Simon stared at her for a long time, oblivious to the rain. Georgiana began squirming in her boots under his silent assessment. “You really don’t know, do you?” he asked slowly. He snorted in disgust. “God, I’m such an ass.”
“Finally, something we agree on,” Georgiana fumed, the tentative hold on her temper slipping. “I may be stubborn and impetuous, but you are arrogant and overbearing. How dare you judge me? You know nothing about me! You know nothing of the choices, of the sacrifices, I have made.”
“I’m not sure leaving admiring hoards every place you visit qualifies as a personal sacrifice, Georgie,” Simon snapped. “And Sir Jon was a celebrated scholar long before you came along. I don’t believe you’re so indispensable that you couldn’t forgo one adventure and remain at the cantonment.”
She was too angry to bother correcting the loathsome nickname. For the first time in memory, Georgiana lost her temper entirely. “I have spent years of my life making sure that dear, sweet, foolish old man remains a celebrated scholar instead of drinking himself into oblivion!” she ranted, not caring about the rain that was now pummeling her.
“If I hadn’t come along and picked him up off his taverna stool in Italy he would be nothing more than a broken old man living in a bottle he couldn’t afford. But I did pick him up. I did. I picked him up and dried him out and helped him compose a few scholarly papers. I even arranged for a few speaking engagements to restart his career.
“But now we can’t trust him to be sober enough to do the damned speaking engagements, and he drinks away what little we do earn. We can barely balance the books most months, and if we don’t get the India project firmly in hand we don’t stand a chance of making it to next year. So I do his research, and Jane sketches his illustrations, and we stay up, night after night, writing it all down, balancing the ledger, and trying not to think about the day that it’s no longer enough.
“We’ve scrimped and saved and traveled the world looking for the right opportunity,” Georgiana continued savagely. “India was to be our crowning glory. With our research here, Grandfather could get a post at the Asiatic Society—clean him up every few months or so to make an appearance and all is right and tight. We could continue publishing here under his name for years and finally have some financial security. We could have a home.”
Georgiana threw her hands up in the air. “Running off into the jungle chasing fairytales does not pay the rent! Worse, we get to play out this charade in front of Julian Thorne, a man who could destroy everything we’ve strived to accomplish. So contrary to your assumptions, Simon, I am not happy to be here—in fact I wish to be anywhere else but here—but as I am not merely indispensable to my grandfather’s work but entirely responsible for it, here I am!”
Simon was looking at her with equal parts sympathy and horror. “I didn’t know.”
He reached out to take her hand, but she shied away. Her pride bristled at the thought of his pity. “Please don’t tell Nath,” she muttered, disgusted by the note of desperation in her voice. “If he knows we’re broke... Grandfather and Jane are all I have. I hate the thought of losing them.”
“Of course,” Simon agreed softly. “I would never—”
A loud cracking sound, like a branch breaking, came from above them and Simon stilled. “Bloody hell,” he said under his breath. Georgiana followed his gaze to the ground, where a rivulet of mud was trickling over their toes. Grabbing Georgiana’s hands, he jerked her along as he started to run.
“What’s wrong?” Georgiana asked. She tried to stay with him but kept slipping in the slime that covered the road.
“If you get caught, stay as small as possible and try to shield your head,” was his answer.
“What?” Georgiana asked sharply. “Why would I need to shield my head?”
“Mudslide,” he muttered over his shoulder. “Don’t look,” he called. “Just run.”
Before she could ask any more questions, a rumble like a roll of thunder sounded from the hill above her. The sparse trees seemed to groan and the earth rumbled louder, growing more insistent in its protest.
Simon yanked her arm almost painfully, pulling her behind him as though she were nothing more than a rag doll. Georgiana pushed herself to go faster, but her heavy boots kept losing their purchase. The hill seemed to be moving around them, oozing over her feet and swirling past her ankles. The rain was driving down hard and the thick goo seemed to have taken on a life of its own, flowing more and more quickly past them.
A tree branch rushed past, grazing her calves as it did, causing a stinging pain in her legs and knocking Georgiana off balance. She was vaguely aware of Simon shouting her name as she lost hold of his hand. A loud crash sounded, followed by a great rush of muddy water, and Georgiana struggled to find her footing as the liquid earth gathered momentum. A moment later she understood what Simon meant about protecting her head when she was swept clean off her feet and felt something solid glance her shoulder and neck.
Georgiana curled up tight. She covered her head as best she could with her hands and felt herself flipped over several times before she managed to break the surface and take a deep gulp of air. Another instant later she was swallowed up again and hurled blindly through the Indian jungle. Georgiana struggled, hoping to claw her way out of the torrent, but the mud was too powerful. The muddy wave carried her along for what seemed an eternity. Georgiana didn’t know how much longer her luck would hold.
