The Lost - J. D. Robb [77]
She would be less entertaining than most. Not evil, not at all, but shallow and self-i ndulgent. And not very creative.
With a promise to bring back more champagne, Sebastian left the salon, found his way to the open courtyard, the inner ward of this onetime fortress.
As he crossed the wet stone, the squall was already passing. The last of the rain fell as a soft mist.
Sebastian opened the small door in the giant iron gate facing the sea. He saw the wreckage floating, random pieces of wood, the ship’s wheel, and among the debris a body in black, arms outstretched.
Sebastian Dushayne lived a curse of his own making. He had no doubt that he would spend eternity living it, but the least he could do was send word to the village and order a decent burial.
Two
Isabelle wondered if this was heaven and she was resting on a cloud. Impossible. She was sure heaven would be more than her idea of a perfect bed.
Besides, Isabelle knew she was alive. Her chest rose and fell with each breath as aches and pains marched over every inch of her body.
Where were Father Joubay and the trawler’s captain? Opening her eyes, Isabelle hoped to find them lying beside her, but all she could see was the crown of a massive canopied bed and the soft light of the candles on the table nearby.
Isabelle turned her head toward the light, and the illusion of well-being disappeared. A man stood beside the bed, surrounded by darkness. How could he be in shadow when so many candles lit the room? Her heart began to race and anxiety twisted in her stomach.
He was not tall, but powerful in build, but that was all of him she could see. Isabelle wished he would say something. Even as she had the thought, she realized his body spoke a language all its own. Anger radiated from him.
Maybe I’m the one who should say something. But she was too tired to speak; too tired to do anything but stare at him and wish for comfort.
“Sleep for now. You were almost dead but you will live.”
Isabelle gave a little nod and closed her eyes. As she fell asleep she gave the man a name. Sebastian Dushayne.
Sleep was the perfect escape at first. Then the nightmare of the shipwreck overwhelmed her. She was in the water, being tossed by the waves like a piece of driftwood, held under by some current until her lungs would burst, then freed and allowed one more breath.
Fighting, fighting to reach the shore until it became too much of an effort, giving in and floating until finally she was washed up onto the beach like flotsam.
She felt a hand on her head, heard a voice whispering. “You will live. You are safe. You survived.”
He must have spoken the words. She most definitely heard them, but the comfort of his hand smoothing her hair was what convinced her. If she had a drink of water, maybe she could speak, could ask him if the others had survived.
The next thing she knew he was smoothing her hair off her face, sliding his arm under her neck, raising her as though he knew how much even that small movement would hurt.
His hands were cool, but they sent a shock of warmth through her. A shock that overrode the discomfort of her bruised body. A feeling so welcome that she turned her face into his shoulder.
“Drink a little.” Sebastian Dushayne held the glass at her lips and she drank, her eyes on his, though he watched the glass and the water and nothing more.
He was handsome and unsmiling, with a straight nose, a rather fine mouth and a dent in his chin. She thought he might have dimples when he smiled. If he ever did smile.
Settling her back on the pillows, he poured more water. “You can have another drink in a few minutes.”
Sebastian Dushayne knew something about trauma care, she thought. Sometimes even a little water was more than the stomach could tolerate.
He pulled up a chair and sat down. Now he did look her in the eye. His brown eyes were not at all friendly. She saw none of the warmth or comfort she had felt when he touched her. She braced herself.
“Joubay is missing. As is the boat