Her scent woke him. Jasper was smart enough not to open his eyes. He never opened his eyes before he knew the situation around him. There had been many times when it was better to pretend sleep than let anyone know he was awake.

This turned out to be one of those times. She was bathing him with blissfully cool water. His skin felt hot and tight, and the cool water eased the scorching pain of the heat momentarily. Jasper knew he was burning with fever. Men often died of fever. And if he were to die, he wanted to enjoy the scent of her and the feel of her hand on his chest as her other hand ran from his shoulder to his waist. If he hadn’t been so weak, he might have wished she’d dip lower.

Hell, who was he kidding. He did wish it. He was just too weak to do anything about it if she did. How long had it been since a woman had touched him like this? With tenderness and care? Years? Decades? Never? Before his face had been ravaged, he’d had his share of lovers. Those women had touched him with greedy fingers and scoring nails, not soft caresses. He hadn’t touched them any differently. And though Miss Carlisle’s touch was not sexual in the least, he couldn’t help but imagine how she would have touched him if the two of them had been in this bed together. If he hadn’t been burning with fever and she playing nursemaid.

Ridiculous thoughts that would never come to fruition. But lying here, teetering somewhere between life and death, sleep and wakefulness, Jasper had time to entertain the ridiculous.

He woke again when she lifted his head and poured some foul-tasting brew into it. He identified it as willow bark tea, which had pain-relieving properties. But that didn’t mean he had to like the taste of it. “You might warn a man before you pour something like that down his throat,” he said when she lay his head back down. He opened his eyes when he spoke and saw the look of panic on her face when she realized he was awake.

It was the same sort of frozen, desperate expression a rabbit adopts when it realizes the fox is poised to pounce.

“It’s an herbal tea,” she stammered. “To help with—”

“The fever. I know. It could do with some honey.”

Now her dark brows lowered. “I don’t have any honey, and even if I did, I wouldn’t waste it on you. Bad enough I’m wasting my herbs and gin on you.”

“Gin?” Jasper tried to sit up and immediately regretted it when his side throbbed in protest. “Why didn’t I know there was gin?”

“Because you’ve been half unconscious for the last eighteen hours and waiting on you hand and foot hasn’t left me with much inclination for conversation.”

She was right. He hadn’t exactly been acting grateful for her efforts. “And if I didn’t feel like my head or my flank might split in two, I would be...” He almost said more of a gentleman, but after spending so much time in the rookeries, he hardly remembered his gentlemanly manners, much less had call to use them. “I would be more vocal with my thanks. You saved my life.”

“Not yet,” she said, arching a brow. He couldn’t help but grin at her meaning. He didn’t think she’d kill him in his sleep, but he admired her for thinking about it.

“Where’s your son?” he asked.

She’d been about to turn away, probably to place the mug on the table, but she stiffened at his words. “Who?”

“The little boy.” Jasper gestured to the dark loft. “I saw him peering down at me last night. He must be yours. The resemblance is notable.”

“He’s sleeping.”

“Is it still night?” Jasper looked at the dark window, streaked with raindrops from the continuing rain. “I’ve lost track.”

“It’s early morning. You should rest again.”

“I don’t seem to have much choice. My eyes close without my permission.” In fact, they were heavy now, so heavy he could barely keep them open. “Miss Carlisle,” he muttered as he forced the lids back up.

She looked down at him, her expression tense.

“I haven’t come to hurt you or your son. I haven’t come from him.”

“Who?” she asked.

“We both know who. I’ve come at the request of...” But sleep was taking him, and it didn’t matter why he’d come at the moment, only that she not fear him. “I came to help. Protect...” He didn’t know why he said the last. Ewan was The Protector in Draven’s troop, not he. Jasper had always been the man who found what they needed. They’d all joked that Jasper would make a good bounty hunter. And so when he’d come back after the war, that’s exactly what he’d become. And while Viscount Carlisle had promised him a rum ribband for finding his daughter, Jasper wasn’t hunting her for the bounty. Not any longer. If he lived, he’d do everything to protect her and her son, and that he would do because he’d already been paid—in tender caresses and sweet scents and rank herbal tea.

