“And you’d miss him.”
“Of course I would. There’s no one else to occupy my time with here except for him.”
“Yes, that’s what I thought.”
She heaved a resigned sigh. “Don’t read more into this than there is, Camille.”
Her sister gasped. “I would never.”
“You would and you are.”
“I’ve been very ill.” Camille slid down her pillows and pulled her covers up to her chin.
Delilah laughed. “You are obviously feeling better.”
“Yes, I am. And as I am, there are things I should say.” She sat up and addressed her sister in an earnest manner. “In spite of what Mother has said, in spite of what we were all brought up to believe, there are more important things than position and even wealth. Although wealth would be terribly hard to live without,” Camille added under her breath.
“Yes, I suppose there are.”
“Love, Delilah, is much more important.”
“Is it?”
Camille nodded. “Without question.”
“For you.”
“For all of us,” Camille said. “You should keep that in mind, my dear sister, as you continue your quest for your next husband. Regardless of your financial state, it’s not—”
“Oh, the problem of Phillip’s alleged heir should be resolved any day now,” Delilah said with a casual shrug. “We gathered a bit of information while we were in London that should settle the matter.” She paused. “I must admit Sam was most helpful in that regard.”
“Was he? How very interesting,” Camille murmured.
“I said we have become friends and he is proving to be an excellent friend.”
“One can always use another friend.”
“I’ve always thought so.”
“Still . . .” Camille began in an offhand manner. “There is more to life than friendship.”
“Still,” Delilah said in a hard tone, “friendship will not break your heart. At least not in the manner that love will.”
“I suppose not.”
“Tell me this, Camille.” She met her sister’s gaze directly. “Are you so certain that Grayson will never break your heart?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “I am. There’s a great deal to be said for second chances, Camille. Grayson and I both were wrong in the past and we paid a price for that. We both hurt each other. Now, we have a second chance. Given that Mother has taken Father back, even she would agree with that.
“Trust and faith and all of that goes hand in hand with love. You cannot have love without the rest of it.” Certainty rang in her voice. “Admittedly, I would be a fool to think that the rest of our lives will be blissful. There are no assurances in life. Life is not perfect. I’m certainly not perfect, nor is Grayson. There are bound to be difficulties and problems and even tragedy in the years ahead. My heart may well be broken by any number of things as the years go on but we shall have each other to see us through. You may call it blind faith if you will. There isn’t a doubt in my mind, or in my heart, that he will be exactly where I need him to be, by my side, as I will be by his until the day I breathe my last. And the one thing I am utterly and completely confident of is that Grayson will not break my heart.”
“That’s . . .” Delilah hesitated. It was hard not to envy her older sister for having found the very thing that Delilah wished to avoid. But Camille was absolutely right. Love and trust did go hand in hand. One could not have one without the other. Delilah wasn’t sure she could trust anyone enough to allow herself to love him. She had trusted Phillip after all. “That’s remarkable and quite wonderful.”
“I know,” Camille said with a smug smile then sobered. “It’s not just words, you understand. It’s how I feel. Grayson would never hurt me.” She hesitated. “Love, Delilah, is much more important than anything else.”
“And much harder to find.”
Camille grinned. “But half the fun is finding it.”
Delilah laughed. “I’ll give you that.”
“It’s magic, Delilah. Simply magic.”
“I’ve never been one for magic. I’m entirely too practical.” Still, hadn’t the thought of magic already occurred to her? “But it is something to consider, I suppose.”
“Have you changed your mind then?” Camille’s brow rose. “Have I given you something to think about?”
“Not really.” She shrugged. “But you’ve been ill and I thought I would humor you.”
“I would just hate for you to miss something that might be everything you’ve ever wanted.”
“I have every intention of getting everything I want.” She cast her sister an affectionate smile, picked up Teddy’s notebook, and started for the door. “So you needn’t bother worrying about me.”
“I believe worrying about my younger sister is part and parcel of being a better sister.”
“And it’s most appreciated.” Genuine affection for Camille washed through her. Who would have imagined a year ago that she and Camille and Beryl would truly become sisters?
“I will give you this,” Delilah said. “It was recently pointed out to me that an intelligent woman does not close her mind to possibilities.”
“You’re not talking about love though, are you?”
“No, but as an intelligent woman I am willing to admit I may, on occasion, have been too hasty in my convictions. Therefore, Camille, in the interest of being open-minded . . .” She grinned. “I am about to take my first ride in a horseless carriage.”
Sam stood in the drive by the carriage house studying his motorwagon and going over a checklist in his head. He was no engineer but he knew nearly as much about the vehicle as Jim did. When he’d checked on Jim yesterday, he had the motorwagon sputtering but it hadn’t actually run. This morning, however, Jim had managed to get it going. He and Sam had spent the last few hours checking and double-checking the machine’s parts. They’d driven the vehicle up and down the drive in a halting fashion with Jim muttering about incomprehensible connections and damned foreigners and stopping every few feet to make adjustments. Until at last, with a satisfied grin, Jim had pronounced it fit. Sam had sent him back to the village for more fuel but there was enough left in the small tank for a decent ride. If, of course, his passenger would ever make an appearance.
