Page 33 of Intolerable
“I thought so, but you tell me. Am I hideous?”
“Not at all. I find this bump quite charming.” She pressed her finger lightly against his flesh.
Their arms—she was still holding his sleeve—were between them, but if not for that impediment, they would likely have stood chest to chest. Her pulse quickened, and her breathing thinned. She let her finger continue down his nose and nearly touched it to his mouth. The temptation to do that, and so many other things, was nearly overpowering.
He blinked and edged back just slightly. “It hurt like hell when it happened. I knew it was broken right away. There was so much blood.”
At the mention of blood, Cassandra froze. Her breath completely stalled, and sound whooshed in her ears.
“Poured out of my nose and down the back of my throat, gagging me,” he went on. “I could hardly breathe!”
Gagging… her throat closed, and her vision blurred. She tried to draw a breath and couldn’t. Then everything narrowed in front of her. All she could see was the bump on his nose, and she imagined a crimson current spilling over his mouth and down his front.
The world tilted sideways. Then it went black.
The moment before she sagged against him, Ruark noted her sickly pallor and was instantly filled with alarm. Propriety be damned, he swept her up and carried her to a bench where he bent to lay her down. Thankfully, she was already stirring in his arms.
He sat down with her and set her at his side, propping her against him. He curled his arm around her back with his hand firmly clasping her side. They faced the club, and so far it didn’t appear as if anyone had noticed her collapse. The bench was strategically placed away from the lanterns, offering a dim location for a couple to sit.
“Are you all right?” What an asinine question. Of course she wasn’t.
She leaned into him, her breath coming fast and shallow. He held onto her tightly, pulling her even more snugly into his side. With his free hand, he touched her cheek. She felt rather cold and still looked pale—not that he had the best illumination in which to see her.
“Cassandra, can you speak?”
“I-I think so. I don’t like bl-blood.” She shuddered in his embrace, and he caressed her face with soothing strokes.
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” She was one of the strongest, liveliest people he’d ever known. Strongest? Because she was fearless—or seemingly so. Didn’t she have to be with her father and brothers?
“You couldn’t—” Her teeth chattered briefly as she shivered. “You couldn’t know.”
“I should take you home.” He looked toward the club and wondered how he could secret her away without them being seen. Or perhaps he should escort her inside and deliver her to one—or both—of her brothers.
She shook her head. “I’ll be fine. I just need a moment. Several moments.” She reached for his coat, clutching the lapel and holding him against her. “Don’t leave me.”
“There isn’t a person who could pry me away,” he said softly, allowing his hand to drift to her shoulder as he nuzzled the top of her head.
“It’s because of my mother.” Her voice was small and quiet, completely unlike her. “The blood, I mean.”
He looked into her face, which she turned up toward his. “You don’t have to tell me. I don’t want to cause you any discomfort.” He frowned, angry with himself and his insensitivity. “More than I already have.”
“You couldn’t have known,” she repeated. “No one knows.” The last was a bare whisper as her gaze shot toward the club.
“When I was seven, my mother was ill. My brothers were away at school, and Father was always busy. He visited Mama, but I sat with her. I brushed her hair, read to her, fed her when she could eat.”
Those were not things a seven-year-old should do. “That is quite a burden for someone so young.”
“That’s what Nurse said, but I wouldn’t be deterred. No one could drag me from her bedside, not even when the surgeon came to bleed her every few days.”
Oh, God, she’d watched that?
“Cassandra.” He didn’t know what he meant to say after that. Brushing his lips against her forehead, he held her close.
“Every time he came, it was as if he bled some of her spirit from her, along with the actual blood. Then she died. Ever since, the sight, or even the discussion apparently, of blood terrifies me.”
“I can understand why.” He stroked her shoulder, her upper arm.
She flattened her hand beneath his coat, her palm flush against his chest. “Please don’t tell anyone. It’s embarrassing.”
