Flawless (8 page)

She shook free of her maudlin mood and prepared the bandages. “You’re bound for Kimberley, then?”

“That’s right, ma’am. The name’s Ike Penberthy, from Cornwall.” He tipped his head toward his wife. “You’ve already met Alice.”

“Actually, we hadn’t got so far as introductions. I’m Vivienne Bancroft.” She wound the bandage around his knee as
Alice supported his foot in her hands, holding the injured leg just off the ground. “I’m grateful you took up arms to defend us, Mr. Penberthy.”

“Couldn’t stand by and let them hurt me and mine.” He grimaced when Viv tied off the strip of linen.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t mention it.” Alice edged around and wiped his forehead with a damp rag. He smiled up at her. “Heaven, my angel.”

“This is hell if ever there was one on earth,” Alice said, her wide mouth drawn tight. “And I thought the mines in Cornwall were bad.”

“You say that now, but wait until you’re wearing diamonds from head to toe.”

Viv had to look away. Could the diamond fields really hold such riches? She’d been so intent on the terms of her father’s will and the bonus it offered. The thought of actually pulling handfuls of diamonds out of the dirt struck her as fairy-tale talk. Yet this family had traveled for months, uprooting their lives and risking the safety of their sons on just such a promise.

Her curiosity was too great. “What brings you this far from home, then?”

Ike rubbed the back of his neck. His buoyant, confident expression waned, and a quick glance toward Alice tempered his jolly personality all the more. “We left Cornwall thinking we could work our own piece. But word on the Cape Town schooner is that the claims are all consolidated now.”

Alice rubbed his shoulder. “He’s skilled, my lady. And educated. No matter the outcome, Ike will see us through.”

“Oh?” Viv smiled. “What sort of background? If you don’t mind my asking, that is.”

“I know rocks and the like—assaying. I graduated from the Miners’ Association school in Camborne.”

Footfalls behind Viv caught their attention. Both Ike and Alice squinted up to face the approaching man.

“Penberthy, how many dead from this wagon?” Miles asked.

Viv arose with some semblance of grace, even though her muscles had stiffened with fatigue. Never had she seen him look so capable and electric. His sun-touched brown hair had been coated with pale dust, but his face was freshly scrubbed.

“Only one,” Ike said. “The others have already collected his body. A lad of seventeen, down from Glasgow way. Dead now.”

Miles took her elbow, offering silent, unexpected support upon hearing such news. The sarcastic comment or lewd expression she’d learned to expect throughout their marriage never came. That was nearly enough to unbalance her anew.

“Help me up, Alice.” Ike waved away her protests. “This is the man who made it happen, and I’ll stand to greet him properly.”

“Nonsense,” Miles said. “Hanford Wilkes was in charge here. I merely found him a few more able soldiers.”

Viv made the introductions. She couldn’t help but
admire how Miles’s firm handshake and relaxed charm seemed to instantly earn the man’s respect. It shone on Ike’s face, bright as a lamp.

“You’d better get that tended to,” Ike said.

Miles glanced down at his collarbone. Then at Viv. “I intend to.”

She tried for a noncommittal smile, despite shivering at the thought of touching this new, more primal version of the man she knew all too well. However, she was not convinced she was out of danger—at the way station or with Miles. “But what happens now? Is there room enough for everyone to continue on?”

“Wilkes sent a runner back to Beaufort,” Miles said. “Additional stagecoaches will arrive later this evening, if we’re lucky. Maybe even a military escort.”

“Then why weren’t we escorted in the first place?” Alice’s pinched mouth revealed her displeasure even more eloquently than her words.

“An astute question, Mrs. Penberthy.” Miles appeared tired, his customary grin forced. “One that I’ll be sure to ask people more sensible than myself. Now, if you’ll excuse us. A man wounded in pitched battle deserves the tender mercies of his wife.”

M
iles walked Viv toward the
bluff where she had first spotted the incoming raiders. She carried bandages and a skein of water, collected after having checked on her maid.

