Unmask Me If You Can Read online

  Not that she’d done anything wrong. She hadn’t. But what she felt inside when she looked at those nipples was not exactly innocent.

  And then there was his belly. That part of him had not been covered with much blood. His back and side had taken the worst of it. But she had found his hard, flat belly infinitely mesmerizing. The hair on his chest seemed to flow into a line on his belly that thickened below his navel and disappeared under his trousers. Since he lay on his back, his belly was flat, but she could make out the definition of muscles there too. How did one achieve muscles in such an area? Fencing? Riding? Some other manly pursuit?

  “Mama?”

  She’d jumped up and tried not to look guilty when she faced Richard. “Yes, darling.”

  “Why does the man wear a mask?”

  That was a good question, and one she might have considered if she hadn’t been so absorbed in staring at the hair dipping below the waist on his trousers. In fact, the mask was quite concerning. Only people who did not want their identities known would wear a mask. What was this man hiding or whom was he hiding from? What if he was some sort of bandit? Perhaps it would be better if she didn’t see his face.

  On the other hand, she’d come this far. If he lived and then he intended to kill her, she doubted he would spare her because she’d had the forethought to leave his mask in place.

  “I don’t know,” she told Richard. “But I expect with a wound like this he will soon develop a fever. I can brew some of the tea with the herbs I keep for fever, but we should probably bathe his face as well.”

  She started the water to steep the herbs for the tea then lifted the man’s head and attempted to remove the mask. She would have sworn he was unconscious, but as soon as she’d tugged at the mask’s ties, he had grasped her wrist and yanked it away. His grip was tight but not painful. Still she was frightened when he pulled her close to his lips and hissed, “Do not touch my face.”

  “I am trying to help,” she’d replied in her most pleasant voice. She didn’t want to scare Richard. She’d been scared enough for the both of them. “You have a fever, and it will be worse before it becomes better.” If it got better. “I need to keep you cool—”

  “Do not touch my face. I’ll kill you.”

  Well, that was that then. Bathing his face wasn’t worth dying over. Let him keep his secrets. “I won’t touch your mask,” she’d promised. He released her hand and collapsed back into unconsciousness. When she was certain he’d been sleeping, she’d tied his ankles to the foot of the bed. She didn’t expect that would hold him long, but it might stall him long enough for her and Richard to escape.

  And now as she sat staring at the darkness outside the window nearby, darkness that should have been daylight if not for the storm that still raged, she remembered the exchange they’d had in the middle of the night.

  He was burning with fever, but he’d been strangely lucid. He’d introduced himself, and though she couldn’t remember him very well, she knew who he was. Lord Jasper. She had danced and flirted with him at balls before the war.

  Perhaps that was why he wore the mask. He’d been injured in the war.

  Or perhaps he wasn’t Lord Jasper at all, and the mask concealed his true identity.

  But the even bigger question was why a son of the Marquess of Strathern was here, on a cliff near the unremarkable town of Penbury. She knew it was no coincidence that he’d been on her cliff. He’d admitted he’d been looking for her.

  Olivia turned her head now and studied the man sleeping in her bed. The sheet had been pulled to his chest, concealing much of it from her. His hazel eyes were closed, making it seem as though the entire upper half of his face was covered. The lower half had begun to sport a bit of stubble. It caught the light from the low burning fire, and looked somewhat lighter than his hair, more of a golden brown. His breathing was shallow, and his face pale. The sheet clung to his body in a way that indicated he was damp. Perhaps the fever was breaking.

  She should bathe him with the cool cloth again. She had taken him in, and she now had a duty to see him survive. But if he did survive, she knew she was in danger. She’d bathe him and then begin her preparations. Much as she hated to leave, this place was no longer safe for Richard or for her. They would have to run. Again.

  It was the only way to stay alive.

  Three

  Her scent woke him. Jasper was smart enough not to open his eyes. He never opened his eyes before he knew the situation around him. There had been many times when it was better to pretend sleep than let anyone know he was awake.

