Grave Consequences (Grand Tour Series #2) (8 page)

“Will,” Stuart barked. He looked up. Apparently this wasn’t the first time his uncle had said his name. Slowly, he followed the old man’s gaze to the stairway.

Antonio had arrived. “Unfortunately, I must add to your burdens, Mr. McCabe, William.” He paused to meet their gazes. “The young gents have slipped away to the local cabaret. I’ll head out after them, but I wondered if Will could join me.”

Stuart groaned and lifted a hand to his gray head. “Go,” he grunted. “The last thing we need is for another of our clients to come to a poor end this night.”

“If I can be of service,” Arthur said, “I can go with Antonio.” His keen eyes moved to Will. “In case you’d rather remain here with Cora.”

“If they’ve been imbibing, it may take a number of us to bring them home,” Will said. “They had plenty to drink even before they left. But I have to change.” Will looked down at his wet trousers.

“Then go change!” his uncle erupted. “Get on with it!”

Will felt his cheeks burn, chastened as if he were a schoolboy. Still, he hesitated and lifted a hand. “You mustn’t call a doctor. She is cold. Shaken. But she will be fine, come morning.”

Uncle Stuart lowered his bushy eyebrows. “You are certain.”

“Fairly certain. And as she said, if her father hears of this, so soon after our escapade in Paris…”

Uncle Stuart raised one hand and shook his head in agitation. “Fine! Fine. I shall see to the girl. You go and collect the boys. Please…” he said, turning to Antonio. “Tell me that some of our charges are safely in bed this night.”

Antonio gave him a rueful smile. “Vivian, Andrew, Lillian, and Nell are all accounted for. Only masters Felix and Hugh have slipped away.”

“Thank heaven for that.” His droopy, weary eyes met Will’s again. “Well? Why are you still here, son? Go!”

“Yes, sir,” William muttered, turning away. But as he wearily climbed the stairs, he wondered if they’d all be best off if the tour was canceled and everyone went home.

Because his heart was at war with his mind, remembering the feel of Cora in his arms, the way her small hands felt in his, the wonderment in her eyes when she said
you saved me…

Something had shifted in that moment. Nearly losing her had almost stopped his own heart from beating. And bringing her back made it seem as if his heart now beat to a new rhythm of its own.

CHAPTER FOUR

~William~

The closer they got to town, the more frustrated Will became. How long did he have to go, trailing the progeny of the world’s rich and famous and hauling them to safety? Where was the justice in it?
How is this fair, Lord? What is Your plan for me in this? Help me to learn it, so I can venture on to some other battle.…

They found Felix and Hugh in the village, in a narrow cabaret that opened onto a seating area and tiny stage; it was so late, the show was over. Will breathed a sigh of relief even as he choked on the thick smoke. The young men were drinking wine out of ceramic cups, a local maid on each arm as they made stumbling attempts to speak to them in French. Antonio laughed and shared a knowing look with Arthur. But Will was feeling anything but amused, only wishing he was back at the chateau, watching over Cora or falling into his bed for some much-needed sleep.

“C’mon,” Will said over his shoulder to Antonio. “Let’s pry them out of this place, or none of us will get a blessed hour of sleep tonight.”

Not that sleep was likely anyway, he thought darkly. Despite his deep weariness, his mind sparked with activity. Over and over, he replayed Cora placing her hands around his.

What was he doing? He’d broken all kinds of his uncle’s rules—not telling him all he should know, going against him, in a sense. Holding Cora and wishing he could go on holding her, kiss her… Slowly, he acknowledged the truth.
I’ve wanted to kiss her all along, since the first day I met her. But I can’t. I can’t.
To chase that desire might open up a future with her, but it would definitely spell the end of any chance of getting back to school this fall. And without a future, without enough to even secure more than a modest flat and a month’s rent, what could he offer her?
My uncle would have me on the first train out of here…to say nothing of what Wallace Kensington would do if he found out.

He thought about Cora choosing him over Pierre de Richelieu. It made him laugh under his breath.
Whom would you choose, McCabe?
“C’mon,” he said, tapping Felix on the shoulder. “We’re here to escort you gents home.”