The sun would not set for another few hours, as the long, long summer day dragged toward twilight. Deep orange burnished her flawless skin and turned wheat-blonde strands of hair the color of bronze. She must’ve scrounged some manner of toiletries because her face was clean and her hair had been wetted, combed, and fashioned into a simple bun at the base of her neck.

Without a word, her hands steady, she sat facing Miles on the bluff and began to dress his gash—as if they hadn’t kissed earlier that afternoon. As if tending wounds constituted part of her duties as a viscountess. A little crease tucked between her brows as she concentrated. He could almost believe she was as cool as she appeared, when he needed her to be otherwise.

Only problem was his fatigue. The skirmish had taken
a hideous toll on him, though he didn’t know why. Mortal danger, maybe? Was this the natural reaction to walking away from such violence? He was simply too tired to bait her, wanting only the moment of comfort she seemed willing to provide. The rest could wait.

“I’ve hired Mr. Kato,” he said by way of neutral conversation.

“Without consulting me?”

“He stood over me, armed, while I saved Chloe’s life. I hardly thought you’d mind.”

“No, I shouldn’t think so.”

“Besides, he used to work for the Barnaby Mine until they were bought out. His worth is hard to overestimate. Brawn, obviously, but also a potential link to local habits and enterprises—languages and the like. He says the men who attacked were renegade Boers who have yet to accept the terms of surrender. They harass English travelers for revenge. Maybe for profit. But either way, Mr. Kato seems a good man to have on our side.”

“You spoke with him?”

“I didn’t read his mind, if that’s what you mean.” His stomach flipped,
hard
, when she smiled softly. Miles soaked it up. To see Viv happy and smiling. God, how long had it been? And how long had it been since he’d been the cause?

“I suppose,” she said steadily, “that entering an unknown situation with a ready ally cannot be a mistake.”

He enjoyed her acquiescence. However, if Viv started to agree with him and think him a dependable, prudent partner,
he might need to remain as such. He found the Cape appealing but not so dearly as to become a responsible human being.

She had returned to washing the blood and grime from his collarbone. Miles bit his back teeth together. The stinging pain was bad enough to distract him from her soft, soothing touch. For that alone he resented the injury, even if it had brought her this close. She bent low to inadvertently reveal the back of her neck. Pink skin. Slightly sunburned. Stray whorls of silken gold curled there, taunting, teasing him with the need to sink greedy fingers into her hair and pull her mouth to his once again.

Bloody hell.
He was a viscount and a married man. He shouldn’t need to suffer grievous harm to earn the privilege of his wife’s hands on his skin. But that’s what it felt like—a privilege after all this time.

“And you managed these negotiations while I tended Chloe?”

What was it about her tone of voice that shamed his past behavior as much as it inspired him to keep doing good? He grabbed at levity to keep such thoughts at bay. “Just making myself useful.”

“That was quite a feat you managed, Miles.” Her voice was rough and soft, as if she’d recently recovered from an illness. “Gathering those men as you did.”

“A perfectly good resource going to waste. I hadn’t thought to do the right thing. Or any thing at all, really. But dying here had been the only other option, one I absolutely refuse to entertain. Think of the indignity, Vivie.”

He feigned a shudder to cover a deeper dread. Seeing her hurt was simply . . . unthinkable—even though he knew he’d caused his fair share over the years.

“But who knows how many lives you saved today.”

He chuckled. “Is that a thank you?”

She lifted her eyes—those magnificent hazel eyes that concealed so much. How did she keep it all locked away? He’d been born to title and knew less about dignity than she managed with that simple sweep of her gaze.

Sweet Lord, he wanted to taste her again. To feel her surrender.

“No,” she said softly. “This is. Thank you, Miles.”

He searched his mind for a crude, leveling comment to counter her earnestness, but none came. His brain was a blank. All he could do was stare into eyes made to glow by the fire of a sinking sun.

Viv blinked and ducked. Still gentle, she patted his wound dry. “Chloe isn’t going to fare well here,” she said, almost a confession. “I shouldn’t have brought her.”

“She’ll adjust.”

“She shouldn’t have to. This was my endeavor, but now . . .”

He couldn’t help but touch her then, just under the chin. Viv wanted a confidant, apparently, but he wanted her skin beneath his hands. A fair trade. “But now?”

