Karla Darcy - [Sweet Deception Regency 04] (22 page)

"Told you that bloody nabob slipped Coachman a guinea," one of the farmers shouted to his seatmate. "Took the ribbons after our last change of horses, he did."

"Ought to be a law against anyone in the box seat," shouted back his companion. "If he keeps on fanning the horses there'll be trouble for sure."

Leslie shook her head to clear her sleep-fuzzy brain. She was aware of the increased speed of the coach by her inability to maintain her seat. She and the other passengers were being tossed about like so much driftwood. At the sound of the guard's horn she turned to the window but saw only a glimpse of the raised tollgate as they tore along the road. She tightened her hold on the window frame, choking back a cough as dust swirled in through the cracks around the door. Suddenly there was a change in the rhythm of the horses and then with a sickening swaying motion the coach wobbled back and forth.

Leslie scrabbled to maintain her hold on the window but her hands were torn away as the top-heavy coach pitched over on its side. She crashed against the door, striking her cheek on the framework as with a snap of breaking timbers the coach pitched over on its side.

For a moment Leslie thought she had gone blind but discovered that her beaver hat had been jammed down over her eyes. She tried to raise her hand but the body of one of the passengers pinned her in her seat. Squirming didn't help to dislodge him and as she turned her head she realized that the old man was either unconscious or dead. Blood oozed from a cut on his forehead and Leslie blessed the protection of her own beaver hat. She closed her eyes on the sight of the ashen face so close to her shoulder.

The high-pitched screaming of the horses and the guttural cursing of the coachman mingled in disordered chaos. Leslie knew there would be no relief for them immediately and bit her lip as tears rose in her throat. The pressure of the man sprawled on top of her compressed her ribs and she fought for every breath. In panic she realized if help did not come soon she might die from lack of air.

"Gawd Almighty!"

The blasphemous voice sounded like celestial tones to Leslie as one of the farmers stirred to life. After an age of painful jostling the men discovered that the door, which was now where the roof should be, was jammed too tightly to be opened from inside. Continued shouting of the two men contributed nothing but more confusion to the scene. Leslie's vision was beginning to blur as she fought for each breath of precious air. She heard shouting outside but it seemed such a distance away. Thankfully the horses had stopped their unearthly keening. The coach trembled as someone leaped to the top and with a sharp rending of wood the door was torn from its hinges. Unintelligible voices echoed around Leslie as the passengers were lifted off of her.

Turning her head she looked up without surprise into Manji's blazing eyes. Her mouth broadened into a foolish grin when Jacko's wizened face popped up beside the giant but she still held her breath waiting. And then Pax was there. Leslie's eyes fluttered across his beloved features as he lowered himself into the coach. When he lifted her, she was grateful for one final glimpse of her husband. Her head fell weakly against his chest, and her body was convulsed with tremors of relief. Cradled in Pax's arms, Leslie closed her eyes, giving in to the waves of darkness that engulfed her.

Leslie woke slowly and painfully. Her body ached as though she had been beaten. She lay still against Pax's chest, lulled by the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. She felt totally secure, remembering the miraculous rescue after the accident. Cautiously opening her eyes, she winced at sight of the grim-faced figures on the opposite seat. Jacko and Manji, arms folded across their chests, wore identical expressions of uncompromising indignation. Although she may have felt that her foolish escape had come to a very satisfactory conclusion, obviously neither of the two men felt the same.

For a moment Leslie debated the wisdom of returning consciousness. Although she had often been the object of the older men's displeasure, never before had she so flouted their protection and advice. Once assured of her safety, they would have little pity for her harrowing experience since they would feel her own irrational actions had catapulted her into danger. It helped little, knowing they were right.

Still feigning sleep, Leslie turned so that she could see Pax's face in order to gauge the mood of her husband. His profile was etched against the afternoon sunlight, revealing a clenched jaw under narrowed eyes. He held her gently, but the steel band of muscles in his arms were ridged with controlled tension. For all his tenderness after the accident, it was apparent that Pax was even less forgiving than Manji and Jacko.

"Are you all right?"

