Scandalous Summer Nights (25 page)

It would be slow going, but with a modicum of luck, she’d reach the little dilapidated cabin—her safe haven—by dawn.

O
livia awoke later than usual to thirst scraping her throat and hunger gnawing at her belly. Her head pounded and the sunlight streaming through the cabin’s only window sharpened the pain. She threw off the shawl that served as her coverlet and rolled off of her crude pallet—a blanket she’d doubled over.

One of the wooden floorboards was broken and some were warped, but the floor was relatively clean, thanks to a few leafy branches that she’d turned into a makeshift broom. She could have worked wonders with a scrub brush and a bucket of soapy water, but at least the cobwebs were gone.

She shielded her eyes as she felt along the ledge of the window, then grasped the handle of the knife she’d taken from the highway robber. Carefully, she carved a tally mark in the wall beside her.

Seven nights.

She’d survived a week alone in the woods.

Closing her eyes, she whispered a prayer. James would board a ship today and begin his journey to Egypt. Though her chest ached from grief, she sighed with satisfaction.

Her plan was working. She had only to manage one more night of solitude.

But it wasn’t going to be easy. She reached for her portmanteau—which was also her pillow—and looked inside. Her supplies were terrifyingly low. She’d run out of bread and fruit a couple of days ago. All that was left was a bit of dried meat.

She stood slowly, steadying herself with a hand on the wall. When the dizziness faded, she staggered to the cabin door and opened it, flooding the small room with light.

Though she hadn’t seen a single soul for a week, she still feared being spotted by someone passing through Uncle Humphrey’s land, so she scanned the horizon for any movement. Nothing but birds flitting from tree to tree and leaves trembling in the warm breeze. Blinking in the sunlight, she stepped outside and took a gulp of fresh air.

The greatest challenge of the last week had been neither thirst nor hunger. Oh, she would have gladly traded her favorite pair of earrings for tea and a scone, but what plagued her the most was boredom. Inside the cabin, the hours blurred together so that she could scarcely tell the difference between morning, midday, and evening.

Fortunately, she’d found a pastime of sorts—digging. She didn’t have proper tools, but sticks weren’t in short supply. After she’d whittled the end of a branch to a point, it worked almost as well as the pick James carried in his supply bag. Over the past few days she’d spent hours along the riverbank, painstakingly uncovering interesting little artifacts. Most of them were the same rounded stones
James had found. But between the rocks she’d also discovered bits of metal, tarnished with age. Perhaps she’d draw them in her journal before giving them to Uncle Humphrey. She hoped they’d make him smile.

Today would be her last day of isolation, and though there was not much she’d miss about the cabin, she realized, with no small amount of surprise, that she
would
miss exploring and digging by the river.

She grabbed her makeshift pick and tin cup, then walked along the little path she always traveled to the river. Upon hearing the gurgle of the water over rocks, she ran to the river’s edge, leaned over, and filled her cup. Greedily, she drank, emptying the cup before dipping it into the river again.

The water ran down her throat, crisp and cool, slaking her thirst and easing the pounding in her head. She lay in the grass, remembering the glorious afternoons she’d spent there with James. That was the unique torture of this place—memories of him surrounded her.

With a sigh, she sat up and walked farther along the river, soaking in the beauty of the mist-covered mountains and peaceful pastures. She was just about to hop onto the sand beside the riverbank to dig when an odd chill stole over her skin.

She froze, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, as though someone were watching her.

Dropping her things, she ran toward the security of the woods. Heedless of the branches and thorns that assaulted her, she darted toward the old cabin and ran inside. Her hands trembled as she slid the lock into place.

As her heart pounded violently, she told herself that her nervousness was due to lack of food and companionship.
She sank onto her pallet and pulled her knees to her chest. For several minutes, she barely breathed as she listened for the sound of footsteps in the brush or the rattle of the rickety door in its frame.

But it turned out that no one had followed her, and she needn’t have worried.

She was quite, quite alone.

