The Orchid Hunter

by Jill Marie Landis

  “What’s wrong?” Garr rose up onto his elbow, his face shadowed with concern.

  Janelle scanned the small group seated not far away. She recalled seeing Adelaide walk off with the minister, his wife, Mrs. Sutton, and her daughter. Joya was nowhere in sight.

  “Where is my sister?”

  “Went for a walk, I think.” Garr sat up and looked around, too.

  “I feel there is something wrong with her.”

  “If you are worried, let’s go find her.”

  A quarter of an hour later, Janelle had not yet found Joya. Nor had she seen Adelaide anywhere. Garr leaned against a tree, arms folded, more than willing to do whatever she wanted to do next.

  At that very moment, Trevor came riding over a gentle rise that hid the sweep of road from view.

  “Oh, thank heavens,” she cried. “There’s Trevor!”

  “Trevor the wonderful,” Garr said.

  Janelle turned on him. “Trevor is my brother and I would thank you not to belittle him. He is everything you are not—serious, hardworking, caring.”

  When Trevor rode up beside them, Janelle reached up to stroke his Arabian’s neck. “I’m so glad you decided to join us.” She was almost hesitant to voice her fears aloud, afraid he would scoff at her premonition.

  He dismounted, nodded to Garr, and looked at the old house, then around the garden and lawn area. “I had forgotten how close this place was to London.”

  “We should come out here more often. It has been a very nice morning. The vicar is here, along with his wife. Grandmama invited Lady Cecily, too, among others.”

  “Where is she?” His gaze scanned the front lawn.

  “Grandmama? She’s walking with a few of the guests.”

  “Where is Joya?” Trevor asked sharply.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “We’ve been looking for her, but we haven’t been able to find her.”

  “You lost her?”

  “I didn’t lose her. I just can’t find her.” She could not withhold the inexplicable truth from Trevor. “I cannot help feeling that there is something wrong.” She rubbed her hands up and down her sleeves, cold despite the sun. “I wish I knew where she is.”

  Trevor quickly whipped his horse’s reins around a gatepost.

  “Where have you looked?”

  “Around the house,” Janelle said, stemming a sudden urge to cry and wondering where it came from.

  “Remington, you walk to the edge of the wood. Call out her name. I’ll go the opposite way. Did you follow the path all the way to the stream?”

  Janelle shook her head. “Not all the way.”

  “I will.” He left without a good-bye.

  She wished that Trevor had brushed aside her fears as nonsense and told her not to worry. As she watched him hurry away from the house, Garr took her hand, his devil-may-care expression gone.

  “Come, let’s find your sister. Don’t worry. I’m sure she is close by.”

  * * *

  Joya could not shake the feeling that Jamison Roth was not as sincere as he seemed. She knew he was a trusted employee of Trevor’s and that Adelaide seemed to consider him a dear friend of the family. Hadn’t Trevor’s grandmother said as much in the carriage on the way to the picnic?

  Roth was acting very oddly just now, talking without pause, often glancing toward the door. The old stone millhouse smelled of mildew and mouse droppings. There were pigeon feathers all over the floor. A feeling of foreboding crept over Joya.

  “This is the grindstone.” Roth pointed to a timeworn stone wheel. He made no move to leave her side.

  Joya shivered and rubbed her arms. “It’s damp here. I’m cold. I think we should go back outside.”

  “Not yet,” he said quickly.

  Too quickly. He took a step toward her.

  When she looked into his eyes, her stomach dropped. His face had taken on a hard, resolute expression. He was staring at her in a way that no one ever had before, as if he wanted to devour her and any objection she might have would go unnoticed.

  Trevor’s shipboard words of warning came back to her.

  Never be alone with a man.

  Suddenly she did not want to be alone with Jamison Roth. She wanted to be outside, in the sunlight. His nearness and the strange look in his eyes made her skin crawl.

  Without thinking, she had broken a cardinal English rule. Until now, she hadn’t realized why it was so vitally important that one adhere to it.

