Maggie Cox - Passionate Protectors?

His hands trembled as he eased the dress away. Sara seemed to realise there was no point in trying to stop him. It was too late; too late for both of them. Matt closed his eyes for a moment against the murderous rage that was demanding revenge.

‘Your husband did this to you?’ he asked at last, when he had himself in control again, and she shrugged.

‘Does it matter?’ She sighed. His hands lingered at her waist. ‘I think you’d better let me get up.’

‘And I think you ought to have that hip treated,’ said Matt flatly. ‘From what I’ve seen, it needs medical attention.’

Her response was urgent. ‘I don’t need a doctor,’ she exclaimed fiercely, and he didn’t think this was the time to tell her that that was what he had been before he’d become a writer.

He expelled an unsteady breath, hoping she wouldn’t mistake his concern for something less commendable. ‘I’ve got some first aid stuff in my bathroom. I suggest you let me deal with your hip if you don’t want me to involve anyone else.’

‘I can do it,’ she protested, but once again he prevented her from getting off the bed.

‘I’m sure you can. I’m sure that’s what you’re used to,’ he muttered harshly. ‘But in this instance I’d prefer it if you’d let me make sure there’s no infection.’

Sara made a weary sound. ‘There is no infection,’ she insisted. ‘It’s just bleeding a bit, that’s all.’

‘So I see,’ he said grimly, unable to hide his reaction. And she suddenly seemed to realise that the lower half of her body was still exposed to his gaze.

‘Mr Seton—’

‘Don’t call me that.’ He was impatient. ‘It’s too late for us to behave as if we’re just casual acquaintances. We’re not. I know it and you know it. Whether you like it not, I feel responsible for you.’

‘Don’t patronise me!’

‘I won’t if you’ll do as you’re told.’

Her eyes flashed with sudden spirit. ‘And I’m very good at doing as I’m told,’ she told him bitterly, and he groaned at his own thoughtlessness.

‘Sara—’

‘Shouldn’t that be Victoria?’ she enquired painfully. And then, as if she’d just recalled why she was lying on the bed, ‘Did I pass out?’

Matt nodded. ‘Like a light.’ He got up. ‘Stay here. Please. I’ll be back in a few seconds.’

Sara looked up at him. ‘You did say—Max was alive?’ she ventured.

‘Yes.’ Matt hesitated. ‘Why would you think he wasn’t? What happened before you ran away?’

Sara moved her head from side to side on the pillows. ‘He was so still,’ she whispered, obviously thinking about it. ‘I couldn’t find a pulse. I was sure—’ She pressed her lips together. ‘Oh, God, he’s going to be so mad when he finds out what I did.’

Matt felt his anger surfacing again, and determinedly forced it back. ‘I’ll get my gear,’ he said, heading for the door. ‘Just—relax, okay? I won’t be long.’

She didn’t answer, and he could only hope that she’d be too distracted by what he’d told her to disobey him. It wasn’t just an excuse to get his hands on her again, he assured himself. She was in such a frail state she might pick up some infection without her being aware of it. He didn’t want to think what the ravages of blood poisoning might do to her fragile system. He’d seen too many tragic cases in the past.

Without taking the time to check what was in the bag he kept in his bathroom, he simply snatched it out of the cupboard and charged back along the landing. Only to encounter Mrs Webb at the top of the stairs.

‘Something wrong?’ she asked, her sharp eyes immediately noting the medical kit. ‘Do you need my help?’

Matt gave her a resigned look. ‘No help needed,’ he said, aware that Sara’s door was ajar and that she could probably hear everything that was being said. ‘Miss Victor just needs an adhesive plaster, that’s all.’

‘Hurt her heel, has she?’ Mrs Webb arched an enquiring brow. ‘I could have told her that those shoes she wears aren’t suitable for around here.’

‘Something like that,’ Matt agreed, his nerves screaming in frustration. ‘If you’ll excuse me…?’

‘Very formal all of a sudden, aren’t we?’ remarked Mrs Webb with a sniff. ‘Oh, well.’ To his relief she turned towards his daughter’s bedroom. ‘I expect I’ll hear all about it from Rosie. She seems to know what’s going on.’

‘Nothing’s going on,’ said Matt, gritting his teeth, but he was talking to himself. The housekeeper was already out of earshot.

Aware of the tension in his shoulders, Matt determinedly tried to relax before going back into Sara’s room. He half expected to find her locked in the bathroom, but, although she was sitting up, she was still on the bed.

‘I guess you heard that,’ he said, hesitating only a moment before closing the door behind him. ‘My housekeeper likes to feel she’s in the know.’

‘Yes.’ Sara’s tone was dry. ‘Well, I suppose it’s only a matter of time before she realises who I am.’

Matt shrugged. ‘We’ll deal with that when we have to,’ he said, sitting down beside her and opening the leather bag. ‘Now, let’s see: what have we got? Gauze; adhesive plasters; bandages.’ His fingers hesitated over the syringe and the advantages of injection. But, dismissing the idea, he added, ‘And some antiseptic ointment. Good.’

‘This really isn’t necessary,’ she murmured, and he saw she was embarrassed all over again. She’d pulled her dress down, too, even though she was running the risk of staining it. Her dignity still meant something to her, at least.

‘We have to talk,’ said Matt, opening the packet of plasters and examining its contents. ‘Why don’t you start by telling me why you thought your husband was dead?’ He paused. ‘Did you try to kill him?’

‘No!’ Her denial was instantaneous, and, looking into her horrified eyes, he couldn’t help but believe her. ‘I wouldn’t do that,’ she added, with a revealing tremor in her voice. ‘Max fell. Down the stairs in our apartment. I tried to find a pulse but I couldn’t.’ She took a breath. ‘It wasn’t Max who called the emergency service. It was me.’

‘So why didn’t you stay and speak to them?’ Matt asked, hoping that by getting her to talk to him he could divert her attention. He urged her back against the pillows again, avoiding her eyes as he lifted the hem of her skirt. ‘I don’t understand why you ran away.’

‘Don’t you?’ The laugh she gave was without humour. ‘No, well, perhaps it is hard for you to understand how I felt. I suppose the simple answer would be to say I panicked. I was afraid no one would believe my version of events.’

Matt frowned. ‘Okay,’ he said evenly. ‘I’ll buy that. Having seen what the bastard’s done to you, you’ve got a point.’ His jaw compressed as he cleaned the abrasion on her hip with a sterile wipe. ‘But for goodness’ sake, Sara, why did you stay with him?’

Sara caught her breath, and he guessed her hip was stinging. ‘You don’t know that Max did this to me,’ she argued. ‘If you met him, you’d think he was a charming man. Hugo thinks so, and so does my mother. As far as she’s concerned I’m an ungrateful wife.’

The area around the abrasion was clean now, and Matt stared at it for a long time, trying to contain his anger. Who the hell was Hugo? he wondered, resenting the thought that some other man might be involved. He didn’t like the idea that there was someone else she cared about.

‘Who is Hugo?’ he asked at last, when he had himself in control again. But the question was too personal and he felt her eyes upon him.

‘Hugo is Max’s brother,’ she replied at last, and Matt cursed his own stupidity. He remembered now seeing the man’s name in the article he’d read about her disappearance. Her lips twisted as she added, ‘He’s harmless.’