by Ingis, Gail
Chapter 2
Warmth enfolded Leila despite a cool breeze brushing against her. The faint smell of leather and earth tinged with musk intoxicated her. As she moved, pain shot from the back of her head to her temple as though someone drove a stake through her brain. The horror of her dress dragging her down and her lungs burning for air flooded back.
A rich baritone voice permeated her addled brain. “Madam, it’s all right. You’re safe now.”
Coldness robbed her warmth. A moan escaped. She stared at a rugged, bearded face. The stranger’s intense eyes absorbed her, connecting to something deep in her soul. Who is he? Panic gripped her, and she squirmed from his arms. Nausea climbed in her throat, and she tried to breathe. Like mist rolling over the mountains, fog seeped through her brain. The strong, masculine arms gathered her close again.
His resonant voice murmured soft words. “You are safe.”
Leila inhaled his scent. It lingered and settled in her stomach. This man is—is a stranger. His steady gaze was hypnotic. Her mouth moved, but nothing happened.
“You nearly drowned. Thank God I heard you scream. It was providential I was fairly close by. How are you feeling?”
“I-I’m not sure.” She put a hand to her head. “My brain wants to explode, and I’m dizzy, but I think I can stand.”
“You sustained a nasty blow and cut to the back of your head.”
“Oh, is that why it’s paining me? Would you mind helping me up?”
“Certainly.” He lifted her effortlessly, keeping one arm around her waist.
A hot flush raced through her at his close proximity, and she quavered like a ballerina unsure of her routine. “Thank you, sir. I could have drowned. I’m grateful.” He stood close, and her eyes traveled up his length. His broad shoulders blocked out the mountains. Gasping, she moved from his embrace. I’m a married woman. What am I thinking taking comfort in this man’s arms? God help me—but he saved my life.
He bowed. “You’re most welcome.”
The breeze sighed past, and she shivered as much from the cold as from his overpowering masculinity. She lowered her eyes and pushed strands of wet hair from her face. Heat invaded her face as she realized her nakedness. Trembling, she tried to button the errant pearls. At first, they eluded her fingers. Finally, she managed.
“I tried to fasten your buttons.”
Leila gaped at him. “Y-you tried to button my bodice?” He nodded and watched her with an intensity that set her heart racing and her flesh aflame with the desire to feel him touch her. She lifted her eyes and caught a breath. His smile refreshed her. “I-I must look a mess,” she mumbled, trying to smooth her sodden dress.
Silver eyes caressed her from head to toe. “On the contrary, you resemble a beautiful water sprite.”
That one protracted look filled the empty spaces in her heart. A thrill rippled through her. What am I thinking? She clenched her fingers and screamed a silent denial. Her mouth tensed. “Your boldness is offensive, sir.”
“Please, I don’t mean to be offensive. Forgive me.”
Her belly fluttered with excitement. Something bloomed to life in Leila and reached out to meet him.
His hand came up, and he touched her neck with one finger. “But how can the truth be offensive?”
She opened her mouth to deliver a rebuke but sucked in a breath and covered her mouth with her fingertips instead. He stood so close that she could feel his body heat. His sheer size and latent strength bordered on intimidating. Dark, wet chestnut hair fell in waves on his forehead and curled over his collar. The soaked shirt clung to his muscular arms and broad chest. His clothes were of fine quality, yet he wore an air of danger. The hard planes of his face contrasted with his easy, seductive smile. But most of all, his eyes played games with Leila’s heart. She took a few paces back.
Those cool eyes pinned her in place.
Her anger deflated. Unable to escape his magnetic force, she wet her lips.
His smile faded, and the intensity in his eyes deepened to a hunger for more, a promise of forbidden pleasures.
Her eyes widened. He took another step closer. Leila’s stomach lurched. I’m married!
He advanced.
She retreated, knowing instinctively he was used to getting what he wanted, and right now, it was obvious he wanted her. Just because he’d saved her didn’t give him a right to her. But she wanted to give him the right. I’m wanton, despicable. She took another step back. “I-I must go,” she squeaked.