  “I think we should go back.” She turned away from him and started for the door.

  Roth reached for her and took her arm, alarming her even more.

  “What is your hurry?”

  “My…my sister. I don’t like to leave her for too long.” She yanked her arm out of his grasp.

  His expression smoothed out at her mention of Janelle. “Your sister seemed perfectly happy with Remington.”

  “That is exactly why I need to go back. She…she does not welcome his attentions.”

  “She’s a woman. No doubt she’s just playing coy.”

  “What does that mean?” She tried to keep him talking while she slowly edged toward the door.

  “Your sister is teasing Garr Remington, pretending not to welcome his pursuit when the exact opposite is true. Women do it all the time. Now, why don’t you come here and give me a kiss?” He closed the distance she had gained between them.

  “Why would I want to kiss you, Mr. Roth? I feel no desire for you. I cannot imagine kissing such thin, unattractive lips as yours. Besides, I have made a terrible mistake in coming here with you. Trevor told me that I should never be alone with a man who is not my husband.”

  “Trevor, eh? What if very shortly I am your husband, Miss Penn? It would be quite permissible then.”

  “Impossible. If that ever happened it would only be because I had lost my mind.”

  “Are you insulting me? Surely I am an exception to Trevor’s rule. After all, I am a friend of the family. The account manager at the warehouse. I know firsthand that Mrs. Mandeville would welcome an alliance between us.”

  She had let his pasty white complexion and the smoothness of his hands fool her into thinking she was stronger. Joya attempted to shove him down and flee the millhouse, but he only stumbled back, then quickly regained his footing. He was on her in an instant.

  “Let me go!” She shouted in his ear, trying to unbalance him again.

  As she lunged for the door, she heard a rending tear and looked down. He held on to the shoulder of her gown so tightly that it had ripped the front of her bodice. The sight of her frilly chemise beneath the soft, muslin fabric sparked her temper. She slapped him across the face.

  His mouth hardened. So did the determination in his eyes. He reached for her again. His hands tightened on her shoulders. His stare lingered on the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the torn fabric.

  For the first time in her life, Joya wanted to hide her body. She twisted and kicked and tried to break his hold. She nearly succeeded until he shoved her up against the stone wall so hard that the air left her lungs in a whoosh.

  Roth leaned into her and began to kiss her forcefully. She attempted to push him off, bucked and kicked, but there was no moving him.

  When she tried to cry out, he bruised her mouth with his and mauled her with his hands. He began to force her down the stone wall.

  “Why fight me? You want this. You know you do,” he said against her mouth.

  What she wanted was to hit him hard enough to knock out all of his front teeth, but he was holding her so close that she could not get free. Roth shifted, kicked a foot out from under her and she went down, banging the back of her head against the rock wall.

  Seeing double, she tried to call for help as she pushed at him. Not like this. Not this man.

  She had no desire to have him near her, let alone kiss or touch her intimately. If Kibatante was trying to teach her a hard lesson about desire, this one was too harsh. She mumbled a hasty promise to the god. Sh
e would keep the English rule. She would never, ever be alone with a man again.

  Roth was on her, kissing her, pawing at the torn bodice of her gown, shoving her down into the dirt and the mouse droppings and feathers and then suddenly, he was gone. She heard a sharp cry, like that of an angry seagull, a strange, strangled sound—and she shoved herself up in time to see Jamison Roth go flying through the air. He hit the wall and landed in a heap across the room.

  Trevor was standing over her, his chest heaving, his brows slammed together. He continually flexed his hands open and closed as if he could not wait to use his fists on Roth. First, though, he reached for her.

  Joya let him pull her to her feet. His gaze shot to the ruined bodice of her gown, then her bruised mouth, her tangled hair.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I broke the rule, Trevor, but you can be assured I will never do that again.”

  Roth was struggling to get to his feet. Trevor crossed the room, yanked him up, and planted a fist on his jaw. Roth went down again, but was still conscious.

