Her Defiant Heart Page 8

  Even though her room was in another wing of the house, Jenny had heard the commotion Christian had caused. She could only guess at the meaning of some of the words that had been exchanged. The battle had been heated and loudly contended. If colorful expressions and baldly phrased threats had been weapons, then Mr. Marshall would have won easily. From the accounts Jenny had heard since, it seemed he had almost won anyway. It had taken two grooms, the gardener, the cook's helper, and Dr. Turner to remove Christian from the study. Later that day, Jenny had heard the tale of Mrs. Brandywine breaking bottles and giving a piece of her mind to the hapless rag picker who came to the back door.

  The only people to have cared for Mr. Marshall since he had been taken to his room were Mrs. Brandywine and Dr. Turner. Jenny did not know why she had suddenly been singled out. "I thought you were pleased with my work," she said huskily. Dr. Turner had warned her that she might never recover the full range that had been her voice. She hardly recognized herself when she spoke. "I thought you were pleased to have me here."

  The housekeeper laughed. "Lord, Jenny, of course I am. I didn't mean it as a punishment. You've got such a calmness about you that I thought Mr. Marshall might take to it. He's made it clear he doesn't want anything to do with me."

  "But that's not right," Jenny said. "You are only helping him."

  "Oh, pooh. I don't take much mind of it, not really. He needs to lash out at someone, and I've made myself a fair target. There is no reason for him to feel the same about you."

  Jenny worried the soft inner side of her lip. She could have said that she knew differently. Although the staff at Marshall House had been exceedingly kind to her, welcoming her into their fold, even protecting her, it was really no secret that Christian Marshall's seclusion and long drinking bout were in some way related to her presence in his home. There was a general consensus among the employees that she had inadvertently tipped the delicate balance Christian had struck between timely drinking and drinking all the time. The upcoming holiday had only given him another excuse.

  "All right," she said. "I'll take it up to him." It was still early. There was a very good chance he would not be awake yet.

  "There's a good girl." The housekeeper dropped the key to Christian's room in Jenny's apron pocket, and thought to herself how fine her young protégée was beginning to look. The plain black wool dress and crisp white linen apron, rather than diminishing her color, served to expose the becoming peach blush that caressed Jenny's cheeks. Her dark hair shone from a recent washing and was arranged in a soft chignon at the back of her head. There were small silky curls on her forehead and she had drawn the hair back to display her ears. The stylishness of Jenny's coiffure had surprised Mrs. Brandywine when she first saw it. It was more suited to a lady than a lady's maid, which is what Jenny explained had been her training. Further questions on the matter had added no helpful information, and the housekeeper had chosen to withdraw rather cause distress.

  Dr. Turner had warned her to proceed cautiously. The glow in Jenny's complexion, her eagerness to be out of bed, and the desire to make herself useful were all encouraging to a point. There remained, he had told her, a number of questions unanswered and a certain aura of mental fragility that belied Jenny's physical strength.

  Mrs. Brandywine made a little shooing gesture to prompt Jenny to move. "Go on with you. It'll be fine. You'll see."

  Unconvinced but game, Jenny headed for the master bedroom. She balanced the tray on one hip while she fumbled for the key. Following Mrs. Brandywine's instructions, she locked the door upon entering the room and slipped the key back in her pocket. None of it sat well with her. In some ways this was worse than what was done to her at the hospital, she thought uneasily. The man snoring softly in the middle of the wide tester bed was a prisoner in his own home.

  Jenny set the tray on the bedside table and stepped back, surveying the room. It was too dark and gloomy for her tastes. The wallpaper was beige, but an unappealing mushroom shade that looked as if it was supposed to be cream and hadn't been washed in an age. The flocking was a swirling pattern of rusty embellished curls that made Jenny think of a garden in need of weeding. The woodwork, the tester bed, the chiffonier, and the minor pieces of furniture were all dark walnut. The counterpane was hunter green, as was the canopy. Tassels the color of goldenrod fringed both the canopy and the drapes. The fireplace was a corner affair that might have been charming if it had had a sitting area nearby. No attempt had been made to make it the focal point of the room. It was purely functional and, at the moment, not doing even that very well. The kindest thing Jenny could think to say about the room was that it had considerable potential. The other words that sprang to mind were oppressive, cheerless, and dreary.