He held up his hands and smiled. “Please, my intentions are honorable.”
Heat crept up her neck. Did I misunderstand? Leila swallowed her shame. “I really must go. Thank you.” Flight was uppermost in her mind, yet she stood rooted to the spot, staring up at him. He looks so . . . so good standing there. Attempting to restore normality to the situation that was anything but, she lifted her chin. “It’s late. I must change for dinner.”
“I hope to see you again, m’lady.” His smiling eyes teased her as he scooped up his jacket. “This is dry.”
She shook her head, pressing icy hands to flaming cheeks. He’d held her and looked at her, as only a husband should. Oh, Lord, how could I forget I’m married?
He draped the jacket over her shoulders, his fingers brushing her neck.
She jerked as though jabbed, and the ache in her head increased. Leila lifted her soaked skirts and fled.
“Wait, please wait.” His heavy footsteps followed close behind as she ran through the trees and along the grassy riverbank.
She stumbled to a halt at the brook’s edge, breathless, and stared at the water surging around rocks. Moments ago, this brook had sucked her under its currents and tried to drown her. Nausea overcame her, and her legs seemed to disappear. He swept her off her feet and carried her across. “Wrap your arms around my neck,” he said softly, holding her gaze. “If I slip, I want to ensure you’re attached to me—that you’re safe.”
She complied, her heart threatening to burst from her throat. His heart thudded just as hard against her chest.
He set her down on the other side. He bowed and walked back across the brook on sure feet.
“Don’t go,” she whispered to empty space. But she needed to get away before she chased after him and said or did something she would regret. She spun and ran. The jacket slipped off, but she didn’t stop for it as she no longer felt the cold—fire burned in her veins.
Struggling up the impossibly steep incline, Leila, with effort, made it to the hotel. Head down, she hurried past guests, ignoring their appalled gasps. Leaving a wet trail down the passage to her room, she opened the door and sagged against it, pushing it closed.
She had found sanctuary at last, but the stranger still held her mind captive. She pressed trembling fingers to her temples. Don’t think about the accident or how it happened. Especially, don’t think about what happened after. She had difficulty not thinking about it. It was a nightmare, sheer folly.
She walked to the tall windows and stared across the wilderness. She pressed her hands to her cheeks. But oh, the way he looked at me. Shame sat in her stomach like a rock in a riverbed. Though Hank was a philanderer, she knew she would never be unfaithful to him. She’d made vows, promised to be faithful. Marriage vows were solemn to her, though not to Hank. Yet the stranger was a temptation she longed to give in to. “I’m a hussy!” Leila collapsed onto the settee. Her chest constricted. Sobs rose and stuck in her throat. She yanked at the bodice of her suffocating dress.
“Leila?”
She looked up at the sound of her maid’s voice and swallowed the sobs. “I’m here, Biddy.”
Biddy opened the door. “Are ya all right?” Her round face creased with concern. “Lord, child, ye’re soaked. What happened?”
Leila sucked in deep breaths, and tears flowed down her cheeks.
Her shoulders slumped like her Raggedy Ann doll with the black button eyes and a permanent smile.
Biddy’s arthritic fingers wiped at the tears. “What happened, child?”
“Oh, Biddy.” Leila fell into the old woman’s arms, finding comfort against her ample bosom. “It was horrible.” Her words tumbled out between sobs. “Remember the brook I used to play in? I was crossing on the stepping-stones, and I fell in. I nearly drowned.” She took a breath. “I hit my head hard.” She touched the back of her head.
“Let me see.” Biddy tucked a loose strand of gray hair into her neat bun and examined Leila’s head. “Ye have a bad cut. I’ll wash it with vinegar I have in my bag.” She hurried out and returned with a bottle and gently cleaned the wound. “There’s a nasty bump on yer head, but you’ll heal well enough.” Setting the bottle and cloth down, she put her hands on her broad hips, frowning at her charge. “How did ye escape drowning?”
