He cleaned off the remains of the mutilated apple and grabbed another, ensuring this time he did not destroy it in his anger. “All of them are trapped because I insisted on exacting my revenge to appease my pride.”
His stupid pride. Had he set aside his vengeance, left Tris with Aba, and gone with Andres and Fortier to lead his people to Russia… “I’d have taken the same route and be as trapped as they are now.” Hanging his head, he clenched the knife handle until his knuckles hurt. There was nothing he could have done to save them. Nothing his presence would have altered. Yet it was his duty to see to his family’s safety. For this reason alone, he had failed.
Fortier cautioned him not to blame himself, stating it had been a matter of time for the war plaguing much of Europe to spread to eastern Europe and Russia. It was their ill-fortune to arrive at the peninsula in late July when Russia was marching against the Turks. While circumstances looked dire, they had not been injured. They were, however, immobile and trapped between the two battling armies, seeking shelter in the hills and mountains cradling the region. He took comfort in knowing his family were safe in Fortier’s and Andres’ capable hands.
“Maybe Andres’ hands,” he said. Fortier had taken a great risk leaving the mountains to find his way to a supply ship heading west to Great Britain. “Who knows if Fortier ever returned to Turkey. Are my people safe three months later?”
In his letter, Fortier told him the family would leave for Russia when fighting ceased and one side had been declared the victor. For their sakes, he prayed it was Russia. They all knew the language and the customs, and if Russia won, there’d be regiments staying to defend the newly acquired territory and regiments returning home. If his clan attached themselves to one of those returning, they’d be assured of safe passage. Fortier urged Luka not to worry for their safety and to assure him they’d be waiting in their wintering grounds in southern Russia.
He pulled the porridge off the fire and stirred it one last time, thumping it into a wooden bowl with a grimace of disgust. He detested porridge, but it was one of the foods his “wife’s” stomach could handle. “Yet even if she regains her memory today and I leave tomorrow, I’ll not make it there before the first snow flies.” Plus there was the added threat of warring armies across the continent.
“Passage on a supply ship would take too long. Fall storms, too, make travel by water more difficult.” No matter how he examined the problem, he was stuck on Herm until the fighting ceased or spring arrived.
Though nowhere near resigned to this delayed timeline, he comforted himself with the knowledge Fortier and Andres were strong leaders who’d not endanger their people. Grabbing a tray from the sideboard, he arranged the porridge bowl and the plate of apples on it, poured Beatrice a cup of tea, and carried the tray in her room.
She was awake and sitting against the headboard, her blonde curls tousled from her night’s sleep. Flushed cheeks and a sleepy smile declared she’d not been awake for long.
He put the tray across her lap, opened the curtain to let in the morning light, and sat at the end of the bed.
“I heard you talking to yourself, Luka. Is everything all right?”
“Nothing for you to worry about.”
“I’m your wife. I want to share your problems.”
White teeth worried her bottom lip, and her brows furrowed. She wished to help. His head acknowledged her desire to assist him, but his heart remembered her deceit. Sharing anything remained difficult while her memories remained missing and his were not.
“Please.”
He sighed and gave in, never able to resist granting her desires, as long as they were within his means to give. This he could give her. “News from Fortier and Andres. They encountered some trouble when heading to Russia Seems the fighting has erupted there, too.”
“Oh, Luka. You blame yourself for not being there with them. Despite your desire to protect them, you’re only one man.”
He’d feign indignity for her aspersions against his ability to protect had she not unerringly sussed out the heart of the problem—guilt over his absence and the knowledge his presence would have changed nothing. A decade’s separation and a considerable head wound had not diminished her capacity to understand him and the inner workings of his mind. No one else had ever known him as Bea did. He’d all but forgotten how close they were, his anger over her deceit blocking all the blessings of friendship they’d shared.
“I wish to be there with them, but…” I’m stuck caring for you because we have unfinished business. Her uncanny perception, and his revelation that little had changed between them, loosened his tongue, and he spoke with uncharacteristic abandon. She remained ignorant of events past age eighteen. He dared not speak of those events, else he’d run the risk of causing further confusion and pain. For many reasons, hurting her was no longer an option. The time they shared as children was too meaningful to sully with anger or revenge. Besides, she’d not forced him to leave his family. It was my choice. He let the significance of this statement settle about him, yet he had remained quiet too long; she had guessed his meaning.
“But you’re here nursing me. If I hadn’t been injured, would you have been with them already?” Unable to bear the pain he had caused, he stood and looked out the window. “I can tell you would be. I’m sorry, Luka. I’m sorry I’ve taken you away from your family.”
“You’re part of my family, too, Tris. Your welfare is as important to me as theirs.”
The smile she gifted him was almost worth the time spent nursing her back to health, and a comfortable warmth eased away much of his anger. “Thank you, Luka.” She spooned some porridge into her mouth. “You’ve been taking such good care of me. I’m much better.” She swirled her spoon around in her bowl before setting it aside. A gusty sigh escaped her lips, riffling his hair and inducing a general uneasiness in the region of his stomach. Since the day they’d met, her sighs boded ill for his sanity and peace of mind. He’d best proceed with caution.
