Passionate (30 page)

In one night he had lost everything—everything he wanted, everything he hoped for. Everything he loved.

James turned and sprinted toward the paddock. He had to stop Reggie. Surely there was at least one horse left for him. He would ride hard—unencumbered by folding bathtubs and Wardian bottles. He was twice the horseman Reggie was, and he needed this more. Cold purpose filled him.

“Sir! Sir, wait!” One of the servants was running after him.

“Sir Edward—he has been wounded! Come quickly.”

James turned on the man. “What the devil are you saying?” He hadn’t realized he was shouting until the servant stepped back, fear in his eyes.

“Please, sir.”

James took a ragged breath and lowered the pistol he held in his hand. “Tell me what happened—and be quick about it.”

“They found Sir Edward lying face down and carried him back to his tent. He don’t look good, sir.”

James closed his eyes. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. With every beat of his heart, hope was slipping further away.

The night seemed colder, the stars obscured. He glanced toward the paddock, toward fortune and respectability and hope. Toward a vanished future. His foolish quest was over before he had even caught sight of the cursed valley.

“I’m coming.”

Lady Mary looked up as he entered the tent, her face streaked with tears.

“Thank goodness, you are here, James!” She knelt on the floor beside Sir Edward, who lay prone and ashen on his cot. He was so still and white that for a moment James thought he was looking at a dead man.

“What happened?” James laid a hand on Sir Edward’s forehead. A large bruise discolored his temple and the skin was broken, though the bleeding had stopped.

“We had retired and Edward was writing up his notes when we heard horses and shouting. It sounded as though we were being attacked. Edward grabbed his gun and rushed out. It was so foolish of him. Then I heard a shot. They found him like this.” Lady Mary covered her face with her hands. A moment later she looked up, eyes filled with tears. “He had just been saying what a lovely holiday this had been.”

Before James could find words to express his remorse, Isabelle burst into the tent. Her hair was tumbled around her face and her dress was torn. She took one wild look about, her gaze going to the still figure on the cot.

“Father! Oh no!” She flung herself down beside her mother and began sobbing uncontrollably.

Lady Mary looked up at James. “He…he will be all right, won’t he? As soon as he wakes?”

James felt for Sir Edward’s pulse. It fluttered weakly against his fingers. He had seen injuries like this before. Sometimes the men recovered completely. Sometimes they woke missing pieces of their memory. Sometimes they never woke at all.

“We must get him to a doctor. We’ll head back to Tunis at first light.”

There could be no hope of overtaking Reggie now. James fought down a wave of helpless anger. It was not Sir Edward’s fault.

“Here, now. What’s all this?” Mrs. Hodges stepped into the tent. She stopped, pursed her lips, then immediately began issuing orders. “Isabelle, your wailing is doing your mother no good. Pray, control yourself. You there,” she gestured to a servant, “fetch more blankets and hot water—and tea. Mr. Huntington, bring a chair for Lady Mary at once.”

James fetched the chair while Mrs. Hodges assisted Lady Mary to her feet.

“Oh, Rose,” Lady Mary said.

“Courage, dear. Your Edward is made of strong stuff—a little knock to the head will not slow him for long. And Mr. Huntington will get us back to civilization with all speed.” She gave James a piercing look.

“Of course.” He stepped back.

“I will remain here.” Mrs. Hodges gave him a brusque nod.

“I expect you are wanted elsewhere.”

“Yes.” He needed to get to Lily. “I’ll look in on you later.”

James ducked out of the tent, leaving Isabelle’s muffled crying and the strained murmur of women’s voices behind. The tent fire was out, and he could see the dark shapes of the men he had posted silhouetted against the flickering light of torches. A horse neighed near the paddock.

If only it were as easy to mend the invisible damage he had done. Despair clawed him as he turned toward the bathing tent. Where was Lily now? Huddled and afraid in the bed he had made them? Was she already regretting everything that had passed between them?

If not now, then soon.

Something glinted on the ground near his feet—a small brass box, probably belonging to one of the ladies. It rattled as he pocketed it. He would find the owner later. Right now he had to get Lily properly clothed and back to her family.