Felix’s blue eyes, so like Cora’s, widened in surprise and delight. “Gentlemen! Excellent! I was just saying we had far too many pretty girls to choose from. Now you can ease our conundrum by taking a couple off our hands.”

“
You
can share, Kensington,” Hugh said, lifting the chin of one pretty girl and leaning his forehead toward hers with a smile, before smiling at the other, who was pouting on his other arm. “I find the more, the merrier.” He caught sight of Arthur behind Will. “Yes, man, yes! I want a picture of this night to remember!” Pulling both of the girls close, he posed for the man as he squared up a photograph.

“Stay very still,” Arthur said, peering into his viewfinder. “In this light, I’ll need more time for the exposure.”

“Fine by me,” Hugh said. “Longer to caress their sweet, French curves…”

“You know they’re as drawn by your fine clothing and fat purse,” Will said. “You smell of money.”

“Better to smell of money than the streets,” Hugh said, barely moving his lips.

Will turned away, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. Never had he wanted to punch the man more than he did right then. Cora was back at the chateau after having almost died and here they were—

A hand touched his shoulder, and Will wrenched away. Belatedly, he realized it was Antonio, not Hugh, and he closed his eyes, shaking his head.

“Will,” Antonio said, tentatively stepping toward him and frowning in confusion. “Why don’t you get some air, outside? Art and I will see to the young gents.”

Will ground his teeth and turned, pushing his way through the laughing, chatting, drunken crowd until he was outside, beneath the light of the moon, breathing in deep draughts of cool night air. “What am I supposed to do now?” he said, lifting his hands up to the skies, thinking of Cora’s touch, thinking of her staring up into his eyes. He felt utterly lost. “What
now
?”

Hugh and Felix eventually emerged with sour looks but without further complaint, followed by Antonio. They made their way back to the chateau, with Will brooding all the way home. He was so tired of playing guardian. So frightfully tired.

Still, he knew he had to check on Cora as soon as the young men were safely in their rooms. After Anna’s whispered, “She’s resting peacefully,” he dragged himself back up the stairs and down the hall to bed.

Surprisingly, he fell asleep as soon as he hit the pillow.

Now, morning light tugged at his eyelids, urging him to rise. To go up top. Where the men were likely
getting ready to jump
.

He gasped and rose, throwing back the covers. What if one of them hit the water as Cora had the night before? An impact such as she’d suffered, from a greater height… He’d been so angry with the men last night, so agitated, he hadn’t told any of them that it would not be allowed today. He rushed to pull off his nightshirt and hurried into his bathing costume, then ran down the hall, through the vast salon, the dining hall, and then out to the sprawling deck.

But when he got there, panting, the only person he saw was Cora, clad in a bathing costume. Her back to him. It was then that he recognized how early it was, the pink of dawn just edging the eastern horizon. Cora’s breath fogged in front of her face, and she rubbed her arms.

“Cora,” he said lowly, not wishing to startle her and make her fall. Not when she was perched forty feet above the surface of the water.

“William,” she said, not looking back.

He strode over to her and climbed atop the wall beside her. “Are you mad?”

“No,” she said, flicking a thick blonde braid over one shoulder. “Determined.”

“Sometimes there’s a fine line between the two,” he said.

“I imagine so.”

“How’s the head?”

“A good, steady throb, but better than last night.”

“Don’t you think that a leap this morning is rather foolhardy?”

“Haven’t you heard? It’s best to get on the horse as soon as he’s thrown you. Otherwise you might never climb in the saddle again.”

“Some horses aren’t meant to be ridden.”

“This one is.” And with that, she stepped out and began her descent.

He shook his head and held his breath as her arms windmilled, steadying her position. Then she pointed her toes, pinched her nose, drew her arms tight beside her body, and plunged into the river, as straight as an arrow. The blue water turned green as bubbles rose, all around her point of impact.

His eyes searched for her, waiting, waiting, his heartbeat tripling in time. And then she popped up, gasping for air and floating onto her back, smiling up at him.

Heavens, she’s lovely. A river siren.
Grinning, he jumped too, entering the water ten feet from her, and then hurrying to the surface, eager to see her again. Hear her voice.

“Now
that
is how it should’ve gone last night,” she said when he broke the surface.

