Jade Star - Catherine Coulter [85]
Saint wanted desperately to take her in his arms, to stroke her bright head, to comfort her, but he was afraid to. He thought ruefully that he needed comforting himself. He smiled painfully, knowing she was putting on an act for him, trying to behave naturally, hiding her true feelings about him.
“I need a bath first,” he said. “I’m sorry, Jules, about a lot of things. I should have left you a message, but I expected to be home soon. I was called over to Sausalito, across the bay, and couldn’t come back any sooner because of the fog. Please forgive me—a doctor’s lot and all that.”
She raised her eyes to his face. For a brief instant his expression was unreadable; then she knew she saw pity in his eyes. She rocked back on her heels, hating him, hating herself. He’d found her lacking, found her still to be a child, not a woman, and now he was stuck with her. She wanted to yell, but she didn’t. She said nothing, merely looked away from him. “Yes,” she said finally, “yes, there was fog.” She hadn’t known the fog was all that heavy, but of course she hadn’t been out of the house. She’d been too afraid to leave. No, she amended to herself, not really afraid. She hadn’t wanted to leave because he might return at any moment.
“What happened to your patient?”
“She died,” he said, his voice clipped. “I could do nothing for her.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He slashed his hand through the air. “There was nothing to be done for her, as I said. Now, I think I’ll go up. I won’t be long, Jules.”
He wasn’t long and the dinner was indeed well prepared. Saint said nothing more about his trip to Sausalito. He didn’t want to burden her with particulars. In fact, he said very little, not knowing what to talk about to her. He was drinking a cup of coffee, screwing up his courage, and finally said, “Jules, I want to apologize, to tell you how sorry I am for what happened, for what I did and—” He broke off suddenly, seeing her flinch.
He very nearly sighed with relief when there was a loud knock on the front door.
It wasn’t a patient. It was Brent Hammond.
“You stupid bastard,” Brent said as he strode into the house.
“Good to see you too, Brent,” Saint said. “Come in, won’t you? Would you like a drink?”
“Nope. I want to talk to you.”
Brent saw Jules from the corner of his eye, and quickly turned to smile at her. “Good evening,” he said. She looked pale, Brent thought, and no wonder.
Jules nodded, and looked a question at her husband.
Brent answered for him. “I need to speak to your husband for a little while, Jules, if you don’t mind. Incidentally, Byrony sends her love.”
“Not at all,” Jules said, and went upstairs. She’d never felt so alone in her entire life. She hated the house, the bedroom, hated the wretched mirror that showed her looking miserable.
In the parlor, Brent said, “Now, my friend, I’ve had a talk with Del.”
Saint walked to the sofa and sat down, his arms behind his head. “Go ahead. I doubt I can stop you unless I plant my fist in your face. Since Del has said his piece, do feel free to dose me with your marvelous advice.”
Brent smiled. “Touchy, aren’t you, Saint? No advice. I’ve come with an offer for you.”
“Lord save me! Look, Brent, why don’t you just go back to your beautiful wife and leave me the hell alone!”
“If I recall correctly,” Brent said, unperturbed, “you were very involved in my affairs not too long ago.”
“That was different,” Saint said, irritated. “You were acting the fool, wearing blinders, and poor Byrony . . .” Oh God, that sounds like me.
“Like hell,” Brent said pleasantly, cutting off his thoughts. “Now, just listen.” He sat forward in his chair, his hands clasped between his knees. “You are my wife’s doctor. You will deliver our child when the time comes. In return, I wish to begin payments to you on sort of an installment plan. Your wife needs protection.