She wasn’t getting out of this, Georgiana realized as she swept farther along the collapsing hill’s steady plunge. She wondered if Nathaniel would feel guilty. She hoped so. Simon and Jane would feel guilty, of course, which was ridiculous as they were not responsible for her being here. Simon would likely blame himself for losing hold of her hand, stubborn oaf that he was. Georgiana wished she could see him one last time. She should have kissed him again instead of arguing with him.
Without warning the violent torrent slowed to an angry trickle, spitting her out. Georgiana managed to crawl out of its path and pull herself up with the aid of a small tree. Once on solid ground she unceremoniously allowed herself to collapse, exhausted and gasping and rejoicing as her lungs burned from the fresh air. The pummeling downpour had slowed to a light drizzle, at least momentarily. She laid back and closed her eyes and relished just being alive.
A loud thump followed by a pained curse made her raise her head. Simon was crawling toward her. He was covered head to toe in a layer of brown clay, giving her some idea of how she herself must look. His thick hair was matted with sludge, and his eyes narrowed as he sloshed toward her.
“You do know what the word ‘run’ means, do you not?” he bit out, flopping down next to her. “It’s a simple concept, really, involving moving one’s feet faster than usual.”
So much for kind words. “I slipped,” she declared, wiping some of the filth from her face. “If you hadn’t been dragging me along I might have been able to keep my balance.”
“If you had managed to hold on to my hand,” he snapped, closing his eyes and breathing heavily, “I wouldn’t have had to hurl myself headfirst into a mudslide after you.”
“You willingly threw yourself into that disaster?” Georgiana huffed. At his grim nod, she roared, “Of all the stupid, irresponsible things I have ever heard! You might have been killed!”
Simon opened an eye and swiped a muddy lock from his brow. “I was trying to save your life,” he groused. “And you’re welcome.”
“I do not reward stupidity,” she sniffed and lay back down.
“How about bravery?” he asked pointedly.
“They are one and the same,” Georgiana stated.
“Lovely,” he mused. “I attempt to rescue the one damsel who dislikes heroics.” He pulled himself up. “We should be moving. The hill leveled a bit here, lucky for us, but this whole area will be unstable when it rains again.�
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“Where are we?” Georgiana asked as she accepted his hand.
Simon pulled her to her feet. “I have no idea,” he admitted. “Based on the speed of the mudslide, and the slope of the hill, I would guess we’ve been washed several miles off course. Hopefully not more.”
Georgiana groaned. “In this weather, it could take us a day to get back to Pipli.”
“Probably,” Simon agreed. “I don’t know this area, and the roads will be marginal at best. The mudslide likely washed them all out anyway. We may have to cut through the jungle.”
Georgiana shuddered, suddenly thankful he was here with her. “I have reconsidered my earlier opinion of you coming down the mudslide after me.” At his bemused expression she said, “I’m grateful for your stupidity.”
“Bravery,” he insisted mulishly.
“Both,” Georgiana compromised.
“We can discuss it when we’re on solid ground,” he said.
Georgiana nodded and allowed Simon to drag her away from the muddy river that was gurgling past them. They had walked for a quarter mile when the rains started again. It was less forceful than before, so Simon urged her to push on. She agreed, even though she really wanted to lie down and sleep for days. The rain washed off most of the sludge, so at least she didn’t feel quite as dirty—just sticky and soaked and uncomfortable.
They trudged along for what seemed like hours before the skies cleared. Georgiana listened to the sounds of the surrounding jungle, the calls of strange wildlife hovering just out of sight. As much as she loved adventure, this was a bit much. She scrambled to stay close to Simon.
Simon was uncharacteristically quiet as they walked. Georgiana considered the man in front of her. She’d grown fond of him, she mused. Perhaps too fond. The thought of him hurtling down the mudslide after her both flattered and slightly nauseated her. He might have gotten killed with such foolishness. That he would endanger himself for her bothered her on several levels. None of them were anything she wanted to really consider further.
“I take back my amended opinion,” she said to his back.
Simon stopped abruptly, causing Georgiana to walk into him. He spun around, hands on his hips.
“What?” he snapped.
“After further consideration I’ve decided that I’m displeased with your attempt to rescue me,” she announced. “You could have been killed for no good reason.”
Simon’s eyes flashed angrily and his lips thinned, so Georgiana hastened to soften the blow. “Don’t misunderstand me. I appreciate the gesture, of course, and I’m glad to have your expertise and your company in tromping through the wilds. But I did survive the mudslide on my own, and I imagine I would have made it back to Pipli by myself. Eventually.”
