by Maya Banks
“You look rather sad if you don’t mind me saying so,” he said as he ambled up.
She attempted a smile but knew she failed miserably. “I was thinking of my father.” It wasn’t a lie, and she would let Robby think what he may of the statement.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “You must miss him terribly.”
She nodded.
“Ridge thinks we should travel north, not south,” he said casually.
She flinched and worked to contain her reaction. Did Ridge suspect she had lied to him? How on earth could he possibly have determined that the city lay to the north?
She emitted a shaky laugh. “Well he is welcome to travel north, but I fear he will be sorely disappointed in his findings.”
Robby shrugged. “Who is to know why he thinks as he does. He seemed concerned that we were to go south.”
India cursed under her breath. She cursed Robby’s presence, and she cursed the bastards who held her father. If only he were home in England where he belonged, she would have never met Ridge, never entered this web of deceit, and she would never have cause to hate herself as she did now.
Kavi and Udaya walked up, and India eagerly turned her attention to them.
“It is time to board,” Kavi said, bending to collect India’s valise. “Sahib awaits us at the gangplank.”
Her heart thudded painfully as she walked slowly toward the ship.
It’s not too late, it’s not too late.
But it was. She knew what she had to do. There was never a choice to make, no matter how hard she wished the opposite to be true. Her father must come first.
She couldn’t meet Ridge’s eyes as she mounted the gangplank. She stared straight ahead, hardening her resolve. Hardening her heart. Wishing with all her might that Ridge meant nothing to her. That she didn’t ache from wanting him. That she didn’t have to make him hate her.
###
Everyone makes mistakes in life, and the Earl of Drysedale had made his fair share. But nothing compared to the muck he had made of his relationship with his sons.
He ran a tired hand through his thinning hair and turned from his position at the window of his London townhouse. So much regret. If only...
He gave a great sigh. There was no sense pondering the if onlys. The years had gone by so damn fast, fading into obscurity, taking his sons further and further away from him. All his own doing, damn his soul.
After what his own father had done, the earl had vowed never to betray his sons. Never desert them. He had failed.
The sound of his wife’s footsteps made him look up. She appeared in the doorway, a missive extended toward him.
“From Robert,” she said, her tone wary.
The earl frowned. It wasn’t like Robert to send around a note. He was much more likely to flop into his father’s study, an expression of irreverence marking his features, say whatever it was he wanted to say and suffer his father’s lecture with a roll of his eyes. No, notes weren’t Robert’s trademark.
He unfolded the vellum and glanced up at Elizabeth, noting concern in her expression as well. Shaking off his feeling of unease, he dropped his gaze to the letter, taking in Robert’s unsteady scrawl.
His hand began to shake as he read his son’s words. His nose burned, his eyes stung, drawing as tears formed in the corners.
Dear God, no. Not this. Anything but this.
The letter fell from his hands, and he sank to his knees.
“Charles!”
He buried his face in his hands as Elizabeth knelt beside him.
“Charles, what is it? What has happened?”
He heard a rustle and knew she picked the letter up. A few seconds later, a gasp escaped her. He let his hands fall away from his eyes and reached out to her, gathering her tightly in his arms.
“It’s not true,” she cried. “It can’t be true.”
He buried his head in the curve of her shoulder, his tears wetting her dress. The sound of muffled sobs reached his ears, and it took him a moment to realize they were his.
Elizabeth yanked away from him and cupped his face in her hands. “Go after them, Charles. Bring them home. Bring them both home.”
“I’m a fool,” he said hoarsely. “What kind of father have I been?”
If he expected sympathy from his wife, he was sorely disappointed.
“It’s not too late,” she said fiercely. “You go get our boys. You say whatever is necessary to bring them home where they belong. And then you have a long talk with Ridge and mend your fences. Tell him the truth.”
The truth. Ridge would hate him if he ever knew the truth. He hated him without knowing the truth.
“What if he won’t talk to me,” the earl said softly, his tongue thick in his mouth. “What if it is too late? What if I lose them both?”
His tears spilled over his wife’s hands, and she smoothed them away with her fingertips. He reached up to grip her hands, still pressed firmly against his cheeks. He pressed a kiss to her palm. “I don’t deserve them.”
“You’re a good man, Charles. A good man. You made mistakes. So have I. But you raised two fine sons. You didn’t do wrong by them, and it’s not too late to gain their forgiveness.”
He swallowed back the sobs that threatened to further unman him, and he sucked in a steadying breath. “No, it’s not too late. I won’t let it be.”
He brushed aside his wife’s hands and stood up, embarrassment over his display of emotion tightening his chest.
“Have my things packed. I’ll hire the first ship to Spain. I’m going to get our sons.”
He strode by his wife, noting the grief welling in her beautiful eyes. He stopped and turned back to her. Cupping a hand behind her neck, he pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“I won’t fail them this time, Elizabeth. You have my word.”
A tear slid down her pale cheek, and she patted the lapel of his waistcoat. “Go,” she choked out.
