by Maya Banks
He rested his forehead against hers, their eyes impossibly close. “I cannot imagine what you went through,” he murmured. “That you survived is a miracle. You are a strong woman. I don’t know of many men who could have accomplished what you did.”
“Kiss me again,” she whispered.
He kissed her once. Twice. On the third time, she curled her arms around his neck and held him to her. Her mouth began a slow exploration of his. He allowed her control, reveling in the feel of her skin against his.
His body heated, desire swirling like liquid smoke. Every nerve ending tightened until he could barely stand still. He groaned deep in his throat, and abandoned his stance.
He grasped her face between his hands and plundered her lips, his tongue darting forward, seeking entrance. Her mouth opened with a contented sigh, and her tongue met his in a wicked temptress’ dance.
His heart thundered in his chest. Never had he felt so utterly wrapped up in a woman before. He couldn’t get enough of her.
He broke away from her, sucking in great mouthfuls of air as he sought to control his raging need. “India, if I am honest with you, right now there is nothing more I want than to take you back to my cabin and make love to you the entire night.”
Her eyes flared first in surprise. Then answering desire warmed their depths. Panic followed quickly behind, and as she looked away he could swear he saw guilt.
His brows furrowed as he studied her stiff posture. Slowly, she turned back to the rail and stared over the gentle swells of the water.
“And there is nothing I’d like better,” she whispered, her words hard to hear as they were carried away on the waves.
The unspoken but hovered between them as surely as if she had said it. He wrapped his arms around her once more, content for the meantime to enjoy holding her.
She nestled into his embrace, a sigh of contentment rushing from her chest.
It was enough, this closeness between them. For now. It was hard for him to explain the true depths of his feelings for her. To call it love didn’t quite do it justice. It went far beyond the mere four-letter word.
No, words didn’t accurately portray the way he felt around her. He had fancied himself in love with Lucinda, and it embarrassed him to even use the same word to describe his bond with India.
He would find a way around the barriers of India’s heart. Gently unfold the hurt and fear that trapped her in their embrace. Somehow he would find a way to make her feel the same way about him as he did about her.
They stood there, locked in the intimate embrace. Only when the eastern sky began to lighten to hues of purple and pink did she shift in his arms. Together, they watched the sun rise, and Ridge couldn’t help but marvel at the promise of a new day.
A day to win India’s heart.
Chapter Twenty-One
How in the world was she going to find one man, a man she didn’t even know, in the sea of people bustling around the port? India paused at the top of the gangplank and viewed the activity below. Her eyes scanned the crowd as if the man named Juan Miguel would be obvious to her.
In the distance, burned out shells of once majestic buildings stood a testament to the city’s downfall. The city had once been beautiful, but ambitious men had seen to its destruction.
She had seen San Sebastian once before. Before the war. She vaguely remembered the journey, one of the many taken with her father. How ironic that they had been so close to Pagoria and never known it.
She glanced back to where Ridge was seeing to their trunks. She needed a chance to find Juan Miguel without Ridge hanging about. With a deep breath, she hurried down the gangplank.
What now? She stood amidst the crowd of people but no one paid her any heed. No one seemed to take interest in her presence. No one returned her inquisitive stare.
“Are you ready? I have a carriage waiting.”
She jumped as Ridge spoke beside her. How had he gotten there so quickly? Reluctantly, she turned to follow Ridge, searching the crowd one last time.
Ridge motioned her into the carriage before walking over to see to the loading of their luggage on a separate carriage. She started forward to climb up when she was nearly knocked over by someone bumping into her.
She looked down to see a young boy grinning up at her.
“Senorita Ashton?”
She frowned but nodded. “Who are you?”
“It’s not important who I am,” he said cheekily.
He thrust a note at her then scampered off through the crowd.
She glanced around to see if Ridge had seen the exchange and breathed a sigh of relief that he was still occupied with the driver of the second carriage. Robby was standing next to his brother, and Kavi and Udaya had already boarded the carriage.
She stuffed the note into the pocket of her trousers and climbed into the carriage. A few moments later, Ridge appeared in the doorway, and he heaved himself inward to sit beside her.
“I’ve procured lodging for us on the edge of town. One of the few inns that wasn’t destroyed in the fire.”
India nodded.
The carriage lurched forward and rolled away from the docks, further into the burned remnants of the city. Reconstruction had started, but was in its earliest stages.
India marveled that so much strife had happened so close to Pagoria, and yet Pagoria had gone unnoticed. Countless battles fought on the border of France and Spain, and yet if her father was to be believed, the ancient city had escaped unscathed.
She actually started to comment to Ridge when she caught herself. How close she had come to making a huge blunder.
In her defense, it wasn’t her nature to lie. Carrying out such a grand deception took more work than she was used to investing.
She bit her lip to keep silent and focused her attention out the window once more.
Thirty minutes later, the carriage rolled to a stop outside an older inn. Though nothing fancy, it was far better than the accommodations she was used to in her travels.
