THE JADE'S SECRET GARDEN

Chapter 5

Outside the house the rain showers abated as quickly as they begun, leaving behind an eerie stillness in the steamy  air. David Scott filled his whisky glass from the decanter on the parlor table, lifted it to his lips, and threw back his head to drain it dry.

The elderly British doctor he'd summoned came out of the bedroom at last, hooking his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets.

"Simple heat exhaustion," the man pronounced. "I've given the young lady something to help her rest, just for a while. Once she wakes, she ought to feel much better."

"Thank you, sir," David replied, reaching for his decanter again.

"May I offer you a drink?"

The doctor regarded him with stern disapproval as he retrieved his bag.

"This particular lady does not seem of a class with your usual companions, Mr. Scott," he noted. "Perhaps it would be best if I saw to it myself that she is returned safely to the city."

"I am quite capable of escorting Miss Pennington back to her hotel," David retorted angrily as he showed the man to the door.

"And you needn't fear for her safety, Dr. Johnson. No matter what rumors you might have heard, I haven't degenerated entirely . . . not yet, at least."

Johnson did not seem convinced by David's words, and as he climbed into his rig, he offered a parting shot.

"I shall call on Miss Pennington at her hotel later this evening just to make certain."

When Dr. Johnson was gone, David turned back into the room. Reaching for the whiskey decanter one more time, he caught sight of himself reflected in the silver tray beneath it. His good eye was bloodshot, his face etched with deep lines and streaked with dust and sweat, he certainly was a sorry sight, no wonder Johnson had been concerned for the girl.

Reconsidering, David set down the bottle and went into the bedroom, where his guest was resting peacefully on the bed beneath a drape of mosquito netting. It wasn't hard to understand what it was about her that had caught his eye.

Even in response she was beautiful, pale and delicate, her burnished gold hair tumbling across the pillow, her soft lips parted invitingly. They'd only just met, but he found himself wanting to know so much more about her.

A hard look came over him suddenly as he confronted his own foolishness and remembered how she'd backed away once she'd had a good look at him. A woman like her would have no use for a half blind, scar faced drunkard.

Why had he brought her here? he asked himself. Why had he. Ever approached her at all? She was too far out of reach for him now. Dr. Johnson had been there to point out that fact even if David hadn't been able to see it for himself.

He stared into the glass in his hand for a long while, contemplating the depths into which he'd sunk. It was far too late to repair the damage. Almost against his will, his eye was drawn to the still form lying on the bed, tempting him nonetheless. It was far too late to try and get back all that he'd lost. Or was it?

Claire was awakened gently by the trickling sound of water being poured into a washbasin. Across the room stood David Scott. Watching him through the gauzy shroud of mosquito netting made it all seem like a dream, and as he stripped off his shirt and began to wash himself, she was not shocked. In fact, she found she could not look away.

She followed his hands as they cupped a handful of water from the basin and splashed it onto his face. He reached for the soap and kneaded it into a lather, then began to spread the foam over the slick, tanned surface of his skin, up the sinewy length of his arms, across the taunt planes of his chest. When he bent over the basin to douse himself with water, Claire noticed yet another scar, this one cutting a long, jagged line across his right shoulder blade.