Inside the bathing tent everything was untouched. The water in the tub stood cold and still. His coat, one sleeve darkened with water, sagged in the corner.

Lily’s clothing was folded neatly. The silk of her chemise sighed against her dress as he lifted it. He brought the cloth close to his face and inhaled her scent. He had touched heaven and stolen a piece of it. It already seemed a lifetime ago.

What had he gained from his audacity? He had ruined the woman he loved, allowed her uncle to suffer grievous harm, and had shown a complete and utter disregard for his responsibilities. He had lost his chance to save Somergate and win the wealth and respectability he needed to offer for Lily. An ill night’s work, indeed.

“How can I ever make amends?” Anguish tore the words from him.

“Handing me my dress would be a good start.”

Lily stood at the entrance of the tent, barely concealed by crumpled sea-green fabric. He looked away.

“You could have at least left me with some shoes. What’s been happening? I saw that a tent was on fire.”

“You didn’t stay.”

“Of course not. How could I, when my family might be in danger? When
you
might be in danger.” She folded her arms across her chest.

His gaze slipped past her to fasten on the tent door. Staring resolutely at the rough canvas, he swallowed. “Bandits attacked the camp and your uncle has been hurt. I accept full responsibility. In the morning we will transport him back to Tunis. I cannot tell you how deeply I regret that my conduct tonight has led to such disastrous results.” He handed her dress out to her. When she took it he stepped back a pace. “I must see to my duties. Go to your family—they are worried about you.”

Her hands trembled. All color had left her face. How he wanted to take her into his arms, comfort her and beg forgiveness. He crushed the impulse. What right did he have? Hadn’t he already caused enough grief?

James stepped past her. “I will leave you with the privacy I should never have invaded.”

They left the meadow at dawn—only the creaking of leather and the jingle of harness breaking the quiet as they headed down the trail they had climbed yesterday with such high hopes. Four men on foot carried Sir Edward, lashed to a stretcher fashioned from tent canvas and poles. Lady Mary followed close behind.

James pushed them as hard as he dared, but it was not nearly fast enough. Sir Edward remained unconscious. The bright daylight revealed the gray pallor of his face.

They passed the village, the single street now empty. The locals would celebrate their good fortune when they discovered the abandoned baggage. He wondered what they would make of the folding bathtub. There was no time for luxuries now.

It was past mid-day when they stopped to water the animals at an ancient stone cistern. James led his mount up and let it lip the cold water. Beside him Richard was doing the same. The young man’s face was streaked with dust and sweat and James knew he looked no better. If only there was some way to make more speed. He wished he could sling himself into the saddle and ride hell-for-leather to Tunis. This slow plodding was maddening when everything in him called for swift action.

“If only we could go faster,” Richard said, echoing James’s thoughts. “I can’t stand watching father like that and not being able to do something.”

James looked at the young man. They might not be able to move Sir Edward any faster, but perhaps they could shorten the distance to a doctor.

“Are you up for a fast ride to Tunis to fetch Dr. Fenton?”

Richard’s eyes lit. “Yes. Absolutely. I’d do anything.”

“Your mother has to agree to it. And remember, speed is important, but arriving in one piece even more so.”

“I understand.”

Lady Mary was seated on a crumbling stone wall near her husband. Mrs. Hodges had insisted the servants assemble luncheon and light a fire for tea.

“It’s all very well to press on, but we must remember to maintain our strength,” she said, handing Lady Mary a sandwich.

Lady Mary took the offering, but made no move to bring it to her mouth, only sat, staring wearily at nothing.

James cleared his throat. “If we sent a rider ahead, they could reach Tunis far faster than the main party. I’m sure Dr. Fenton would agree to meet us on the road if we sent someone to guide him.”

Lady Mary looked up. “Anything that might bring aid to Edward sooner.”

“Richard and Khalil will go.”

“No. I cannot allow it. I…I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to my son. This place has proven dangerous enough.”

“Dr. Fenton knows Richard. He would come right away. Even a few hours could make a difference. Khalil has proven himself trustworthy—he will see Richard safe.” James reached and took her hand. “I would not risk him unnecessarily.”

