The Daughter of Doctor Moreau(92)

“Isidro, will you keep an eye on Dr. Moreau after you’ve helped my father into his bed?” Eduardo called out.

His cousin turned to look at Eduardo. “You are not coming?”

“I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“Keep an eye, of course,” Isidro muttered, his tone spiteful. But he didn’t say anything else.

Eduardo’s man was still by the doorway, looking at them. He seemed amused.

Carlota asked the man to move the lamps, then she fetched the bag and opened it again, pushing the journals aside. She placed the bag atop the table in the anteroom. From what she could see, Eduardo had but a few cuts on his knuckles, which she cleaned. There was blood on his right temple, and she wiped that clean, too.

“You’d make a decent nurse,” he said. “You’re very careful.”

“As I’ve said, my father taught me.”

“I thought you’d be less kind after our last conversation.”

“It’s not kindness.”

It was the restraint her father had tutored her in as well as her own sense of decency. She was not a monster. She didn’t wish to hate and she didn’t wish to hurt.

“What happened out there?” she asked.

“The hybrids came out of nowhere and began attacking us. There were also men with rifles. Indians, as my father said. I spotted three of them. They caused mayhem. Men were killed, others ran off.”

“What about Lupe? And Montgomery?”

“Your friend Montgomery shot my father and hit me here,” Eduardo said, pointing to his temple. “When we meet again I intend to return the favor.”

Carlota turned her head and bit her lip to keep herself from smiling. “Then they’re alive.”

“Maybe.”

But they must be; Hernando and Eduardo lived, after all. Yet she worried that they might be injured and that no one would be there to assist them, as she’d assisted these men. She began placing the items back inside the medical bag.

“I’m tired. Let’s lie down,” Eduardo said.

“You know where the rooms are,” she replied, her hands stilling.

“I meant we should go to your room.”

“I don’t want you with me.”

“You did last time. Come now, I wager you’re also tired. How much sleep did you have last night?”

He took her by the arm; in his free hand he carried a lamp. He did not hold her roughly, simply directing her steps. She thought to protest, but she saw the man at the doorway, looking at them, a hand casually resting on his gun. She ought to have taken the pistol by her father’s bedside. She felt like such a coward.

Once they reached her room Eduardo turned around and dismissed the man, who had been walking behind them in silence. The key to her room was in the lock, and after they walked in, he turned it, locking them in. Carlota stepped away from Eduardo, her eyes fixed on him, taking stock of the holster at his waist and the revolver there.

He looked at her curiously. “Why are you making that face?” he asked. “You aren’t afraid of me, are you?”

She didn’t reply, rubbing her arms instead and taking another step back, putting the bed between them. On the bookcases were all her novels of dashing pirates and her old dolls, and in a chest at the foot of the bed sat the toy soldiers of her childhood.

He set the lamp down and took off the holster, placing it on a table.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Come, sit down,” he said and sat on the bed, extending a hand.

She shook her head. “I don’t want you with me.”

“The safest place is at my side. Those men outside are hired brutes. And although you’ve done my father a service, he doesn’t like you. But he’ll let me keep you, don’t worry.”

“How kind of him.”

Eduardo brushed a hand against his face and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. “Carlota, you are taking all of this the wrong way. You must be reasonable. Sit with me,” he said, patting the covers.

She stared at him. “Let me go, please.”

“Look, I’ve done everything I can for you and more.”

“What have you done? Aside from chasing the hybrids and harming my friends.”

“What about the part where they tried to massacre us?” Eduardo asked. “What about that? As for the rest, I told you: I’m keeping you safe. I fought for you with my father. I am ensuring no harm comes to you and that you remain mine.”

“Yours,” she said. “As if you bought me at a market.”

“Damn it, I don’t mean it like that!” he yelled.

She shrank back, wanting to make herself tiny, but the gesture seemed to upset him even more, and he stomped toward her, reaching for her waist. Her palm rose quickly against his chest, pushing him back, rebuffing him. She was reminded of when she’d stood with Montgomery and accidentally scratched him. And yet now, when she might wish to inflict true pain on a man, she had no claws to attack. There was that awful feeling of weakness, of being near fainting. She didn’t want him thinking she was acquiescing to him, but Eduardo was pulling her toward the bed, and she almost tripped over his feet.

“You feel feverish,” he said, sliding a hand across her cheek.

“I’m unwell. You should let me be.”