The Bengal Rubies

by Lisa Bingham

  “Why would you do such a thing?”

  He could tell by the slight hurt buried in her voice that she was still disturbed by his methods.

  “Once Crawford discovered I had … ravished you, I knew he would watch my every move. If I tried to get close to you, he would be there, waiting. So I decided to give him a chance to find me, lock me up, then twist that fact to my advantage. Once he thought I was safely incarcerated, my men freed me and we prepared to confront your father when he was most vulnerable. When all eyes were on you both.”

  “Your plan worked.”

  “Nearly.” His arms tightened, remembering the pistol being held to her head.

  Despite her confusion, Aloise soothed his sudden tension by sliding her hand down his knee. The action caused his body to grow tight in an altogether different way, but he couldn’t think about that now. Not until he knew that Aloise could forgive him for all he had done.

  Slater drew the horse to a stop once they’d reached the grounds of Ashenleigh. The house gleamed in the darkness, looking much more inviting to him than it ever had. This place had sprouted from the sweat of his labors. It was here he’d brought his treasures. Here he’d claimed his bride.

  He swung from the stallion, needing to see her face. “I think we should talk.”

  She nodded, her expression difficult to read in the darkness.

  He took her hand, twining their fingers together, and led her into the privet maze where he knew no one would inadvertently interrupt their privacy. He took them through the shadows, winding his way through the familiar paths toward the middle, where most of the restoration had occurred. There, the walkway widened and became easier to follow. He continued past the spot where Aloise had hidden that night she’d escaped from the ballroom, deeper and deeper inside, until he finally reached its center where a fountain and ornamental pool gurgled in delight.

  Standing in indecision, he wondered where he should start his explanations. Aloise looked so small, so fragile, but he knew explanations had to be made tonight.

  “Your mother loved this maze,” he began quietly, softly, instantly capturing her attention. “She was the one who ordered it built. So she chose a spot just beyond Briarwood knowing that your father would forbid her to build anything so frivolous on his own property. That was how I met her the first time. The cottage we visited was my house—there, just down the valley.” He saw by the softening of her face that she remembered the cottage, this place and probably more—Miss Nibbs, her mother. A man named Matthew. “I was on my way to teach school in the village when I rounded the path to see this diminutive woman ordering a host of gardeners to plant a mountain of privet bushes.” His lips twitched in remembrance. “She’d sketched her design on the back of an old letter. Sitting beneath a canopy erected to shield her from the sun, she oversaw the entire construction while at her side, a wide-eyed little girl played in the dirt with a battered trowel.”

  Aloise’s eyes gleamed suspicious in the darkness. Slater did not wish to make her cry, but now that he had begun his tale, he discovered he could not stop.

  “At first, I would pause to greet Jeanne on my way each morning. From their, our friendship grew when we discovered a mutual love of books and the arts. There was something about her. Something so familiar. As if I had known her all my life. We soon knew each other’s secrets and dreams as intimately as our own.”

  He sat on the bench and took Aloise’s hand. “When she came to me with a proposition, to marry her daughter and see to her happiness, the entire situation seemed far from strange.”

  Aloise’s fingers tightened ever so slightly.

  “You were an inquisitive child. I saw you each week when Jeanne came to visit me. Yet, I must confess that I never really saw you as a future wife, only as a little girl. Jeanne’s curious daughter.”

  He took a deep breath wishing that he could avoid the events of that night so long ago, but the words had been locked in him for too many years.

  “Your mother had been sent to Briarwood because she was to give birth to a child. Your father told her he thought it would be healthier for her in the country, but everyone knew he simply wanted her out of his way. When the baby—a little girl—was stillborn, Jeanne was beside herself with grief and despair. She came to me soon after, still weak and sick, and begged me to help her escape, to take you away.” His voice grew husky as the years of guilt and responsibility threatened to crush him. “I… refused.”

  Aloise gripped his hand. Whether to offer him strength or in disappointment, he did not know. He only knew that the words could not be stopped.

  “That night, there were lights on the sea road, signs of a struggle. In my heart of hearts, I knew that your mother had decided to take you away. I tried to reach you in time, but when I arrived at the scene of the scuffle, your mother was already backed onto the ledge. She kept you shielded behind her skirts but Brannigan was insistent that you both return with him.”

  He saw Aloise’s eyes squeeze closed and knew that she fought her own memories of that night.

  “You know now what happened,” he said gently. “You tried to run to me and were caught. Your mother dodged to protect you—”

  “And Brannigan killed her.”

  He nodded.

  “Then my father arrived.”

  “Yes.”

  “He was so cold, so distant.”

  “He never truly knew her. Never loved her. Or you.”

  She blinked at the tears gathering in her eyes. “He killed Brannigan with the man’s own knife.”

  “You tried to run away and that was when he knocked you down.” Slater touched her temple and felt encouraged when she leaned into the gesture as if she drew comfort from the contact. “You struck your head on a rock, otherwise you would have seen the rest. How he shot the second man he’d hired, then retrieved the blade to come for me.”

  Taking a deep draft of the cool night air, he said quickly, “I was a coward. I should have stayed.”

  “No.” She pressed her fingers to his lips. “He would have killed you too.”