  Something would have to be done. Clearly Mrs. Brandywine's influence had never been felt in this room. Jenny knew the housekeeper had been given free rein elsewhere in the house. This bedchamber reflected Christian Marshall's mood, Jenny thought, and oh, what a black mood it was.

  The first thing Jenny did was to add coals to the fire and stoke it until she had a blaze that was capable of warming the room. Her next task should have been equally easy, but some things, she decided philosophically, were not meant to be.

  The iron curtain rings had attracted some condensation from the frosted window and had actually rusted to the drapery rod. It appeared that natural light hadn't seen the inside of the master bedroom in weeks, if not months. Dust motes clung to the outer folds of the drapes, and when Jenny flicked at them with her fingers, a dry cloud choked her. She grimaced, trying to decide what to do. Mrs. Brandywine had obviously been wary of making changes. Jenny wondered if she should be as circumspect until she considered how Christian Marshall's entry into her life had changed it. She did not owe him undue caution. She owed him her best judgment, and at the moment he deserved better than waking up in a room that defined melancholy.

  Jenny picked up the ladder-back chair that sat at the small writing desk and moved it to the window. She unhooked the tieback sashes that were hanging uselessly on either side of the window frame and snapped the dust out of them. More was required here than simply parting the drapes at the middle and securing them with the sashes. She wanted to pull back the drapes at the top. For want of anything better to do with the sashes, Jenny slipped them around her neck as she climbed onto the chair.

  The drapery rings were not difficult to move once she could reach them properly, but she was disappointed with the effect once the drapes were parted. Even if the sun deigned to make an appearance on this wintry day, it was still too early for it to have much impact. She leaned toward the window and rubbed at the frosted panes with the heel of her hand, hoping to let in what light was available. When she tried to lean back to survey her work, she felt a tug at the nape of her neck. Belatedly she realized her chignon had been caught by one of the open drapery rings.

  Jenny's efforts to unhook it were unsatisfactory. She did not want to ruin the coil she had taken such pains with only hours earlier. When she stamped her foot in frustration, the chair teetered. One of the sashes around her neck slipped beneath her collar. Not only did it itch uncomfortably, it made her want to sneeze. She reached for it, intending to draw it off.

  If Jenny had not been concentrating on her work she might have noticed the cessation of her employer's light snoring. Christian Marshall had turned on his side moments earlier, opened bleary eyes, and immediately confronted a vision that almost stopped his heart.

  In the murky gray light that filtered into the room, he saw the shadowy outline of a woman in the process of using his drapery rod to hang herself. Given her intent, there was no doubt in Christian's mind as to her identity. As far as he knew there was only one woman in his household who might have reason to contemplate suicide. The chair rocked, and he sucked in his breath. She lifted the rope around her neck.

  That is when Christian made his move.

  Throwing the covers back, he leaped out of bed. His legs, weak from inactivity
, nearly gave way. In spite of that he stumbled toward Jenny and flung out his arms to catch her as the chair teetered again. She screamed when his hands clamped around her waist, but because her voice was still so fragile, the sound she made was pathetically weak. The chair tipped over, set in motion more by Christian's lunging than anything Jenny did, and thudded to the floor. Christian and Jenny followed the path of the chair, and since Jenny tried to save herself by grabbing the drapery rod, they were in turn followed by the heavy velvet drapes, the rod, and a light sprinkling of plaster dust when the valance supports were torn from the wall.

  Christian twisted, taking the brunt of the fall, and brought Jenny down on top of him. They both narrowly missed the chair. The drapery rod caught Jenny across the shoulders, but it wasn't a painful blow. She ducked her head instinctively, burying it against the crook of Christian's shoulder. The rod slipped to one side and the drapes cocooned them.

