Moonflower Madness (9 page)

At one point the ponies became restless and Zachary rose to his feet, with the panther-like grace that characterized all his movements, to calm them. While he was out of ear-shot, Gianetta asked Charles, ‘How is it that you have known Zachary Cartwright all your life?'

He leaned back in his canvas chair. ‘Zac's father was one of my father's closest friends. He was killed fighting alongside General Gordon at Khartoum. Zac was seven. His mother died soon after. From then on, Zac lived with us. It was difficult for him, I think, though he never admitted it. Although his family tree goes back even further than my own, there wasn't much family fortune left by the time his father died and while I went off to Eton, Zac went to the local grammar school. He won a scholarship to Cambridge and it was there that he became a passionate naturalist.'

He grinned. ‘I couldn't understand what he saw in it at the beginning, but he soon made me see that the subject wasn't as boring as I had originally thought and before very long I was as hooked as he was, though never as knowledgeable. He didn't come back to live with my family after Cambridge. He went straight to London, to Kew, and two years later he was off on his first expedition.'

‘Where did he go?' Gianetta asked, intrigued.

‘The Himalayas. He's one of the very few Englishmen to have ever stood on the snows of the mountain reputed to be the highest in the world.'

Zachary Cartwright walked back towards them and said brusquely, ‘It's nearly midnight and I want to make an early start in the morning.'

‘All right,' Charles said, taking the hint and rising to his feet. ‘What sleeping arrangements do we make for Gianetta?'

‘We don't make any,' Zachary Cartwright said, his lean, bronzed face harsh and uncompromising. ‘She sleeps as she slept last night, in whatever it was she thought fit to bring with her.'

He turned away from them, walking down into the darkness towards the river. A few minutes later they could hear the sound of him diving into the water for a midnight bathe.

‘What did you … er … sleep in last night?' Charles asked her, a trifle uncomfortably.

‘A quilt that I brought with me. It was perfectly satisfactory,' she added, trying not to remember how stiff and cold she had felt when she had woken in the morning.

‘Have my sleeping-bag tonight,' he said generously. ‘I'll ferret out some of the spare blankets that we've brought with us.'

He led her across to where his sleeping-bag was laid out on the ground. ‘I'm afraid we're not taking advantage of the tents we've brought with us,' he said apologetically. ‘It isn't worth putting them up for one-night stops, especially when the weather is so mild.'

‘I don't mind,' she said truthfully. The comfort of the glowing fire and the knowledge that both Zachary Cartwright and Charles were armed, were all the luxuries she craved.

Another sleeping-bag was lying uncomfortably close to the one Charles was offering her. She averted her eyes from it quickly. The camp fire had been banked for the night, only an occasional flame shooting skywards. The Chinese were sitting on the ground a little distance away, their knees pulled up to their chins, blankets around their shoulders. She paused hesitantly. There was nowhere secluded where she could take off her jacket and trousers. She would have to sleep with them on.

As if reading her thoughts, Charles said with a hint of laughter in his voice, ‘At least you won't have to travel back to Chung King in your Chinese regalia. You do have European clothes with you, don't you?'

‘Oh yes, but I think I actually rather prefer these clothes for riding in. They're very comfortable.'

‘They're not very suitable,' he said, his voice thickening slightly. ‘Not for someone as beautiful as you.'

Gianetta stood very still. In the velvety darkness she could barely make out the figures of the dozing Chinese. From the river there still came the sound of Zachary Cartwright cavorting like a water buffalo.

‘You are very, very beautiful, Gianetta,' Charles whispered, touching her face tenderly with his hand. ‘I thought so when I first saw you at the Residency and I think so now, even though you are dressed like a boy.'

At his touch she had started to tremble slightly. ‘Thank you,' she said hoarsely, ‘and now I think that perhaps I should …'

‘Not yet,' he said, and drawing her purposefully into his arms he lowered his head to hers, kissing her with passionate intensity.