“Indeed.”

She turned toward shore and, with light strokes, made her way there. So different from last night… He followed her, choosing breaststrokes, so he wouldn’t miss one second of this moment, just the two of them. She reached the boulder and attempted to clamber out, slipped on a rock, and fell back into the river.

He laughed. “Here. Let me help you.” He edged closer and took hold of the rock, an easier span for him to reach across, then offered his hand. She took it and made her way up and over the rocks and onto the platform. He followed and opened the gate for her. Just inside, she paused as the gate clanged shut behind them.

“Will, I wanted to speak to you about last night,” she said, her tone laced with apology. She leaned back against the wall and played with her fingers, as if nervous.

“There is no need,” he said. But inwardly he wondered what she was speaking of. Of the rescue? Of making him promise not to summon a doctor? Or for reaching for his hands? He started to walk past her, but she reached out and took hold of his fingers with two of her own. Slowly, he turned toward her, the familiar electric jolt jumping up his arm, up his neck, down through his shoulder blades.…

“I think there is,” she said. She dropped his fingers and lifted a small hand to his chest. He froze and closed his eyes—as if she were about to rip his heart out and he was powerless to stop it. He felt drunk around her. His senses alert and yet slow at the same time. “Will. Please look at me.”

He forced his eyes open to see the silent invitation in her gaze. He shook his head, even as he leaned his hands above her, against the wall, rather than pulling her to him as he longed to. She reached up and placed her hands on either side of his face, her brow furrowed, anxious, wondering….

He scraped his fingers across the rough stone blocks, trying to remind himself not to touch her.
She is not yours. Not yours…

“Cora. What of Pierre?” he asked, each word paining him.

“He is lovely. Almost too good to be true,” she said. “But so are you.” Her fingers wandered over his brow, his cheeks, his jaw, as if she were trying to convince herself. “And this…this thing between us,” she whispered, so quiet he could barely make out her words. “I have to know. Once and for all. Is it real?”

“Don’t do this, Cora. I can’t resist…I don’t seem…” He leaned toward her and breathed in the scent of her skin, washed in the clean river water, making her smell fresh like France itself—honey and lavender and grass and water….

His head was beside hers, and for several long seconds they stayed there, inhaling, intoxicated by sharing the same bit of air. “I can’t,” he whispered, perilously close to her pert ear, dearly wanting to kiss it, then her cheeks, then her lips.… “You have to know that I would if I could. But this…” He shook his head slightly. “It’s against my uncle’s principal rule—no courting the clients.” He huffed a laugh, without mirth. “Not that I have the means to court anyone, even if I wished to go against him.”

She lifted her chin and turned her face closer to his, so close that he could feel her breath on his cheek. “Don’t you know,” she whispered, “I’m not a woman accustomed to men of means? William McCabe, I’m a simple woman of the plains. Raised on a farm with none but two old dresses and one pair of boots. And I can’t deny…I can’t deny what I feel. Not after last night. Can you?”

Sick in the belly with swirling waves of both desire and fear, he stared into her eyes. And for the first time, he knew her as his compatriot, another person of simple heritage, simple means, lost in a rich man’s world. He understood her. And she, him.

“Cora,” he said, leaning closer, her lush lips just barely brushing his as he whispered her name.

“Will,” she breathed, her beautiful eyes reminding him of the Mediterranean, the sky just freed from storm clouds.

He wrapped his free arm around her waist and pulled her closer.

Outside, a splash, and then another, sounded. They both stilled, caught. Discovered. Shame washed through him. What was he doing? Compromising Cora’s reputation? Her future? As well as his?

He closed his eyes, agonized at breaking the moment. “I’m sorry,” he said, pulling away from her, an act as difficult as pushing open a bank vault. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, rubbing his neck, not daring to look back at her, doubting his resolve, still wanting to take her in his arms again. “They shouldn’t find us in here. Alone.”

“No,” she said, staring at him as waves of pain washed through her eyes. “They shouldn’t.” All trace of warmth, heat, was gone from her tone. Only embarrassment. Sorrow. She raced past him, up the stairs, and practically shouted at Yves to unlock the gate, desperate to escape through it and into the safety of her room.