A Most Delicate Pursuit (6 page)

Beatrice held tight as they rode well into the day. She swore she could hear the men chasing after them at every turn. The day warmed up only until mid-morning and then the rain began, a steady drizzle, and temperatures dropped as the afternoon shadows grew longer into night. The more hours that passed, the more miserable she felt.

“Will we be stopping soon?” she asked. At first she wasn't sure he'd heard her, as the wind had begun whipping around them.

“In a bit. We can't take the chance of them catching up.”

“Oh.” Though her spirits were sinking by the moment, she did her best to hold her feelings in check. It wouldn't do for her to turn into a nagging harpy.

“Another hour,” he called out to her. “Maybe two. I know where there is a cabin we can stay for the time being.”

“Are you sure we'll be safe?”

“As sure as I am of anything,” he called to her.

For almost three hours they rode and she feared that she was near to dying. With the continual downpour, cold had penetrated through her clothes, and even though Michael had pulled off his own coat to wrap around her, it made little difference.

“Don't you need it?” she asked, her teeth chattering.

He laughed. “Of course not. Hide as thick as a camel, you know.”

Bea now sat huddled in his arms. The one time they'd stopped, he'd moved her to sit in his lap and wrapped his coat around her. She found a small measure of warmth, but only for a short time.

From that time until they approached the beaten-down cottage, she knew nothing. In and out of drowsiness, she lost track of time.

“Here we are,” he said at last. Easing off the horse, he pulled her down in his arms and carried her to the front of the cabin. The door was shut and a rusted iron lock was in place. Bea heard him curse. She thought he might have put her down, but instead only stepped back a pace and then kicked the door in. The old wood and rusty hinges gave in easily enough.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“Nowhere special,” he answered, carrying her through the cottage to where a cot sat in one corner, dried straw upon it. Settling her there, he went into the other room and came back with a coarse horse blanket and spread it across the bed.

“Here,” he said, pulling the edges up around her shoulders. “I'll build a fire.”

“Thank you,” she barely managed. She dozed off then, and when she awoke again, she saw that he'd set a blaze in the fireplace. The room had heated up nicely despite the thick veil of smoke that hung about the room.

“First order of business is to fix that flue or we'll choke to death.”

“Michael,” she said, “it doesn't look that bad. Can't it wait until morning? You've not rested at all.”

“I've gone farther on less sleep.” He turned from her and went back to his task. After clearing some sort of nest from the chimney, he found an ancient broom and began sweeping the area clear, coughing when a cloud of dusty ash swirled about him.

“For Heaven's sake. You've stirred up enough dust to cause a windstorm.”

He laughed. “Once the dust settles, you'll be thanking me.”

“If I'm still breathing.” She coughed. “Please rest for a bit,” she said.

“You'll be fine. I'm just going to fix up a place for us to sleep for the night. This cabin can be quite cozy once we set things to right.”

“I highly doubt that,” Bea said, pulling his jacket tighter around her shoulders. “Besides, you look about to tumble over. Let's find a spot to rest before we both fall flat.”

In spite of his efforts to appear noble, Michael felt unsteady. Their hasty retreat, the long hours in the carriage, the attack, and their flight through the night had taken their toll on his reserves.

Though there was much to do to secure the cabin, he knew he'd have to get some sleep soon or he'd collapse. That was the last thing any gentleman wanted to do in front of a lady.

Luckily, he'd found another stack of hay. Covering it with the last blanket, he beat the straw to make sure nothing else shared his bed. The fading lights of the evening shone through the cracks in the thatched roof, which he'd have to fix tomorrow. Thankfully, the rain had stopped, or else they'd be soaked before daylight. A chilly breeze passed through the room. It was going to be a very cold night as it was.

