Pierce stared at the door for a long moment before going to his study.
He rang for Betsy. “Miss Eden needs you, and make sure she stays in her room this evening. I want her to rest.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The moment Betsy left, Pierce pulled out pen and ink. Madame Indrani, he wrote on a piece of paper. Tomorrow, he would send a man out first thing to search for this woman… and he would almost wager Cornish King that she lived in a city. He would make certain the man went to London with his inquiries.
Eden closed the drapes to the garden and lay on her bed in the darkened room.
How could she have so carelessly blundered and let Madame Indrani’s name slip out? Worse was that woman, the Widow Haskell. Even with clouded eyesight, the Widow seemed to divine all of Eden’s secrets—and yet she’d chosen not to give Eden away. She’d even assured Eden that Lord Penhollow would become her protector!
She could be thankful for that. Lord Penhollow was like no other man she’d ever met. There was an honesty about him she hadn’t found in other men… and a sense of honor.
While listening to him talk, she’d even caught herself wondering what it would be like to lay with him, to touch him as she’d been taught to touch a man. For the first time in Eden’s life, the thought of being with a man in that way made her body feel jittery and excited, cold and hot all at the same time.
She sat up abruptly. Stop it, she warned herself. You have other problems to worry about. She couldn’t put her faith in the words of a superstitious “charmer” like the Widow Haskell.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and began pacing the length of the room. It was too soon for Madame to know she had run away. How many days did she have? Two? No, more like a week. One week was all she had to make plans, to find somewhere to hide, and to decide how she was going to make peace with Madame Indrani. It would involve money, there was no doubt about that.
But then, the Widow had said Lord Penhollow would protect her. He would be her protector.
Eden sat back down on the bed. Offering herself to Lord Penhollow would not be a chore, no chore at all. The image of his body joined with hers, in the way she witnessed countless times as part of her training under Madame’s tutelage, almost robbed her of breath. But could he afford the price—?
A knock sounded on the door.
Betsy entered without waiting to be summoned. She balanced a tray of food on one arm.
“Please go away. I’m not hungry,” Eden said.
Betsy ignored her. “Yes, you are. You must get your strength up. After all, you’re dining with the gentry tomorrow evening and we must have you ready for that.” She set the tray down. “By the way, Mrs. Meeks says I’m to be your maid. Your personal lady’s maid. Don’t that sound grand?” She walked over to the windows as she talked and flung open the drapes, flooding the room with late afternoon sunlight.
Eden squinted with irritation. “I don’t know if I will be able to accept an invitation tomorrow night. Or if I need a maid.”
“Oh, don’t worry, miss. I’ll have you ready. After all, I am one of those who knows your secret and it’s safe with me.”
Now she had Eden’s undivided attention. “Secret?”
“I know where you came from,” the maid said. She picked up a wineglass from the tray. “I poured you a spot of sherry. Thought you could use some.”
Eden was tempted to drain the glass in one gulp. She forced herself to be calm. “How do you know my secret?”
“Everyone in Hobbles Moor knows. Shall I help you undress so you can be comfy?”
Eden shot up from the bed. “No! How could they know?” It didn’t make sense!
“Well, Hobbles Moor is a small village. There isn’t much that goes on that we all don’t know. Word travels fast, and bad word even faster.” She picked up a hairbrush from the vanity. “Would you like for me to brush your hair out now?”
Eden crossed to her, the blood beating in her ears. “No, I want you to answer my questions. How did you know about me?”
“How?” Betsy blinked at her as if such a question was silly. “Because we conjured you, that’s how.”
“Conjured?” Eden asked, bewildered.
“My heavens, you don’t look as if you’re feeling good at all, Miss Eden. Sit on the bench and I’ll take the ribbon and pins out of your hair. It will help you relax.”
Eden let herself be led around to the front of the vanity bench and sat down before the mirror. “Conjured.”
“The Widow Haskell is a charmer and knows a thing or two that the rest of us don’t. She’s the one that brought you here, although we all helped.”