He owed her what no amount of blunt could buy: his loyalty.

***

“WHY DOES HE WEAR THAT mask, Mama?”

Jasper heard the little boy’s voice as though from a great distance. He wasn’t certain how long he’d slept. He could still hear the rain outside, and though he hadn’t opened his eyes, he could sense the darkness in the cottage. His tongue felt swollen, his head pounded, and his throat ached as though someone had coated it in salt. He wanted water.

“I don’t know, darling. Eat your potatoes, please.”

“Can we ask him when he wakes up?”

Jasper heard the clink of silver on a plate or bowl.

“I think we had better not. A man is entitled to his privacy.”

“What’s privacy?”

“It’s like...when I go behind my curtain to change clothes. Or when you think something, but you don’t say it.”

“I always say what I think.”

“Yes, you do.” Jasper thought he heard a smile in her voice. “Now eat your potatoes.”

For a moment there was only the sound of silver scraping plates, but the silence was short-lived. “Mama, when will he ever wake?”

“I think he’s awake now,” she answered.

Jasper opened his eyes. How had she known? He must have given it away somehow.

“I thought so,” she said. She was sitting at the table, facing him. The little red-haired boy had his back to Jasper, but he turned now, fastening his eyes—very much the same dark blue as his mother’s—on Jasper. “Are you hungry? I have some broth.” She rose, wiping her hands on her apron. It struck him then how strange it was to see this woman who he remembered in silks and jewels wearing a plain gray dress and dingy white apron.

“Water,” he croaked. “Please.”

She crossed to him, her strides quick and efficient. None of the graceful way of walking she had most likely learned from dance instructors and tutors. She placed the back of her hand against his cheek, and Jasper had the strangest urge to lean into it. It felt so soft and cool.

“Your fever hasn’t climbed,” she said. “But it’s still high.”

“I might live yet,” he said.

“Mama says after all the effort she’s made, you had better live.” The little boy stood on his other side and looked down at Jasper with undisguised interest.

“Who am I to defy your mother?”

The little boy’s brow furrowed. “What does that mean?”

Miss Carlisle, who had poured water from a pitcher and into a cup, knelt beside Jasper. “Let’s not ask too many questions right now, darling. Our guest needs rest.” She raised the cup to his lips, and Jasper drank greedily. He felt some of the water slip down his chin, but he didn’t care.

“More,” he said, and Miss Carlisle obliged him.

“Would you like some broth now or do you want to sleep again?”

“Oh, don’t sleep again,” the little boy said, his tone pleading. “All you do is sleep.”

“How long have I been sleeping?” Jasper asked. With the rain darkening the skies even during the day, he could not track the time.

The boy answered. “I found you the day before yesterday.”

“You found me?” Jasper asked, then nodded to the lady. “Yes, broth, please.”

“Uh-huh.” The lad nodded.

“Richard.” His mother’s voice had a warning in it.

“I mean, yes, sir. No. Yes, my lord.”

Jasper made a face. “Don’t start that nonsense. I only make people I don’t like call me lord. You can call me Jasper.”

“I can?”

Miss Carlisle appeared with a bowl of broth. “No, you cannot. That’s far too informal.”

Jasper looked down at his bare chest under the sheet where he lay on her bed. They weren’t exactly in a formal setting. But considering he was relying on Miss Carlisle to keep him alive, he wasn’t about to argue.

She pushed his pillow higher and helped him sit so he could swallow without choking. The movement made him clench his hand into a fist to ward off the pain, but he tried to keep his expression neutral. She was watching him for signs of pain.

“Master Richard,” Jasper said, “you were saying you found me. Could you elaborate?”

“Huh?”

“Richard...” His mother warned.

“I mean, pardon? What does laborate mean?”

Jasper almost smiled. He’d been careful not to use the cant he knew so well from all the time spent in the rookeries, and his speech had still confused the lad. “Give me the details. No. I can do it.” This was in response to Miss Carlisle who attempted to feed him with a spoon of broth. “I’m not an infant who needs to be fed.” He held out a hand to take the bowl.

“What are details?” Richard asked.