  Christian raised his head, groaned, and lowered it to the floor again. His eyes were closed. Jenny thought he had passed out, but when she started to move away, his large hands tightened on her waist. In one fluid motion he turned them both until she was lying beneath him. The drapes were tangled between them. She had been here before, she thought giddily as she stared up into cool aquamarine eyes. They were piercing in their slow perusal of her face.

  "It is you," Christian said finally. She looked far healthier than the last time he had seen her. Her complexion was agreeably flushed, and her wide brown eyes with their splinters of cinnamon color were bright. Her beautifully molded lips were slightly parted, moist, and pink. The body that pressed against him was familiar as well, uncomfortably so. His hands could nearly span her waist, and her breasts, in spite of the ridiculously severe gown she was wearing, felt full against his chest. "What in the hell do you think you were doing?"

  With great dignity Jenny replied, "Don't swear at me, please." When this request merely had the effect of narrowing Christian's stare, Jenny's small chin shot out with a measure of defiance. "What do you imagine I was doing?"

  "I asked you."

  Jenny shrugged. The movement was awkward because he was so heavy on her. "I knew you might not approve of opening the drapes, but really, don't you think you are making too much of it? I only wanted to bring some light into the room. The drapery rings were rusted to the—"

  Christian's hands left her waist and grasped her shoulders. He gave her a little shake. "Do you take me for a fool?"

  Bewildered, Jenny blinked widely. "I assure you, I don't," she said.

  Christian frowned, his mouth shifting to one side as he continued to regard her skeptically. "You weren't trying to kill yourself?"

  "Kill myself?" She looked past his shoulder to the window and saw the holes where the flimsy valance hooks had been. "Hang myself, you mean?"

  He nodded.

  Jenny could not hold back a smile. A bubble of laughter caught in her throat, but it didn't stay there long. It tripped lightly along her tongue and tickled her lips.

  Her husky laughter teased Christian's senses. He was sure he didn't like it. "I don't understand your amusement. Your intent was quite obvious."

  "Obviously it wasn't," she said. "Would you please let me up?"

  Christian considered the request a moment before he eased away. He sat up and rubbed his wounded thigh. His nightshirt had climbed above his knees, and when he glanced at Jenny, he caught her staring at his naked legs. He smiled humorlessly when she blushed deeply and quickly averted her eyes.

  Jenny used the toppled chair for support and got to her feet, smoothing her dress and making the same attempt with her hopelessly creased apron. She righted the chair and moved it back to the desk, putting some distance between herself and Christian. "I was only trying to open the drapes," she explained. "My hair got caught in one of the drapery rings. I was trying to free it."

  "What about the rope around your—" He stopped as she lifted the drapery sashes from around her neck. "I see."

  "I hope so." She wondered if he had hurt his thigh. She knew about the war wound from members of the household staff. There were as many versions of the story as there were people to tell it.

  Unaware of Jenny's interest, Christian stopped massaging his leg and looked up at the window as she had done moments earlier. "I suppose the rod would not have held your weight anyway," he said grudgingly. "If you wanted to hang yourself there would be better locations."

  "There certainly would be." She added quickly, "Not that I've been looking for any."

  Christian grunted softly and cleared away the draperies that were still covering his broad shoulders like an emperor's cloak. "What's wrong with your voice?" he asked. The hint of huskiness was unnerving because there was something very attractive about it.

  "Dr. Turner says it may stay this way forever. Would you rather I didn't speak?"

  "Scott, eh? Don't pay attention to anything that charlatan says. Bastard thinks I'm a drunk."

  Jenny refrained from responding. She watched Christian draw up his legs and settle his elbows on his knees. He cupped his head in his hands, supporting it, then gently moved his head from side to side to clear the fuzziness. Jenny observed that the area around his eyes was drawn and haggard. His skin was sallow and it contrasted horribly with the unkempt growth of his fiery beard. He had lost some weight. His cheeks were sunken so that the bones of his face stood out in hard relief, and his lean fingers seemed almost skeletal.