Charles'action was so unexpected, the feel of his lips on hers so disturbing and shocking that for a stunned moment Gianetta couldn't move. Then, as his hands bent her in fiercely against the hard length of his body and his mouth parted hers, his tongue plunging deep in a manner she had never even suspected existed, she gathered her scattered wits and pushed against his chest with her hands, kicking out at his leg with her booted foot, stuggling to twist her head away from his.

His breathing became deeper, and for a moment she thought he was going to take no notice of her protests. Then, as a subconscious part of her brain became aware that the sound of splashing and cavorting from the river had ceased, he released her abruptly, looking past her into the darkness, his face tightening. Almost immediately his eyes returned to her, and as he looked down at her he gave her a curiously charming, apologetic smile.

‘I'm sorry, Gianetta. I'm afraid for a moment I let my heart rule my head. It was foolish of me. There's no offence taken, I hope?'

She sensed, rather than saw, Zachary Cartwright emerging into the dim circle of the light from the dying fire.

‘No … of course not,' she said uncertainly, too confused and bewildered to know whether what she felt
was
offence or not.

He gave a short relieved laugh and tilted her chin upwards lightly with his finger. ‘You're a very special girl, Gianetta,' he said, his voice husky and low. ‘I'm damned if I'll apologise for the kiss. Only for the circumstances.'

Something hot flickered at the back of his eyes. ‘And when the circumstances are more appropriate, I'll kiss you again, Gianetta, and next time you won't be afraid. I promise.'

Zachary Cartwright's voice said curtly from a few yards away from then. ‘If you've finished saying goodnight to Miss Hollis, perhaps we can all turn in and get some sleep.'

The unconcealed sarcasm in his words sent the blood stinging to her cheeks. Charles said blandly, ‘I've arranged that Gianetta should have my sleeping-bag. I'm going to dig out a couple of blankets from the stores for myself.'

‘Do that,' Zachary said with a rude curtness that only increased Gianetta's discomfort.

Charles knew Zac had seen him kissing Gianetta and was amused that his worldly companion should have reacted so uncharacteristically.

‘Goodnight, Gianetta,' he said easily and then, as Zac glowered at him, his amusement over the incident began to fade.

He admired Zac greatly and, though he wasn't adverse to arousing his jealousy, he certainly didn't want to become the object of his contempt. He walked away and over to where the stores and provisions were stacked, frowning slightly, almost wishing that the incident had not taken place.

Gianetta's back was still towards Zachary Cartwright, but she was acutely aware of his menacing presence, only feet away from her.

‘You have my congratulations,' he said tightly, moving forward and whipping his sleeping-bag from the ground next to hers. ‘You are obviously a lady who is well able to transfer her attentions from one man to another at the slightest provocation.‘

She sucked in her breath, struggling for speech. ‘How dare you!' she managed at last. ‘You cannot really think that you were ever the object of my … my
attentions
, as you call them!'

She had spun round towards him, glaring at him, almost spitting the words. He was standing, glowering back at her, the sleeping-bag in his hands, but it wasn't his ferocious expression that disconcerted her even further. It was his semi-nakedness. He still wore his breeches, belted and buckled and snug about his hips, but his torso was bare, his whipcord muscles gleaming with drops of river water. She looked away swiftly, the crimson in her cheeks deepening.

He laughed shortly. ‘Are the realities of camp life a little more than you bargained for, Miss Hollis? Or had you not imagined bathing and dressing on the long, lonely journey to Kansu?'

‘I had not imagined anyone could be as
hateful
and as
rude
as you are!' she hissed between clenched teeth, her fists closing in her unspoken desire to let fly physically at him.

He saw the stiffening of her body, the clenched fists, and laughed again, this time with genuine mirth. ‘I wouldn't try it if I were you. You would only find yourself being given the sort of good hiding you've obviously lacked in the past,' and before she could think of a suitable crushing reply he strode off, leaving her as nearly alone in the darkness as she had been the previous night.

Fighting down tears of weariness and frustration she unlaced her ankle-high boots, tugging them off and then, unable with decency to undress further, she clambered into the comforting warmth of the sleeping-bag. It smelled disturbingly male. There was the same faint aroma of cologne and cigar smoke that had surrounded her when Charles had so unaccountably and shockingly kissed her.

