Ransomed Jewels

by Laura Landon

  The major.

  Her heart thundered in her chest and she turned around to a waiting footman. “Go for Doctor Bronnely. And hurry, James!” She turned to the few servants who had refused to go to bed until they knew if the marquess was safe. “Go ready the major’s room,” she ordered. “And bring up plenty of water and towels.”

  The servants scurried to do her bidding. Claire rushed forward as the major walked through the doorway. His left arm hung limply at his side and a dark circle stained his shirt. A sheen of perspiration covered his face and his lips were stretched taut in a grimace against the pain.

  Claire reached out to steady him. “How badly are you hurt?”

  He took a shaky breath before he answered. “Not bad. I may need Bronnely though.”

  “I’ve already sent for him,” she said. “He should be here soon. Can you make it up the stairs?”

  He nodded and kept his feet moving.

  Claire walked beside him, then moved closer to him when she realized how badly he’d been injured.

  “We were too late,” he said. He reached for the railing with his uninjured hand. “Roseneau had already moved him.”

  Claire glanced back at Barnaby. There was a serious look on his face.

  “He’s alive, Claire. At least we know that.”

  Claire nodded and took each step with the major. His breathing was increasingly labored. Claire knew the inordinate amount of effort it took for him to stay on his feet. The minute he reached the room, he staggered, and she and Barn struggled to catch him before he fell.

  “Hold steady, Major,” Barn said, loosening the top button on the major’s shirt. He then took his knife and slit the material down the front. When he’d removed the major’s shirt, he lowered him to the bed. “Bring up some whiskey, Watkins,” Barnaby ordered, then he grabbed one of the towels a servant brought.

  “Press this cloth hard against his back and hold it, Claire. Can you do that?”

  Claire looked at the blood-soaked shirt and swallowed hard. “Yes.”

  The major groaned when Barnaby pushed against her hand to indicate how much pressure he wanted her to apply. He stepped aside, and the wounds on the major’s shoulder and arm were exposed.

  A knot clenched in Claire’s stomach when she looked at the bruised, gaping flesh. She sucked in a breath before increasing the pressure on the worst part of the wound where blood still seeped out. She heard a soft moan and knew she’d hurt him.

  “Harder, Claire.”

  Claire pushed harder.

  “Harder!”

  Beads of perspiration covered her forehead as Claire held the cloth to the major’s back. “It’s not stopping, Barn.”

  “Yes, it is. Just keep pushing.”

  Claire leaned forward and pushed so hard the muscles in her arms ached. And she kept pushing. Until Doctor Bronnely walked through the door.

  “What have we got here, Sam?” he said, setting down his bag and pulling back the cloth Claire had been holding so tight.

  “A scratch,” the major answered through clenched teeth. “What took you so long?”

  “I was having tea with the Queen and hated to leave.” Bronnely cleaned around the edges of the wound at the major’s shoulder, then said, “I’ll need some water and some brandy.”

  Claire ran to the washstand and brought back a pitcher of water while Barnaby handed him the bottle Watkins had brought up. Bronnely poured a healthy measure into the glass and gave it to the major. He drank it in one long swallow.

  “That is what you were supposed to do, my lady,” the major said.

  “So it was, Major. Would you like some more?”

  She didn’t wait for him to answer but took the bottle from the doctor, put more in the glass, and handed it to him. He swallowed it as fast as he had the first.

  “I’m not nearly as brave as you,” he whispered, his words not slurred half as much as she’d hoped they’d be.

  “I doubt that, Major,” Claire said, brushing back a strand of hair that had fallen over his brow. Her fingers paused at the side of his face to feel the rough stubble on his cheek and the hard angle of his jaw. He was so magnificently handsome that Claire’s heart skipped a rapid beat.

  Her hand reached for his. A blazing warmth spiraled downward through her body to settle low in her belly when his fingers grasped hers. Their grip was neither weak nor harsh. But binding.