Eden stared at Betsy’s reflection in the mirror. “She brought me here?”
Pulling the length of ribbon out from Eden’s hair, Betsy nodded. “Aye, during the last full moon, we gathered at a place called Hermit’s Cove. Oh, it’s a rocky and dangerous place, Miss Eden, but full of magic. Or at least the Widow says it is and now I believe it’s true because here you are and you are everything we asked for.”
Removing the few pins holding Eden’s hair in place, she began brushing Eden’s hair. The brushing felt good. Almost against her will Eden began to relax, closing her eyes.
Betsy continued talking. “That night, the Widow made a special charm just for Lord Pierce because we all love him so much. But if you don’t mind my saying so, you are much better in person than any of us had hoped for.”
Eden smiled dreamily, the tightness in her neck slowly fading. “Betsy, I don’t know what you are talking about. If you were looking for a person, then I’m certain I’m not the right one.” She couldn’t be!
“Oh, yes, you are, miss,” Betsy said, fervently. “You are exactly what we wanted.”
“And what is that?” Eden asked, lost in the soothing movement of the brush.
“The perfect bride for Lord Penhollow.”
Bride? Eden’s eyes popped wide open!
Chapter 7
Brest, France
Tasim shoved open the thin wood door to their room in the inn. Inn! It was nothing more than a waterfront hovel.
Gadi sat at a small table, sharpening the curved blade of his scimitar. The blade gleamed wickedly in the candlelight.
“Did you find passage for us?” Gadi asked. They’d disembarked from the Wind Lark at the first port. Nasim was not happy that the English captain had refused to turn back once they’d discovered the girl missing. Instead, the captain had been more concerned about his ship and the storm damage that cost them several days’ travel. The crew of the Wind Lark had been fortunate that a passing military frigate had caught sight of them and helped tow the ship to harbor.
Nasim crossed to the table where Gadi worked. A bowl containing a melon, grapes, and several oranges from Spain sat beside a jug of sweet cider. Nasim poured himself a glass. “Finally. It took me most of the day. We leave on a fishing boat at first light.”
“A fishing boat?”
“It was the best I could do. Now that the war is over, the French and English are happy to do business with each other. There wasn’t another boat to be chartered.”
Gadi curled his lip. “It will probably stink like fish.” After their bouts with seasickness, neither one of them was anxious to board another boat.
“Probably.” Nasim helped himself to the grapes.
“Are you going to send a message to Ibn Sibah and tell him why we are delayed?”
Nasim paused. “I will tell him we are delayed.”
Gadi stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I would tell him we have lost the virgin, and what she has done. Ibn Sibah is a fair man. He will not punish us.”
Nasim slammed his hand down on the table. “I have never failed my master and I will not now.” He walked over to the pile of charts and maps the two men had pored over that morning and, lifting the top map from the pile, studied it. In the dim light, his gaze followed the English coast and the lines showing the currents. His nose flared with ang
er. Who would have thought that a mere slip of a girl could escape them?
They had been so ill, they hadn’t learned of her escape until late the next morning after the storm. To add insult to injury, the English captain had insisted Nasim pay for the missing dinghy before he would let them go to shore.
Nasim wrinkled the map as his hands clenched in frustration. The virgin had appeared biddable and compliant but he’d been wrong. He would not underestimate her again.
“I was thinking/‘ Gadi said, ”the virgin could have floated her boat to France.“
Nasim shook his head. “She would be fighting the current. Remember, she has lived her life in a city. She knows nothing about boats or how to sail. The ability to cross the Channel in a small dinghy is beyond her.” He walked to the table and placed the map beside the candle. “No, my friend, she is somewhere here.” He pointed to the English coast off the Isle of Wight.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Inside of me—” He thumped his chest. “—I am sure she is alive and in England. After all, why would she journey to a strange land?”
Gadi leaned forward. “Tell me, my friend, why should we waste our time searching for her? Why do we not say she died in the storm?”