  “Is it my turn?” Joya wanted to hit Roth herself, but was finding it increasingly harder to stay on her feet. She began to sway and grabbed hold of Trevor’s lapel. He made certain she was leaning against the old grindstone before he left her alone and pulled Roth to his feet.

  “Please, don’t hit me again, sir,” Roth pleaded.

  “You’re right. I shouldn’t hit you. I should kill you.”

  “Please. I’ll never touch her again. I swear it on my mother’s grave.”

  “There will be no chance of that, Roth. I want you out of here.”

  “I’ll leave immediately. I promise.”

  “In case you don’t understand me clearly, I want you out of England. Not only that, but if I ever see your face in London, or anywhere else for that matter, if I ever even hear your name, I will kill you. Make no mistake, I mean every word I say.”

  Nodding furiously, Roth was backing out of the mill as if he were staring into the eyes of Death. He kept his hands up in front of him, scant protection, as he shuffled backward.

  When the man had cleared the door and was gone, when the sound of his running footsteps had faded, Trevor turned to Joya.

  “I’m so sorry, Trevor. I did not think that I had anything to fear from Mr. Roth. This was all my fault,” she cried.

  “That man’s behavior was absolutely not your fault.”

  “You saved me, Trevor.”

  “Look at you. I cannot let you out of my sight, it seems.”

  There was so much tenderness in his tone as he reached for her. That she wished that he really would not ever let her out of his sight. In fact, she thought that he was about to take her in his arms, but he did not. Instead, gently, carefully, he took the ragged edges of her gown and pulled them together.

  She looked up into his eyes and could see that he shared her anger as well as her humiliation. Instead of throwing her transgression in her face, instead of pitying her, he shared her hurt. He truly, deeply cared.

  “Thank you, Trevor,” she whispered. Unable to resist, she threw her arms about his neck.

  * * *

  Adelaide looked at the watch dangling from a golden bow pinned to the cutwork bodice of her black gown. The time was right. She and her party had reached the old mill. Vicar Wilson and his wife, Eugenia, along with Henrietta Sutton; her flat-faced, husband-hungry girl, Penelope; and even Cecily Martin accompanied her. It was more than she had hoped for. She could hardly contain her excitement as they approached the door of the old millhouse.

  Inside, all was quiet. She had purposely kept her voice low as they approached so as not to give their presence away. If all had gone as planned, she and her little entourage were about to discover the Penn girl and Roth in a tryst. The vicar would naturally insist that Roth do the right thing and Joya Penn would quickly be married.

  Oh, glorious, glorious thought.

  Leading the way, she stepped over the threshold of the millhouse, her heart pounding with such excitement that she felt short of breath. Two steps inside, she saw them in the shadows near the old grist mill.

  Just as she had planned, that man had Joya Penn locked in a feverish embrace. The little wanton had her arms twined around his neck, and the man hot for the girl, was kissing her with great abandon.

  As the rest of her party crowded in behind her, Adelaide noted with disgust that the girl’s breast was cupped in his hand.

  She gasped and then called out, “Stop!” with as much dramatic fervor as she could muster. “Unhand that young woman, you cad! This instant!”

  Both Mrs. Sutton and the vicar’s wife gasped. Vicar Wilson himself took Adelaide’s arm to steady her.

  The man swung the girl behind him protectively, shielding her from view before he straightened to full height. Adelaide was thinking that she had never realized the accountant was so tall when he spun around and she looked directly at the man’s face.

  Her breath left her in a rush. She took a faltering step back, made a grab for her chest. The trap she had set with Jamison Roth had not only ensnared Joya Penn, but her own dear Trevor.

  Chapter Twenty

  Trevor watched his grandmother crumple to the floor. As if on cue, a shaft of sunlight beamed down through a broken section of the roof, illuminating her silver hair. With the stark black silk gown pooled around her, her skin looked like blue-white crepe.

  In a split second he took in the tableau behind her. It was a study of affronted sensibilities, with Vicar Wilson; his wife, Eugenia; and Mrs. Sutton and her homely daughter, whose name escaped him, all standing there gaping at him.

