by Gayle Callen
Julia retired first, going up to her notes, or so she told the staff. Minutes later, when Sam finally arrived in their sitting room, Julia was already asleep at the desk, head pillowed in her arms. He studied her innocent face, the way her cosmetics were smudged, the soft, pink lips he’d so recently kissed. She was talented at the illusion of portraying a man, because she certainly looked nothing like one now.
He shook her shoulder, and though she frowned, she didn’t awaken. They had had only an hour’s sleep the night before, and even he felt exhausted. He tipped her away from the desk and picked her up, holding her against his chest. Her head settled on his shoulder, and the scent of her filled him—not a perfume, of course, but just…Julia. He wasn’t sure how long he stood still in the candlelit darkness, enjoying the soft feel of her against his chest, the sound of her breathing, her occasional murmurs as she dreamed. When she put her arms around his neck, he wondered if she was dreaming of him. Conceited thought, of course.
He shouldered open her bedroom door and found the large bed turned down invitingly, a single candle lit on the bedside table. He laid her down amid the blankets, then pulled off her boots, unbuttoned her trousers, and slid them down her hips. He left her shirt and drawers on, because otherwise he wouldn’t be able to resist crawling into bed with her.
After pulling the covers up around her, he smoothed the hair out of her face and leaned down to kiss her forehead. A sudden sense of danger overcame him, and before he could even straighten up, there was a sharp, painful blow to the back of his head, and the room went dark.
Julia came abruptly awake as something large and heavy fell on her. She recognized Sam immediately, and before she could even imagine how he’d fallen on top of her, she noticed a stream of blood trickle from his hairline and over his forehead. Her breath left her lungs in a soft cry.
And then she saw the other man looming over him, over her. She gasped and tried to move, but Sam’s weight held her pinned to the bed. As she pushed at his shoulders, the intruder only laughed and put a hand on Sam’s back, holding him down. The man’s face came into the candlelight, and he had a black scarf disguising his features, just like when they’d been attacked on the road. He had the kind of flat, black eyes that hid the darkest of evil deep inside, for he looked at her with an awareness that frightened her.
“Miss Reed, why, I’m shocked,” he said.
His voice oozed along her spine and gave her gooseflesh. Of course he knew who she was.
“Whatever will I say to your brother, when I’ve found you dressed as a man and sharing quarters with the gardener’s brother?”
She ignored his provocation.
He pulled Sam off her by the collar and dropped him to the floor. She winced at the loud thump as his head hit the carpet.
The man sat on the edge of the bed, and Julia forced herself not to scramble away from him, understanding that this was what he wanted.
“I know everything,” he said.
He examined her face, and she was grateful that Sam had pulled the blankets up to her chin.
“And what do you know?” she asked.
“I’ve kept a very close eye on you these past years, Miss Reed. Would you mind if I call you Julia?”
She didn’t answer, and he laughed silently.
“You have been a very discontented girl. You had a home, warmth, food, pretty dresses, everything a young lady should want. But that wasn’t enough for you.”
He slid the blankets down to her waist, and she thanked God she was still wearing the shirt and bindings. But that wouldn’t stop him, she thought, feeling sick with fear, and so worried that Sam was bleeding to death on the floor.
“You intruded on the general’s work in India—”
“I never—”
“You insisted on coming to Afghanistan, when any normal woman would want to stay in Bombay’s relative luxury. General Reed had me watch over you, and at first I resented it. But you proved so fascinating!”
She thought about him following her every move, like a dark snake hiding in her shadow.
“You weren’t his virginal young sister, you were a well-dressed whore.”
She flinched as if he’d slapped her. His laugh was silent, which made his open mouth all the more menacing.
“I followed you every time you slipped away from the encampment, saw you give yourself to one lover after another.”
“There were only two.” She spoke before she realized defending herself was just what he wanted.
“Only two? And that should absolve you?”
“I don’t need anyone’s absolution.”
“The general would disagree with that. I told him everything.” He leaned closer, and his breath was hot on her face. “Well, not everything. I didn’t tell him I was often able to watch your entire performance.”
She couldn’t stop the shudder that wracked her, the nausea that churned through her stomach. “You’re disgusting,” she said hoarsely.
He shrugged, like a little boy who expected to be forgiven for stealing a biscuit. “Perhaps, but you provided me rare enjoyment in a bleak country. Also, you were the perfect solution.”
He paused as if he expected her to respond, and when she didn’t, he seemed childishly disappointed.
“It was so easy to use you in the general’s scheme. I made sure he understood that you deserved this punishment. You’d brought shame on the family honor.”
“And treason didn’t?” she shot back scornfully.
He put his long fingers about her throat and gently squeezed. Her air wasn’t quite cut off, but she panicked and tried to pry his fingers loose.
“Watch yourself, Julia. I haven’t managed to kill you yet, but I assure you I am quite capable of the deed. In fact, I rather think it will be necessary before I leave this room.”