“You are looking for the easy road?”
“No, I’m looking to go home,” he answered wearily. Leaning his arm on the table, he urged quietly, “Let us find a virgin here. Many women would be willing to serve Ibn Sibah.”
“This virgin is not just any woman,” Nasim said. As he’d tramped from wharf to wharf searching for passage, he’d asked these same questions himself. He stretched out in the chair opposite Gadi. “She has been trained in the desires of men by Ibn Sibah’s favorite harem slave, Madame Indrani.”
“The woman we purchased her from?”
“The same. Ibn Sibah gave the woman known as Madame Indrani her freedom after she saved his life during a palace uprising almost three decades ago. Still, he has mourned her loss and hopes to recapture a part of his youth and the spirit Madame had with this virgin.”
“Perhaps it is not Allah’s will that he have the virgin,” Gadi said carefully.
“Perhaps.” Nasim sat back in his chair. “But will you be the one to tell Ibn Sibah this?”
Gadi shook his head, his face under his beard turning pale. “No, I fear being that man.”
“Then we have only one thing to do, my friend. We must find the virgin.”
Gadi tested the sharpness of his scimitar by running his finger along the blade. A line of blood rose on the tip of his finger. He smiled. “We will find her, my friend. She is only one small woman and we are two men with a purpose.”
“Yes, and when we have her, she will not escape again.”
Chapter 8
Eden woke the next morning to find the garden shrouded in a thick, misty fog, just as Jim had promised the day before. She hung back the drapes and climbed back into bed, not ready to leave her pillow.
The sheets felt good against her cheek. She’d slept well, even though her sleep had been filled with vivid dreams, erotic dreams. Dreams she’d never had before… and Lord Penhollow was in them.
Eden rolled over on her back and stared at the ceiling. She mustn’t think of him this way. She had to leave—and yet Betsy’s words that she’d been chosen to be his bride repeated over and over in her head.
It had taken Betsy hours to convince Eden to even consider such a possibility. Countess of Penhollow. If Eden hadn’t felt the force of Widow Haskell’s presence herself, she wouldn’t have given the matter a second thought. But now she did—because she wanted to.
Eden lay in the bed, her arms outstretched, and let herself believe. The wonder of it all made her tremble with excitement. “Countess of Penhollow,” she whispered.
“What are you still doing in bed?” came Betsy’s irritated voice from the doorway.
Eden hadn’t even heard her open the door. She turned to the maid with a smile. “I just woke.” She stretched. “Isn’t it a beautiful day?”
“It looks like rain later and you shouldn’t be such a slugabed,” Betsy informed her briskly, walking into the room and toward the wardrobe. “You should be breakfasting with Lord Penhollow right this very minute. I’ve been in the kitchen cooling my heels and waiting for you to ring.” She threw open the wardrobe door and began riffling through Eden’s dresses. “It’s a good thing I’m impatient. He’s almost done with his breakfast. We’re going to miss him completely if we don’t hurry.”
Eden bounced out of bed, in the best of moods at the thought of seeing Lord Penhollow.
Betsy pulled her head out of the wardrobe. “I wish you had more clothes and more day dresses.”
“I’ll wear the green lace once again.”
“You can’t! He’s already seen you in that. Wait! I have the perfect idea.” She poked her head back into the wardrobe and then came out a moment later, frowning. “You don’t have a riding habit. I never realized it until this moment.”
“No.” It was not an item Madame Indrani felt Eden would need after she was locked behind harem walls.
Betsy groaned with frustration. “Why didn’t you tell me this last night?”
Last night, Betsy had shared with Eden everything she knew about Lord Penhollow. Eden now knew his habits (he always breakfasted after he’d made his morning rounds of the stables, usually between eight and nine), his favorite food (mussels steamed in wine), color (blue, Betsy thought), books, music, wine… the list went on and on. The servants had put together the list, reasoning, quite rightly, that such information would help Eden capture his heart.