  A few feet behind them, Lady Cecily Martin was not as shocked as she seemed to be amused. When Trevor met her cynical gaze, she merely lifted a brow as if to say, “Let’s see how you get out of this, dear boy.”

  Joya moved first. Ignoring the state of her torn gown, she came out from behind him and ran to Adelaide’s side, unaware of what the others must be thinking.

  He rushed to stand beside her as she knelt down to minister to Adelaide. She waved her hands over his grandmother’s prostrate form and began to chant loudly in Matarengi.

  When Adelaide’s eyelids fluttered, Joya leaned over her and shouted, “Wake up, Mrs. Mandeville!” Then she started chanting again.

  Trevor breathed a sigh of relief when Adelaide’s eyes opened and she snapped, “I am not deaf! Stop shouting that gibberish.”

  “Oh, ma’am,” Joya cried, truly relieved. “I am so glad to see that you are not as dead as you looked.”

  “Get away from me.” Adelaide batted her hands at Joya. Trevor took a step back, putting his hand protectively on Joya’s shoulder.

  Vicar Wilson was kneeling on the other side of Adelaide. The vicar was a man in his early thirties with a beard, heavy brows and waving hair the color of weak tea. He demanded an accounting. He took the old woman’s elbow and helped her up as he shot a dark, accusatory glare at Trevor.

  “You have much to answer for, young man,” the vicar said.

  “I am not much younger than you are, sir.”

  “I trust you intend to make things right for Miss Penn.” The vicar drew himself up and glared.

  “I am already all right,” Joya volunteered.

  “Of course you are.” Adelaide, quite recovered, was brushing off her skirt, smacking away mouse droppings and pigeon feathers, straightening her bonnet. “Why don’t we go back to the garden and finish our picnic? Perhaps some croquet would be nice.”

  The vicar was staring in shock. “Madam, you may be willing to let this slight go because it was your grandson who has trespassed on this young lady’s innocence, but I most certainly cannot.”

  “Oh, posh.” Adelaide dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

  “Nor can I.” Mrs. Sutton, renowned for her ability to gossip, stepped forward, puffed like a stuffed partridge on a dinner platter. Her mouth was set in a stem line. “If anything like that were ever to happen to my sweet Penel
ope, I would do whatever necessary to salvage her reputation.”

  Behind her, the aforementioned Penelope had covered her face with her hands but was peering at Trevor through her pudgy fingers. He doubted that Penelope could ever find herself in this kind of situation, for she would never make a rational man lose control of himself the way Joya could. The young Miss Sutton definitely did not have Joya’s charm.

  The vicar refused to be ignored. “Trevor Mandeville, you have taken advantage of this girl…your sister’s twin…when you should be acting as her guardian.”

  “He most certainly has not!” Adelaide snapped. “This is not what it appears. Tell him, Trevor.”

  “Trevor did not take anything from me,” Joya announced. She had no idea why they were all so upset when for her, the worst was over.

  She was holding the front of her gown together, which brought back the memory of Roth’s attack and stoked Trevor’s anger all over again.

  If he had not happened along when he did—he refused to even contemplate what might have happened.

  “Of course he didn’t. If anything, I am certain you initiated this whole scenario yourself,” Adelaide told Joya.

  Before Trevor could argue, Joya said, “I broke the rule, you see, when Mr. Roth offered to show me the mill. I went out walking alone with him. Once we were here, I saw a horrible look in his eyes and I realized what a terrible mistake I had made.”

  “A horrible look in his eyes?” Mrs. Sutton had both hands pressed against her heart. She was trembling all over.

  “Oh, yes. He was staring at me with something darker and far worse than desire. He looked as if he wanted to throw me to the ground and have his way with me. Then he lunged for me when I tried to escape. When I fought him, my gown tore.

  “Why, I thank Kibatante that I am still fit from hiking the jungles of Matarenga! If I had not been wearing this huge skirt and all these ruffles and bows, and if I had had my machete, I could have done him in.”

  Trevor tried to get a word in, but she would not be stopped.