“What’s wrong? Is the food not to your liking?”
“Oh, no. Everything is fine, but why haven’t we…? Never mind.”
“Why haven’t we what?”
“Could I have a bath today? Aba allowed me a bath if my leg stays pink and the wound remains closed.”
“A bath?” Her mind switched topics with alarming speed. Perhaps her scattered and often disjointed conversations had resulted from the injury.
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
“It’ll take some time to heat all the water and haul it in.”
“Never mind. I can take a sponge bath with water from the basin.”
He was reminded of a discovery he had made several weeks ago on his daily walk, a small, warm pool, tucked in the surrounding woods. It was a short walk from the cottage. “You know what? I can promise you a bath today. Gather your dressing gown and a towel, slip on your shoes, and I shall escort milady there.”
Though curiosity brightened her eyes, she obeyed and finished her meal in a trice. While Luka left her to gather her things, he tidied the kitchen and disposed of the scraps. Within moments of leaving the room, she was by his side, and the two set off across the island.
****
She sighed and rested her head against a natural rock ledge in the small, pooling spring. “This is lovely. However did you find it?”
“A happy accident,” he said over his shoulder and whipped his head around to return his stare at the patch of wilderness sheltering the water. After arriving, he had helped her sit at the edge of the pool and had turned his back while she disrobed. Even now he remained turned away from her to afford her some measure of privacy. This was the lie he told himself to carry on the farce he remained unaffected and indifferent to Bea’s presence. The reality of his forced isolation was much more basic. If he looked at her bare, golden skin and lush feminine curves, he might not be able to stop himself from falling for her seductive trap.
“Won’t you join me? I won’t bite.
”
You may not, but I will. He hazarded another glance over his shoulder and gritted his teeth. Water droplets glistened on creamy shoulders. Her head was thrown back, exposing the slender column of her neck. Honey blonde curls spilled over the tender skin and onto the tempting swells of her breasts. She stretched her arms over her head, baring those heavy mounds to his greedy eyes. The dampened curls wrapped around the plump flesh, and he shuddered. With her head thrown back, water droplets glistening on her bared neck and shoulders, she looked every inch the goddess temptress. “I’ll stay here and keep watch.” He congratulated himself, happy to note his voice did not crack or betray his intense longing.
She feigned a moue, or at least he imagined it was one. When he pushed the red haze of lust to the background, he noted she was not faking indignation. She was distressed, and unhappiness rolled off her tense shoulders in waves. “You no longer find me attractive.”
Damn and merde. “I’m sorry, Bea.” He moved from his watchful position nearer to the pool. Squatting on his knees beside her, he lifted her chin and wiped away the tears which had escaped to streak her face. “You are recovering. I do not wish to unduly tax you.”
“It’s not because of my scars? They are hideous, I know. I look a fright.”
He remembered this side to her. Appearance had been of the utmost importance to her. She wanted to be the most attractive woman in the room, and any who dared to approach her brilliant, shining beauty was seen as competition, an enemy to be subverted and destroyed. It wasn’t enough to be called beautiful. She had to be the shining example, the exemplar, the Incomparable.
“Your scars are not hideous, nor could you ever be.”
“Why won’t you get in the water with me?”
“I—”
“And why won’t you touch me or sleep in the same bed as me? Why haven’t you once kissed me or told me you love me? Am I so altered, or are you? Do you regret our marriage?”
Her questions came all at once like a rush of hot air from a blazing fire, but like fast-burning fire, her righteous indignation lacked substance, and she deflated. Sullen and sulky, she crossed her arms over her chest and turned her head away. “This was a mistake. I want to go back home.”
“You’ve soaked for less than a quarter hour. Stay a little longer, relax your muscles, and I’ll take you back home.”
“No, I want to go home to my mother and sisters. You don’t love me anymore. Maybe you never did.”
How much of what she is saying would have been true had we eloped ten years ago? He’d left to prevent the possibility of resentment and eventual loathing, though in her current state of mind he couldn’t be too sure it wasn’t the loss of memory altering her personality. It was difficult to believe Beatrice, a spy and master manipulator, had ever pouted. She’d been too busy fighting for her life to worry about such trivial matters as courtship and marriage. He had to remind himself she was unwell and had regressed to a much younger time in her life. To her eighteen-year-old self, to be precise. She had ever been headstrong and spoiled, and he had adored her in spite of her challenges. Whatever had transformed her to a cool, calm intelligencer had happened after they parted ways. It was to this time he wished she had returned, yet without confusing her more or damaging her fragile health further, he had to convince the woman she currently was. It didn’t matter if she had the body of a woman much older, her mind was telling her she was a fresh debutante from the schoolroom. This Beatrice was the one he had to appease.
“But of course I want you, my heart. Why would I marry you and whisk you away to an island honeymoon if I didn’t? You are the one for me. My worry for your health and for the undue stress you have experienced in our haste to be away from England concerns me. Not a day passes in which I don’t castigate myself for placing you in such a dangerous situation. Had I known the vessel we took from England was not seaworthy, I never would have arranged passage on it. As it is, the captain of our ship is lucky to have died in the explosion, because if he were alive, I’d give him reason to wish he were dead.”