“The particulars.” Jasper met Miss Carlisle’s gaze. They locked eyes, and he saw the glint of stubbornness that must have kept her alive and hidden all these years. Finally, she gave a short nod and handed him the bowl. He almost dropped it, which would have proven her point entirely, but he caught it at the last moment.

“What are particulars?” Richard asked.

Jasper blew out a breath. As a man who often had to ask many questions before gathering the information he needed, he had boundless reserves of patience. He could see how young Richard here might exhaust them, though.

“His lordship is asking you to tell him how you came to find him,” Miss Carlisle said finally, saving him.

“Oh! I saw your boot. I was walking down the path”—he glanced at his mother—“just a tiny bit further than I should, and then I saw the boot. There was never a boot there before, so I went to inspectigate. That’s when I saw you and ran to get Mama.”

Jasper dipped his spoon into more broth. It was delicious broth, thick with carrots, potatoes, and green vegetables he couldn’t name. “And how did I move from there to here?” he asked.

“I moved you,” Miss Carlisle said, pushing her shoulders back in what was obviously pride. She was a small woman, petite and slim, but when she pushed her shoulders back like that he could just make out the roundness of her breasts. Not that he should be looking at such things with her child at his elbow.

“Clover helped,” Richard added.

“Who is Clover?”

“Our horse. Mama said you were heavier than three horses, and she had to drag you onto the blanket.”

Jasper glanced at Miss Carlisle again, feeling a new sense of admiration. She’d moved him with only the help of a horse. Even with a horse to pull him up the steep incline, she still had to exert no small amount of strength in order to position him. “I’m in your debt,” he said.

“You can pay it by surviving and then returning from whence you came.”

“I assume without ever mentioning I saw you.”

“Preferably.”

“What are you talking about?” Richard asked.

“When I go home,” Jasper said, scraping the bottom of the bowl. He’d already finished his broth. How had he eaten it so quickly? Miss Carlisle took the bowl but didn’t fill it again, much to Jasper’s disappointment.

“You can’t go home,” Richard whined. “You just got here.”

“Darling, we had better allow Lord Jasper to rest now.”

But to his surprise, Jasper didn’t want to rest. He didn’t feel as tired as he had the past eighteen hours. He still felt as though a horse had stomped on him and then kicked him in the flank for good measure, but he was sitting for the first time in days and wanted to stretch his legs, test his wound and his strength.

“Actually, I’d like to—” He’d attempted to swing his legs out and place his feet on the floor, but he found he couldn’t move his feet. For a moment he feared something had happened to his legs, but then he threw aside the sheet and saw the ropes. Miss Carlisle’s face went red.

“Do you want to see my wooden animals?” Richard asked, oblivious to the tension now vibrating between Jasper and Miss Carlisle.

“That’s a good idea. Run up to the loft and fetch them,” she told Richard. The boy didn’t need to be asked twice. He scampered away as though chased by a swarm of bees.

“You bound me?” Jasper asked, voice low.

“I didn’t know who you were, and I didn’t trust you,” she said in the same muted tone. “In my place, you would probably have done the same. I have a child to think of.”

“Why only my ankles?”

“Because I’m not foolish enough to believe these ropes will hold you. I just wanted to ensure I had a few additional minutes if the need to escape arose.” Escape. He could understand why that was her strategy. It had clearly been her modus operandi for some time.

“And if I remove them now?”

Her gaze slid to the ropes and then back to his face. “I’d rather you didn’t. If you need a chamber pot—”

He waved a hand. “I need to stand up and stretch my legs. I want to have a look outside.” It must have been raining for days. He wondered what effect that had on the trail.

“Maybe tomorrow,” she said, her voice shaking. Jasper had never been very good with horses. That was Nicholas’s forte, and he’d always been in charge of the troop’s horses when they’d been fighting Napoleon on the Continent. But Jasper knew enough of skittish animals to move slowly around them and speak softly.

“Maybe today.” He slid the sheet aside, revealing both of his legs. His feet were bare, his ankles bound to the posts at the bottom of the bed’s footboard. “I promise I will just walk around. Nothing more.” He reached for the bindings and the pain in his side lanced through him. Damn it. He looked up at Miss Carlisle, whose face had paled.