India stepped into the warm sunshine, the golden hue bathing her face. It was warmer here. And dryer. It reminded her of all the places she and her father had traveled. She had only been back in England a few months, but she had already become accustomed to the wet and chill of the weather. She had missed constant sunshine.
“You can go on to your rooms,” Ridge said to the assembled group. “I still need to see to our travel arrangements, procure the horses and necessary supplies.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to offer to help, but she bit her lip to keep silent. She needed the chance to read the note alone. Then make her plan to escape.
She smiled weakly at him and muttered her thanks. He held out a key to her as she passed, and her hand came into contact with his. He held it for longer than necessary, and when she looked up, his gaze probed her.
Her heart sped up at the promise in his eyes. A promise she couldn’t accept. With great effort, she yanked her eyes from his and walked into the inn and toward her room.
As soon as she was inside, she bolted the door and ripped the note from her pocket. With trembling hands, she opened it.
Meet me outside the inn as soon as the others
have gone to sleep. Do not tell anyone of your plans.
Many lives are at stake. Come alone.
Juan Miguel
She let out her breath in one long whoosh. This was it. The moment of truth. She crumpled the note in her hand then threw it into the fireplace. She would light a fire later and burn it.
She sank onto the bed, her legs shaking too badly to support her any longer. Her hands crept to her face as she covered her eyes.
In the back of her mind, she harbored the unrealistic hope that somehow Ridge would understand her betrayal, and when it was all over, he would pull her into his arms and say it didn’t matter.
She laughed. A pitiful, shaky laugh that bordered on hysteria. She was delusional. After what she wa
s going to do, she didn’t deserve understanding.
Anger gripped her and she stood straight up, her fists clenched at her sides. Damn it, enough with the weak display of emotion. She was the only person her father could count on, and she would not let him down.
She would spend the rest of the day preparing what she needed for her journey north. She would not spend the day languishing in the agony of what she must do.
###
Dinner was an awkward affair. Excitement hung over the table where the travelers had assembled, but India couldn’t bring herself to join in the joviality. She smiled and nodded at the appropriate times until her face felt frozen into a mask of fakeness.
As soon as she could excuse herself without drawing undue concern, she did so, using the excuse of their impending journey the next morning.
Ridge stood as she did and followed her from the room.
“Shall I escort you to your room?” he asked with a wink.
She smiled tightly but didn’t refuse.
“I’ve procured horses and enough food and supplies for two weeks,” he said as they walked down the hallway to her room. “If we have need of more, I’m sure Madrid will offer it.”
They stopped outside her door, and he smiled broadly at her. “Can you believe we are on the verge of the greatest find of our time? Perhaps in our history?”
His eyes shone with excitement, and her heart spiraled further downward.
“We’ve a long journey ahead of us,” she said quietly. “Perhaps you should get some rest.”
He bent and brushed his lips across hers. When he pulled away, he murmured, “There is more to this, to us, than just what we are seeking.”
With a slight grin, he turned and walked down the hall toward his room, a cocky whistle filtering back to her.
She barely made it inside to the wash basin before she emptied her stomach. Her body heaved and she leaned heavily against the stand for support.
Tears leaked from her eyes and ran hot trails down her cheeks. At that moment, she hated herself. Truly despised herself.
She stood there a few minutes more until she had regained her composure then she walked to the bed where her packed valise lay. She dug into it and pulled out her last remaining money and paper to compose a letter to Udaya, Kavi, and indirectly Ridge. The money she would leave on the bed so that Udaya and Kavi could travel back to England.
Her stomach fluttered. She couldn’t write to Ridge. There was too much to say, too much she couldn’t say. Nothing she could tell him would make up for her lies anyway.
But she ached to tell him of her feelings. She wanted so badly to share with him all the dreams she had begun having since meeting him. Home and family. Children. His children. Love and laughter. Things she was throwing away.
She moved to the small desk in the corner of the room and began writing before she could change her mind.
Each word was akin to tearing a piece of her soul away. She scrubbed angrily at her face as she continued to write, wiping the tears away before they could streak the ink on the paper.
Finally she had put down every damning word. She blew over the ink and quickly folded the paper before she could dwell on it any longer.
She stood and stretched then surveyed the window, surprised to see darkness had long since fallen. Her pulse began to race. It was time.
Mechanically, she collected her bag, and slipped from her room. The hallway was dark, no lights shone under any of the doors of her companions. She paused at Kavi and Udaya’s door then bent and slipped the letter underneath.
Quietly, she moved forward, creeping down the stairs at the end of the hall. The dining room still boasted patrons, and she hurried through, hoping she didn’t draw undue notice.
Soon she was outside, the night air blowing over her heated cheeks, drying the tears that fell despite her best efforts to keep them at bay.
“Senorita Ashton?”
She whirled around to see a tall imposing man with a heavy Spanish accent standing in the shadows. As he stepped forward, she saw how formidable he was indeed. Dressed in black trousers and a green tunic, his legs resembled tree trunks, and his chest easily the breadth of an ale barrel. Long black hair streamed down his back, a single thin braid trailed from his temple.
