it not be? “I have been wondering why Jack brought you here.”
He looked at her.
When he did not respond, when she could not decipher his direct regard, she said, “I haven’t seen Jack since he brought you here—he comes and goes very erratically, and he was gone when I arrived at the manor and found you here in a terrible state. I have been wondering about it. Lucas only said that Jack found you bleeding to death on the wharf in Brest.”
He hesitated. “I have a confession to make, Julianne. I do not remember how I got here.”
She was stunned. “Why didn’t you say anything?” she cried, concerned.
“We have just barely become acquainted.”
She could not absorb that explanation. Why hadn’t he asked her how he had gotten to the manor, if he couldn’t recall it? How odd! But she felt terribly for him. “What do you remember? Are there other memory lapses?”
“I recall being wounded in battle,” he said. “We were fighting the La Vendée royalists. The moment I felt that ball in my back, I knew I was in dire jeopardy. Everything became a haze of pain—and then it was simply darkness.”
He had been in that great battle against the La Vendée royalists! When she had told him the news of the rout, he hadn’t even blinked. She wondered why he hadn’t revealed how pleased he was—for surely their defeat had thrilled him. It seemed odd that he would receive news of his last battle with such an impassive demeanor. “Isn’t Nantes inland?”
He studied the table. “I suppose my men brought me to Brest. I wish I could remember. They might have been looking for a surgeon—we are always short on surgeons. Perhaps we got separated and cut off from our troops. Perhaps they were deserters.” He now looked up at her. “There are a number of possible scenarios. They may have even decided to leave me behind and let me die when they reached Brest.”
She was shaken. How could his men have left him to die? Had they been such cowards? He was staring closely at her now. She trembled. “Thank God Jack found you! I didn’t understand why he brought you to Cornwall,” she said, their gazes locked, “but maybe he mistook you for a fellow smuggler. Knowing my brother, he might have been in a rush to disembark. He is usually on the run from one navy or another, or the revenue men. I am guessing that instead of leaving you to die, he simply brought you on board his ship and cast off. Lucas must also have thought you were a smuggler.”
“No matter what happened, I am fortunate, am I not? Had Jack not rescued me, I would not be here now, with you.”
His regard was filled with significance. “I am so glad he rescued you,” she said softly. “Jack will be back, sooner or later, and then we can find out what really happened.”
He reached across the table and took her hand and enclosed it in his larger one. “Fate put me in your hands,” he said. “Isn’t that enough, for now? You have saved my life.”
His soft tone washed through her, causing so much tension.
As she watched him, he sighed, releasing her hand and rubbing his neck again. “Thank God,” he said softly, “for Jack.”
She watched him rub his neck.
He caught her watching him and grimaced. “I have been in bed for far too long, I think. My neck is terribly stiff.”
The tension within her thickened. She could help him—if she dared. “Are you in pain?”
“Some.”
Her heart went out to him. She wanted to comfort him. But there was more. She wanted to touch him.
She had bathed him while he was unconscious. She knew what his skin felt like, what his muscles felt like. In the space of seconds, she was breathless.
She slowly stood up, barely able to believe herself. She felt like a different woman, someone older, wiser and experienced. The Julianne she knew—that her family and friends knew—would never do what she meant to do now.
His eyes became languid and watchful.
She whispered, “Can I help ease you, monsieur?”
He was looking up at her. “Oui.”
She walked around the table, toward him. She moved behind him, almost dazed. She began kneading his neck.
He made a deep, guttural sound. It was terribly male and terribly sensual.
Desire renewed itself, instantly. All other thoughts vanished and she began to increase the pressure on the knotted muscles of his neck with her thumbs, trying not to tremble, trying not to breathe. And as she did so, she felt the muscles there soften slightly; his head tilted back.
If he knew he had lain his head against her breasts, he gave no sign.
JULIANNE HAD ALREADY CHECKED upon Charles several times that morning, but he had been asleep. Still, he was recovering from being shot and the resulting infection—and she hadn’t left his bedchamber till half past ten last night.
She bit her lip. It was noon now. Her heart was racing like a schoolgirl’s, she thought, pausing in the corridor outside his door. Had she imagined it, or was something wonderful happening? He found her beautiful—he had said so, several times. He seemed as aware of her as she was of him. And they were both passionate revolutionaries. What if they were falling in love?
If only she were more experienced. She had never been as interested in anyone before. The feelings she had could not be one-sided!
But she was going to have to ask him about Nadine. She had to know about his relationship with the other woman.
She looked inside, smiling nervously. Charles was standing at the window. He was shirtless, staring outside. For one moment, she stared at his broad shoulders, his muscular chest and his narrow waist. Her mouth dry, her pulse pounding, she whispered, “Monsieur? Bonjour.”
He turned slowly, smiling at her. “Good morning, Julianne.” Clearly, he had known she was there.
Her heart turned over, hard. The way he was looking at her told her that he had to be thinking about the evening they had shared last night. It told her that he was as interested in her as she was in him.
He moved his gaze over her carefully, taking in the fact that she had curled her hair where it framed her face. Her hair was loose and hanging straight down her back, as was fashionable. She wore another ivory muslin dress, this one with a rounded neckline and fuller skirts. His gaze skidded across her bosom before he lowered his eyes and walked over to the chair where his shirt was hanging. He picked it up.
Julianne meant to look away, but she watched as he shrugged it on. The muscles in his chest and arms rippled. He looked up and caught her staring. He didn’t smile now.
Desire made her feel faint. She prayed she wasn’t blushing. She forced a smile. “How are you feeling today, monsieur?” She realized she was clinging to the doorknob, as if that would keep her standing upright.
“Better.” He spoke as softly as before. He paused, and then said, “You have changed your hair.”
