“Jules, look at me.”
“Yes,” she said, his face clear before her eyes.
“Do I look like a fool, an idiot? Do I look like a man who could be hurt?”
“He would hire people! He would—”
“I think you’d best be quiet now. God in heaven, I don’t believe this!”
Saint rose, ripped off his black cloak, and hurled it to the floor. He was so furious he couldn’t think straight. He forced himself to take slow, deep breaths. “Jules,” he said, very calmly now, “I am your husband. You are my responsibility. If you don’t trust me to take care of you, you reduce me to nothing. Do you understand me?”
“No,” she managed, then cried out softly.
“Oh damn,” he said, angry with himself now for upsetting her. Some doctor you are, idiot! He sat down beside her and gently probed the lump behind her ear.
‘I don’t want to cry,” she gasped, but her head felt like a melon being battered against the ground. Tears seeped from the corners of her tightly closed eyes. Saint wanted to find Wilkes and kill him. But he couldn’t leave her. He cursed again very softly, pulled off his boots, and eased into bed beside her. “Come here against me,” he said. “In a little while I can give you something for the pain. But not yet, sweetheart. I’m sorry, but I can’t take the chance.” The chance she’d never wake up.
He could feel the waves of pain each time she tensed. Very quietly, his voice soothing and low, he started to speak. “Did I ever tell you about the Siamese twins I saw born in Boston? They were male, and attached from their waists to their knees.” No, no, he thought frantically. That story had a ghastly ending. “They lived happily ever after. But there was this man, way back in the fifth century. Actually, he was the Emperor Justinian, and his wife was the Empress Theodora. Interestingly enough, the empress had been a prostitute before she married Justinian and won a crown. In any case, the both of them wanted to eradicate prostitution. Her way didn’t work, of course, but it was quite an interesting approach.” Saint paused a moment, and Jules said in a sleepy voice, “Yes? Go on, Michael. What did she do?”
He smiled slightly, and continued, “Well, what she did was to build a beautiful palace-prison, and she had five hundred prostitutes taken there. They were treated very well. In fact, they could have whatever they wanted, with the exception of one thing: no men allowed. It is said that most of the women committed suicide in their despair, and the remainder soon died of boredom and vexation.”
He heard her giggle. She said in a blurred voice, “Vexation? I love you, Michael, but I think you made that up.”
He swallowed, unable to think of anything to say. She didn’t know, didn’t realize, what she’d said. “I didn’t make it up,” he said.
She didn’t answer. She was asleep.
“It was vexation. I know the feeling well,” he said, and kissed her very lightly on the cheek.
He woke her during the night, forced her to tell him who she was, who he was, and how many fingers he was holding up. At last, early the next morning, he gave her some laudanum in a glass of water, and watched her fall into a deep, healing sleep.
Thomas was waiting for him downstairs, still dressed as a pirate, pacing furiously. He was so angry he couldn’t speak, and Saint, after reassuring him for the tenth time, sent him to bed.
Lydia was furious and appalled, and Saint winced at the sound of her crashing the pots and pans about in the kitchen, each of them probably a substitute for Wilkes’s head.
Then Del Saxton arrived, his face grave and worried. He said without preamble, “How is she?”
“She will be fine. I gave her some laudanum just a while ago and she’s sleeping soundly now.”
“I’ve put a search out for Wilkes. Apparently the man’s not a complete fool. It appears he’s left the city. I also ran into Limpin’ Willie early this morning. He’s ready to spit nails and will get the Sydney Ducks out scouring for him.”
“Thank you. I had intended to . . . well, it’s done. Thomas is still asleep.” He stopped and drank some strong black coffee, offering some to Del.
After several moments, Saint said more to himself than to Del Saxton, “Wilkes approached her before, but she didn’t tell me.” He gave a bitter, mocking laugh. “She was afraid he would hurt me. Me! The little fool was worried about protecting me!”
Del studied his friend for many moments. “You can thank me for keeping Brent away, at least for a while. He’s of course rather upset with you because you didn’t tell him about Wilkes.”
“What the hell was there to tell, for God’s sake?”
“Calm down. Don’t you want your friends to be concerned? No, don’t answer that. I’ve been thinking,” Del continued after a moment.
“And you’re going to dose me with your damned advice whether I want it or not!”
“Yes, I suppose I am. Listen, Saint, I assume that Jules is still a virgin. If you’ll remember, you let that fact slip.”
Saint winced.
“It seems to me,” Del continued quietly, “that there are two ways to protect her. The first is to find Wilkes and kill him. That would be difficult, because he’s gone to ground. The second—and certainly more pleasurable—way would be to consummate your damned marriage and get her pregnant.”