Jade Star by Catherine Coulter Page B

arms, he thought inconsequentially as he ran from the alleyway. He increased his pace, realizing that some heads had been knocked together. With his luck, he would soon have some patients to attend to. He had to hurry.
    He made it to his house in just over ten minutes. He nearly laughed aloud with relief as he slammed the front door closed behind him. Moments later, he was carefully lowering Jules to his bed. Quickly he ran his fingers over her jaw. She would have a bruise, but that was all. She was still unconscious, but he imagined it was the drug—opium, likely—that was keeping her under. He had just covered her with blankets when he heard a knock on the door downstairs.
    He closed his bedroom door, praying that she wouldn’t waken from her drugged sleep. He ripped off his ridiculous disguise and loped down the stairs.
    He treated three gentlemen. When they left thereason for their cut lips, bruised jaws, and cracked ribs delightfully vague, Saint had a difficult time not laughing in their faces. His last patient was Bunker Stevenson, an upright, very wealthy citizen. “Damned misunderstanding over cards, Saint,” Bunker said, and Saint forced himself to remain silent and make clucking sympathetic noises. He listened to Bunker go on and on about the poker game, and wondered finally if he weren’t, perhaps, telling the truth.
    The other two men weren’t from San Francisco. Saint wasn’t at all gentle in his treatment, and smiled when one of them yelled when he tightly bound his cracked ribs.
    It was nearly an hour before Saint returned to his bedroom. He lit a lamp and stood over the bed a moment, staring down at Juliana DuPres. Her hair was in glorious disarray around her head. “You’ve changed, little one,” he said softly, sitting beside her. Very gently he pulled off the blankets. He knew he had to make certain she was all right, and wanted to do it before she awakened. She’d be embarrassed enough as it was.
    He drew a deep breath, and for one of the few times in his professional career was very aware that his patient was a woman. Stop it, Saint! You’re a bloody doctor, not a rutting bastard!
    He stripped off the gown, not surprised that she was naked beneath it. The thought of what would have happened to her made him grit his teeth. I will not look at her, he thought. He gave her a cursory examination, felt his hands trembling, cursed himself soundly, and put her in one of his nightshirts—a nightshirt Jane had made for him that he’d never worn. It was like a huge white tent on her slenderbody. After he’d covered her again, he gently slapped her cheeks. “It’s time to wake up now, Jules. Come on, wake up, don’t scare me.”
    Jules heard a voice, a man’s voice, speaking sharply to her, but she didn’t want to leave the blessed security of sleep. The voice continued and she felt light slaps on her face.
    â€œNo,” she muttered, trying to pull away.
    â€œWake up, Jules!”
    Slowly she opened her eyes. She saw a man leaning over her, heard him call her name. He’d called her Jules. That was odd. Jameson Wilkes didn’t know her nickname.
    She blinked, trying to bring the man’s face into focus.
    But she felt so leaden, so disconnected. He bought me, she thought suddenly, he’s the man who paid for me! She reared up, wildly striking out at him.
    Saint closed his hands around her shoulders and pressed her back down. “Don’t be afraid, Jules. It’s me—Michael. You’re safe now. You’re with me.” She didn’t respond for a moment, and he continued softly, “Do you understand, Jules? You’re all right now, I promise you.”
    â€œMichael?” she whispered, trying to focus her mind on his words.
    Michael, he thought. Only Jules had called him Michael, and not Saint, and he’d remembered. “Yes, it’s Michael. You’ve been drugged, little one, but