Leslie flinched at the icy tones of Pax's voice. She eased away from his arms, bereft of protection as she struggled to sit up. In a small voice she said, "Yes. Stiff, but otherwise fine. And the others?"

"Nobody dead, no thanks to that idiot coachman! We stopped at the next town and sent back help." Pax's voice was harsh. He stared out the window, refusing to acknowledge Leslie. "We're almost to Windhaven."

"I want to thank---" Leslie began, but Pax held up his hand for silence.

"Later," he stated calmly.

"But---"

"Not another word or I will personally strangle you," Pax said. The reasonable tone far belied the threat in his eyes as he turned his head in her direction. "Cheered on no doubt by these much put-upon gentlemen."

Leslie's eyes flew to the glaring twosome on the opposite seat and she subsided huffily into the corner of the carriage. How dare they treat her so, she muttered angrily to herself. After all, she was the one who had just been through a frightening experience. She pulled her greatcoat protectively around her, shivering in the tense silence.

As the horses pulled to a halt in the carriage sweep of Windhaven, Leslie pressed herself against the squabs reluctant to descend. Without ceremony, Pax scooped her up and carried her inside, nodding grimly to Winters as he took the stairs two at a time. His booted foot kicked open the door to his suite and he crossed the room, depositing her on the bed. He strode back across the room, slamming the door and whirling to face Leslie. Only then did he unleash his frustration.

"Of all the incompetent, lack-witted, idiotic, lamebrained actions!" he bellowed. "How dare you run off as you did! How could you possibly be so thoughtless!"

Leslie's chin trembled and she covered her mouth with her hands. Pax's face was white, the muscles cording in his neck as he fought for control. He strode to the bed, glaring down at Leslie who cowered back against the headboard.

"Have you any idea how worried Jacko has been? And Manji? They have always protected you and cosseted and you run away without a thought for their feelings." Pax clenched his fists at his side, struggling to keep his hands off the white-faced girl whose eyes swam with tears. "Have you any idea what the last twenty-four hours have been like? Well, have you?" he shouted.

"Y-yes," Leslie said, her voice breaking on the word. Her throat was so clogged with tears she was unable to respond further. In silent misery she nodded her head.

The crystal blue eyes in the whitened face tore at his heart and Pax shuddered with the fear that had bathed his body since Manji had told him of Leslie's escape. He had known that he loved her but even he hadn't realized how much a part of his life she had become. But as the carriage raced from one posting yard to another following Jacko's instructions, Pax had known an agony of despair that he never wanted to feel again. Leslie's whispered reply broke through his whirling thoughts.

"I'm sorry, Pax."

"Oh, God, Leslie!"

Pax grabbed her shoulders, pulling her into the safety of his arms. He cuddled the sobbing girl against his body as he eased himself onto the bed. Rocking and petting her, he crooned soft words into her hair until she quieted. He fumbled in his pocket for a large handkerchief and handing it to her, said, "Blow your nose."

Abruptly Pax stood up. Leaving Leslie on the bed, he strode to the door. Opening it, he nodded at the two figures waiting apprehensively in the hall. "Jacko, I want hot water and food."

"Aye, your Grace," the old man said, grinning over his shoulder as he strutted self-importantly along the hall.

Pax looked up in surprise at the waiting giant whose expression was a rich blend of diffidence and worry. "Well, Manji?"

"The little one is all right?"

"I haven't beaten her, if that's what you want to know." Pax's grin took away the brusqueness of his words. "She will have no need to run away again," he finished softly.

"And your shoulder?" Manji shifted restlessly as he waited for Pax's answer.

"You were doing your duty, Manji." Pax shrugged his shoulders, indicating the blow was forgotten. He extended his hand which was immediately swallowed up in Manji's enormous one. "It was a good night's work, my friend."

"Jeete Raho, Risaldar."

Leslie heard Manji's reply before Pax closed the door. The pain of loss filled her body at the words. Jeete Raho was an old Hindu blessing meaning: Live long. But it was the word Risaldar that told Leslie that Manji had given his allegiance to Pax. A Risaldar was a senior Indian officer in the cavalry and Leslie's father was the only person to whom Manji had given that title. Leslie felt abandoned. For so many years, she, Jacko and Manji had been an inseparable threesome. Now by her foolish actions she had forfeited their loyalty.