  Claire held his gaze as long as she could, until his eyes delved too deeply, possessing too much of her. The bond that held them together was startling. For a second, it frightened her. She thought he felt the same. Thought she saw it in his eyes.

  God help me. When did this happen?

  “Let’s get this started,” Bronnely said. “Help the major lie down.”

  Claire thought to pull her fingers away, but he wouldn’t let go of her hand. And she didn’t want him to. She settled in a chair Barnaby had pushed close to the bed and stayed there with Sam’s large, powerful hand clasped in her smaller one.

  She reached for a damp cloth and wiped the perspiration from his brow, then turned to see what Bronnely was doing. He had a bottle of liquid in his hands and was about to pour it over the major’s shoulder and arm.

  “This is going to burn like hell, Sam. But it’ll keep out the infection.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  The major breathed in a harsh and jagged breath, as if preparing for the pain.

  “Hold him,” the doctor ordered Barnaby when he had the bottle over the wound. He waited until Barnaby had a solid hold, then poured the liquid up and down the major’s shoulder.

  The major bucked at the first wave of pain.

  Claire sucked in a breath and held it. She prayed the pain wouldn’t last long, but it seemed to last an eternity. The muscles twitched at his jaw and he ground his teeth in agony. But he didn’t utter a sound. He held stoically still, with his hand clamped around hers.

  “Done,” Bronnely announced, and the major sagged in relief. Claire wiped the cloth down the side of his face, then brushed away the tears that streamed down her own. Tears for Alex. Tears for a man who’d nearly given his life to help her.

  “All that needs doing is to sew you up,” Bronnely said, threading a needle. Claire wasn’t brave enough to see the metal point weave in and out of his torn flesh. She focused instead on his gaze, willing him to take as much of her strength as he wanted. Willing him to take whatever he needed from her. Except her heart. That she could give to no man.

  She knew the instant the needle pierced his skin. His muscles tensed and his grip tightened. But he didn’t cry out. She knew how desperately he wanted to. She remembered from what she’d gone through. Remembered how she’d tried to occupy her mind with anything except the needle pricking her skin and the pain. When he spoke, she knew he was trying to do the same.

  “You said Hunt locked himself in his study when you returned from France, then left. Do you have any idea where he went from here?”

  She shook her head. “I asked his valet if he’d given him any hint as to where he was going, and Watkins, too, but neither of them knew.”

  “Barnaby,” he said through clenched teeth.

  Barnaby stepped closer to hear him.

  “Have Lieutenant Honeywell take you to a man called McCormick—”

  “I won’t need Honeywell’s assistance, Major. I know how to reach McCormick. Honeywell’s presence will be better served here. What do you want me to tell McCormick?”

  The major stared at Barnaby a long time, then shook his head as if trying to clear it. As if trying to understand something. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it on a gasp and clenched his fingers tighter around Claire’s. She knew the pain was becoming unbearable.

  “Explain to him about your brother and the . . . necklace. But don’t mention the papers. Tell him not to let Roseneau out of his sight. Roseneau’s got to . . . make contact with the men who have your brother soon. Then—”

  He stopped and shook his head, t
hen gasped. Doctor Bronnely was sewing through the center of the wound, the part that was the deepest and looked the most raw.

  “This is important,” he continued. “Have him send more men here . . . to guard your sister. She’s not safe. Roseneau might . . .”

  Claire could hear the desperation in his voice and tried to reassure him. “I’m fine, Major. Barnaby’s here and Lieutenant Honeywell. And it won’t be long before you’re well enough, too.”

  He was groggier, his words more slurred. “You can’t take any . . . chances, Claire. Roseneau’s running out of . . . time.”

  “I know. I’ll be fine.”

  She looked at him and tried to fight the worry eating at her. His face was as pale as the sheet beneath him and his words barely louder than a whisper.

  “Be careful, Claire. Just . . . be—”

  He gasped once before his head lolled to the side, and he lost consciousness.

