Jade Star - Catherine Coulter [66]
“You’re awful pretty,” Joe said. “I didn’t know Saint got hisself married.”
“Hisself is very married,” Saint said, grinning at his wife. “Of course she’s pretty, Joe. Now, you run along home and face your medicine. Sorry, but there’s no way I can hide that eye.”
“Not even a black patch?” Joe asked hopefully.
“Now, that’s a fine idea,” Saint said, appearing much struck. He thought of Jane’s face when her son walked in looking like a miniature pirate. “Hold on a minute, Joe. I think I just might have one lying about.”
“I’ve never seen hair that color before,” Joe said as Saint disappeared into his surgery. “It’s awful red.”
“Yes indeed,” Jules said. “I’d much rather have hair your color.”
“Nah, I’m a boy. Girls don’t want to look like boys.”
Don’t think it for a minute, she thought, staring at the thick thatch of dark blond hair. Did his mother have the same color hair? Was she as pretty as her son was handsome? Probably. Hadn’t Chauncey Saxton said that Saint had exquisite taste in women?
“Here you are, Joe.” Saint carefully fitted the black patch over Joe’s eye. “Lordy, what a swashbuckler you are! Do you like it, Jules?”
“Most impressive,” she agreed. “You look a bit like Lucas, the man who works for the Saxtons. Your mother will be so taken aback, she just might forget to chew a strip off you.”
“I doubt it,” Joe said, staring at himself in the window. “Thanks, Saint. A pleasure, ma’am,” he added awkwardly to Jules.
Saint chuckled after the boy had left. “Cute lad,” he said, eyeing his wife from the corner of his eye.
“Yes, he is, very.”
Saint gently clasped Jules’s hands, and brought her close to him. “Now, what’s wrong, Jules?”
“Wrong?” she repeated in a shrill voice. “Whatever do you mean, Michael?”
“You went out with Chauncey Saxton, and now you’ve got a long face. Didn’t you find any gowns you liked?”
“Certainly, but they needed altering and will be delivered tomorrow.” I’m not going back to get them—not alone, in any case.
“Did someone say something to you?” She was so guileless, he thought, her eyes gave everything away. He could see her trying to manufacture a quick lie, and gently shook her. “What happened?”
“I met Penelope Stevenson!” she said.
“Oh no, not that godawful twit! Did she say something unkind to you?”
Penelope hadn’t, but Jules nodded vigorously.
“What?”
“She said I was a . . . an adventuress!”
“Jules,” Saint said very patiently, “I am still the master storyteller in this house. Don’t try to outmaster the master. If you don’t tell me the truth, I’ll . . . well, I don’t know what I’ll do. Maybe beat you, or lock you up and not feed you for three days.”
I’d rather starve and be beaten than have Wilkes hurt you, she thought in silent misery.
“I’m waiting.”
She shook her head, stubborn as a mule. He looked at her, his frustration mounting. There came a knock at the front door. Another damned patient. He released her, a frown furrowing his forehead. “Don’t you dare try to make up another story before I get back to you, Jules.”
“Michael,” she called after him, “would you like me to assist you? I’ve got a very steady stomach, you know.” What an inspiration, she thought, inordinately proud of herself.
“No, certainly not,” he called back when he saw who his patient was. One-armed Johnny. The last thing he wanted was for Jules to meet one of the most dishonest little bastards in the city.
“Saint, I’ve got a friend who got coshed on the head. He’s bad, Saint, real bad.”
“All right. I’ll be right along. Jules, don’t wait dinner for me. This might take a while.”
“Good-bye,” she said. “Take care!”
With One-armed Johnny to protect him, he didn’t have a thing to worry about, he thought, giving his wife a reassuring wave of the hand.
Her shoulders drooped when the front door closed behind Michael and that disreputable-looking man. She walked slowly into the parlor and stared about her. At least back home she could have spent hours