“Will you loosen the bindings?”

“I really think you should rest another day. The fever has not yet passed and moving too much may open your wound again.”

“Will you loosen them or do I have to open the wound by doing it myself?” He met her gaze, knowing he could be as stubborn as anyone when he wanted. She glared right back at him, hands on her hips. Her blue eyes turned darker and her small, sweet mouth turned down. Bloody Christ. She wouldn’t do it. He could see the defiance in her small frame from her head to her toes.

“I found them!” Richard announced. He dropped them in a pail beside the ladder and lowered it with the use of a rope attached to a pulley system down to the first floor. Jasper hadn’t noticed that contraption before. Rather ingenious. He made another mark in the Impressed column for Miss Carlisle. Then Richard was scampering down the ladder, scooping his toys into his arms, and heading toward them. He stopped mid-step. “What’s wrong?”

Jasper looked at Miss Carlisle. It hardly seemed possible, but her glare intensified. Then it vanished, and she turned and smiled at her son. “Not a thing, darling. I need to help his lordship with the bindings on his feet.” She moved to the end of the bed and knelt on the floor beside the headboard.

“Why are his feet tied?” Richard asked.

“I didn’t want him to fall out of bed and hurt himself.” She lied smoothly. He shouldn’t have added that to the Impressed column, but as a consummate liar himself, Jasper admired the trait more than he ought.

Miss Carlisle grasped his ankle and loosened the rope, and Jasper found himself riveted to the sight of her hands on his skin. He’d never thought of his ankle as an erogenous area, but her touch was making him reconsider. While Jasper tried to tamp down his lust, Richard held up one animal after another to show to Jasper. There were about seven in all—a horse, a hedgehog, a fox, a baby fox, a chicken, a pig, and a cow. They were carved from smooth wood and then painted. Jasper could fit three in one hand, but each was about the size of Richard’s small palm. “These are good craftsmanship,” Jasper said, not certain what other remarks to make about wooden animals. “Did your mother carve them?” He rather doubted she had that ability, but from what he knew of her so far, he wouldn’t put anything past her.

“No, sir. We bought them at the little shop in Penbury. You must have seen it when you came through the village.”

A shop with toy animals. Even if he had seen it, Jasper wouldn’t have noted it. “I’m certain I did. What was it called?”

“The Curious Cabinet. It’s my favorite shop in all the world.”

As he prattled on, one rope binding fell away, and Jasper moved his foot from side to side. His feet felt rather numb and no wonder, as he hadn’t moved them for days. He watched as Miss Carlisle moved to his other ankle, her small fingers working the knots on the binding and brushing against his skin in the process.

“And my friend Martin lives there.”

Jasper arched a brow, though no one could see it with his mask on. “You have a friend named Martin?” This surprised him. He hadn’t thought Miss Carlisle would risk friendships.

“Uh-huh.”

“Richard.”

“I mean, yes, sir. He’s six, and sometimes we play with our animals together. Mama said I can go to his house for dinner one day.”

“I said I would think about it.” She rose, and Jasper almost wished she’d tie him again just so she’d have to keep touching him. “There you are.” She took a step backward, her hand on Richard’s shoulder so he moved back, and away, from Jasper as well. “Just move slowly so you don’t fall.” Her voice trembled, and Jasper had the feeling if she hadn’t had to hide her fear from her son, she would have run as fast and as far from him as she could. As it was, she continued moving backward, putting the table between herself and her son and Jasper.

“Mama, I can’t show him my animals over here,” Richard complained.

Jasper set one foot on the floor then the other. Just the act of sitting up made the world tilt. “She just wants you out of the way, Master Richard. It’s a good idea as right now the room is spinning and I see three of you.”

“Three of me?” This was obviously an entertaining thought for the boy. He held up one of his animals. “How many of Horsey do you see?”

“Six.” Jasper heaved himself up from the bed then rested an elbow on the wall behind the headboard. He didn’t really see six wooden horses, but he really did feel like he might lose consciousness at any moment. It wasn’t the fever, though surely that played a role, as much as the searing pain in his side that made him want to double over and moan.