James had been to London and back looking for Olivia.

But she’d vanished like a fairy into the forest. Gone.

Though she’d stopped at the inn in Sutterside, she’d never stayed there. And while she’d asked a couple of people about the mail coach, no one seemed to have actually
seen
her on one. He did find the horse she’d taken when she left Haven Bridge. And a farmer close by said he’d sold fruit to a young woman with a large bag.

Olivia’s trail had grown cold after that. He’d visited her aunt Eustace’s house and, on Rose’s suggestion, their cousin Amelia in London, but neither one had seen Olivia. Everyone was desperately worried about her. Especially him.

She’d been gone for seven nights, and when he thought of all the danger that could have befallen her, it made him insane.

But after interrogating three different serving women at three different inns along the highway today, he realized he needed a new strategy.

And he needed something to go on.

So he was going back to where the trail had started to retrieve the only real clue he had—Olivia’s letter.

He’d left it at the cottage where her family was staying, and it occurred to him that they might have some new
information as well. So he reluctantly returned to Haven Bridge—without Olivia.

He was a few miles outside the village when he noticed a scuffle going on, well off the side of the road, to his right and up a small hill. Urging his horse forward, he rode up the incline to investigate.

An elderly man holding a basket of vegetables cowered as a larger man in a torn, filthy jacket circled him, wielding a knife.

They both turned in surprise as James approached and dismounted. He eyed the man with the knife. “This is hardly a fair fight. You have a dagger, while your opponent is armed with a few potatoes and carrots.”

“This is no fight,” the old man croaked, as if James could not deduce what was going on. “He tried to steal my vegetables!”

The robber sneered at James, his yellow teeth gleaming against the backdrop of his grimy face. “Spare me your lectures. You know what they say about thieves and honor. I don’t give a damn about fairness. I want an advantage.” His gaze flicked over James’s empty hands. “And right now, it looks like I have it.”

The robber turned his attention to James and took three steps toward him.

James didn’t budge. The farmer, wild-eyed and trembling behind the robber, reached for a potato and cocked his arm as if to hurl the spud at his attacker. James shook his head and waved him off. “I’ll handle things from here.”

The old man hobbled quickly down the hill toward the road, losing a couple of carrots on the way.

“Your valuables,” the thief demanded, waggling his fingers at James. “Let’s have them.”

James’s fists clenched involuntarily; he stretched his fingers and smiled. “You’ve terrorized enough people for one day. Pack up your things and go far away. Don’t come back. Ever.”

“Maybe I will take a nice long ride—on that horse of yours. But first I’ll have your blunt and your valuables.”

“I wouldn’t even give you a halfpenny.”

“Brave talk for a fellow facing the tip of my blade.” He admired the sharp point. “There’s no ladies around to impress, you know.”

“And do you prey on helpless women, too?”

“Well, now. I could tell you that I don’t, but it’d be a lie.” He cackled at his own twisted wit.

The skin between James’s shoulder blades prickled. “Have you seen a young woman traveling alone here in the past week?”

“Maybe. What’s it worth to you?”

James’s patience snapped. He took one stride forward, grabbed the hand with the knife, and twisted it behind the thief’s back. “What did you do to her?” A lethal mix of rage and dread coursed through his veins, and his self-control teetered on the edge of a cliff. “Think carefully before you answer, because I’ll jump at any damned excuse to break your neck.”

The robber struggled to twist himself free, but James tightened his grip until the thief’s fingers turned blue and the knife dropped to the ground.

“Where is the lady?” If he’d hurt Olivia, he was dead. Stone cold.

“It was a week ago I saw her. All I took from her was a bottle of wine.”

“Lying bastard.” James spun the thief around and
slammed a fist into his chin. He staggered back, landed on his ass in the dirt, and immediately began scuttling backward.

“What did you do to her?”

“Nothing!” The robber struggled to stand, blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth.

James shoved him in the chest, easily knocking him back to the ground. “I want to know exactly what happened. Where is she now?”

