Lucy Gordon - Taming Jason

‘I don’t want any more damned nurses,’ the man said tiredly.

‘I know. They told me at the agency.’

‘The last two ran away.’

‘You mean they stormed out in indignation.’

Jason Tenby gave a grunt. ‘You’ve heard about that too?’

‘The head of the agency told me everything. He said it was fairer to warn me about you.’

‘So you’ve only yourself to blame for ignoring his warning.’

‘That’s right. I’ve only myself to blame.’

‘How long, I wonder, before you storm out?’

‘It’ll take more than you can throw at me.’ She was feeling her way, sensing that a robust approach would work best with this patient. Sympathy would merely drive him crazy. He was already on the edge of endurance, clinging on with frantic fingertips to a crumbling sanity.

She looked around his old-fashioned room, with its big oak bed and heavy oak furniture. The carpet was a deep brown, and russet curtains hung at the tall windows.

It was an intensely masculine room with nothing soft or gentle about it. The man who lived in this wealthy house spent little on his personal needs. A hard man. A comfortless man in a comfortless desert.

‘And your name?’ he asked at last.

‘Nurse Smith.’

‘I meant your first name.’

‘I think Nurse Smith is best for the moment.’

‘The formal approach, huh?’

‘It’ll make it easier for you to yell at me.’

‘I guess it will at that. Tell me what you look like.’

‘I wear a white uniform and a white cap. And black, sensible shoes.’

In the long pause that followed, she could sense him sizing her up.

‘By God, you’re a cool one!’ he said at last.

‘I’m here to help you, Mr Tenby. That’s all that matters. I want to see you up and walking, as you used to.’

His voice had a bitter edge. ‘And you really think that can happen? Have you read the notes?’

‘Yes. There was a fire in your stables. You went in to rescue a horse and the roof fell on you.’

Another grunt. ‘Damned horse wasn’t even there. Someone else had already got it out.’

‘It must have been hard having all this happen for nothing,’ Elinor agreed. ‘You were lucky not to have been seriously burned.’

‘Yes, people keep telling me how lucky I was,’ said the sightless figure on the bed.

‘You were partially protected by the beams that fell on you. Because of them your burns were superficial, and have now healed. So have your ribs. Your back’s injured and your sight has been damaged, but with luck that won’t last.’

‘You’re just giving me the same line they all do. But you don’t believe it either.’

It was true. She was nowhere near convinced that he would see or walk again. But he had to be convinced of it if he were to have a chance.

‘I believe it can happen if we work at it together,’ she said firmly. ‘And that’s what we’re going to do.’

Suddenly his brows drew together and he covered his bandaged eyes with his hand. Elinor could see that something vital inside him had cracked.

‘For God’s sake, go!’ he said in a shaking voice. ‘Just leave me.’

‘Certainly.’ She closed the door firmly so that he could hear that she’d gone.

Mrs Hadwick, the housekeeper, was waiting in the corridor.

‘All your bags have been taken upstairs, miss,’ she said. ‘I’ll show you the way.’

Because she was on edge over her meeting with Jason, Elinor had chosen to visit him first, before even going to her room. Now she followed the housekeeper down the corridor and round the corner. And, with alarm, she realised where she was going.

‘This room—’ she said.

‘It’s the best guest room,’ Mrs Hadwick said, pushing open a door. ‘I’ll send you up some tea.’ She vanished.

The room was big and imposing, with a four poster bed in the centre. There was a dressing table, an ordinary table and chair, and a big, comfortable armchair. There were two tall windows with drapes that swept the floor. Nothing had changed since the last time she’d slept here, six years ago.

Until now she’d managed to control her memories, but in this place they came flooding back.

Simon seemed to be with her, young and handsome, full of love and eagerness, as he’d been the day he first brought her to his home as his future bride, driving with one arm around her shoulders, and one on the wheel of his gleaming new sports car. They’d swept up the long avenue of oaks until suddenly the house had come into view, and she’d gasped at its beauty and splendour.

‘Simon, I never dreamed—that can’t be your home?’

‘What’s the matter with it?’

‘I’ve never been in a place like that before. I grew up in one of those shabby little back-to-back places at the town end. My mother was a cleaner in your father’s factory.’

He gave a shout of laughter. ‘No, really? Tell me.’

‘She used to do the early morning shift. One day she took me with her. It was against the rules, but otherwise I’d have had to stay at home in an empty house. We nearly got away with it, but one morning I bumped into your brother.’

‘Jason? You mean you’ve already met? Suppose he remembers you?’

‘I was eight years old. He won’t know me after all these years. You mustn’t tell him. Promise.’

‘I promise.’

‘Cross your heart and hope to die. Oh, dear, I wish now I hadn’t told you.’

‘Darling, that really hurts me. If you can’t trust me, who can you trust?’

‘Oh, I didn’t mean that. Truly I didn’t. Of course I trust you, but don’t you see? I don’t belong here.’

‘You belong with me,’ he said firmly.

How desperately she loved him. It seemed as if her slender form must shatter with the force of her love.

As they neared the house she saw a tall man standing on the steps. He’d been a teenager when she’d glimpsed him in the factory, but she had no trouble recognising him again as Jason Tenby.

He must have been a good six foot two, with broad shoulders and a certain massiveness about his presence that had more to do with his air than his build. His hair was dark brown with a touch of red, and his skin was tanned as though he spent a lot of time outdoors. He wore riding breeches and a tweed jacket and stood at his ease, one foot on the lowest step, his hands thrust into his breeches pocket. He looked for all the world like a patriarch watching the hordes advancing on his domain, sizing up a threat.

‘How do you do, Miss Smith?’ His voice was deep and vibrant. Had she imagined it contained a sneer, as though he was mocking her for her commonplace name?

His very handshake was unnerving. Her delicate hand was swallowed up in his great fist, and she almost gasped from the strength of his grip and the sense of power that came from him.

She remembered every moment of her first evening at Tenby Manor. It was the first time she’d been in a house where people dressed for dinner. At least, she thought, she could live up to her surroundings, for she had an expensive long gown and a delicate sapphire pendant, both of them Simon’s gifts. He was wonderfully handsome in dinner jacket and black tie, although even her adoring eyes could see that he was cast into the shadow by his brother.

Simon was twenty, slim and mercurial, with fair, boyish looks and rapid speech. Jason was twenty-eight with slow, thoughtful speech and an authority beyond his years.

Simon enchanted her. Jason awed her.

There was only a slight brotherly likeness between them. Already Jason’s face was harsh with experience, and there was a firmness about his mouth and chin that revealed his impatience with fools, or with anyone who disagreed with him. Yet when in repose his mouth had an unexpected curve, suggesting humour, sensuality, even charm. She grew nervous whenever he looked at her because his dark eyes seemed to swallow light, and it was impossible to read his thoughts in them.