  This turned out to be one of those times. She was bathing him with blissfully cool water. His skin felt hot and tight, and the cool water eased the scorching pain of the heat momentarily. Jasper knew he was burning with fever. Men often died of fever. And if he were to die, he wanted to enjoy the scent of her and the feel of her hand on his chest as her other hand ran from his shoulder to his waist. If he hadn’t been so weak, he might have wished she’d dip lower.

  Hell, who was he kidding. He did wish it. He was just too weak to do anything about it if she did. How long had it been since a woman had touched him like this? With tenderness and care? Years? Decades? Never? Before his face had been ravaged, he’d had his share of lovers. Those women had touched him with greedy fingers and scoring nails, not soft caresses. He hadn’t touched them any differently. And though Miss Carlisle’s touch was not sexual in the least, he couldn’t help but imagine how she would have touched him if the two of them had been in this bed together. If he hadn’t been burning with fever and she playing nursemaid.

  Ridiculous thoughts that would never come to fruition. But lying here, teetering somewhere between life and death, sleep and wakefulness, Jasper had time to entertain the ridiculous.

  He woke again when she lifted his head and poured some foul-tasting brew into it. He identified it as willow bark tea, which had pain-relieving properties. But that didn’t mean he had to like the taste of it. “You might warn a man before you pour something like that down his throat,” he said when she lay his head back down. He opened his eyes when he spoke and saw the look of panic on her face when she realized he was awake.

  It was the same sort of frozen, desperate expression a rabbit adopts when it realizes the fox is poised to pounce.

  “It’s an herbal tea,” she stammered. “To help with—”

  “The fever. I know. It could do with some honey.”

  Now her dark brows lowered. “I don’t have any honey, and even if I did, I wouldn’t waste it on you. Bad enough I’m wasting my herbs and gin on you.”

  “Gin?” Jasper tried to sit up and immediately regretted it when his side throbbed in protest. “Why didn’t I know there was gin?”

  “Because you’ve been half unconscious for the last eighteen hours and waiting on you hand and foot hasn’t left me with much inclination for conversation.”

  She was right. He hadn’t exactly been acting grateful for her efforts. “And if I didn’t feel like my head or my flank might split in two, I would be...” He almost said more of a gentleman, but after spending so much time in the rookeries, he hardly remembered his gentlemanly manners, much less had call to use them. “I would be more vocal with my thanks. You saved my life.”

  “Not yet,” she said, arching a brow. He couldn’t help but grin at her meaning. He didn’t think she’d kill him in his sleep, but he admired her for thinking about it.

  “Where’s your son?” he asked.

  She’d been about to turn away, probably to place the mug on the table, but she stiffened at his words. “Who?”

  “The little boy.” Jasper gestured to the dark loft. “I saw him peering down at me last night. He must be yours. The resemblance is notable.”

  “He’s sleeping.”

  “Is it still night?” Jasper looked at the dark window, streaked with raindrops from the continuing rain. “I’ve lost track.”

  “It’s early morning. You should rest again.”

/>   “I don’t seem to have much choice. My eyes close without my permission.” In fact, they were heavy now, so heavy he could barely keep them open. “Miss Carlisle,” he muttered as he forced the lids back up.

  She looked down at him, her expression tense.

  “I haven’t come to hurt you or your son. I haven’t come from him.”

  “Who?” she asked.

  “We both know who. I’ve come at the request of...” But sleep was taking him, and it didn’t matter why he’d come at the moment, only that she not fear him. “I came to help. Protect...” He didn’t know why he said the last. Ewan was The Protector in Draven’s troop, not he. Jasper had always been the man who found what they needed. They’d all joked that Jasper would make a good bounty hunter. And so when he’d come back after the war, that’s exactly what he’d become. And while Viscount Carlisle had promised him a rum ribband for finding his daughter, Jasper wasn’t hunting her for the bounty. Not any longer. If he lived, he’d do everything to protect her and her son, and that he would do because he’d already been paid—in tender caresses and sweet scents and rank herbal tea.