“How the hell should I know? I looked through her bag—there was nothing worth taking. Just some clothes and food.”

“Food?” It seemed a curious item to pack, unless… “What else?” James growled through his clenched teeth.

“A small pouch of coins. Hardly anything.”

“And you took them.”

“I left her the food.” The thief scooted away until James grabbed him by the front of his jacket and hauled him to his feet.

“If I find out that you laid a hand on her, harmed her in any way—”

“I didn’t, I swear! She pulled a knife on me. I had to run for my life.”

“You should have run farther.”

Before the robber could reply, James landed a solid blow to his nose. His eyes rolled back in his head and he dropped to the dirt like someone had chopped him down with an ax.

He wasn’t dead, but close.

Oddly enough, the encounter gave James newfound hope. If Olivia had truly managed to escape the thief—
and if any woman could, it was she—then perhaps her trail was not as cold as he feared.

Why had she brought food with her? She may have wanted to travel without stopping for meals, or… perhaps she planned to hide out indefinitely. But where?

He checked the thief’s pockets and found a gold watch and a few coins, but nothing that could be traced back to Olivia.

At least he knew she had been on this path, presumably traveling on foot, just seven days ago. He would walk it, looking for clues, on his way back to Haven Bridge.

He took his horse by the reins, leading him down the narrow, grassy trail, unsure of what he hoped to find. Maybe a scrap of fabric had ripped off the hem of her dress or she’d dropped a hairpin or some other bauble. He was desperate to find any little thing that might confirm she’d been there and hadn’t vanished from the face of the earth.

And then, something bright gold winked amid the weeds and brush along the side of the path. He blinked, and it was gone. He took a few steps forward and dropped to his knees, parting the tall grass and searching for the glint of gold.

There it was.

The ring they’d found together at the river. He recognized the smooth, ancient metal, the beveled edge, the delicate size. Olivia’s ring.

His mind spun madly. Why would her ring have been carelessly tossed in the brush?

He couldn’t imagine her discarding it—regardless of what she’d written in her letter, he
knew
that the afternoons they’d spent by the river meant something. And
those memories were all wrapped up in this ring. No, she wouldn’t have willingly gotten rid of it.

But what if there had been a struggle? The robber could have demanded she take it off or tried to wrestle it from her. And if she’d resisted at all—just the foolishly brave sort of thing that Olivia would do—the ring might have gone flying into the grass, lost. Until he stumbled upon it.

Dread chilled his insides. He prayed that Olivia had fled from the thief as fast as her legs could carry her and that somehow, somewhere, she was safe. But his discovery of the ring shook his faith. Like a punch to the temple that comes out of nowhere, it left him stunned and reeling.

Dear God, he loved her.

He loved her with an intensity that frightened him. He should have realized it before now, but he’d been distracted. His expedition, her father’s letter, the fight with Huntford, and his guilt over the way he’d treated his brother had kept him from seeing what he should have seen all along.

She was the center of his world, the only thing that really mattered.

The possibility that something terrible might have happened to her shook him to his core. His life was nothing without her. He’d give up a pharaoh’s riches to have her by his side. And he prayed he had the chance to tell her that.

He brushed the ring across his lips before sliding it deep into his pocket.

He thought of the thief lying unconscious several yards behind him. Certainly there was more to the story than the robber had revealed. Part of James wanted to revive him with a splash of water and demand the rest of the
facts; part of him wanted to revive him just so he could pummel him all over again.

The only thing James knew for sure was that the pieces of the puzzle were not fitting together. He needed to analyze Olivia’s letter again, find out what Huntford had learned—if anything—and devise a new plan.

He simply had to find Olivia. And he had the awful, sickening feeling that time was his enemy.

The sights and sounds around him came into sharp focus—the weeds rustling in the breeze, the shadow of a hawk circling overhead, the frantic drumming of his heart in his chest. He pulled his horse alongside him, jumped into the saddle, and took off, hoping Haven Bridge would hold some answers.