“What are we doing here?” For a moment he could almost believe she meant them. What were
they
doing? In truth, they’d been on the verge of an irreconcilable implosion since stepping up to the altar. “What if this is a place
where we won’t ever be safe?” she asked, dispelling his fanciful notions. “What if these hard-working people have been utterly duped by tales of easy riches? I—”

She swallowed and Miles dropped his hand. Even worse than fatigue, there was danger in her vulnerability. Any doubts would be shadowy mirrors of his own, and he didn’t like having that in common with Viv. He desired a much baser connection. Fighting for their lives had only exacerbated the hum and thump of need that shuddered through his body.

This wasn’t what he’d planned. It certainly wasn’t why he’d traveled across the width and breadth of the Atlantic and weathered life in a hellish camp on the edge of war. Adventure aside, his goals remained as simple as a man could possibly manage. Earn the money. Bed his wife. And this time, be the first to leave.

“Seems to me, Vivie, that you have two choices.” Miles dragged to his feet and dusted off his trousers. Viv flinched as the grit flew into her face. His only apology was a grin. “You can climb aboard one of these delightful coaches and discover what Kimberley holds in store for you, or you can say the word.”

“Say . . .
what
, exactly
?
”

“Say the word and we can go home.” A familiar meanness reinvigorated his sense of purpose. “You remember home, don’t you? The view of the park in spring bloom from our bedroom window? The sheets we tangled into knots on our wedding night? Oh, and I’m certain we can snag an invitation to the next gala Lord Saunders hosts.
He enjoyed my company last time, I’m certain of it, and I enjoyed you.”

Fire sparked across her expression. “At a time like this you decide to taunt me with that night? We could’ve died today!”

“All the more reason to enjoy each other when the opportunity is presented.”

He grabbed her hands before she could object and hauled her up. She steadied herself with both palms on his forearms. Her breasts brushed his chest, which was bare to the sternum. They stood so close that when Miles licked his lower lip, he tasted hers with the same quick sweep of tongue.

She inhaled sharply. Perhaps she read the untamed hunger in his eyes because she pushed out of his arms.

Miles tensed and hissed. “Good God, that hurts.”

He’d expected more anger, or even the vulnerable fear that could wear away at him like the slow drip of water. Instead she’d replaced her protective mask, the one that said his comfort and teasing were equally unwelcome.

“Then hold still while I finish, you fool. Shirt off.”

With more economy than sensuality, she helped remove the battered garment. Thus was the moment when Viscount Bancroft stood bare-chested before his own wife in the middle of a desolate African plateau. He nearly shook his head at the dizzying wonder. Boredom had been his lifelong curse. Body alive—both pain and pleasure—and mind alight with sensual imaginings, he was anything but bored.

He studied her as she wound bandages over his shoulder
and around his collarbone. It was either that or succumb to the potent need gathering in his cock. She smelled of sweat and dust and Vivienne. He’d endured enough pretty detachment and polite façades to last ten lifetimes.

This
was real. And he loved every moment.

She finished the dressing and stepped back, hands clasped at her stomach. Her expression, however, was not so demure. If he didn’t know better, Miles would’ve sworn that his prim, proud wife was drinking in the sight of his bare chest. Was it possible she would make this game so easy?

Not a chance.

“So,” he said, rolling his shoulder against the dressing. She’d tended him well. “Here are your choices, Vivie. Push on or return to jolly old England.” She held her ground as he closed in, which made him smile. The fading warmth of the sun was nothing to the heat of her body defying his. “However, if you insist on reconsidering your position with every new challenge, we will endlessly repeat this conversation. I’ll lose my patience.”

“You have no patience to lose.” Her chin lifted and her gaze plowed into his. “And we won’t have this conversation again. I’m here for the duration, Miles. I
will
have that bonus.”

“Good. Here I was thinking you’d nullify our little arrangement. There would be consequences.”

“You won’t force me,” she said.

As if he would. As if her words would stop him if he wanted to.

“Just because I’ve decided to keep from seducing you on a public train,” he said, “or in the midst of a surprisingly
violent desert, doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten the terms of our cooperation.”