She fought him in earnest, bringing up her knees to hit him in the back, but finding the blankets and his body restricting her movement. She reached to gouge at his eyes, but he held himself above her and laughed.
Her head was pounding; her lungs began to burn with the need to breathe. Her gasping only made him laugh harder. Pinpricks of darkness scattered across her eyes, and she realized she would die, never having exonerated herself, never having loved Sam enough.
Then suddenly the man’s weight was gone, and she breathed in welcome air with deep, painful gasps. She came up on her elbow and saw the assailant on top of Sam, struggling to hold him down. There was blood down the side of Sam’s face, and he seemed weak as he tried to throw the man off him.
She slid out from under the covers and staggered as she tried to stand. The room went black briefly, but then everything came back into focus. She lunged forward and gave the stranger a hard kick in the back. As he arched in pain and turned toward her, Sam flung him off and the two men rolled together on the floor. She leaned back against the bed, her hand to her painful throat, and waited for an opening to help.
Then the assailant was on his feet, his arm wrapped tight around Sam’s throat from behind. Choking, Sam rose up, trying to push backward against the shorter man. Sam’s face was red, his wide eyes locked on her.
Julia saw her opening. She kicked hard between Sam’s spread legs, her foot connecting with the stranger’s groin. He let out a hoarse cry and released Sam, then staggered as he hunched over. When Sam would have rushed him, the man grabbed a knife from its sheath in his boot and held it up menacingly in a shaking hand.
“Stay back!” he said, gasping, as he backed toward the window. He wasn’t able to straighten up. “You can’t win. The general wants you dead, and I’ll make sure it happens.”
Sam put himself between her and the knife. “Lewis has sent men to their deaths over this. Don’t think you won’t be next.”
“He’s grateful for my help. He’d fall apart without me,” the stranger said, his hand on the windowsill. “Don’t bother following me, Sherryngton. Until next time.”
He laughed silently, stepped over the windowsill,
and vanished. Sam staggered forward, but Julia caught his arm.
“Sam, no, your head wound is too bad,” she said, her throat tight with pain. “He might kill you.”
She was frightened by how weak he looked. The blood stood out on his pale face, mingling with perspiration. But he shook her off and went to the window, pulling back the draperies carefully, and then when nothing happened, peered outside.
“He’s gone,” Sam said. “I would have thought for certain he’d break a leg from this height.”
“Lock the window,” she said. “Then lock this door, and I’ll go check the other two rooms.”
When she came out of his bedroom, he stood in her doorway, watching her. She made him sit down, then poured water into the basin and began to clean his face.
“I can do this,” he said angrily.
She knew the anger wasn’t directed at her. “Be quiet and let me see how bad the cut is.” She separated his hair until she found the lump, where blood matted his hair. The flow seemed to have stopped and she breathed a sigh of relief. “You’ll live.”
He said nothing. She helped him wash the blood out of his hair into a basin, then very carefully dumped the red water out the window. The whole time he stared at the window with a cold intensity that worried her. Cheerful, kind Sam seemed to disappear behind the old, angry eyes of this…soldier.
Finally she stood between him and the window, her hands on her hips. “You’re the experienced one—what should we do?”
Like a spell had been broken, he wiped his hand down his face and attempted a poor excuse for a smile. “Never sleep with the doors or windows unlocked.”
“We’ve already been doing that, but he still managed to get in. Will he try to use someone to get him into the house?”
“I don’t think so. We’ve cautioned all the servants. He only wants us, and probably won’t take the chance of alerting anyone else to his presence.”
“Could we somehow force him to testify against Lewis? If we capture him, surely we can hide him away until we prove Lewis is guilty.”
“I’m not sure we can take that risk,” he said impassively. “If he attacks again, we might end up killing him before he can hurt us.” He stood up, pushing damp hair out of his face. His collar was stained reddish brown with blood. He seemed worried about the danger they were in, but not particularly bothered to be talking about killing someone.
Though Sam would protect her with his life, she didn’t like seeing how at ease he was with so much violence. She should be used to it, having been around soldiers for years.
But this was Sam, whom she’d always thought of as a gentle soul.
He glanced down at her with the first real smile she’d seen that night. “That was a pretty close call, that kick you made.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Worried about my aim?”
“It crossed my mind. I would have tried to protect my vital parts, if he had let me.”
She tsked and shook her head. “You should have learned to trust me by now.”
He looked into her face, and his smile slowly died, and a wilder, more sensual expression lowered his lids, parted his lips. The danger, her sore throat, everything disappeared in a haze of heat that swept through her only because of a look.
Sam’s gaze dropped to her mouth. “You need to get some sleep,” he said in a husky voice. “But I don’t feel that I should leave you alone.”
“Then don’t,” she said breathlessly.
It was as if the combination of fear and danger and the threat of dying all coalesced into a need to feel what it meant to be alive. She wanted him again—she wanted him always.
