when he’d opened his doors to her. But that was not for tonight’s discussion, and certainly not with this man. He had enough difficulties of his own. So thinking, she continued to babble to cover her own embarrassment. “If he insists, you must agree to whatever he says, but tell him you will pay me. It shall be no more than a shilling, I assure you. I will cover the rest with the household accounts.”
He arched a brow at her. The look was especially dashing on him, with his sun-weathered face and his rugged growth of beard. All he needed was an eye patch and all the girls would be swooning. “Do you do that often?” he asked, his voice low enough to produce a shiver across her skin.
“What?”
“Lie to cover for your uncle’s boorish manners?”
How was she to answer that? Normally she would consider lying, if only to preserve the family name for Rose’s sake. But she had the distinct feeling that he would see through any falsehood, so she simply shrugged. “I’m told that he was once a very kind man. When Aunt Susan was alive, when he was young and in the flush of his youth.”
“And now?”
She sighed. “Now, I sometimes lie to cover for his lacks.” Then she lowered her lashes in shame only to be startled when his hand covered hers.
“We all do what we must to survive, Miss Wilson.”
Her gaze leaped to his, startled by the depth of feeling in those quiet words. And in his eyes, she saw compassion wholly absent in anyone of her acquaintance. A level of understanding that had her vision blurring with tears. Good God, she could not be about to sob! Not when all he had done was extend a simple kindness.
He must have seen the tears. He must have known how deeply she was about to embarrass herself because he abruptly withdrew his touch. Pushing back from his seat, he looked toward the straining buckets. “I believe I shall leave the question of payment for tomorrow, if you please. I think a bath and shave is all I can manage for one night.”
She nodded, knowing that he was covering for her. She was the one who couldn’t manage tonight. At the moment, he appeared able to handle any difficulty in his path. “Of course,” she said as evenly as possible. “I shall find you a razor.”
“And I shall get some more water.”
She turned to leave, only to have him stop her. He gripped her wrist before she even realized he’d moved. And when she looked back at him in question, his eyes were burning with intensity.
“Mr. Frazier?” she whispered, startled by his abrupt shift in mood.
“I shall need help,” he said, his voice thick. “You said your father was a doctor. That you cared for his patients? His male patients?”
She nodded slowly. “I often helped my father,” she said the words, not entirely sure what she was answering. There was something in his expression, something underlying his words that she did not understand.
His fingers tightened, then abruptly released and his eyes canted away. “I had a fever recently and my hands still shake. I would ask Alex, but . . .”
“Oh!” she said, beginning to understand. “Oh no. Alex is still too young. Too much nervous energy in his hands.”
He nodded, and she saw relief in his eyes. “I am steady for most things,” he said softly, “but razors . . .” A quiet tremor shook his body. “I do not like razors.”
It took her a moment to connect razors with his scars. Had he been cut viciously? By a vile pirate? It was a leap of logic, but not a far one. She swallowed and gave him a smile. “You have nothing to fear,” she said softly. “I am extremely steady. I will shave you tonight, and tomorrow will sort itself out soon enough.”
His eyes widened, and she thought for a moment there was admiration in their depths. “Do you think so, Miss Wilson?” he asked softly. “Do you truly think that tomorrow will bring better things?”
“Of course,” she answered calmly. “What else should one think?”
He had no answer for
He arched a brow at her. The look was especially dashing on him, with his sun-weathered face and his rugged growth of beard. All he needed was an eye patch and all the girls would be swooning. “Do you do that often?” he asked, his voice low enough to produce a shiver across her skin.
“What?”
“Lie to cover for your uncle’s boorish manners?”
How was she to answer that? Normally she would consider lying, if only to preserve the family name for Rose’s sake. But she had the distinct feeling that he would see through any falsehood, so she simply shrugged. “I’m told that he was once a very kind man. When Aunt Susan was alive, when he was young and in the flush of his youth.”
“And now?”
She sighed. “Now, I sometimes lie to cover for his lacks.” Then she lowered her lashes in shame only to be startled when his hand covered hers.
“We all do what we must to survive, Miss Wilson.”
Her gaze leaped to his, startled by the depth of feeling in those quiet words. And in his eyes, she saw compassion wholly absent in anyone of her acquaintance. A level of understanding that had her vision blurring with tears. Good God, she could not be about to sob! Not when all he had done was extend a simple kindness.
He must have seen the tears. He must have known how deeply she was about to embarrass herself because he abruptly withdrew his touch. Pushing back from his seat, he looked toward the straining buckets. “I believe I shall leave the question of payment for tomorrow, if you please. I think a bath and shave is all I can manage for one night.”
She nodded, knowing that he was covering for her. She was the one who couldn’t manage tonight. At the moment, he appeared able to handle any difficulty in his path. “Of course,” she said as evenly as possible. “I shall find you a razor.”
“And I shall get some more water.”
She turned to leave, only to have him stop her. He gripped her wrist before she even realized he’d moved. And when she looked back at him in question, his eyes were burning with intensity.
“Mr. Frazier?” she whispered, startled by his abrupt shift in mood.
“I shall need help,” he said, his voice thick. “You said your father was a doctor. That you cared for his patients? His male patients?”
She nodded slowly. “I often helped my father,” she said the words, not entirely sure what she was answering. There was something in his expression, something underlying his words that she did not understand.
His fingers tightened, then abruptly released and his eyes canted away. “I had a fever recently and my hands still shake. I would ask Alex, but . . .”
“Oh!” she said, beginning to understand. “Oh no. Alex is still too young. Too much nervous energy in his hands.”
He nodded, and she saw relief in his eyes. “I am steady for most things,” he said softly, “but razors . . .” A quiet tremor shook his body. “I do not like razors.”
It took her a moment to connect razors with his scars. Had he been cut viciously? By a vile pirate? It was a leap of logic, but not a far one. She swallowed and gave him a smile. “You have nothing to fear,” she said softly. “I am extremely steady. I will shave you tonight, and tomorrow will sort itself out soon enough.”
His eyes widened, and she thought for a moment there was admiration in their depths. “Do you think so, Miss Wilson?” he asked softly. “Do you truly think that tomorrow will bring better things?”
“Of course,” she answered calmly. “What else should one think?”
He had no answer for
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