Sam grinned. Delilah could deny it all she wanted, but she was weakening. Definitely about the motorwagon and certainly about never seeing him again. After all, they were friends now even if he wasn’t sure friendship was enough. She was without a doubt the most confusing woman he’d ever met although perhaps much of his confusion was in his own mind. Or possibly his heart. One minute he wanted to take her over his knee and thrash her and the next he had to resist taking her into his arms and never letting her go.
Adding to his confusion was the simple fact that he liked her. He genuinely liked her. His gaze wandered along the intricate gears and belts and mechanicals of the motorwagon. He couldn’t recall ever simply liking a woman before. Surely he had liked Lenore but, in hindsight, maybe not. At least not in the same way he liked Delilah. Lenore had never shared confidences with him as Delilah had. They’d never had a quiet evening of chess and conversation. They’d never simply enjoyed one another’s company. Of course, she’d never argued with him either, which now struck him as odd.
Lenore was an intelligent woman. And as much as he liked to think he was always right, in truth he wasn’t. No one was right all the time, not even him. But Lenore had never argued or questioned, although she did seem to get whatever she wanted. She had been, in very many ways, simply perfect. Good Lord. If one looked at it in the right way, couldn’t one say he had been ready to marry her for many of the same reasons Delilah intended to marry?
Was he in love with Delilah? He bent down and checked the gear chain tension. As complicated as the vehicle was, it was child’s play in comparison to that question. This wasn’t the first time the idea of love had raised its disturbing head. H
e had wondered right from the beginning although, as much as Delilah claimed he was a romantic sort, he was not so foolish as to believe in something as absurd as love at first sight. Still, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his thoughts since the moment they’d met. Which did seem to indicate something even if he had no idea what. Was it nothing at all? Or was it magic?
Nor did he have any idea of her feelings for him, if indeed she had any feelings at all. One minute she was flirtatious and seductive, the next cool and distant. She’d been quite explicit about there not being any additional adventures between them. And as much as he wasn’t sure he believed that was what she wanted—the night they stayed in London being a case in point—it did seem a good idea to abide by her decision. At least for now. But God help him, it was becoming more and more difficult. Was this the end result of being friends with a woman? Or, more likely, being friends with this one particular woman.
That it had not been easy for Sam and Delilah to get to this point only made it more significant. Perhaps friendship between a man and a woman was the beginning of trust, and who knew where that might lead?
“Are you willing it to start simply by staring at it?” an amused voice said behind him.
“I am invoking the gods of progress and forward thinking.” He grinned and turned toward her.
“You’d best hope they’re not armed with thunderbolts and lightning,” Delilah said wryly.
“Ah, but my gods are wise and beneficent.” He bowed in an overly dramatic manner. “Even to those who do not believe.”
“I am here, aren’t I?” She cast a skeptical look at the motorwagon. “Taking my life in my hands no doubt.”
“Your life is as safe as if you were lying in your own bed.”
“My, yes.” She circled the vehicle. “That is safe.”
“Not by my choice,” he said without thinking.
She stopped on the other side of the motorwagon. “You have been a perfect gentleman these past few nights.”
He sighed. “Yes, I know.”
“Why?”
He stared in surprise. “Because that’s what you said you wanted.”
“Then your restraint is appreciated,” she murmured. Once again, he had no idea what was going on in that lovely head of hers. Did she?
“Your carriage awaits, my lady.” He waved his arm in a grand gesture.
She hesitated, studying the vehicle with more than a little apprehension.
He stifled a grin. “Scared?”
“Prudent,” she said, her gaze still locked on the motorwagon. “Cautious, if you will, and not so foolish as to blindly risk my life.” She looked at him. “Is it very fast?”
“Nine or ten miles an hour I think.” He shrugged in an offhand manner. “Not much faster than a trotting horse.”
“Well then I would think a horse—”
“But much more reliable. Or at least it will be one day.”
“Maybe I should wait until then,” she said weakly.
He studied her curiously. “You really are concerned about this, aren’t you?”
“Wary is perhaps a better word than concerned.”
“I’ve ridden in it any number of times and lived to tell the tale.” He cast her a confident smile. “It’s really quite safe.” Now was not the time to mention the lingering problems with the steering mechanism. “Why don’t I demonstrate it for you?”
“Would you?”
“Absolutely.” He nodded. “And once I’ve shown you how very safe and enjoyable the motorwagon is, you can join me.” He stepped to the back of the vehicle. “That will give you a few minutes to work up your courage unless you’ve changed your mind.”
“I said I would ride in it and I will.” Her eyes narrowed. “And courage has nothing to do with it. I’m simply being—”
“Cautious, wary, prudent? You said all that.” He grabbed the flywheel and spun it. The motor sputtered but did not catch.
“There’s nothing wrong with being cautious you know. It’s really quite sensible.”