Chapter 18
Julia reached for him and Sam forced himself to step away.
“We need to keep watch,” he said.
He knew she could sway him; he would succumb, though he shouldn’t. It was there on her face, the hesitation, the yearning, then the reluctant understanding.
“All right,” she said softly. “Don’t stay up too late.”
“Do one thing for me, Julia. Put a chair on its side in front of the window in your room, and I’ll do the same for the other windows. That way, should our friend somehow enter, he’ll get tripped up and we should hear him.”
He listened from the sitting room as she washed herself. He tried not to hear the dripping of the water, tried not to imagine the cloth touching her skin, but he was helpless to stop his thoughts. He’d assumed that maybe once he’d made love to her, his curiosity and desire would be sated. But if anything, it was now worse, because he knew what he was missing.
It was a long time before he checked in to make sure she was asleep. She was helpless, innocent. Of all the people under this roof, she was in the most danger.
From now on, he couldn’t leave her unprotected. He went back inside and barricaded each door. He prepared himself for bed, then brought a blanket into Julia’s room and lay down on the chaise lounge. His feet hung off, but he was comfortable enough. He fell asleep watching her face.
In the morning, Sam woke to find Julia staring at him, as she lay in bed with her head propped on her hand. He smiled at her, and she smiled back.
“Worried about me?” she asked.
“Always.”
“I seem to require a lot of your worry,” she said wryly.
“I don’t mind.”
“But you used to. You were angry at me in Afghanistan.”
“But that’s long over with.”
She nodded slowly. “You know, you could have slept in bed with me.”
His smile widened. “I could have. But then I wouldn’t have been thinking about protecting you.”
“And that would have been a bad thing?”
Her voice was low, sultry, alluring in a way that was hard to resist.
“For now. Let’s get you ready for the day. It’s time to search Mrs. Hume’s room.”
“You’re changing the subject,” she said with disappointment.
When she sat up, the thought of any danger fled his mind. The shirt she wore was sheer enough for him to see her nipples pointing against the cloth. His mouth went dry, his thoughts became gibberish as his body found the only thing it could concentrate on.
How was he going to keep her safe when he was in this condition? He stood up and headed for the sitting room, calling over his shoulder, “Let me know when you’re ready for your cosmetics.”
A half hour later, she was seated before him completely dressed but for collar and cravat, and he had himself under better control. As he worked on her face, he noticed the bruises on her throat. He gently touched them and she flinched.
In a low voice, he said, “I hadn’t realized how badly he’d injured you. We should summon a doctor.”
Shaking her head, she put a hand to her throat. “No, it looks worse than it feels. I’ll be fine. Is there anything you can do to hide the bruises?”
“Cosmetics would noticeably stain your collar. I think the collar itself and a large bow on the cravat should hide it well enough.” He went back to painting her face.
“Sam, are you going to tell Frances what happened last night? After all, someone will see your bloody shirt.”
“I’m going to burn the thing. And no, no one will know. It will just give him a reason to harm someone else. I couldn’t do that to Frances—or anyone else.”
After eating breakfast, they went to the governess’s old room, with its shrouded furniture and closed drapes keeping the light dim.
“So are Mrs. Hume’s things still here?” he asked.
“They were last month. Frances had separated out some personal items she thought Edwin might want—which I’m assuming the police now have.”
He nodded. Together they searched through the room, finding nothing more than an old woman’s clothes and sad mementos of her husband and child. Nothing that Edwin wrote to his mother implicated Lewis. Sam could hardly have expected to find a pistol dropped beneath the bed, when Mrs. Hume had had no wounds or bruises
. She’d probably been suffocated, maybe by one of her own pillows.
As they straightened the room so that it looked just like they found it, he said, “We can’t wait to search Lewis’s room. We have to do it right now, before his henchman finds and destroys something we could use.”
Using the excuse of working through luncheon, Sam and Julia escaped to the family wing of the estate undetected. Lewis’s sitting room and bedroom yielded no clues, and they finally had their first success in Lewis’s dressing room. There was an unopened crate marked with Indian labels.
Julia stared hard at the crates, memories of the other side of the world haunting her. She shook them off. “What do you think these could be?”
But he was already using his knife to pry open the lid. Straw covered the contents, and they carefully scooped it out and onto Sam’s coat. A trunk rested within, and when they opened it, they found several military uniforms folded carefully away.
She sat back on her heels in dejection. “There’s nothing here we can use.”
“You’re being presumptive. We need to search the trunk.”
They laid out each set of clothing—coat, trousers, even boots, then she watched as he inspected the trunk itself for hidden compartments. As he was doing his slow methodical search, she began to go through the pockets randomly, trying to forget that her brother had worn these garments. She had to think of them as the clothing of a traitor.
When her fingers encountered something in a coat pocket, she gave a little gasp that had Sam’s head jerking up quickly. She pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and held it up.