  “I should have tried harder to take you with me.”

  “My father was a powerful man—even then. He never would have allowed such a thing.”

  Slater stared at her in amazement, feeling an infinitesimal lightening of the heavy emotional burdens he’d carried for so long.

  Aloise released his hand and stood. For some time, she kept her head bowed as if carefully choosing her words. “I can see why you could not help me then.”

  “But?” he prompted when she grew silent.

  She turned to face him and he was struck to the core by the misery of her expression. “Why didn’t you come for me?”

  He sighed, having asked himself that question a hundred times in the past few weeks. “At first, I couldn’t. As you said, your father was a powerful man with at least a dozen of the local authorities under his control. I was forced to flee from Cornwall, change my name, my appearance, and obtain passage on the first vessel needing seamen. In time, I was able to make your father believe I had died, thus giving me a little more freedom. For years, I scrimped and saved, barely able to eke out a living. That was no life for a child.”

  Sighing, he stood. “I soon developed enough of a reputation to attract the attention of a captain who would be journeying on an exploring expedition. He hired me as his assistant, but then, after he grew too sick to lead the men, I took over his duties for a time before obtaining my own clipper. That was when I drew the attention of the French king. He offered me a position as one of his cartographers. Year by year, I traveled more, learned more, gained more responsibility, more influence, until I was leading my own missions and gathering my own men.”

  “Rakes and roués.”

  “Men unjustly accused.”

  She stared at him with wide, dark eyes. Eyes filled with hurt. “Why didn’t you come for me?”

  “I couldn’t find you.”

/>   “You must have known I was sent directly to Sacre Coeur.”

  “No.”

  “What of the farmhouse in Loire? Didn’t anyone tell you how my father tried to control me by imprisoning me? By hiring a host of guards to keep me from escaping? Guards who cared more for the village women they chased and seduced beneath my very eyes than the girl they were hired to keep in tow?”

  He took her hands. “Had I known, I would have moved heaven and earth to retrieve you.”

  He drew her close, unable to bear the wounded betrayal he saw in her eyes. “Several years ago, I hired a man in London to try and locate you. He was able to determine nothing other than you had been sent to school. We began watching your father’s ship, knowing that would probably be the best way to trace you. Luckily, fate stepped in and you were seen in Calais being taken aboard The Sea Sprite. Within days, a bedraggled maid was washed ashore at my feet.”

  He tipped her chin, forcing her to look at him. “I was instantly charmed. You were like nothing I had ever imagined you would be.”

  “You thought I was my mother.”

  “I knew you were Aloise. My betrothed.” He drew her hand to his cheek, laying it against the scar Jeanne had caused so long ago when she had grappled to save herself. He saw by the widening of Aloise’s eyes that she understood its significance.

  “There is but one scar on my body that has the power to testify to all that occurred that night. But we both have scars much deeper, unseen, barely healed. Please, Aloise.” He slowly sank to his knees hugging her about the waist. “Will you forgive me?”

  He waited tensely for her answer, knowing that whatever she said, he would have to abide by her wishes. If she told him she never wanted to see him again, he couldn’t blame her.

  The silence of the night flowed about them like a dark sea. Then she lowered herself to the ground and held him close. “There is nothing to forgive.”

  Wrapping her arms around his body, she hugged him close, offering a balm to his battered spirit that he had feared he would never obtain. His chest grew tight with emotion and he clung to her, knowing she was his life, his destiny.

  His soul mate.

  He could have stayed that way for hours, but Aloise wriggled free and offered him a tremulous smile. Standing, she drew him to his feet and took his hand.

  “Where are you leading me, mistress?”

  She shot him a knowing look. “This is my wedding night.”

  “Not really. Not technically speaking.”

  “What do we care for technicalities?”

  Once at the marble bench, Aloise stopped, staring at him for long, wonderful moments. Her expression changed slowly. From serenity, to wonder, to adoration. Hunger. Then, as if the horror and trials of the past few years melted into the night, she dropped his hand and tugged at the laces of her gown, plucking them free, then her petticoats, her panniers. Pushing them all to her feet, she kicked them away.

  Slater quickly followed suit, divesting himself of his waistcoat, his shirt, his boots, hose, and breeches. When at long last, he stood bare, wanting, he looked up to find her standing in the moonlight, wearing nothing but the Bengal Rubies.

  He gestured to the jewels. “Didn’t I rid you of those once?”

  She touched them lovingly. “Yes, but you will not rid me of them again.”

  “Of that you are sure. They were given to my father, you know. As his only heir …”

  “They are mine now, not yours.”

  “How so?”

  “You threw them away.” She offered him a coy shrug. “Therefore, I stake my claim and decree that they shall be passed to our daughter, and our daughter’s daughter.”

  Slater’s throat grew tight with a very powerful mixture of emotion. Love, devotion, and immeasurable joy.

  Seeing him thus, Aloise smiled, her own happiness radiating from her lovely face. So much so, he knew he would remember this moment until his dying day.

  As he drew her into his arms, the Bengal Rubies glinted with a molten fire, and Matthew Waterton— alias Slater McKendrick, explorer and adventurer— knew the jewels had found a way to fulfill their promise. They had finally obtained an owner who was completely pure at heart.

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