Song From the Sea (18 page)

“I'm sorry,” Callie said in a low voice. “I hadn't meant to be gone so long, but I enjoyed talking with Nellie Bishop so much, and then when I realized how late the hour had grown I thought I'd better take a shortcut, just so that I wouldn't worry anyone.” She bit her lip. “I didn't think you'd be back in time to notice. Please don't blame Mrs. Simpson or any of the footmen. I'm the only person you should be annoyed with, and I'm sorry if I gave you a fright.”

Adam blew out a long breath. “You might think of that the next time you choose to disappear.” His voice gentled. “Look here, Callie. I don't mean for you to feel as if you're under lock and key, but you are still recovering from a serious accident and you ought not to be overexerting yourself.”

“I'm much stronger,” she said, but she knew he had a point.

“Perhaps you are, but Dr. Hadley made himself very clear about the possibility of recurring dizziness and headaches. Furthermore, women, even independent, single-minded, infuriatingly willful women such as yourself, do
not
go out unattended in public.”

“But in Ra—”

“And I don't want to hear a single word about how it's done in Ravello, because I think you make up anything that suits you in order to try to get your way. I feel very sure that young women are expected to behave the same way in Ravello and other places in the civilized world as they are in England.”

“Oh,” Callie said.

“Oh, indeed. You didn't think you could continue to try to put that one over, did you? If life in Italy went on as you painted it, women would be running the country.”

Callie grinned. “Well … maybe I exaggerated a little.”

“A little?” he said with disbelief. “Never mind. I won't even attempt to address the issue further.” He stood and held out his hands to her. “Come, it's time to go home. Are you strong enough to stand now?”

Callie was about to tell him that a lack of stamina hadn't been what had made her sit down so abruptly, but thought better of it. “Yes,” she said, taking his hands and letting him help her to her feet.

“Have you ever ridden a horse?” he asked, turning and whistling.

Only as Gabriel lifted his head with a whinny and trotted over did Callie realize that Adam had ridden, and that the drumbeat she'd heard had been Gabriel's hooves at full gallop.

“Of course I have,” she said, thrilled to pieces. She'd been longing to ride Gabriel since she'd first set eyes on him. He was a magnificent animal, a beautiful combination of grace and strength, not unlike his master.

Belatedly she realized that wasn't what Adam had in mind as he picked her up by the waist and deposited her sideways on the saddle. He effortlessly swung up behind her and wrapped one arm lightly around her waist. Gathering up the reins with the other hand, he nudged Gabriel into a walk.

Callie quickly decided that she didn't mind this unconventional form of transport at all. She leaned her shoulder against Adam's broad chest and let his weight support her. She hated to have to admit it to herself, but she was tired, and something about the easy manner in which Adam held her close against him made her feel safe and protected.

They reached the house only five minutes later, a pity, Callie thought, for she could have happily sat like that for a great deal longer. Adam pulled Gabriel up at the front steps, dismounted, and wordlessly handing the reins to a footman standing at the ready, he reached up and lifted her down, gently depositing her on the ground.

Callie looked up and realized that Mrs. Simpson, Gettis, Plimpton, Jane, and most of the other household staff stood outside the door, all of them looking pale with worry and vastly relieved to see her home safe, Michael and Henry included. She wanted to disappear with embarrassment and shame and cursed herself for her thoughtlessness.

“I really am sorry, Adam,” she said in a whisper.

“We won't mention it again,” he murmured, taking her arm and leading her up the steps. “Here is Miss Callie,” he said to the gathering. “Safe and sound and I imagine longing for a pot of hot tea and something to eat. Which,” he said, turning to Callie, “you will take in your bed, where you will oblige me by staying until tomorrow morning.

Mrs. Simpson will take you upstairs and Jane will see that you're comfortably settled. I must go out again and find Nigel, who thought you might have been foolish enough to disobey me and go into the woods.”

The blood drained from Callie's face as the full realization of why Adam had been so deeply concerned about her absence sank in. For an awful moment she felt as if she might faint.

Adam didn't hesitate. He scooped her into his arms as easily as if she were a child and carried her directly through the throng, into the house, and up the stairs straight into her bedroom where he placed her on the bed, pushing a pillow behind her head and pulling a blanket over her in two swift, economic movements.

“Adam, I—” She wet her dry lips with her tongue, trying to find the right words to tell him how terrible she felt about alarming him so unnecessarily.

“Not another word,” he said firmly. “I daresay you've learned your lesson and if you haven't, I'll take you over my knee the next time, and don't think I won't. Rest, Callie, and regain your strength. I'll be in later to see how you're feeling.”

“Thank you,” she said, looking up into his concerned face. “You are very good to me,” she said quietly, wondering how she could ever have thought him cold and unfeeling.

“I can't think why,” he said, suddenly smiling. “You are a disobedient baggage and should be locked in your room for a week with absolutely nothing to read.” He glanced pointedly at her bedside table where a pile of books were stacked. “That would bring you into line fast enough. Ah, here you are, Mrs. Simpson,” he said, looking over his shoulder and straightening. “You may take over your charge now, and you're not to scold her. I've already blistered her ears and she's repented for her sins.”

“Very good, my lord,” Mrs. Simpson said, wiping her red-rimmed eyes with her handkerchief. “All's well that ends well, I always say. Isn't that right, my pet? Will you want the doctor called in, my lord?”

But Adam had already slipped out, so Callie set about reassuring Mrs. Simpson that she had no need for the doctor, that she was only tired, that Nellie Bishop had been such good company that Callie had lost track of time, and so on and so on until Mrs. Simpson was finally reassured and Callie really was exhausted.