Her cheeks still burned, her humiliation so great she wondered if she would ever survive it. How could he have done such a thing? She had given him no encouragement. It was he who, she had believed, would protect her from any unwelcome advances. Instead, on the very first night that she had joined them, he had acted in a way that made it almost impossible for her to continue with her plans.

Almost, she thought determinedly, but not quite. He
had
apologised. Or she thought he had. When she tried to remember his exact words she wasn't quite so sure. She had been so appalled at the thought that Zachary Cartwright might have seen what had happened, might be overhearing, that she had caught only the sense of what Charles had said to her, not each word.

She lay in the dark, listening to the ponies and mules stirring restlessly, the logs on the dying fire shifting and settling. Had he seen? Why did it matter so much if he had? Why did the knowledge that he thought her foolish and criminally flirtatous fill her with mortification that she wanted to die? How
could
he have believed that because he had caught her looking at him
once
in the drawing-room of the Residency, she was so besotted that she would have followed him out of Chung King and into the wilderness beyond? And that, when he had arrogantly and rudely assured her that she had done so to no purpose, he should believe she had immediately turned her attention towards his companion and that she had
encouraged
Charles to kiss her!

She tossed and turned in the narrow sleeping-bag, hating the discomfort of the clothes she still wore, hating Charles for so stupidly spoiling everything, hating and detesting Zachary Cartwright for his supercilious, his arrogance, his unbelievable, unforgivable
rudeness
.

When she woke, the sun was already over the horizon and she could hear birds singing and the fire crackling and the low murmur of voices. She pushed herself into a sitting position. The Chinese were busy making breakfast and Zachary Cartwright and Charles were standing at a small table, looking down at the drawing she had left there the previous evening.

‘It's damn good,' Charles was saying enthusiastically, and Zachary Cartwright nodded in grudging agreement. Before she should overhear anything else, perhaps not quite so flattering, about herself, Gianetta struggled out of the sleeping-bag, aware that she looked and felt decidedly unkempt.

‘Good morning,' Charles said, swinging round and smiling engagingly at her.

His manner was so relaxed and at ease that she wondered for a moment if she had dreamed the encounter that had taken place the previous night. Zachary Cartwright looked towards her and, at the memory of what he had overheard and perhaps seen, she knew the encounter had been no dream. He said a brief good morning and turned away, but not before she had seen the withering expression in his eyes as they raked her untidy appearance.

Her Chinese dress, in the light of day, seemed even more bizarre and unflattering than it had done the previous evening. With as much dignity as she could muster, she bypassed the canvas chairs and table and the fire, walking over to Ben and her carpet-bag.

‘Good morning, Ben,' she said, slipping her arm around his neck and giving him a kiss on his shaggy coat. ‘They think we're going back, but we're not, Ben. We're not.'

Ben nuzzled against her and she patted him again, taking comfort from his unspoken agreement and unswerving loyalty. She bent down, taking a hairbrush from her carpet-bag, looking longingly at the serviceable ankle-length skirts and blouses that she had brought with her. She had not removed the clothes she was wearing since she had left the Residency. More than anything else in the world, she longed to be able to take them off and plunge into the ice-cool freshness of the river. She looked around her, but there were no concealing trees near the river bank.

‘It can't be done, Ben,' she sighed, standing up, the brush in her hand. ‘I can't even change into fresh clothes, much less bathe. Especially after last night.'

Ever since she had opened her eyes, she tried not to think about last night. Charles'kiss had bewildered her deeply and she still didn't know what to think about it. She had known, at the Residency, that he had been drawn towards her and attracted by her, but it had never occurred to her that he might be falling in love with her. And if he was? How did she feel about him?

She unplaited her queue, brushing her hair vigorously. She truly didn't know. If the idea had been put to her a day ago, she would have been highly flattered and perhaps thought it the answer to all her problems. After all, the wife of Lord Rendlesham would never have to contemplate living anywhere as boring as Lincolnshire. She would have an elegant country house and a town house in London, and she would be able to accompany her husband on all his adventures.