“And Thomas?”
“My brother is the only one I care about. You know that. He will escape soon enough—after all, he’s a man and he’s free. He can’t stand our father either.”
“Jules, you’re young. No, don’t interrupt me. Hear me out. You were brought here under terrible circumstances. Wilkes is looking for you. It’s not safe for you. Besides, there’s John Bleecher at home, and he no longer has pimples. You’ll marry, Jules, and have babies, and eventually you’ll forget all this.”
“I thought you said I was young,” she said, staring him down.
He had, dammit. He shook his head.
“I don’t want to marry John Bleecher. I told you that.” She shuddered, unable to help herself. “I don’t want to marry anyone.” But that wasn’t true. She wanted to marry Michael. She’d wanted to marry him since she was twelve years old . . . well, maybe thirteen. He didn’t love her, of course. He still thought of her as a silly little girl. He’d saved her, but now he wanted to be rid of her and continue with his life. From beneath her lashes she gazed at him, feeling herself grow warm. His face wasn’t classically handsome like the princes in fairy tales. It was strong, and rugged, and filled with caring, determination, and kindness. But his eyes were beautiful, and his mouth. One could lose oneself in his eyes. She was being a fanciful fool, she knew it, but he was everything a man should be, she thought. And he’d saved her and she wanted him, only him.
“I don’t want to go back,” she said again.
But Saint was still hearing her say she didn’t want to marry anyone, and he’d seen her unconscious shudder.
“Jules,” he said very gently, leaning forward to grasp her slender hand in his. “You will marry. You mustn’t allow your experience to make you . . . hesitant about marriage. A man who loves you, who cares about you, will make you forget. He’ll understand, he’ll help you.”
She felt shame and humiliation wash over her. “You know nothing about my experience!”
He released her hand and sat back in his chair, his arms folded across his massive chest. “Why don’t you tell me, so that I will understand.”
He’ll hate me, despise me if I tell him. He’ll look at me like I’m the lowest sort of female.
It was as if he’d read her mind, and, indeed, he guessed very closely, for he saw the pain, the loss of innocence in her eyes.
“Tell me, Jules. I have always admired you, cared for you. Nothing could ever change that. You’re a fool if you think it could.”
Her throat felt dry and scratchy. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She did neither, merely stared at him like a lost child.
Saint couldn’t help himself. He was out of his chair in an instant. He pulled her upright and cradled her in his arms. He stroked his fingers through her thick hair, savoring the feel of it, savoring the fresh, sweet scent of her body. “Nothing matters,” he said, pulling her closer. “Please, don’t continue to think what you’re thinking. You did nothing wrong. You must believe that, Jules.”
Suddenly, as if she were staring through a soft veil, she saw him holding her like this, stroking her, speaking to her softly. She felt his strong hands moving over her. Then the veil thickened, receded, and she saw nothing more. She leaned her cheek against his shoulder.
I love you, Michael. I’ve always loved you.
The words rang clear in her mind. She’d said those words to him. But when? She raised her face and whispered, “I don’t understand.”
“What? What is it you don’t understand?”
“I just saw you holding me as you’re doing now, but not really. And you were . . . touching me and speaking softly to me.?
??
He stiffened, and she felt it. She went cold all over. For an instant she saw herself quite clearly, writhing, crying out, feeling sensations that were alien and wild and . . . And he was there.
“No, Jules,” he said, shaking her a bit. He hated that bewildered look in her eyes. “It’s not what you’re thinking.”
She raised her eyes to his face, arching her back against his strong arms to see him better. “Was it only a dream?” she whispered.
She saw the truth in his eyes, and he knew it. “Let me explain,” he said finally. “Come into the sitting room.”
He released her, took her hand, and led her into the small parlor. “Sit down.”
She sat.
He walked to the fireplace and leaned his shoulder against the mantel. “Wilkes drugged you. You remember that.”
“Yes, I remember.”