###
Robby threw his coat onto the small bed in his cabin and eyed his trunk shoved into the corner. He reached back to secure the lock on his door just in case Ridge thought to pop in, then he bent over the trunk to open it.
He dug down to the bottom, feeling for the bottle he had hidden amongst his clothing. He pulled it out and opened it. Dispensing with any sort of measurement, he tilted his head back and took a long swallow straight from the bottle.
His face contorted as the bitter liquid hit his tongue, but he forced himself to swallow every drop. After replacing the top, he shoved it back into the trunk and closed the lid.
In the distance, he heard the call to hoist the anchor. He quickly unlocked his door and stepped out. The ship was already easing itself out of the harbor when he took his position above deck. He leaned against the polished wood of the stern and watched as the shores of England disappeared into the horizon.
A light breeze ruffled his hair, dried the faint trail of tears that streaked his cheeks. He would never see home again. But he didn’t want to die at home. He didn’t want anyone to say he had died abed. No, instead they would say he died amidst a grand adventure.
Sadness, regret, lay heavy in his heart, like someone had placed a great stone over his chest. The idea of dying didn’t bother him so much anymore. He had accepted that there was little he could do about that fact. What he regretted was never doing anything of import. Never challenging himself to do more than spend an entire night gaming.
He wanted to change that, even if for a brief time. He wanted just one moment where he could say he had done something worthwhile. Lived life to its fullest.
Ridge had made it a practice, living for himself and not for others, but Robby had always been under his father’s thumb. Too desperate for his sire’s approval to ever do anything to rock the proverbial boat.
Each time Ridge did something to distance himself even further from their father, Robby stepped in to take his place. Even going as far as to
marry the woman Ridge would have made the next Countess of Drysedale.
Lucinda. He twisted his lips in scorn. She had told him if he left not to bother returning because she wouldn’t be there. If only she knew. If only he thought she would care.
His vision blurred, whether from the tears that stung his eyelids or from the medicine he had swallowed down in his cabin he wasn’t sure. Either way, the distant shoreline was growing more hazy by the second.
He straightened his stance and shoved his hands in his pockets. The boat dipped, and he swayed precariously as he turned to walk back to his cabin. His hands flew up to maintain his balance, and he chuckled as he swaggered drunkenly in the direction he had come from.
Leaving his hands in the air, he curled his fingers into fists and shook them at the sky.
“I’m alive!” he shouted hoarsely, his voice swallowed by the wind.
Yes, he was alive, and he planned to savor every single moment of his precious remaining time.
Chapter Twenty
By the end of their voyage, India was ready to howl. Udaya was confined to her cabin retching her guts up, Kavi was caring for his sea-sick wife, and Ridge was avoiding India like the plague.
The only person she saw with any regularity was Robby. He was above deck each evening when she escaped the dark quarters of her cabin. Sometimes they stood, unspeaking, and stared out over the expanse of the water, and other times Robby offered a salute and sauntered off to his cabin as if he was loathe to intrude on her solitude.
Tonight he was absent, and she found herself missing the companionship, even if they never really spoke. They were only a day out of port. One day until she handed Ridge his betrayal. She had the urge to join Udaya in her retching.
She reached into her pocket to retrieve the bracelet and lifted it so she could see it in the moonlight. Her fingers curled around the dull finish, and she longed to fling it into the sea.
What had once been her fondest dream had turned into a living nightmare. She regretted that she’d ever heard of Pagoria or that she had spent years researching the city, collecting information, deciphering the language. It had brought her nothing but grief.
The spark of excitement she had felt over the idea of finding the city, of entering it, had long since died. If her father wasn’t in grave danger, she would walk away from the city and never look back.
She stuffed the bracelet back into her pocket. One more day. She wanted to weep.
She missed Ridge. Missed his company. Missed their banter. And their stolen embraces. Her cheeks heated and her body began to tingle as she imagined him touching her. Holding her.
Did she love him? The question startled her, but it was an important question. She had never loved anyone save her father, Udaya and Kavi. She was sure she had loved her mother, but she couldn’t remember doing so.
Was this why she struggled so over her deception? Was this why she felt the sting of tears every time she thought of having to leave him or that he would hate her?
You can’t love him, India. It will only cause you more hurt.
Too late. Admonishing herself certainly wouldn’t change the scope of her feelings. And she didn’t think she could hurt more than she did at the moment.
What kind of woman could betray the man she loved? But what kind of woman could choose her own happiness over the life of her father?
She was damned either way.
###
Ridge stepped quietly out of his cabin, a blanket in his hand. He knew he’d find her above deck. Staring out into the dark like she did every night.
Her back was to him, the breeze lifting the small curls at the nape of her neck and rustling them ever so softly. He moved so he could see her profile, yet hung back, not wanting her to know he was there yet.
She gazed mournfully at the sky, her chin upturned, exposing the smooth skin of her neck. He almost reached out a hand so great was his desire to smooth a finger down the gentle curve.