“Do you mean it?”
“With all my heart.”
“This is the reason why you have avoided more intimate forms of affection? You are ashamed of your actions?”
Sure, why not. He had waved adieu to reality and common sense the moment he dragged her from the water. What was one more lie? “I am fearful of causing you more harm.”
She sat there and seemed to be considering his words. A familiar determined purpose wreathed her face, and an inkling of dread took root in his stomach. Her determination had never boded well for him in the past. The last time he had seen it, he was trying to convince her why they should wait until they were married the next day before consummating their relationship again. He didn’t have to dig too deep to recall who emerged victorious, and it wasn’t him. She’d had him flat on his back in the meadow, her skirts rucked around her hips, riding him to completion, in less time than it took him to saddle his horse. He needed to proceed with caution.
“What’s going on in your pretty little head, Tris?”
“Hmm? Oh, nothing.” She smiled a secret, witchy smile, and his stomach flipped. “I am tired, though, Luka. I am ready to return to the cottage. My limbs have gone all limp. I’m so relaxed. Help me rise?” She asked the final question while peering at him from beneath her lashes. A becoming flush crept over her neck and cheeks, and he bit back a curse. She was planning something, but without appearing churlish, he had no other recourse than to comply. He offered his hand and helped her from the hot pool, wishing he could blind himself upon spying her in all her slippery nakedness. Her expression remained innocent and blank as she stood there in the clearing, water dripping over the swells and curves of her full breasts and wide hips. He suppressed a twitch and bent to retrieve her towel and wrapper. When he stood and helped her don her wrapper, the innocent mask remained, though he swore he caught a glimpse of a wicked smile curling her plump, red lips as she watched him bend before her.
As if it were preordained, the sun broke through the clouds, and the slanting light filtered through the trees to ring her golden hair in a misty circle of light. Luka wasn’t a praying man, but he’d taken up the practice after she’d awakened and their broken engagement had transformed into a marriage. Desperation had never entered into his conversations with God until the last several weeks, when her amorous advances had increased. For a man who was apathetic at most about a higher power’s existence, he’d fallen to his knees countless times, begging for a sign, any sign, that his torment neared the end. God, it seemed, had a sense of humor, for instead of an angel of mercy to end his misery, He’d sent him a devil. A feisty, sly she-devil.
Through narrowed eyes, he glared, hoping to see beyond her innocent mask to the mischief lurking behind. Angelic innocence stared back.
Oh, she’s up to something, all right.
He’d best be wary, for if he weren’t mistaken, his days of pushing her away were over. Luka’s time was running out.
Chapter 10
London, England, January 1801
Bea was out of time. Though she could pretend the contractions which had heralded her child’s birth early this morning were nothing more than indigestion, the popping noise and subsequent gush of water from between her legs she could not pretend away. Bemused, she watched the water pool on the rug in her bedchamber and for a moment didn’t comprehend what it truly meant. Another contraction tightened her abdomen, dispelling any notion she had about disguising her child’s imminent expulsion into this world.
She was in labor. “Right on time,” she grunted as the sharp edges of pain spread out through her back and disappeared. “Let’s hope for both our sakes, little one, this is the sole aspect in which you mirror your father.” Luka valued punctuality, one of his more endearing traits. His punctuality meant more time in his company, an event she anticipated with eagerness each summer morning when she had slipped out of the house and awaited him in the stables. His r
eady smile and impatience for adventure had matched her own, and she greeted his timeliness with excited ardor.
Until now. This child’s punctuality might be what condemned them both, for her husband, Lord Darimple, wasn’t expecting his presumed heir for another four weeks.
“Argh!” She clutched her belly and willed the contractions to stop, but another one followed on the heels of the last. Crying out, she fell to her knees.
“My lady, is it time?” asked her maid, Harriet, as she rushed into her bedchamber.
“The pains have been coming off and on all morning. I prayed to be wrong, but my water has broken. It won’t be long.”
Harriet knelt by her side and offered her hand. “Let’s get you in bed and call for the doctor.”
“Nay,” Bea said. She pointed to the chair she had vacated before baptizing the rug and said, “Push the chair over.” She rent one of her stockings and hit her shin with a sharp downward slap of her palm. Again and again she hit herself until her skin reddened and broke.
Harriet fluttered around like a ruffled chicken, and pushed Bea’s hands away from her legs. “You must stop, my lady. You’ll hurt yourself.”
“That’s the general idea. Push the blasted chair!”
Though Harriet’s pursed lips declared her displeasure, she did as her mistress had bade her.
“Help me to my side.” Bea bent her leg a bit behind her, the effort of so much movement causing sweat to bead on her forehead in spite of the chilly room. Raking her hands through her hair, she dislodged several pins and wispy blonde strands floated around her face. She screamed.
“Help! George, help me! I’ve fallen!”
Comprehension was swift to dawn, and the maid yelled. “My lady? Are you well?”
“Run out of the door and find George. Scream down the house if you must, but get him here,” Bea hissed.
Harriet hadn’t been gone for a minute before Bea’s husband burst into the room, saw her lying on the floor, and rushed to her side.
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