Captive Scoundrel Read Online Free

light, but icy darkness. Yet light invaded. Justin contemplated the walls of his tomb. The huge black slabs, thousands of miles high, not so much as a name or date carved in their slick unblemished surfaces, stood straight and tall. Inviolable as ever.
     
    Were it conceivable to scale such smooth, upright surfaces, Justin knew he could never do so. He was too weak. Too dead.
     
    To Faith’s shock, her patient trembled and released a sob.
     
    She stroked his brow. “You have nothing to fear. Do you mind if I call you Justin? Mama would scold, but I won’t tell, if you don’t.” She removed his arm from his eyes and placed it beside him. When she let go his hand, he re-sought hers as if he’d lost something precious. His breathing became laboured.
     
    The scent of violets and the touch of silk in the blackness of hell. A hand offered in solace. Where are you?
     
    For the love of God, help me. I beg for life. Not death.
     
    Faith’s patient grasped her trembling fingers. When he calmed, so did her heart. Releasing her breath, she examined his square jaw, aquiline nose and arched brows. “I’ll wager you’ve broken a score of hearts.” Crinkle lines radiated from the corners of his eyes. Once upon a time the hawkish-featured Justin Devereux had smiled, and smiled often.
     
    Now the plea in his frenzied grasp alarmed Faith. Despite the warming room, ice needles shot through her. She yearned to run…yet there was no place she would rather be.
     
    Disconcerted, she shook herself. Her patient needed her and he would need his medicine soon. Again she tried to take her hand from his, but he held tight. In panic, she tugged it free.
     
    A wicked trick, Satan. No hope. No life. Just death. Death is forever.
     
    Faith watched a tear trickle down Justin’s cheek and she swallowed the stone in her throat. “Neither alive nor dead,” now rang false. Justin Devereux was more alive than anyone imagined.
     
    Then Faith’s knees went weak as she looked into those unseeing black orbs. “Justin.” Hope died. His stare was blank. He could neither see nor hear her. His hand, which had moved with need a moment before, stilled. He closed his eyes.
     
    How long had he appeared…alive? A minute? Five?
     
    Faith checked the mantle clock. The time! She ran to the bell-pull and tugged three quick times. She hugged herself as she stared at the door, willing it to open. And when it crashed against the wall, she jumped. “Thank God. Hurry.”
     
    White-faced, Harris lifted Justin to a sitting position, put an amber vial to his lips and poured the contents into him.
     
    Justin swallowed, for it was swallow or be drowned. A reflex intact that Faith saw as a good sign. She released her breath. “When I saw the time…I was told if he didn’t take it by—”
     
    “I know, I know. That damnable dog came tearin’ at me. Knocked the tray from my hands, broke the vial. Had to fetch another.” Harris’s hands shook as he replaced the stopper.
     
    “I hope he suffers no ill effects,” Faith said.
     
    “He’s taken it late a time or two. Gets skittish. In pain. Sicker, you understand, until he gets it.”
     
    Faith’s question was answered. Justin had responded before. She looked about, hope dimming. “Why has his room been neglected?”
     
    “They’re afraid of him below stairs.” Harris shook his head in sorrow. “They act as if he’s a ghost…of his old self, more like. But they haven’t been made to come and clean. And his high’n’mighty don’t so much as set a polished boot in here.”
     
    “What about Mrs. Tucker?”
     
    “Can’t bring herself to come, because it grieves her to see him. The maids won’t do it on their own, blast them.” He flushed. “Pardon, Miss.”
     
    “Harris, when we’re alone, instead of minding your speech, just speak your mind. I’ll see that someone comes to clean. Now I need to know everything about our patient’s care.”
     
    Harris’s embarrassment turned to