My Unfair Lady (22 page)

   Byron shrugged and winced at the pain still in his shoulder. "It doesn't matter. I must get you back to London and then on a ship to New York as soon as possible."

   Summer's heart sank at the thought of returning to America. "What do you mean? I haven't been presented to the Queen yet! What about our busi ness arrangement?"

   "I'm sorry to say, madam, that if you refuse to marry me, I cannot meet the terms of our arrangement."

   Meg, who'd been watching the discussion between the two of them with her mouth open, gasped. When they both glared at the girl, she scooped up the animals and scurried back to the house.

   
Now look what you've done,
thought Summer.
Who
knows what that poor child is blabbing to all the servants, as
if they didn't already know too much of my business.

   "How dare you try to worm your way out of our agreement!" she snapped. "You can't just send me packing without at least trying to get me presented."

   "I have already approached the prince, and he sent a missive to Her Majesty. I received word several days ago of her refusal, based on what one of her closest confidants said about your—our—conduct. Therefore, I see no reason for you to continue to pay me, and I will turn over my interest in your railroad since I failed to uphold my end of the bargain."

   Summer felt as if her world had fallen apart. How was she ever going to be accepted by Monte's family now? This had been her only plan, and she hadn't considered failure. "I refuse to accept it back. I insist you continue to use your influence to make me acceptable."

   His blue eyes softened, and they roamed over the contours of her lips, to the lobes of her ears, and back to the compelling lure of her brown eyes. "Don't you see, Summer, that you chose the wrong man for the job? Consider, please, that I haven't changed you one whit."

   Summer opened her mouth to argue. Hadn't he clothed her, taught her, molded her into a lady? She knew she had more polish now than before she'd hired him. "How dare you make me feel as if I've failed to become a lady!"

   He held up a hand. "That is not my intention. You will return to New York in the guise of a sophisticated lady, have no doubt of your success in that regard. But understand that I only managed to mold our society to fit you, not the other way around."

   She stomped her foot. How could he say such a thing! Why, every time she did something inap propriate, he…

   "I think you're beginning to understand," he said, watching the conflicting emotions roll across her delicate features. "Instead of curbing your natural inclinations, as I should have, and forcing you to act properly, I just explained away your… actions. Made them acceptable to my circle. I fear that when you return to New York, nothing will have changed but your appearance."

   Her shoulders slumped. "And if I'm not presented to the Queen, I'll never have a chance with Monte."

   "I can only say that I don't like to admit failure, and can't for the life of me figure out how I've bungled this so badly."

   Summer knew it was partly her fault, for who had invited him into her bed, after all? Who had dragged him out into the night for the sake of a dead fox and caused the rumors that now tainted her? But she couldn't help feeling that he'd given up too easily, that for some reason he wanted to fail.

   "I'll think of another way to be with Monte," she finally said.

   He bowed, informing her that they would leave on the morrow, and returned to the house without another word. He had the most ghastly feelings clamoring for attention—relief that she didn't want to marry him, for it proved that his sister-in-law's scenario of Summer causing his accidents to be completely wrong; disgust at himself for failing at a business arrangement; and anger at the girl for insisting to pursue this Monte fellow. Especially after the incredible night that they'd shared.

   He couldn't dispel an aching sense of loss. It might be because he'd been robbed of all the delightful fanta sies he'd conjured of the nights they'd have together after they were married. But it concerned him that it might be more than that. That the aching hollowness beginning inside of him was because she was leaving, and that it would continue to grow until all the years of work he'd done to achieve the harmony of not caring for anyone would be shattered.

   And worst of all was a dreadful anticipation that when she returned home, he'd be alone again.

BYRON SMOOTHED THE HAIR BACK OVER HIS EARS. Who'd have thought that he'd miss that wench Maria? The carriage ride had been excruciatingly boring so far, what with the servant Meg refusing to say a word, much less meet his eyes, and Summer just as quiet, always frowning out the window as if she contem plated her life through the English scenery.

   Even the dog had been well behaved, not once chewing at his trouser legs, too busy licking the baby fox, and the monkey only occasionally chattered a dejected squeak. The duke looked forward to arriving at Lord Balkett's and having a good row with Summer's friend. He passed the time by considering which insult would set her off the easiest.

   By the time dusk had fallen, they'd left the wooded countryside and traveled the narrow path that wound its way along the seaside cliffs of the ocean. The wind carried the salty flavor of the water and the sound of the waves crashing against the crags, and had lulled Byron half asleep.

   "When I leave," asked Summer, "who's going to look out after you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

   "You've already had two attempts on your life, and if I hadn't been with you, I daresay you wouldn't be alive."

   Byron could not believe the audacity of the chit! As if he couldn't take care of himself. She doesn't speak to him for hours, and when she does, she insults him? "That's even more reason for you to leave. I won't have to fear for your safety any longer while you're in my company." And since she reminded him, the duke stuck his head out the window for the umpteenth time that day, making sure that the escort of guards the prince had commanded them to take still followed behind them.

   "But what about the money?" she insisted. "What will you live on if you give me back your interest in the railroad?"

   He sat back with a sigh. They hadn't lost their escort. "The same thing I lived on before I met you."

   Summer leaned forward, the fading light softening the planes of her face, making her eyes seem too large for that elfin face. "But weren't you tired of it, living off other people? If you weren't so stubborn about giving up on me, you could still have the interest."

   Byron frowned at her. "I could try for years, madam, and I still don't think you'd ever get your presentation." He watched her study him, as if trying to think of another reason why she shouldn't leave. A shred of excitement twisted his belly. Could it be that she really didn't want to go? Was it possible that she was trying to come up with excuses to stay with him? Or was he being a fool?