  He owed her what no amount of blunt could buy: his loyalty.

  “WHY DOES HE WEAR THAT mask, Mama?”

  Jasper heard the little boy’s voice as though from a great distance. He wasn’t certain how long he’d slept. He could still hear the rain outside, and though he hadn’t opened his eyes, he could sense the darkness in the cottage. His tongue felt swollen, his head pounded, and his throat ached as though someone had coated it in salt. He wanted water.

  “I don’t know, darling. Eat your potatoes, please.”

  “Can we ask him when he wakes up?”

  Jasper heard the clink of silver on a plate or bowl.

  “I think we had better not. A man is entitled to his privacy.”

  “What’s privacy?”

  “It’s like...when I go behind my curtain to change clothes. Or when you think something, but you don’t say it.”

  “I always say what I think.”

  “Yes, you do.” Jasper thought he heard a smile in her voice. “Now eat your potatoes.”

  For a moment there was only the sound of silver scraping plates, but the silence was short-lived. “Mama, when will he ever wake?”

  “I think he’s awake now,” she answered.

  Jasper opened his eyes. How had she known? He must have given it away somehow.

  “I thought so,” she said. She was sitting at the table, facing him. The little red-haired boy had his back to Jasper, but he turned now, fastening his eyes—very much the same dark blue as his mother’s—on Jasper. “Are you hungry? I have some broth.” She rose, wiping her hands on her apron. It struck him then how strange it was to see this woman who he remembered in silks and jewels wearing a plain gray dress and dingy white apron.

  “Water,” he croaked. “Please.”

  She crossed to him, her strides quick and efficient. None of the graceful way of walking she had most likely learned from dance instructors and tutors. She placed the back of her hand against his cheek, and Jasper had the strangest urge to lean into it. It felt so soft and cool.

  “Your fever hasn’t climbed,” she said. “But it’s still high.”

  “I might live yet,” he said.

  “Mama says after all the effort she’s made, you had better live.” The little boy stood on his other side and looked down at Jasper with undisguised interest.

  “Who am I to defy your mother?”

  The little boy’s brow furrowed. “What does that mean?”

  Miss Carlisle, who had poured water from a pitcher and into a cup, knelt beside Jasper. “Let’s not ask too many questions right now, darling. Our guest needs rest.” She raised the cup to his lips, and Jasper drank greedily. He felt some of the water slip down his chin, but he didn’t care.

  “More,” he said, and Miss Carlisle obliged him.

  “Would you like some broth now or do you want to sleep again?”

  “Oh, don’t sleep again,” the little boy said, his tone pleading. “All you do is sleep.”

  “How long have I been sleeping?” Jasper asked. With the rain darkening the skies even during the day, he could not track the time.

  The boy answered. “I found you the day before yesterday.”

  “You found me?” Jasper asked, then nodded to the lady. “Yes, broth, please.”

  “Uh-huh.” The lad nodded.

  “Richard.” His mother’s voice had a warning in it.

  “I mean, yes, sir. No. Yes, my lord.”

  Jasper made a face. “Don’t start that nonsense. I only make people I don’t like call me lord. You can call me Jasper.”

  “I can?”

  Miss Carlisle appeared with a bowl of broth. “No, you cannot. That’s far too informal.”

  Jasper looked down at his bare chest under the sheet where he lay on her bed. They weren’t exactly in a formal setting. But considering he was relying on Miss Carlisle to keep him alive, he wasn’t about to argue.

  She pushed his pillow higher and helped him sit so he could swallow without choking. The movement made him clench his hand into a fist to ward off the pain, but he tried to keep his expression neutral. She was watching him for signs of pain.

  “Master Richard,” Jasper said, “you were saying you found me. Could you elaborate?”

  “Huh?”

  “Richard...” His mother warned.

  “I mean, pardon? What does laborate mean?”