He could no longer go on as they were. Each ignoring the attraction between them, ignoring the fact that if they had reached Brighton even ten minutes later, they would have made love in the carriage. He wouldn’t pretend it didn’t happen. And he wouldn’t allow her to either.
He looked down at the blanket in his hand when he saw her shiver. Closing the distance between them, he slipped the blanket around her shoulders and pulled her back firmly against his chest.
She jumped at the contact and whipped her head around to see who it was. Caution radiated from her, but she relaxed when she saw him and turned her gaze back to the sea.
Her hair brushed against his face, and he inhaled her exotic scent. He should release her, but he liked the feel of her in his arms, and she made no move to escape.
“It won’t work, India. Ignoring what happened between us won’t make me forget it. Or want it to happen any less.”
She sucked in her breath and tensed against him.
“I know,” she said quietly.
He sensed surrender in her voice, and acknowledgement that she was fighting for control as much as he. For a moment, he was tempted to sweep her into his arms and finish what they had started in the carriage, but her stance was fragile, vulnerable, as if she could break into a hundred tiny pieces if he pushed too hard.
Now wasn’t the time.
Instead he focused on the reason she stood out here every night, refusing to sleep in her cabin.
“Why do you fear the night?” he murmured, keeping his voice low, nonthreatening.
She seemed to shrink, melding further into his embrace. He tightened his arms around her, lending her strength.
“I don’t fear the night. I fear the dark.”
Her honest admission struck a chord within him. At the same time, anticipation seized him. Would she confide in him? Let loose the demons that tormented her?
He squeezed her shoulders, massaging them with his hands. Unable to resist the temptation of her skin, he slid a finger to where the collar of her shirt met the skin of her neck. It felt velvety, enticed him to keep touching, stroking. He rubbed and massaged, wanting to relax her, offer comfort.
She emitted a small sigh. Of pleasure?
“And why do you fear the dark?”
She became still. Silent. As if struggling with her decision. She looked down, her shoulders slumping as she was folding inward on herself.
“They locked me in the darkest, deepest hole they could find,” she whispered.
His chest tightened. “Who?”
She trembled against him and he tightened his hold on her. He pressed his lips to the back of her head, kissing her soft hair. If only he could take away her hurt.
“We were in India. We had just returned from the mountains of Nepal when we were set upon by a group rebels who supported Nepal against the British in the war. The war has just ended, and tension was still high in the area. My father and I were British, and so they intended to hold us for ransom.”
She sucked in another shaky breath.
“Their demands were absurd, and we were nobodies. We hadn’t set foot in England in years. The British High Command had no interest in us.
“I assumed my father had been captured as I was. It wasn’t until my own escape that I realized he must have left with Kavi and Udaya.”
Ridge frowned and pulled his head away from her hair. With gentle hands, he turned her to face him. He smoothed a knuckle under her chin and tugged until she was looking at him.
“What happened, India? You were prisoner for three months. I remember you saying so.”
His stomach flipped and curled into knots as tears brimmed in her eyes. He felt sick over what she had endured, and he didn’t even know the extent of it. Yet.
Her fingers went self consciously to her shorn hair. “They cut my hair. Then they took my—clothes,” she managed to choke out. “There was a hole in the ground. A small, dark hole, deep enough that I couldn’t climb out, but not long enou
gh that I could lie down. They covered it with heavy boards so that it shut out the light and piled rocks on top so I couldn’t move them. I squatted most of the time, huddled against the cold dirt.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks, and the fires of remembrance burned brightly in her eyes. He stood frozen, afraid to move, speak until she finished.
“Once a day they would toss down stale bread or a cold piece of meat and a dipper of water.”
She turned from him and returned to the railing, her hands gripping the wood tightly. She looked down at the sea, her tears falling to mingle in the depths.
He leaned against the rail and placed a hand to her back, rubbing up and down as the rage built within him. That anyone could treat a woman worse than an animal was beyond comprehension.
“I lost all sense of time. My days were spent digging hand holes in the walls of the pit. I did what exercises I could to maintain what strength I had. One day after they gave me food, they didn’t replace the rocks over the boards. Maybe they thought I was too weak to escape. Maybe they just forgot.
“I waited until I was sure it was night, and then I climbed to the top using the footholes I had carved. I was weak. I barely managed to shove one of the boards over enough that I could see out. It took every ounce of strength I possessed to haul myself out of the pit, but I did it.
“I stumbled naked out of the encampment. Made my way through the jungle. I don’t know how long I wandered. I was half unconscious when I realized I was just outside Calcutta. I walked to the High Command five miles outside the city and announced I was British and in need of assistance.”
She turned her head to him and smiled crookedly. “The rest, as they say, is history. They clothed me and put me on a ship to England.”
Soft moonlight bathed her face in its pale glow, glistened off her wet cheeks. He cupped her face in his hand and dipped his head to hers.
Her lips lay a mere inch under his. She nervously ran her tongue over her bottom lip, leaving a sheen of moisture in its wake. He captured a sigh as it escaped her mouth and pressed his lips to hers. Soft, tender, with exquisite care, he kissed her then broke away.