  “Finally,” Bronnely said, shaking his head. “He’s the most obstinate, bull-headed man I’ve ever met. I had enough laudanum in that glass he should have gone under long ago. Serves him right for not cooperating.”

  “Will he be all right?” Claire said, staring at his pale face and the long, jagged cut down his back.

  “He’ll be fine. He’s too stubborn not to be.”

  Even though Bronnely had assured her that the major would sleep all day, he hadn’t. Only now, as the sun was beginning its descent, did he finally lose his battle to stay awake. At long last, Claire felt confident enough to leave him for a few minutes. She followed Barnaby out of the major’s room.

  “It’s getting late, Claire,” Barnaby said, walking down the hall at her side. “Why don’t you rest for a while. You haven’t left Bennett’s side all day.”

  “I’m fine.” Claire stopped in the middle of the hall. “I need to check with Lieutenant Honeywell to see if he needs anything. Did you contact McCormick?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he the man you and the major answer to?”

  Barnaby smiled. “He’s the head of the Foreign Office.”

  “Is that who Hunt answered to also?”

  Barnaby wrapped an arm around her shoulder and led her down the hall and into her room. “Hunt didn’t answer to anyone, Claire. Except himself. That’s what made him so invaluable. He never worried about orders. He could do what he wanted.”

  “And the major?”

  Barnaby took her to the other side of her bedroom, where a large cushioned chair was placed at an angle before the fireplace. After she sat, he threw a quilt over her, then squatted down in front of her.

  “Be careful of Bennett, Claire,” he said, cradling her hands in his. “He’s not what you need right now.”

  Claire studied her brother’s handsome face. “And just what is it you think I need?”

  Barnaby pushed himself to his feet and stepped to the fireplace to put another log on the dwindling fire. “Something more than you had with Hunt. Something better that what I observed the seven years you were married.”

  “There’s no need to wonder any longer what was wrong with my marriage. Hunt is dead.”

  “But you’re not.”

  “And just what does that mean?”

  “You’re looking for something, Claire. But Bennett can’t give it to you.”

  She lifted her gaze. “You’re wrong, Barn. I’m not looking for anything. My marriage may not have been anything like I thought it would be, but the years I spent with Hunt taught me a valuable lesson. A lesson I don’t intend to repeat.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “No. I’m sure you don’t. And it’s just as well.”

  “I just want you to be happy, Claire.”

  She tried to smile but wasn’t sure she succeeded. “How do you judge happiness, Barn? I had more gowns than any woman needs in a lifetime. I had servants to see to my every need. I entertained lavishly and was courted by some of the most powerful people in Europe, including our Queen. What more could I want?”

  “Someone to love you. Love you with all their heart. Someone to give you a home filled with laughter and children. Someone on whom you can shower all the emotion you’ve kept stored inside you your whole life. That’s what you need. And Bennett can’t give it to you.”

  She knew he meant well, but she wasn’t ready to deal with it right then. Not when all she wanted was to do exactly what Barn was warning her not to do. To go back to the major’s room and sit at his side. To hold his hand like he’d held hers. And talk to him like he’d talked to her. But she couldn’t admit any of that to Barn. She could hardly admit it to herself.

  Nor did she want to face the reason her heart raced in her breast every time she saw him. Or the reason her heated blood pulsed through every part of her body when he stood close to her. Or the reason she ached to have him touch her; or pull her into his arms; or press her up against his muscled strength. No, she didn’t want to try to understand any of this, let alone explain it to Barnaby.

  For seven years she’d suffered in a marriage that had left her with a gaping void. For seven years she’d lived with an aching loneliness that went bone deep. But no matter how desperately she wanted to find relief from the pain, she knew giving in to the desires she felt for Samuel Bennett wasn’t the answer. Just like her marriage to Hunt hadn’t been the answer, either.

  “Don’t worry, Barn. I have no delusions concerning Major Bennett. I know exactly what he can offer.”

  “Then you know how capable he is of hurting you?”

