t help, and that was after he’d taken more blood.”
“I know, Peter, but I think Miss Sinclair may be able to.”
“Hello.” Max stepped aside as Essie moved closer. “Will you let me help you, Peter? I know quite a bit about tending people, and I promise you there will be no more bloodletting.”
The smile she gave the boy made the muscles in Max’s stomach tighten.
The boy nodded, still looking wary.
“Does it hurt to inhale, Peter?”
The boy nodded. “It’s hard to breathe sometimes.”
Max watched as she dropped to her knees beside him. She tore off her gloves and threw them to the floor beside her, uncaring where they landed or in what.
“I’m going to lift up your shirt now, dear, and look at your ribs.”
Peter’s body was painfully thin, and Max cursed again the man who had mistreated him. He watched the skin suck in between his ribs with each breath he struggled to draw.
“Is your breathing worse when it’s cold, Peter?”
He nodded.
“And when you are sick, or have the sniffles?”
He nodded.
“Is it always clear fluid that comes from your nose?”
The boy nodded again, although color had ridden high in his cheeks. Max could hear the rasp of his breathing as he tried to draw air into his lungs.
“Blanket, please,” Essie said, lifting her eyes to look at Max, cool and impersonal. “And a length of soft material that he can wear around his neck. It needs to be long enough to wrap around twice.”
“I’ll get it, Mr. Huntington.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Floyd,” Max said to the woman.
“Now, Peter, I want you to get on your knees and lean on the chair. Can you do that for me?”
The boy looked to Max, who in turn nodded. So he struggled to rise, with Essie’s help, then got to his knees. She positioned his arms as she wanted them.
“You see, the problem is, Peter, that when you tense your body and hunch your shoulders, you are closing your chest, and then it is harder to breathe. In this position, you have opened the airways.”
Max saw instantly that Essie was right, and wondered again how she could not believe she was special, not believe she was an angel.
“Now this is the tricky part, Peter, but between us we will get through it. I am going to rest my hand on your stomach, and I want you to breathe deeply and push it out. Because what is happening is that you are only taking small, shallow breaths, when in fact you need to be taking big deep ones, right through your body.”
“How do you know my sister, Mr. Huntington?”
Max looked at the duchess, who had moved to his side. She had gray eyes, unlike her sister, and they were narrowed and focused on him.
“Pardon?” Max kept his expression carefully blank.
“My sister knows you, Mr. Huntington, and I want to know from where,” she whispered. “Her reaction to you was instant, and her behavior tells me she is not happy with you. Tell me why?”
“I’m sure if your sister wishes you to know the details she will tell you, your Grace.”
“She’s terribly closemouthed,” the duchess said, surprising him. “And getting information out of her that she is unwilling to share usually takes a great deal of skill and bribery.”
That surprised a snort out of him, which he was immediately ashamed of.
“Forgive my rudeness, your Grace.”
“Mr. Huntington, I have three brothers and three sisters. None of them, I assure you, would give a thought to snorting in my presence, therefore there is nothing to forgive... unless of course you have upset my sister in any way I find unforgivable. Then, I assure you, snorting will be the least of your worries.”
Max shot the duchess a look to see if he’d heard her right. She was smiling, but not with her eyes.
“For pity’s sake, Mr. Huntington, smile, and don’t show my sister we are conversing in any but a polite manner.”
“Most would be surprised were I to smile,” he muttered, doing as she asked.
>
“Now, tell me how you know my sister.”
“Can we perhaps leave it that we do know each other, but it is up to her to tell you how?” There was no use in denying it, as Essie had shown her hand when first they met.
The duchess did not look happy with Max’s answer.
“I’m with child, Mr. Huntington. Surely you can see how easily I am upset. My nerves, you know....”
Max couldn’t help it; he snorted again.
“Now, your Grace, that may work on your husband, however it will not work on me. But please, allow me to offer my congratulations for the happy event... whenever it may be.”
Her mouth pursed, and there was definitely a sparkle in her eyes, which she tried to blink away.
“How frustrating.” She sighed. “You’re not related to my husband, are you, as he is not easily manipulated either.”
“I don’t think there is a duke in my lineage, no.”
Her eyes studied him for long drawn-out seconds, and Max resisted the urge to shuffle his feet at the intensity of her gaze.
“Very well, I shall have to resort to bribery to get the information I want.”
“It’s probably your best bet,” Max added.
“Peter is not pleased to have someone else examine him, but my sister has a way about her that soothes people. He is already telling her what she wants to know.”
Max couldn’t hear a thing from where they stood, as Essie had her head lowered and Peter was whispering, but he knew how gentle Essie was when she was caring for someone.
“I have excellent hearing, Mr. Huntington.”
“So do I, normally.”
She smiled, and he saw Essie in the look.
“Clear the table, please, and lay the blanket on it.”
Essie didn’t look at the man behind her, she focused all her attention on the sweet little boy who was struggling to breathe. Max, she would think about later, when she was alone in her room.
“Does your breathing feel easier now, Peter?”
He nodded, and she could hear it was, although it was still loud and raspy.
“Now, I am going to lift you onto the table, Peter. I assure you what we are about to do is no less taxing than what you have done, so there is no need to worry.”