He spun the flywheel again. Again the motor failed to catch. “I’d wager you weren’t especially cautious the first time you put a phone to your ear.”
“That’s an entirely different matter,” she said in a lofty manner. “Besides, while the queen herself has a telephone I suspect she would never step foot in something like that . . . that contraption.”
“Fortunately, she is not the one who has agreed to do so. You are.” It routinely took three or more tries to get the motor running but this certainly wasn’t helping his case. He gritted his teeth and tried again.
“I daresay, we’d be on our way by now if that was a horse,” she said pleasantly.
“Well, it’s not a horse,” he said through clenched teeth. “It’s better than a horse.” He spun the flywheel again.
“And anything this new and this remarkable”—the motor coughed—“is bound to have a few minor problems”—and sputtered—“nothing to be concerned about”—and finally caught. He cast her a triumphant smile. “As I said, nothing to be concerned about at all.”
“It’s very loud.” Her voice rose over the sound of the engine. Sam would never admit it to her, but it was hard to hear over the noisy chugging of the motor.
“A minor problem that will be resolved eventually.” He climbed into the motorwagon and settled on one side of the leather bench. He grinned at her. “Are you ready?”
“The real question is, are you?” She cast the vehicle another skeptical look then stepped back. “Do be careful.”
“I’ve driven it before, Dee.” He nodded in a reassuring manner then turned his attention to the vehicle. He gripped the brake handle with one hand and the steering lever with the other. It did need to be finessed a bit. He turned the knob that fed the fuel to the engine, slowly released the brake, and then was moving off down the drive. He looked back at her and waved.
She tentatively waved back but the expression on her face was more intrigued than concerned.
He circled around her on the broad drive and she laughed.
“I told you it was safe,” he called.
“All right then, Sam,” she called back. “You convinced me. I’ll try it.”
“Good.” He turned the steering lever but it was unaccountably stiff and difficult to move. Before he could correct for the problem, the motorwagon lurched off the drive and was picking up speed on a slight downhill slope, a slope he hadn’t even noticed. The machine was moving faster and faster. Damnation. This would certainly not impress her. He jerked the brake handle at the same moment the front wheel dropped into a hidden hole and the vehicle pitched forward, throwing him into the air.
Dimly he heard a scream and the moment before he hit the ground the oddest thoughts flashed through his mind:
What a terrible waste never holding her again would be.
And the blasted woman was going to think she was right all along.
Chapter Seventeen
“Sam!” The scream ripped from her lips.
Oh, God no!
Realization struck her with the force of a physical blow. Compounded by fear. And terror. And an unrelenting sense of loss. Without thinking, she ran toward him. The world slowed as if in a dream. Her legs wouldn’t move fast enough.
She couldn’t lose him. Not now. Now that she knew. Her heart caught in her throat. She choked back a sob and raced toward Sam’s lifeless body, sending a prayer heavenward with every step.
Dear Lord, please don’t let him be dead.
The damnable motorwagon had tumbled and rolled over and over at least three times and now sat at an odd, twisted angle, the front wheel lower than the back two, the merciless motor still chugging away, the whole thing listing heavily to one side. It resembled nothing so much as a wounded mechanical beast. A deadly, vile beast. Sam had been thrown some feet away.
Dear Lord, he wasn’t moving. What if he was dead? What if she had lost him? What if his stupid machine had killed him? She dropped down on
her knees beside him.
“Sam! Oh God, please!”
Was he breathing? A pulse, she should feel for a pulse. Frantically, she grabbed his wrist and tried to find some semblance of life. He wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. Surely she would know if he were dead.
“Please, Sam, please stay with me.”
She couldn’t feel anything. She should feel something. The beat of his heart, the throb of his blood in his veins. Panic gripped her. She needed help but she couldn’t leave him lying here. Alone. What if he died and she wasn’t here? What if he came to and had no idea where he was or who he was or anything?
“Please, please don’t die. Come back, Sam, please.” She patted his cheeks briskly, hoping to get some reaction, some color back into his face. “There’s so much you don’t know.” He was so pale, ghastly, deathly pale. She slapped his face harder. “So much I didn’t realize. What a fool I’ve been. Please, Sam, please come back. Don’t leave me. Not now.”
Surely his lashes flickered against his cheek. She bent over him, leaning closer, hoping to feel his breath. “Sam?”
Without warning his arms wrapped around her, pulling her down on top of him, and his lips met hers in a kiss hard and firm. Joy and relief swept through her. He was alive! Thank God. He was . . . Her eyes widened. This was not at all the kiss of a dying man. Nor was it the kiss of a man who was less than perfectly all right. At least thus far.
She pulled away and stared down at him. “You’re alive.”
He grinned up at her. “Disappointed?”
“Yes! No, of course not.” She swallowed hard. “I thought you were dead.”
“Not today.”
“You looked dead,” she said slowly. “You weren’t moving.”
The Scandalous Adventures of the Sister of the Bride Page 25