“I was washed downstream onto rocks and managed to get to the bank.” Heat flooded her cheeks, and she avoided Biddy’s eagle eyes. Heaven knows what Biddy would say if she knew about my impure thoughts.
Biddy shook her head. “When will ye grow up, girl? Ye’re a married woman now. Come on.” Biddy motioned for her to stand. “Let’s get ye out of these wet clothes.” Leila stood, hands at her side as she’d done since she was a child.
Biddy reached to unbutton her dress but stopped. “Why are yer buttons done up wrong?”
Leila blushed. “I-I think they came undone when I floundered in the water, and I was shaking so from cold I couldn’t do them up properly.” She hated omitting details with Biddy. She’d been Leila’s nanny and stayed on as her maid. Leila adored the Irish woman but wasn’t in the mood for one of her lectures, however deserved.
Biddy took Leila’s face between her hands. “Child, ye can be so foolhardy.”
Leila expelled a breath. “I know the lecture. I shouldn’t have been down by the brook. Please, Biddy, I just want to forget the entire day. I need a hot bath and sleep. I’m not going down to dinner later.”
“Very well, colleen.” Biddy sighed and patted Leila’s cheek.
Leila stared at the floor. She hoped by morning she’d have forgotten ever meeting the stranger with the silver eyes.
Biddy peeled off the wet dress and undergarments and took them to the bathing chamber. “I hope yer dress isn’t ruined.”
Leila followed her. “Please don’t tell mother.”
The old woman tightened her lips and sighed. “Fine, I’ll not tell yer mother, but ye’ll have to forget about sleepin’ and join everyone for dinner.”
“A small price to pay.” Leila wrapped her arms around Biddy and planted a kiss on her rosy cheek.
Biddy shook her head and smiled, wagging her finger. “But ye need to promise that ye’ll not go into the woods alone again.”
Leila nodded vigorously, anything to prevent her mother from finding out. The very thought of having to listen to her mother rant nauseated Leila.
“Leila, I am going to the kitchen for a knife.”
“A knife?”
“Aye. I’ll press it to the bump on yer head to keep it from swellin.’”
“My heavens, does that really work?”
“Of course. Ye get into the tub. I’ll be right back and we’ll get ye ready for dinner.” Biddy patted Leila’s back.
Leila sank into the scented bath water. Closing her eyes, she filled her lungs with air and expelled a long, deep sigh.
Chapter 3
Rork scanned the guests. She has to be here. He leaned an elbow on the back of a tall wicker chair on the veranda. A polished onyx pipe hung from his mouth.
Hank sat in the chair opposite. He waved slim hands and talked incessantly between gulps of his fifth whiskey.
Rork tried to focus on his new partner’s ramblings, but his interest rapidly waned, and he resorted to nodding acknowledgment, hearing none of the inane blabber. Once more, he searched the guests’ faces. Rork’s mind wandered to the view he’d spent the morning capturing on canvas. The water sprite dancing across the rocks had drawn him away. Her scream went right through the center of his head and made his eardrums vibrate.
He slid his fingers together, transported back to the smooth texture of her skin and how her fragrance had filled his senses. He wanted to touch her again, touch her petite body, and those lush, tempting lips made for kisses. Never had he held a woman that exquisite. He wanted more; he wanted her. He knew, in that moment, he would move mountains to make her his. What in the world is wrong with me? Damn. What am I thinking?
“Millburn, wake up, fella. Where were you? Did you hear anything I said?”
“Of course.” Rork jerked himself back to the present. “You mentioned, ah, Mormons.”
“Yes. There’s a group of Mormons in Utah I want to visit. I heard some thought-provoking tales about those folks. What do you think? Are you game?”
“Whatever you say, Hank. You run the show.” Rork studied Hank’s handsome face and smiled. Despite not cutting an imposing figure, the man was charming and had a sharp wit. He wondered if Hank’s drinking would be a problem in their new partnership. He didn’t want to work with a man who was a sot.