“What did I tell you over and over again last night that Lord Penhollow values?”
“His reputation and his horses,” Eden answered dutifully.
“And don’t you think you could have told me at some point during our conversation that you don’t own a habit?” Betsy asked, her hands on her hips in exasperation.
“No,” Eden replied reasonably. “I don’t ride and he already knows that.”
“Oh, but he thinks you want to learn to ride.”
“Wherever did he gain such an idea?”
“I told him this morning over his breakfast. I said—” She adopted her best “servant’s” voice. “—‘Lord Penhollow, Miss Eden wondered if you would be able to teach her to ride.”“ She grinned. ”He jumped at your request like a dog after bacon and says he will meet you out front once you are dressed.“
Eden practically stood up in the bed. “But I never made any such request!”
“He doesn’t know that,” Betsy replied, and returned to the wardrobe. She pulled out a dress of soft periwinkle-blue silk. “Here, this is what you’ll have to wear until I can find you a habit. I’ll explain the delay to Lord Penhollow.”
“I don’t want to learn to ride,” Eden insisted mutinously. “And I prefer the rose muslin.”
“But blue is Lord Penhollow’s favorite color.”
“And rose brings out the color in my cheeks. But I won’t ride.”
Betsy switched the blue for the rose. “You can either have a lesson this morning with Lord Penhollow, or—” She paused dramatically. “—be here for your appointment with Dr. Hargrave and receive another dose of castor oil.”
Suddenly, the choices before Eden were clearer. “I’ve always wanted to learn to ride.”
Betsy shook the wrinkles out of the dress. “Oh, you mustn’t just learn to ride, miss. You must be able to sail over the hedgerows with the finest riders in England.”
“Sail?”
“Umm-hmmm,” Betsy said, laying the dress on the bed and helping Eden pull her nightdress off over her head. “The countess of Penhollow must know how to ride. It’s expected.”
Suddenly, being countess of Penhollow didn’t appear as appetizing to Eden as it had before. But regardless, she still needed to keep Lord Penhollow entranced.
She slid into the rose muslin and sat down on the vanity bench to do her hair, which she dec
ided to wear simply, pulling it up and tying it in place with a black ribbon. Her gaze met Betsy’s in the mirror. “But I can’t ride if I don’t have a habit to wear, can I?”
“Oh, I’ll find a habit,” Betsy promised… and Eden knew the redheaded maid would do just exactly that.
Nor, in the end, could she avoid Dr. Hargrave. Or his castor oil dosage. Lady Penhollow sent word insisting Eden meet with the good doctor.
Lord Penhollow sent word that he would postpone their lesson until after the doctor’s visit.
Eden was trapped.
Fortunately, he got the worst over first— giving her a large tablespoon of castor oil immediately. It didn’t taste any better the second time around. “But it cures everything,” Dr. Hargrave assured her.
Eden didn’t know if she agreed.
Dr. Hargrave’s examination was quick and methodical. He spent a great deal of time peering into Eden’s eyes and asking her questions about her past. Both he and Eden sat in chairs in front of the French doors to take advantage of the light while Lady Penhollow stood by the corner of the bed, her hands folded in front of her. She had insisted on being present when the doctor made his examination.
He sat back in his chair and pulled pen, ink, and paper from his black case. “I hope you don’t mind, Miss Eden, but I would like to take notes of your examination for a letter I am writing to the Royal College of Surgeons. There are many doctors who would be interested in this case. May I have your permission?”
“I’m not certain,” Eden answered uncomfortably.
“It’s all in the name of science,” he urged her.
“I’m sure she won’t mind,” Lady Penhollow said. “Will you, dear?”
Eden couldn’t refuse him, not with Lady Penhollow present. “All right then.”
After the exam, Dr. Hargrave scribbled two pages of notes. He finished his writing with a flourish and looked up at her, his spectacles sitting low on his nose. “Lord Penhollow tells me you remember a name from time to time.”
WHEN DREAMS COME TRUE Page 10
