Her Defiant Heart by Jo Goodman Page B

dignity. He was coarse and ill-mannered, but her thoughts remained her own. Her need to remain at Marshall House meant it would be unwise to bite the hand that was feeding her.
    "My, I do not know if you could affect more priggishness. Have you met Dr. Turner's wife Susan? A matched set of bookends, that's what you'd be."
    "How kind of you to say so," she said. "I shall look forward to making her acquaintance."
    Christian snorted. "Don't just stand there. Help me up. The damn—er, the darn —floor is tilting."
    "I shouldn't wonder." She circled the desk and went to his side, holding out her hand for him to take.
    He shook his head. "If I pull on your hand, you will be sitting on the floor again."
    Jenny realized the truth of that. She hunkered down beside him and put one arm about his shoulders and a hand beneath his elbow. With a little cooperation on his part, she managed to get Christian to his feet. She escorted him back to the bed, letting him lean on her, and plumped his pillows before he collapsed like a felled tree onto the feather tick. Belatedly she understood how much his errant rescue of her had taxed his strength. Jenny rearranged the covers, pulling the dark counterpane up to Christian's chin. His eyes were closed now, and he groaned softly a few times, but he did not object to her fussing.
    Jenny stepped back from the bed and caught sight of the breakfast tray out of the corner of her eye. She couldn't imagine that he would want anything to eat, but good manners, as well as her new position in his home, compelled her to ask.
    "God, no," he muttered, turning on his side away from the tray. "Take it out of here. The smell alone is enough to make me—"
    "I understand," she said, picking up the tray. "I'll come back later with something more agreeable. I can clean up then also."
    She was gone, the door locked behind her, before Christian realized he had never asked her what business she'd had in his room in the first place. He'd find that out later, he thought fuzzily. He thumped on his pillows. He kept one under his head and clutched the other to his chest. In minutes he was asleep.
    * * *
    Two hours later, Jenny eased herself quietly into Christian's bedchamber. This time the breakfast tray carried a light repast: one soft-cooked egg, a slice of dry toast, and another pot of weak tea. There was also a slender pewter bud vase with a white winter rose. Several of the housemaids were skeptical that this added touch would do anything to soften Christian Marshall's mood, but Jenny was insistent and Mrs. Brandywine had agreed. Jenny put the tray down and gathered the fallen draperies. Following the housekeeper's directions, she tossed them into the hallway to be picked up later and then locked the door.
    "I'll take that key," said Christian.
    Jenny ignored him, dropped it in her pocket, and turned to face him. She smiled a shade too brightly. "Good, you're awake. I was hoping you would be. I didn't think you'd want a cold breakfast."
    Christian sat up in bed, tucked a pillow behind the small of his back, and knuckled his stubble. "I don't want breakfast. I want that key."
    Her smile faltered. "We'll see."
    "We damn well will not see. Give it to me."
    Jenny hesitated before she finally shrugged. "Oh, very well." She reached in her pocket, pulled out the key to her own room, and walked over to the bed. She placed the key in Christian's open palm and watched his hand close over it quickly as if he suspected she might snatch it back.
    "Thank you," he said dryly. He slid the key behind his back and under his pillow. When Jenny lifted the tray to set it on his lap, he shook his head and grimaced. "I told you I don't want any breakfast."
    "All right." She set the tray down again.
    "That's better." Christian leaned toward the bedside table and opened the top drawer. He put his hand in and felt around blindly, withdrawing only when he realized someone had anticipated his actions. "Where's the bottle I keep there?"
    "I