“How was your day?” Hank swirled amber liquid in a crystal tumbler. His cold eyes met Rork’s gaze over the rim.
Rork smiled as images of the mysterious beauty invaded his mind. “I met a captivating woman.”
Leaning forward, Hank raised his eyebrows and grinned. “A woman? I want to hear more.”
“The encounter was pretty unusual.” Rork took a sip of whiskey. “I was painting when I saw this woman crossing the brook.” His head spun. He wasn’t accustomed to strong spirits, at least not at Hank’s pace. This is ridiculous. Why do I feel the need to keep up with Hank? He took another sip.
“And . . . was she beautiful?”
“She was.”
“What’s the hitch, Rork?”
“Well, when I saw her, she was quite far away.” He smiled. “And one does not just approach a woman, however delectable.” He took another sip of whiskey. “Moments later, I heard a scream. When I looked up, she was gone, and her bonnet lay on the grass beside the brook.”
Hank’s eyes bulged. “What happened?”
“I raced to the brook, dived into the water, and searched for her. The recent rains had flooded the brook. I got to her just in time. She was unconscious, so I carried her out. I was concerned she may not make it, but she finally came round.” His heart took up an erratic beat.
Hank slammed his hand down on the armchair. “Damn, fella, you’re a hero. Let’s have a congratulatory drink—salute.”
Rork raised his glass in response. He took another long drink. “I wouldn’t call myself a hero. Just doing what any man would. Once she revived, the poor girl was so distraught she bolted.”
“What made her so captivating?”
Rork shrugged. He kept her state of undress to himself, as well as his aspiration, and forced a grin. “She was a beauty, a vision, like new leaves in spring. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.”
Hank’s laughter sent whiskey cascading from his glass. “Too bad the encounter was brief, but you're in trouble. Never let a woman captivate your mind, least of all a beauty. It only leads to heartache.” His mouth twisted.
Rork cocked one eyebrow. “And you know this firsthand?”
“Yes. I’ve had my fair share of trouble with beautiful women. More than I want to admit. Ended up marrying one, to my eternal regret.”
Hank was a successful syndicated writer who had a flair for the theatrical as he related entertaining, grandiose stories.
Hank lifted his glass to Rork. “Friend, let us toast to our meeting and upcoming journey. May we have pleasant weather and safe travels.”
He drained the contents of the glass.
Rork grimaced and downed his drink. “I fail to see how you can regret marrying a beautiful woman.” Perhaps it isn’t a happy marriage, Rork mused. Hank swayed in his chair, waving his arms as he engaged other guests. What woman would be happy with a drunkard?
Hank poured another whiskey and stared at the amber liquid. “Humph.” He looked up at Rork, rolled his eyes, and said, “All women are beautiful in their own way. My wife’s beauty comes from her wealth and important family connections. They’re impressive.”
The flippant answer amused Rork. “How does your wife’s beauty, in whatever form it comes, cause you trouble?”
“What wife doesn’t cause her husband trouble? My wife has been nothing but grief since the day we married. She is always irksome about one thing or another. It’s because of her considerable assets that I tolerate her crap.”
“So, clearly, her physical beauty isn’t the problem.”
Hank chuckled. “You’ve got me there, my friend. Maybe not all beautiful women are trouble, but I wouldn’t recommend letting one get into your head.”
Rork rubbed his cheek. “So you only married for money?”
“Basically, yes.”
“Where is your wife?”
Hank shrugged. “Around, I guess. You’re a good-looking man. You must have had your fair share of beauties.”
Rork rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes, I’ve known beautiful women, but the relationships were brief. I prefer a solitary life. I love adventure, travel, and painting, a lifestyle not favorable to having a family. In a few days, we embark on an arduous journey that will likely take close to a year—most of my journeys do. I doubt any woman would wait for me to return.”