As Pax turned toward the bed, Leslie pressed her back against the headboard, willing herself not to cry. She could not let him see how much she had lost. Pax had taken everything she had. He had taken her love, her friendship, her freedom and now even her friends. He had shouted at her cruelly. He had accused her of infidelity. Through it all, she had managed to find the strength to continue with her life, but this final blow was more than she could manage. Always before when her life was dark, she had known she could count on the loyalty of her friends but now she was alone. Her life was empty.

When Pax turned away from the door, he saw Leslie's expression and how she cringed away from him. His face twisted in agony, and he knelt on the hearth, striking a flint to light the fire. He waited until the logs were burning crisply before he felt able to face Leslie again. Pax was relieved at the arrival of the servants. While the men bustled around, he leaned patiently against the mantel. Finally, he ushered them out, with a few low words of thanks to a beaming Jacko. As the door closed, Pax's eyes once more swung to the girl on the bed.

"Come here, Leslie." He was startled by the harshness of his own voice, and repeated the words more softly. "Come here, please."

Leslie swung her feet off the bed, wincing at the stiffness in her limbs. She pulled her coat around her as though seeking protection. Then hesitantly she crossed the room.

"Give me your coat. You need a proper wash and some food." Pax's voice was colorless, reflecting neither anger nor censure.

Leslie shrugged out of the greatcoat, falling back at the sudden blaze of fury in Pax's eyes as he took in the torn and dirty garment. She gulped in fear as he reached out for the coat. Without a word he helped her off with her jacket and shirt, throwing them across the room in an accusatory heap. With a wave of his hand, he indicated her buckskins were to follow. She removed her boots and her trousers, blushing in embarrassment as she stood only in her chemise.

In silence Pax washed her. Once more his face was expressionless. Methodically, as though he were bathing a child, he scrubbed her face, neck and arms. He was thorough and despite his obvious anger, his hands were gentle. When he lightly touched the bruise on her cheek where she had fallen against the door of the coach, his breath hissed through his teeth in a ragged stream. Abruptly Pax turned, throwing the washcloth into the basin. Then carefully, as though he were tightly controlling his emotions, he wrapped her in a soft velvet robe that bore his insignia.

Satisfied at last, Pax picked her up, carrying her across the room to the fire. He lowered himself into an enormous chair, and to Leslie's stunned surprise, placed her cozily on his lap. Silence filled the room. Leslie wanted to melt into the safety of his arms, but was afraid. She held herself stiffly, wondering at Pax's strange behavior.

"Are you hurt in any way, Leslie?"

Leslie started at his question, her eyes searching his face at the strange quality of his voice. Since their marriage, Pax had patronized, teased, growled and shouted at her. She had become expert in gauging his moods by the varying tones of his voice. But she had never heard this particular tone. It was filled with concern and worry, as if he really cared about her. Sudden tears filled her eyes as she thought how splendid everything would have been if Pax loved her.

"Don't cry, sweetheart," Pax said, enfolding her once more in his arms. "Just tell me if you're hurt. I'll send for the doctor, I promise."

Leslie sniffed, tucking her head in the curve of his neck. She felt protected in his arms but acknowledged that it was only an illusion of her own needs. She must remember that she was alone. Nothing had changed. The scent of him wafted up from his body, and she pushed herself upright, unwilling to give in to her own weak needs to be cuddled and loved. In a low voice she answered, "I'm only bruised."

Pax's brow cleared, and it seemed to Leslie that he sagged back against the cushions in relief. He turned her to face him and with gentle fingers pushed the hair off her forehead, lingering in the soft curls at her temples. "I want you to promise me that you will never run away again," he said.

Leslie's blood pounded at his nearness and her breath caught in her throat, threatening to suffocate her. With all her heart, she wanted to reach out and smooth away the lines of worry etched on his brow. Her hands ached with the need to stroke the throbbing pulse at the side of his neck. As his hands caressed her hair, she fought against her own weakness, crossing her arms over her chest to keep her traitorous fingers immobile.