  "Not a pretty picture, is it?" he asked, glancing at her face and divining her thoughts. "I haven't had a bender like that since... hell, I don't think I've ever been on a bender like that." When she remained quiet, he prompted her for a response. "Say something, dammit. I don't care if you sound like your throat is filled with gravel."

  "Please don't swear at me," she said with considerable dignity. He was coarse and ill-mannered, but her thoughts remained her own. Her need to remain at Marshall House meant it would be unwise to bite the hand that was feeding her.

  "My, I do not know if you could affect more priggishness. Have you met Dr. Turner's wife Susan? A matched set of bookends, that's what you'd be."

  "How kind of you to say so," she said. "I shall look forward to making her acquaintance."

  Christian snorted. "Don't just stand there. Help me up. The damn—er, the darn—floor is tilting."

  "I shouldn't wonder." She circled the desk and went to his side, holding out her hand for him to take.

  He shook his head. "If I pull on your hand, you will be sitting on the floor again."

  Jenny realized the truth of that. She hunkered down beside him and put one arm about his shoulders and a hand beneath his elbow. With a little cooperation on his part, she managed to get Christian to his feet. She escorted him back to the bed, letting him lean on her, and plumped his pillows before he collapsed like a felled tree onto the feather tick. Belatedly she understood how much his errant rescue of her had taxed his strength. Jenny rearranged the covers, pulling the dark counterpane up to Christian's chin. His eyes were closed now, and he groaned softly a few times, but he did not object to her fussing.

  Jenny stepped back from the bed and caught sight of the breakfast tray out of the corner of her eye. She couldn't imagine that he would want anything to eat, but good manners, as well as her new position in his home, compelled her to ask.

  "God, no," he muttered, turning on his side away from the tray. "Take it out of here. The smell alone is enough to make me—"

  "I understand," she said, picking up the tray. "I'll come back later with something more agreeable. I can clean up then also."

  She was gone, the door locked behind her, before Christian realized he had never asked her what business she'd had in his room in the first place. He'd find that out later, he thought fuzzily. He thumped on his pillows. He kept one under his head and clutched the other to his chest. In minutes he was asleep.

  * * *

  Two hours later, Jenny eased herself quietly into Christian's bedchamber. This tim
e the breakfast tray carried a light repast: one soft-cooked egg, a slice of dry toast, and another pot of weak tea. There was also a slender pewter bud vase with a white winter rose. Several of the housemaids were skeptical that this added touch would do anything to soften Christian Marshall's mood, but Jenny was insistent and Mrs. Brandywine had agreed. Jenny put the tray down and gathered the fallen draperies. Following the housekeeper's directions, she tossed them into the hallway to be picked up later and then locked the door.

  "I'll take that key," said Christian.

  Jenny ignored him, dropped it in her pocket, and turned to face him. She smiled a shade too brightly. "Good, you're awake. I was hoping you would be. I didn't think you'd want a cold breakfast."

  Christian sat up in bed, tucked a pillow behind the small of his back, and knuckled his stubble. "I don't want breakfast. I want that key."

  Her smile faltered. "We'll see."

  "We damn well will not see. Give it to me."

  Jenny hesitated before she finally shrugged. "Oh, very well." She reached in her pocket, pulled out the key to her own room, and walked over to the bed. She placed the key in Christian's open palm and watched his hand close over it quickly as if he suspected she might snatch it back.

  "Thank you," he said dryly. He slid the key behind his back and under his pillow. When Jenny lifted the tray to set it on his lap, he shook his head and grimaced. "I told you I don't want any breakfast."

  "All right." She set the tray down again.

  "That's better." Christian leaned toward the bedside table and opened the top drawer. He put his hand in and felt around blindly, withdrawing only when he realized someone had anticipated his actions. "Where's the bottle I keep there?"