   He folded his arms across his chest and closed his eyes. She'd made it very clear that she wanted this Monte fellow, and the only way she'd get him was if she got her presentation. She only wanted to make that happen—it had nothing to do with any regret she might have at leaving him.

   She just couldn't accept failure.

   And he was astonished at himself that he did.

   The carriage started to speed up on a road that he knew wasn't prudent for speed. His eyes flew open, and he poked his head out the window again, pulling it in with a curse as he realized that his face had come within inches of a jagged rock. He tried again and looked down a fall of cliff, the surf white and pounding below. The idiot coachman drove at the edge of the road.

   "I will never again travel in a carriage that I don't drive myself." He reached between the ladies and lifted the cloth that covered the small window in the back of the coach, completely prepared for the sight of the empty road behind them.

   "What is it?" asked Summer as the carriage began to bounce wildly.

   Meg blinked open sleepy eyes and watched her mistress with alarm.

   "Our escort has disappeared," replied the duke.

   Summer snatched up Chi-chi and Rosey and stuffed them in her pockets. "Not another fake robbery!"

   "Worse, I think." Byron took India from his shoulder, wincing from the pain of his injury, and stuffed the monkey in the front of his waistcoat until only his furry face stuck out. The duke continued watching the road behind them, not surprised when a group of riders came around the bend, their ragged clothes and shaggy mounts so unlike that of the prince's elegant guard.

   "Ragged or not, they seemed to have won the fight."

   Meg began to whimper, and Summer shushed her. "Fight?"

   Byron watched the men advance.
There's only four,
he thought with a sigh of relief, astonished at himself that he'd raised their odds of survival because he could count on Summer. "Our escort, madam. I'm sure they didn't leave us of their own accord." He pulled a pistol from beneath his coat and flung open all the curtains, so he would have a clear view of the men as they came pounding up beside them, only one at a time because of the narrow road.

   The first blighter had the audacity to leer through the window at Summer and Meg with a gap-toothed smile. Byron raised his pistol and fired, effectively removing that smile and a bit of other things as well. His heart started to pound, and he tried not to be too amazed at himself. It'd been a long time since he'd shot at a man, since he'd given up his commission and swore he'd never shoot at another human being again.

   Meg screamed, then fainted across Summer's lap. "Nice shot," shouted Summer, her eyes round with admiration, that knife of hers already in her fist. "So you believe me now?"

   "That someone's trying to kill me? I'm not a fool, madam."

   She nodded, and he cursed that she'd distracted him. Another man had reached the coachman's seat and tried to haul himself up onto it. Byron couldn't fire through the open side window and hesitated to shoot through the glass that overlooked the coachman's seat, afraid that flying shards might strike Summer. He thought the chap wouldn't make it, what with the carriage lurching wildly and the coachman kicking out at the man. But he did.

   "I'll be damned," muttered Byron as he reached over and threw open the carriage door. He reached out with his good arm and started to drag himself out.

   Summer grabbed his frock coat. "Are you loco? What d'you think you're doing?"

   "I'm going to help the coachman…"

   A shot went off, and they both ducked.

   "You're going to try and what? Swing yourself over to his seat? With an injured arm?"

   "Precisely."

   And he ducked toward the door just as the carriage swayed too close to the boulders that lined the road. When they hit the door, it slammed shut, knocking him sideways onto the floor. The coach lurched and rocked so that it took him several moments to crawl back onto the seat.

   Another rider had overtaken the carriage, and he'd taken a lesson from the man before him, for he had his own pistol trained on the occupants.

   "Stay down," shouted Byron, trying to keep his arm steady as he aimed.

   A shot exploded in his ears, but it hadn't come from the rider or his own pistol. Byron looked over his shoulder at the glass that separated him from the coachman. A crimson wave covered the surface, and he could no longer see through it. He glanced back to the horseman, who grinned at him with yellowed teeth and waved his pistol in farewell.

   The coach lurched, and Byron turned and met Summer's eyes. They both knew the moment the horses went over the cliff, when the floor beneath their feet slanted, and all the jostling and bouncing stopped, as if time froze for an eternal moment before gravity claimed its due. He realized that he'd failed to protect her, that she was indeed the only thing he cared enough about to protect with his own life. He leaned forward to kiss her, angry that there wasn't enough time, when he felt himself falling away from her as the carriage tilted straight down. But he held out his arms to her, so that when they hit solid ground she fell into them, and he shielded both hers and Meg's bodies with his own.

   Blackness enfolded Summer, and she knew that she dreamed, but she couldn't wake up. She was five years old again, and she could feel the weight of the earth over her head and hear Pa screaming Ma's name. She ran through the tunnel of Pa's mine, the dust-laden air making her cough, the shards of broken rock hurting her feet. But she couldn't stop, 'cause she knew her ma had been buried in the cave-in, that Pa couldn't lift all the rocks off her himself. That they needed Summer's help.

   'Cause Ma couldn't leave her. She'd told Summer that people who love each other never leave. But if Ma got buried under tons of rock, she couldn't find her way back to Summer, now could she?

   Then the earth shook, and she could feel Pa's arms around her as he scooped her up and carried her out of the mine. Summer screamed at him to let her go, that they had to go back down and find Ma. That Ma wouldn't leave them. But Pa wouldn't listen, and he screamed at her that Ma was already gone, and the rocks kept falling down, and she thought that the earth would smother them both.