He gritted his teeth and stood. It was all he could manage at the moment, and he was determined to support himself. When he felt a good deal steadier, he lifted an arm and peered at his side. White linen bound his upper abdomen, covering the stitches. He slid it down and peered at the epicenter of the pain. The skin looked raw and red, but the stitches were neat and even. He didn’t see any indication of infection. He’d seen that all too often during the war, and he knew the signs. He wished he had a mirror so he might have a better view.

Slowly—no reason to fall over by moving his head too quickly—he looked over at Miss Carlisle. When he saw her face, all thoughts of a mirror vanished. She had both arms wrapped around her son’s shoulders. Her eyes were huge in her face, like twin bruises against her waxy complexion. She was trembling, and even her son must have known she was afraid because his face had fallen and his eyes welled with tears.

Jasper failed to understand how she could fear him. He could barely stand on his own. What did she think he’d do to her in this condition? But he wanted to calm her and the boy, not chastise them. “I said I wouldn’t hurt you.” He kept his voice low and level. “Even if I thought to hurt you, I couldn’t. I’m completely at your mercy, Miss Carlisle.”

She blinked and swallowed visibly. “We are not used to visitors, my lord. And with the mask, you look—” She gestured as though unable to find the words.

“Like a monster,” her son added helpfully.

“Richard!”

Jasper held his hand up then regretted releasing the wall and grasped it again. He lowered himself onto the bed, resting his elbows on his knees and breathing far more heavily than his minimal effort should require. “It’s fine, Miss Carlisle. He’s only curious.” Like everyone else in the world. “Perfectly natural.”

Jasper raised his head to look Miss Carlisle and her son squarely in the face. She had relaxed slightly, but she still had her arms around Richard and kept the table as a protective barrier.

“If you think I look like a monster with the mask, you would be even more terrified if I removed it.”

Richard’s eyes widened—not in fear but in fascination. “Do you ever take it off?” he whispered.

“Richard!”

Jasper held up a hand again. “Of course. In fact, I’d like to remove it and bathe my face and hair.” He’d like to bathe more than that. Miss Carlisle had kept his wound clean, but the rest of him felt grimy.

“We usually bathe in the stable,” she said. “But with all the rain, the path is muddy, and I fear you’d return from your bath dirtier than you left.”

Not to mention the fact that even if the stable were close by, he couldn’t have walked the distance in his present state.

“Then perhaps I might trouble you for a basin of water, a towel, and some privacy?”

“Of course.” She nodded. With what seemed practiced efficiency, she shooed her son up the ladder and into his loft, then she gathered the necessary supplies. Jasper did not move. He didn’t want to scare her, but he also knew he’d need his strength for the coming task. She set the basin of water, a clean cloth, and a small bar of soap next to a chair in one corner. Then she grasped a long piece of floral fabric that had been secured to the ceiling. Turning to him, she pulled the fabric to the side and tied it with a ribbon on the other corner. “This should give you some measure of privacy. I’ll go into the loft with Richard and won’t come down until you give the word.”

He nodded. “I don’t suppose you have any clean clothing that will fit me?”

She shook her head. “Your shirt is a complete loss. It was stuck to your skin with dried blood, and I had to cut it off. I could wash your trousers, but I haven’t any way to dry them save hanging them by the fire. The rain has made a clothesline outside impossible.”

Clean trousers were something. He could wash his own small clothes and hang them on the rack by the fire as well. Of course, that would mean he’d be naked until his clothing dried, but he would be under the bed sheets and thus unlikely to send Miss Carlisle into hysterics.

“I’d appreciate that. Thank you.”

She started for the ladder then paused. She spoke without turning around. “I suppose you should call for me if you need assistance.”

“I won’t,” he said.

“But if you do...”

“I’ll call out.” But the last thing he wanted was for anyone, especially this woman who was already afraid of him, to see his scarred face.

She climbed nimbly up the ladder, giving him nary a flash of her ankles, and Jasper made the slow, onerous trek to the chair just a few feet away. There he sank onto the chair, stripped down, and proceeded to tackle the difficult task of washing his body.