“Juan Miguel?”
She tried to keep the tremble from her voice, attempted to put on a much braver front than she felt.
“Si.”
“Where is my father?” she demanded.
“Come this way. I have horses,” he said, ignoring her question.
She followed him around the perimeter of the inn, past the stables to where two horses were tied to a post.
He pointed to one and gestured for her to mount.
She stood still, refusing to move. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me about my father.”
He turned to look at her, his expression surprisingly unthreatening. In fact, he looked gentle, a direct contradiction to his appearance. Not at all like someone involved in abduction and blackmail.
“Senorita Ashton, we do not have much time. Please hurry and I will take you to your father. He awaits you at the city.”
She gasped. The city? Did he mean Pagoria? Was her father there? Was the man holding him waiting for the bracelet so he could gain entrance?
“I can see you have many questions. They will be answered in due time. Now hurry. We must go. There are many lives at stake.”
His words echoed the note he had sent, and yet there was no urgency attached to his voice. On the contrary, he sounded calm and serene.
“Let me help you,” he said, as she made to mount her horse.
He lifted her easily, and when she was settled, he swung onto the other horse and headed out. She paused for a moment to look back at the inn. Back to where Ridge was. Sorrow filled her heart. Her chest expanded as the ache ate her alive.
“Senorita? We must hurry,” Juan Miguel urged.
Her heart shattering in two, she turned and nudged her horse forward. Away from the inn. Away from Ridge. Away from her dreams.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ridge woke in the middle of the night with the knowledge that something was not right. Since their arrival that morning in San Sebastian, he knew they were on the wrong path. His instincts screamed at him to go north, not south.
Before, he only had a feeling, an idea that the city would be found in the mountains, but now it was a truth.
But India was certain that the city lay to the south. The bracelet’s inscription certainly left no doubt that the city was approximate to Madrid and the river Tagus. One of them was wrong, and he was certain it wasn’t him.
He sat up in his bed, shoving the covers aside. Pale moonlight filtered through the draperies of his small room, casting dark shadows on the wall.
He stood and padded barefoot across the cool floor to the wash basin by the door and poured water from the pitcher into the bowl. Dipping his fingers into the lukewarm water, he patted his face and rubbed moisture over his eyes to alleviate the bleariness.
Gripping both sides of the small table, he looked into the mirror hanging over the basin. What if India was wrong?
He had no explanation for the overwhelming certainty that they should go north, but one thing was certain. The city did not lie to the south. He’d bet his entire fortune on it.
He ran a hand through his rumpled hair then massaged his unshaven face. He had to speak to India.
Turning away from the mirror, he reached for the trousers he had taken off a few hours earlier and thrust a leg into them. He threw on his shirt and briefly contemplated putting his boots on, but she was only across the hall. There was no point.
He paused at his door and nearly turned around and got back into bed, but something made him go on. He pulled out his fob and angled it toward the moon’s rays so he could see the time. Three in the morning.
He snorted in disgust. India likely wouldn�
�t appreciate the interruption. Then he remembered. She wasn’t likely asleep. She might welcome the company, and if truth be told, he craved hers.
He quietly opened the door and stepped into the hall. As he’d expected, light shone from underneath India’s door. Looking right and left to make sure no one was about, he crossed the hall. With one knuckle he knocked softly and waited a response.
When none was forthcoming, he knocked again, slightly louder. Could she have gone to sleep? He tried the knob and found the door unlocked. Hesitating only a moment, he opened the door a crack. Then he pushed it open enough that he could slide in.
He looked around the room as he stepped in, and frowned when he saw it was empty. The bed was neatly made, and lying on the blankets was a small pile of money. His gaze stopped on the candle. It was nearly burned down.
Alarm beat a steady rhythm in his chest. Had she been abducted? Had someone followed them to San Sebastian after all?
She was probably with Udaya.
He sighed in relief. Of course, that was the answer. But still, unease crawled up his spine.
He retreated from the room and walked down the hall to the room assigned to Kavi and Udaya. The burly man would not appreciate the late night interruption, but Ridge wouldn’t sleep unless he knew for certain India was safe.
He knocked on the door, and almost immediately he heard feet hit the floor. Big feet.
The door flew open and Kavi stood in the doorway, a scowl on his face.
Ridge cleared his throat. “Is India with Udaya? She isn’t in her room.”
The scowl vanished from Kavi’s face. “No, Sahib, India took to her bed early last night.”
“What is the matter?” Udaya asked, pushing her way around Kavi.
Fear gripped Ridge’s heart. “India is not in her room. I had hoped she was with you.”
Kavi looked down at his feet then stepped back. “Perhaps this will explain her whereabouts,” he said as he bent to retrieve a folded piece of paper from the floor.
Udaya yanked the note from Kavi’s hand and hastened toward the burning candle. She opened it and scanned the contents, her brow furrowing as her eyes lowered over the page.