The Beast's Bluestocking (The Bluestocking War), Eva Devon [e textbook reader .TXT] 📗

“Who is taking care of you?” she demanded, her hand going to her stomach at her own horror at his suffering.

“I have someone come in,” he said simply. “To bathe them and apply ointment.”

“I could help,” she blurted. He had been her closest friend. And she wasn’t about to abandon him because he had taken up a mad notion in his head that she shouldn’t be near him because he was an invalid.

And that reality crashed down upon her hard. That was why he had abandoned her. Because he thought himself too wounded. Too weak. And he had not wanted her to know or see.

Tears stung her eyes at all that they had lost because of his misguided feelings.

“Don't you dare say it,” he ground out. “I do not wish your assistance in such a thing. I do not need it. I have someone to do that for me, Philippa. Besides, it is not work for someone like you. You're a lady. You shouldn't even be looking at such ugliness, but I want you to understand the extensiveness of what I have gone through. My rejection of you is not so cruel as you might imagine.”

“It is cruel,” she whispered.

“It is nowhere near as cruel as what I have been through, and I will not put you through it too.”

Her entire body tensed.

Yes, this was why he had stopped writing her.

It was undeniably clear with each statement he uttered now. It was because he was protecting her, and she wished to rail at him for such a foolish thing. How could he deny her their friendship when he needed it most?

“You must be in a great deal of pain,” she instead observed simply.

He said nothing. Which was answer enough.

“Can they give you anything to ease it?” she asked, her mind trying to process all the news at once. His injuries, the real reason for his disappearance from her life. His pain.

A muscle in his throat tightened and a look of pure disgust crossed his face. “They tried to give me laudanum,” he said, “but it clouds my thoughts. And when I have some, I just want more of it. So I can tell that it is a very bad thing indeed, and I shan't have it. I will not be lost on that sea. Besides, it doesn’t really help with the pain. It just. . .masks it.”

She nodded to herself, her heart aching for him so much she could barely take it. She'd heard that laudanum could be dangerous. That one needed more and more to achieve the same result.

Phillipa licked her lips, then ventured, “Your back, is that the extent of your wounds?” She gestured to his thigh. “Your limb seems to be in a great deal of pain.”

He picked up his shirt and pulled it back over his head. From the way his body flinched, she could tell that even the light weight of the linen shirt did indeed give him pain.

He turned back towards her, his eyes hard. “You do not wish to see my leg. It makes my back look like a paradise. I’m lucky they didn’t cut it off while I was in a fever dream.”

“I am so sorry,” she said. “To be wounded thus—”

“Do not feel sorry for me, Philippa. It is the last thing that I wish from you.”

“I don't feel sorry for you,” she protested, feeling powerless, knowing she did not have the words to help him. “You must've done something very brave.”

“Why?” he challenged. “I'm a soldier and naval officer. I was doing no more than what my service required.”

“I don't believe that,” she said softly. “From everything that you wrote in your letters, I could tell that you're very fine. That you do far more than what is simply required.”

“Fine,” he mocked. “Thank you,” he said. “But you have no idea what I've done or what I've seen or the actions that I've taken to get me these wounds.”

His chest pumped up and down and he held onto the edge of the settee before he lifted a hand and wiped it over his face.

“I want you to go now,” he stated. “I want you to leave me be, and I want you to never come back.”

She gasped. “You cannot mean it.”

“I do mean it, Philippa,” he insisted, his voice rough with emotion. “I've been avoiding you on purpose.”

“I must have meant something to you. A great deal to you, if you feel you must avoid me so thoroughly. Tell me it is not true. Make me believe you do not care for me!”

His face paled underneath the bronze, and she knew she had struck home. She did matter to him. Her anger at being so thoroughly cut out of his life tempted her to run from the cottage, to take him up on his demand, and to never look back.

But she could not.

Her heart ached for him.

Life was a bleak expanse without him, and she wasn’t going to go so easily.

“Do you know how much I have missed you?” she challenged.

“Missed me?” he echoed, clearly taken aback.

“Yes, every day,” she bit out. “You offered me so much, more than I have ever known, and you took it away in an instant without any explanation or warning.”

“There you have it,” he said. “I am not a nice person or particularly kind. You should not wish my company.”

“But you are,” she challenged. “You showed me so much kindness, and you were lonely then. I could tell from your letters that you longed for a friend. It was why you reached out to me. And you're lonely now, only now you're pushing me away.”

“I am pushing you away,” he agreed fiercely, “because it is what's best for you, and best for myself. I do not wish you here, Phillipa. I do not wish to keep making that plain. Please do not keep making me insist. You are not a fool.”

“A fool?” she repeated, her