Lady Mary looked to Mrs. Hodges, who gave a short nod. “Let him go, my lady. It is something the boy needs to do.”

Taking a deep breath, Lady Mary straightened her shoulders. “Then be careful, Richard.”

“I will.” Richard wrapped his arms around her and she leaned against him. “I’ll be back soon, Mother. Don’t worry.”

A few minutes later, he and Khalil were mounted and ready. With a last wave, they spurred their horses and galloped toward Tunis.

Dinner that night was subdued. The fire seemed less cheerful, the flames struggled to take hold among the branches. Isabelle huddled close while Lily wrapped herself in her cloak, head down.

James took a sip of tea and glanced at the weary faces around him. He had pushed them to the edge of endurance. They were exhausted from a sleepless night and an endless day of travel. His gaze shifted to the tent where the bundled figure of Sir Edward lay. At least they were all still alive.

“We should make Tunis in another day-and-a-half if we can continue this pace.” He had meant to sound encouraging.

Lady Mary looked at him. “You think Richard could be there by this time tomorrow if all goes well?”

“He will. Don’t worry.”

“James is right, Aunt.” Lily said. “Richard is a fine rider and the road is straight from here. He may reach Dr. Fenton even sooner than we expect.”

Lady Mary gave her a wan smile. “I’m sure you are right, my dear.”

“Too much fretting going on, I say.” Mrs. Hodges marched up to the fire. “This family is made of sterner stuff.” She turned her fierce gaze on each of them in turn, not sparing James. “Too much fretting and not enough resting. Come, my lady. Come, Isabelle. Your beds are waiting.” She planted herself solidly, hands on hips.

Thank God she had come along—she was keeping the Strathmores together with little more than the force of her will.

Isabelle rose. “Please excuse me.” Her voice was thin. James realized that he had not heard her speak more than ten words since last night.

“I too am quite weary.” Lady Mary joined her daughter.

“Goodnight.”

James stood. “May I escort you to your tent?”

“Thank you, James, but we can manage,” Lady Mary said. “Rest while you can. We do appreciate all you have done for us.”

His throat tightened. All he had done for them, indeed. Dragging them to Tunisia on a foolish quest, exposing them to his dangerous cousin…there was too much, altogether, that he had done. “Good night, then,” he said, but his voice hardly seemed his own.

They followed Mrs. Hodges, but Lily lingered by the fire. James turned reluctantly to face her. He had wronged them all, but Lily most of all. He had to say something, had to make some attempt to set things right.

“Lily,” he began, “I am aware that certain things have passed between us. Things that, if known, could compromise your reputation.”

She turned her head away. How could he begin to make amends? He wanted her to smile at him again. James paced, hoping he could find the words. “I am deeply shamed by my conduct. What passed between us…well, I want you to know that I will do my duty as a gentleman even though I have not behaved as one.”

The silence that followed his speech hung heavy in the darkness. How hollow his offer had sounded. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets, wishing his words unsaid.

“I thank you, Mr. Huntington, for your offer and devotion to duty.” Her voice was blank. “I, however, do not believe that shame is the emotion I wish to form the foundation of my marriage. You may keep your shame, and your duty, and your regrets.” She stood and drew her cloak more closely about her.

“I am weary, sir, and concerned for my uncle’s life. You will excuse me if I do not speak further of your…offer.”

James stood alone in the flickering firelight. He bent to stir the embers with a stick, then straightened suddenly and hurled it into the darkness. What a fool he was. He hadn’t intended to make his offer until the words were already spoken—and so clumsily. He hadn’t realized how much he had wanted her to accept, until she refused.

He extinguished the fire and made for his tent. Exhaustion had finally found him. When had he slept last? He couldn’t remember—but he was not sure he would be able to find any rest now.
You may keep your shame, and your duty, and your regrets.

It seemed he had learned nothing.

The night seemed to press in on him. A gleam of brass on the table caught his eye. The box he had stumbled over last night—he still hadn’t returned it to its owner.

A weary curiosity stirred as he picked it up. The metal was hammered into raised designs, flowers and leaves twining around the lid. There was no lock—the catch opened easily at his touch.