Finally left in peace after obediently drinking her tea and eating buttered scones and cucumber sandwiches under Mrs. Simpson's watchful eye, Callie heaved a sigh of relief and settled comfortably under the covers, mulling over her extraordinary afternoon.

She felt as if something significant had shifted in her small world, but she wasn't exactly sure what that shift was, only that it was very important. She'd gained a friend and a confidant in Nellie, and that alone gave her huge pleasure, for as much as the staff at Stanton might welcome her in their domain, they always subtly managed to remind her that an indefinable distance existed between them. She was Lord Vale's guest and they were his servants, and an invisible line separated them that Callie couldn't cross.

Nellie seemed to have made no such distinction, wholeheartedly accepting Callie, Lord Vale's guest or no, but then Nellie had no ties of loyalty or obligation to Adam—another reason Callie had decided to trust Nellie with her secret. She didn't regret her impulse for one moment, for not only did she feel confident that Nellie would not betray her, she also felt greatly relieved to have unburdened herself. The weight hadn't gone from her shoulders but it felt much lighter.

She wondered if Adam had anyone to unburden himself to. Nigel would be the obvious candidate, but from what Nellie had said, Adam had cut even Nigel off from his private feelings. Callie doubted that Adam confided in the vicar for spiritual counseling, since the last few Sundays had come and gone without any effort on Adam's part to go to church—indeed, she had to wonder if Adam even paid lip service to God, never mind the vicar. Adam never mentioned the Almighty in any context unless he was swearing, which led her to believe that his spiritual well-being must be low on his list of priorities.

Thinking about it, she realized how little she really knew about Adam. She knew nothing of his childhood, of when or how his father had died, if his mother was still alive or if he had any brothers or sisters, and if so, where they lived. She'd been so careful not to ask any personal questions for fear that she would be asked the same in kind that she'd kept to the most neutral of topics. Adam had obliged her by limiting his questions about her past to general inquiries about life in Ravello, which she was happy to invent, had even come to enjoy inventing for the sheer fun of teasing him. Other than that, they generally discussed philosophy, history, literature, and their day-to-day activities.

As a result, she knew what his opinions were on a variety of topics, but not what had formed them.

Callie considered. What
did
constitute knowing a person? It couldn't be the ordinary details of one's past, for if that were the case, she would have no understanding of Adam at all, nor he of her. But that wasn't how she felt—they were comfortable together, like old friends who marched along easily without the need for explanations and trivial politeness.

She liked Adam. She liked him very much, and she thought that he liked her, too. Surely that was enough? Knowing him too much better would only make her leaving that much more difficult, wouldn't it?

Rolling over onto her stomach, Callie moaned and buried her head in the pillow. She was lying to herself, and pretending would get her nowhere. She'd already done enough of that; only hard, cold truth would serve her, the master of pretense, now.

Open your heart and look at what it holds … only your heart can tell you where you belong.

The whisper in the meadow came back to her unbidden, serving as an acute reminder of what she had known deep within her from the moment that Adam had found her in the meadow and pulled her into his arms. She had been trying to ignore the blinding realization ever since.

Against all reason, she'd fallen in love with him.

She, a woman with no past and a highly questionable future, had fallen in love with a man who possessed not only a title and a fortune, but a heart bound to the past and his dead wife and child.

9

D
usk drew down, painting the deepening blue of the sky with long fingers of red and purple as Adam cantered toward the woods in search of Nigel. An icy dread constricted his chest, as if it were yesterday and not two interminably long years ago that he'd gone into the forest looking for Caroline and Ian. He'd expected to find them standing in their favorite spot on the little wooden bridge that spanned the stream, watching for fish and waiting for him. What he'd found instead didn't bear remembering.

A cold sweat beaded Adam's brow as he struggled to fend off the image of his wife's body lying still and bloodied, half covering Ian's small, lifeless form as if to protect him. He discovered later that she must have been carrying Ian and fallen where she stood; she wouldn't even have had time to register any danger. The single bullet that killed them both had pierced her through the back and finished its deadly course lodged in Ian's heart.

Swallowing hard against the metallic taste of bile rising in his throat, he forced himself to focus on the present. He needed to find Nigel—only Nigel. Callie was safe and tucked up in her bed where no harm could come to her. He might not have been able to save his wife and son, and for that he'd never forgive himself, but by God, no careless poacher was going to hurt any more innocents. Adam had seen that the word had gone out far and wide: Any trespasser on Stanton land would be shot on sight.

Bringing Gabriel to a halt, Adam scanned the line of open trees but saw no sign of Nigel. The temptation to turn straight around and ride home nearly got the better of him, and he had to draw on every ounce of his will to move Gabriel forward into the darker tangle where the trees thickened, their branches meeting overhead. The gelding must have sensed Adam's edginess, for he resisted, dancing sideways and snorting before reluctantly responding to Adam's insistent pressure.

Then again, Adam realized, Gabriel had never been into the forest. He'd only been a yearling and too young to ride, and Adam had taken his usual mount that nightmare afternoon. He'd sold the horse soon afterward.

Calling for Nigel as he went, Adam took care to steer away from the path leading toward the stream and the clearing on the other side of the bridge. He needed no more reminders of Caro or Ian and the many happy hours they'd spent together in what had once seemed a magic place. Even now he could almost hear Ian's bubbling laughter and Caro's light, musical voice echoing across it as they called to greet him.

A flash of movement caught the corner of his eye and he reflexively snapped his head around as if he expected to see Caro running toward him, Ian's hand in hers, his little legs pumping to keep up.