Somewhere in the depth of his sleep, Michael heard rustling, and a few seconds later he felt the warm body of another next to him. Following his natural inclination, he rolled to his side and pulled his companion toward him, enfolding her into his embrace and doubling their warmth. Drifting back to sleep, he heard Beatrice's soft sigh and felt her melt into his arms. For a time, he let all of their concerns ebb away.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been asleep, but Bea woke with a start. Aroused by the sound of rustling trees, birdsong, and a nearby hive of bees, she couldn't discern where she was, let alone how she'd gotten there. Then, suddenly aware of her surroundings, the events of the past day came rushing into her mind. The ball, her flight from that devil Bainbridge, Michael's rescue, she and Michael's flight into the darkness only to be attacked hours later, both of them barely escaping with their lives, and the long, terrible ride to the cottage.

None of that bothered her as much as where she found herself—tucked neatly into a pile of raggedy blankets and in the arms of a man. Well, not just any man.

A solid, strong man. One who both frightened and amazed her. When they'd first met, she'd often dreamed of sharing his bed. Of what he would be like when they made love. Of how a life with him as her husband would be.

“Silly girl,” she muttered under her breath. How could she be such a ninny?

“Mmm.” She heard her friend moan. “Morning already?” he asked, stretching and yawning wide.

Dear heavens, she thought, could he look any more adorable?

“I'm not sure of the time,” she mumbled, scooting away from him and pulling the blanket up against the chill.

“What?” He jumped, suddenly surprised, likely by their both sharing the same pile of straw and his being in such close proximity to a semi-clothed woman.

“Oh dear,” she said, looking down and seeing herself wearing nothing but her shift. “My clothes…”

“…are drying by the fireplace.” He pointed toward the now-dead embers.

It was then that the entire flight from Summerton cut through her sleep-muddled brain.

“You helped me undress…”

“I held up a blanket for you. All very innocent. And, as far as coming to my bed”—he wiggled his eyebrows at her—“that was your decision as well.”

She sent him a scornful glance. “I was cold. Very cold.”

“And I was most accommodating.”

The man could be most aggravating. Bea crossed her arms. “Yes, you were. Thank you.”

“You're most welcome.”

He grinned and, springing from his, uh, their bed, she reminded herself, he went about the cabin, first stoking the fire and then handing her the clothing.

Looking around, she saw the cabin had gone a long time without inhabitants. Well, of the two-legged variety. There were signs of wildlife everywhere. The roof thatching was home to several varieties of birds who, judging by their incessant chattering, were not happy with sharing their home. Also, she could see rat droppings in the corners. Silently, Bea prayed the vermin had decided to move on. She didn't relish the thought of sharing her bed with companions of the rodent variety.

“Shouldn't we be going soon?”

“We can't leave just yet. I'm sorry, but there are things that need tending to. Our horse threw a shoe, so I'll be fixing that before we go anywhere. And there's the fact that we have no supplies and I've no idea how far we'll be able to travel without water and food.”

“Oh.” Bea suddenly felt the urge to cry, but the last thing she wanted to do was give in to hysteria. “I see.”

“And then, there's this.”

Stunned, she watched as he pulled off his jacket and she saw that half of his shirt and sleeve were covered in dried blood.

“When did that happen?”

“When the carriage rolled over,” he told her. “I was stabbed by a tree branch that went through the window.”

“And you didn't think to mention it?” she gasped. Walking closer to him, and swallowing back the bile rising in her throat, she saw the dark red hole of his injury.

Now that she got a better look at him in the morning light, she suddenly became aware of several things at once. His usually robust coloring looked more flushed, despite the low temperatures that had her pulling her blanket even tighter around her. A light sheen of sweat had formed on his brow. Reaching out, she placed the back of her hand on his forehead.

“You've got a fever.”

He shrugged. “A minor inconvenience, I assure you.”

She shook her head. “I know. You've been through worse. Still, we've got to get that shirt off you and give the wound a good cleaning.”

“Already trying to remove my clothing? What a scandal, Miss Hawkins. What are you thinking?”

Bea did not let his attempt at humor deter her. “Nonsense. You'll be no use to me dead, now, will you?”