  Jasper almost smiled. He’d been careful not to use the cant he knew so well from all the time spent in the rookeries, and his speech had still confused the lad. “Give me the details. No. I can do it.” This was in response to Miss Carlisle who attempted to feed him with a spoon of broth. “I’m not an infant who needs to be fed.” He held out a hand to take the bowl.

  “What are details?” Richard asked.

  “The particulars.” Jasper met Miss Carlisle’s gaze. They locked eyes, and he saw the glint of stubbornness that must have kept her alive and hidden all these years. Finally, she gave a short nod and handed him the bowl. He almost dropped it, which would have proven her point entirely, but he caught it at the last moment.

  “What are particulars?” Richard asked.

  Jasper blew out a breath. As a man who often had to ask many questions before gathering the information he needed, he had boundless reserves of patience. He could see how young Richard here might exhaust them, though.

  “His lordship is asking you to tell him how you came to find him,” Miss Carlisle said finally, saving him.

  “Oh! I saw your boot. I was walking down the path”—he glanced at his mother—“just a tiny bit further than I should, and then I saw the boot. There was never a boot there before, so I went to inspectigate. That’s when I saw you and ran to get Mama.”

  Jasper dipped his spoon into more broth. It was delicious broth, thick with carrots, potatoes, and green vegetables he couldn’t name. “And how did I move from there to here?” he asked.

  “I moved you,” Miss Carlisle said, pushing her shoulders back in what was obviously pride. She was a small woman, petite and slim, but when she pushed her shoulders back like that he could just make out the roundness of her breasts. Not that he should be looking at such things with her child at his elbow.

  “Clover helped,” Richard added.

  “Who is Clover?”

  “Our horse. Mama said you were heavier than three horses, and she had to drag you onto the blanket.”

  Jasper glanced at Miss Carlisle again, feeling a new sense of admiration. She’d moved him with only the help of a horse. Even with a horse to pull him up the steep incline, she still had to exert no small amount of strength in order to position him. “I’m in your debt,” he said.

  “You can pay it by surviving and then returning from whence you came.”

  “I assume without ever mentioning I saw you.”

  “Preferably.”

  “What are you talkin
g about?” Richard asked.

  “When I go home,” Jasper said, scraping the bottom of the bowl. He’d already finished his broth. How had he eaten it so quickly? Miss Carlisle took the bowl but didn’t fill it again, much to Jasper’s disappointment.

  “You can’t go home,” Richard whined. “You just got here.”

  “Darling, we had better allow Lord Jasper to rest now.”

  But to his surprise, Jasper didn’t want to rest. He didn’t feel as tired as he had the past eighteen hours. He still felt as though a horse had stomped on him and then kicked him in the flank for good measure, but he was sitting for the first time in days and wanted to stretch his legs, test his wound and his strength.

  “Actually, I’d like to—” He’d attempted to swing his legs out and place his feet on the floor, but he found he couldn’t move his feet. For a moment he feared something had happened to his legs, but then he threw aside the sheet and saw the ropes. Miss Carlisle’s face went red.

  “Do you want to see my wooden animals?” Richard asked, oblivious to the tension now vibrating between Jasper and Miss Carlisle.

  “That’s a good idea. Run up to the loft and fetch them,” she told Richard. The boy didn’t need to be asked twice. He scampered away as though chased by a swarm of bees.

  “You bound me?” Jasper asked, voice low.

  “I didn’t know who you were, and I didn’t trust you,” she said in the same muted tone. “In my place, you would probably have done the same. I have a child to think of.”

  “Why only my ankles?”

  “Because I’m not foolish enough to believe these ropes will hold you. I just wanted to ensure I had a few additional minutes if the need to escape arose.” Escape. He could understand why that was her strategy. It had clearly been her modus operandi for some time.

  “And if I remove them now?”

  Her gaze slid to the ropes and then back to his face. “I’d rather you didn’t. If you need a chamber pot—”

  He waved a hand. “I need to stand up and stretch my legs. I want to have a look outside.” It must have been raining for days. He wondered what effect that had on the trail.