In His Eyes(71)

Ella rose to help him, but then thought better of it. He would probably take even less kindly to her offer. Besides, he’d told her to sit here with the baby.

Marveling that she didn’t chafe at doing as he asked, Ella remained still, watching as Westley maneuvered the piece of furniture through the door and pushed it up against the side of her bed. He straightened, and the sight of him made Ella’s pulse flutter. Never had a man had such an effect on her. Gentle as a lamb one moment and a bull the next.

He turned and closed the door to the nursery, and Ella rose and walked around to the crib. She laid Lee down gently and rubbed the top of his head. Westley came to stand behind her, his smell of rain and leather tickling her senses as he peered over her shoulder at the child.

“Lee will be better.”

Oh, how she wished such assurances could be made true simply by speaking them. “He’s not named for a general, Westley.” The words slipped free of her lips. Foolish, perhaps, but she couldn’t help the need to let him know the true name of the child he had taken such pains to care for.

A grunt. “Oh?”

She wiped drying tears from her cheeks. “He’s named Westley Archibald Remington, just as you are.”

He shifted behind her, searing her heart with his sharp intake of breath. She brought a hand to her mouth. Bampot lass! Why had she thought he would be touched by the declaration? The right to name a firstborn son of his blood with his generational name had been tainted by her stealing it for another. Why had she not thought of that sooner? “I’m sorry. We thought you were dead and to keep the ruse….”

His hand fell to her shoulder. “I understand.” His words were thick…heavy. As though weighted by something more.

Ella swallowed, not trusting herself to words. They stood there for several moments, watching Lee sleep.

“The medicine!” Westley dropped his hand and turned away. “I must see to it.”

Ella startled, surprised she had let herself wash away in those moments and neglect something of such importance. “Oh, yes! The medicine. Where did you put it? I think I can dump out one of the jars of preserves, and….”

Westley made a low noise somewhere between a growl and a groan and ground Ella’s words to a halt. “I told you I would take care of it. Why, woman, do you have such a difficult time letting me care for you?”

Ella’s breathing arrested in her lungs. “I, uh….” She swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

He scooped the bottle from where he’d left it on the table by her bed. “You should ready yourself to retire.”

She nodded.

He stared at her, as though he expected more.

“Would you…I mean, if you don’t mind….” The words died on her tongue, unable to breech the defenses of her lips.

“Yes. I will return the medicine to you before I go to my bed.”

She clutched the fabric around her throat, but before she could respond, he slipped out of the room, leaving her with the swaying shadows. Ella quickly stripped down to her chemise and then wrapped herself in a dressing gown. Leaving her hair in its pins, she climbed into the bed and sat on top of the coverings. Then, feeling awkward, rose and began to pace.

Roughly twenty or so more trips around the room later, a small knock came at the door. She slipped past Lee and tugged it open. She stepped back without a word and gestured for the major to enter. She knew he shouldn’t be here, not in the intimacy of night with her in a dressing gown.

But she didn’t care. Her heart ached and his nearness did something to sooth it…and make it ache in a different way.

He walked into the room, tension in every hard line of his face. Had she offended him by giving Lee’s true name? Or because she had a difficult time letting him help her? Likely both, along with every other difficulty she had speared him with. She closed the door behind him and traced his movements across the room. Why did he remain so patient with her?

A Yankee devil no more. She had given him every reason to lash out at her, every right to pepper her with hateful words or even the back of his hand, yet all he did was worry over her and Lee. He took pains to care for them. She pushed the sentiment aside. He was merely being kind, not showing any special affection. She would do well to remember that.

Westley set a tall crystal object on the dressing table and Ella came closer to look upon it. She recognized it from the day of the storm. She stepped back. “For what have you brought the devil’s juice?”

He tilted his head. “Beg your pardon?”

Ella pointed at the decanter. “I’ll not have you with the whisky in here. Best you take it and go.”

He rocked back on his heels and regarded her. “Why?” The word hung between them, laden with more questions than that small utterance should carry. He leaned closer to her, his disheveled hair falling across his brow. “Do you fear a man’s drink?”

She crossed her arms. “’Tis the devil’s drink, and it turns even decent men to scallywags.”

His lips curved in amusement, his cloying nonchalance pricking at her like mother’s sewing needle. “A sip or two at the end of a long day does not a devil make. Most men enjoy brandy with their cigars. There is no harm in it.”

She hugged herself tighter. “Aye, but one drink leads to another and then more after. And before long, the man is lost and only the drink remains.”