He nodded reverently to her. “I defer to your most sensible judgment, but first we must locate a clean source of water. If my memory serves, there is a spring about an hour's walk from here. I'll take the horse and head that way. I should be back soon.”

“It's that far away?”

“I'm afraid so,” he said. “Now, let's get you warmed up. I believe there is a patch of wild strawberries at the bottom of that hill. If we're lucky, I might even run across some quail eggs.”

Pushing down her mounting concerns, she nodded. “A most delightful breakfast. All we need is tea.”

“I can do many things, dear Beatrice, but magic is not one of them.”

“Of course. You've done far too much already.”

He bowed low and reminded her of the fine figure he'd cut the very first time they'd been introduced. A stab of regret went through her. Their flight and his injury were two more things that she could have avoided had she gone the path her family had so badly wanted to set her upon.

“Michael,” she said as he turned away from her.

“Yes?”

She was going to tell him thank you, for risking his life and now thinking only of their survival. But the sight of him took her breath away. The way his gaze wandered over her, warmed her in a most unexpected way. She couldn't decide if it was the set of his jaw, or the width of his shoulders, or even his attitude of roguish confidence that affected her so.

“Do try not to injure yourself further.” She held her breath.

He looked at her a moment. “It's not as if I intended to get hurt in the first place.”

“I know, but it seems you do get hurt quite often.”

He grinned. “You're worried about me?”

“Of course I am. You're my brother-in-law's friend, after all. I mean, he'd be most upset if something terrible were to happen to you.”

“He would be? And you, Beatrice? Would you be upset as well?”

Well, that was the question, wasn't it? Beatrice suddenly felt as if some sort of challenge had been issued and she was very much at a disadvantage.

“I certainly don't want anything to happen to you.”

“Ah. Then you do care.” With that he winked at her and then ducked out of the cottage.

Bea suddenly felt as if the floor had opened up beneath her. “That devil,” she muttered, still staring at the spot where he'd been standing.

Of course she cared about him. She had from the very first night they'd met. But the expression he'd given her had suggested he knew the very secrets of her soul. The blasted man had unsettled her once again.

Well, now it was her turn to challenge him. She only had to figure out how to do it.

After gathering breakfast for them, which included both the strawberries and four eggs he'd found not far from the cabin, he luckily found a narrow stream at the back of the property. Barely trickling, it would do for the moment. Though not as grand as was the habit at Summerton, he'd managed to boil the eggs over the fire in a pot that had been left over the fireplace.

“Not a bad meal, eh?” he said. In spite of the nausea that stirred in his gut, he did his best to remain cheerful. He knew his fever was getting worse and he should have taken care of his shoulder, but he wanted to make sure she'd gotten some food and water in her. One of them would have to remain strong, after all.

“It's good,” she told him once they'd finished. “I do wish that we'd gotten some of our clothes from the carriage at least,” she told him, rubbing her arms and putting more branches on the fire.

“Sorry, there wasn't time…”

He started to stand but a wave of dizziness came over him.

“Here,” she said, suddenly at his side, helping him to the cot. “Your fever is worsening. It's time we took care of your shoulder.”

“I can't argue with that, though I have to admit, I'm not looking forward to it.”

Once he was lying down, Beatrice took the pot of now-cooling egg water and set it on the bench beside her. She paused a moment and looked over the wound.

“I suppose we'll have to get that shirt off first.”

He nodded, and even that small effort made his gut roil.

“It'll be best to dampen it with warm water and then gently pull it away.” Holding his breath, he tensed while she set to work.

“I'm so sorry,” she said once she'd begun to gently pull the fabric.

“Argh!” he grunted as she gave it a final tug, freeing the cloth and the clotted blood from his tender wound.

“Oh, dear,” she said. “Sorry. I think that's the worst of it.”

“Good.” He let out a breath and steeled him for the question he must ask. “Is the branch still stuck in the wound?”