  “Only if I let him,” she said, then tried to make the smile on her face seem sincere. “Which I have no intention of doing, Barn. Now, I think I’d like to sleep for a while.”

  Barn leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Do you want me to send Tilly up?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  “Good night, then.”

  “Good night, Barn.”

  “And don’t worry, Claire. We’ll bring Alex home safely.”

  Claire bit her lower lip. “I know. The major says Roseneau won’t risk harming Alex until he has the necklace.”

  “He’s right.” Barn gave her a reassuring smile, then left.

  Claire sat before the blazing fireplace for a long while, watching the flames do their fiery dance. She knew she should go to bed. Knew she should get some rest while she could. But she wasn’t tired. All she wanted to do was go back to where the major slept and be with him. Even if he didn’t know she was there.

  Claire gathered her blanket in her arms and carried it with her across the room. She walked down the hall and stood outside his door with her hand on the knob.

  The major. She couldn’t allow herself to think of him any other way. Not as Samuel, or Sam, like she’d heard Doctor Bronnely call him. Or as Bennett, as Barnaby did. Only as “the major.” It was a more distant title. It put their relationship in the right perspective. Kept him at a comfortable distance. Where she needed him to be. Where she would be sure to keep him. Because Barn was right. He was dangerous. Just how dangerous was clear every time her body reacted to him the way it did.

  As if she couldn’t stop herself, Claire turned the knob and stepped inside. The room was dark, with only one candle lit on the bedside table and a small fire in the grate. Shadows danced against the wall and before her on the hardwood floor. She walked across the room until she was beside his bed.

  He lay on his right side, sleeping soundly. A large white bandage covered his left shoulder and wrapped around his back and over his chest. The covers she’d placed over his shoulder earlier had slid down to his waist, exposing as much flesh as she’d seen of him. She was glad he wasn’t on his back, where she’d have a clear view of his chest and stomach, and even lower.

  She wasn’t sure what, if anything, he wore beneath the sheet, and her gaze moved to his exposed flesh. She couldn’t help but study what she could see of him. Couldn’t stop her gaze from staying riveted on the unknown. He was truly a magnificent specimen of mas
culinity, all hard, bulging muscle, and formidable strength.

  A pool of heated lava moved to the pit of her stomach, causing her knees to weaken. This was not the reason she’d come here. This was not what she wanted to experience.

  She clutched her hands into the folds of her skirt until her fingers ached. She could not let him affect her like this. She’d learned her lesson with Hunt. And yet, she’d desperately prayed it might be different with someone else. With the major. That just once, she would know . . .

  That thought scared her to death. The violent needs and desires roiling within her frightened her to her very core. She was plagued by an almost insatiable hunger she was convinced she’d killed seven years ago. But her desires weren’t dead. The longing was still there. The yearnings. The lust. All of it, every emotion she’d locked away surged to the forefront, sucking the air from her lungs.

  With a shuddering sigh, she spun around and nearly raced for the door. She needed to stop torturing herself with stupid, impossible thoughts. Some women were not meant to be the perfect partner to a man, and she was obviously one of those women. No matter how desperately she yearned to be, or how much it hurt to know she never could be, she had to face the facts she’d lived with her entire marriage.

  The desires and passion that came to the forefront when she was with the major would lead to nothing but heartache.

  She closed the door ever so softly and walked down the stairs. Sleep was the furthest thing from her mind. Ignoring her traitorous emotions could only be achieved if she kept busy. Finding the necklace was foremost in importance.

  She swiped away an errant tear that rolled down her cheek as if it had a right to escape. It was too late for tears. Seven years and a lifetime too late.

  Chapter 20

  The mantel clock chimed one in the morning, and Claire sat on the floor with the last book in her lap. She was finished. She’d searched through every book in Hunt’s study. Every book on shelves that took up two entire walls of the room from floor to ceiling.

  “You didn’t find it.”

  It was more a statement than a question, but his voice startled her just the same.