“I have no doubt,” he drawled acidly.
“So why would you throw yourself headfirst into peril when I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself?” she asked.
“Stupidity,” Simon muttered looking supremely annoyed. He turned and stalked ahead.
“I didn’t mean to hurt your pride,” she said, trailing after him.
“You didn’t,” Simon snapped.
Georgiana eyed the large, rain-soaked man walking in front of her. She could feel the frustration rolling off him. “Then why are you angry with me?”
He stopped and glared down at her. “Because you’re doing it again,” he accused.
“Doing ‘it’?” she asked, confused. “Doing what?”
“You’re pushing me away,” Simon stated simply. “You push me away whenever I try to do anything nice for you.”
“I do not,” she argued.
“You do,” Simon countered. “Anytime I try to help you, anytime you drop your guard and let me get close, you push me away and get peevish.”
Georgiana swallowed her retort, unable to deny the truth in his words. “I’m not very good at being rescued, I suppose.”
Simon scoffed at that and rolled his eyes. “You stink at it,” he told her bluntly.
“That’s overly harsh,” Georgiana protested. “I’m just used to taking care of myself.”
“Believe it or not, you don’t have to do everything alone, Georgiana,” he said. “Asking for help once in a while does not make you any less capable.”
Georgiana shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly and pushed past Simon. “I don’t need help,” she said, “therefore the asking is unnecessary.”
“Just an hour ago,” Simon said behind her, “you told me that you are living hand to mouth and chasing around the world to scratch out a meager living. You’re working yourself to exhaustion to preserve your drunken grandfather’s reputation even though he has no consideration for your efforts. You have no other family, no one to support you, and you’re trekking through the jungle in monsoon season. Maybe, Georgie, just maybe, you do need help.”
“I most certainly do not!” Georgiana barked. “Really, Simon, are you so insecure as to be upset when I don’t swoon over your masculine displays of heroics? I’d thought you more intelligent than that.”
Simon scoffed. “I’m not the one running around challenging the world, Princess. Unlike you, I don’t feel the need to constantly prove myself.”
“Why are men so threatened by a woman’s independence?” Georgiana asked, swatting viciously at the heavy vegetation. “I wonder if it stems from the realization that we don’t need you.”
“Ah,” he said condescendingly. “Funny how independent women seem so threatened by the mere thought of a little help. Tell me, is it that you’re worried you really do need me? Or are you bothered by the fact that you want to need me?”
“I assure you, Mr. Ashford,” Georgiana said, “you have nothing I want or need.”
Georgiana marched faster, unnerved by the truth of Simon’s last statement. She thrashed blindly through the vegetation, not really seeing where she was going. Her foot caught on a tangle of tree roots that had been uncovered by the heavy rains. She toppled over the knot of exposed roots and landed face first in the slippery mud on the other side of the tree. She tried to lift herself out of the muck, but to her great dismay she lost her footing in the slick sludge and fell again.
Mortified, Georgiana rolled over and peeked up. Sure enough Simon was laughing at her. He offered his hand and teased, “Need some help, Miss Phillips?”
Georgiana glared up at him, but took his hand. As he leaned over to pull her up, she yanked hard, tugging him off balance and landing him in the mud next to her.
Simon sat up and scowled. “That was unnecessary.”
“You missed a spot,” Georgiana said sweetly, dumping a handful of mud onto his head and giggling.
Simon looked at her for a long moment, eyes narrowed, then proceeded to scoop up a handful of the disgusting sludge. Georgiana shook her head. “No,” she warned.
“Yes,” Simon said pleasantly. Without warning he reached behind her, pulled on her bodice and let the stuff ooze down her back.
Georgiana gasped at the sensation. “That was childish,” she said.
She got another handful of mud and smeared it across his forehead and down his cheek. Simon retaliated by swiping a big glob along her throat and down to her cleavage. Georgiana took this as a declaration of war and begin throwing as much mud at him as fast as she could scoop it, shrieking and giggling. Simon grabbed her wrists and wrestled her to the muddy ground, pinning her hands above her head and laughing down at her.
Georgiana was laughing, too, until she realized Simon had stopped. He was staring at her, his eyes glittering with a look that made her tingle. “Are you entirely certain you don’t want anything from me, Georgie?” he asked in a smoky voice.
Georgiana swallowed hard. “Stop calling me Georgie. We should be getting back,” she said. “The others must be getting worried.”
Simon looked at her for a long moment, and Georgiana tried to sort out the tangled knot of emotions that had lodged in her throat. “I suppose you’re right,” he sighed finally, pulling away to sit up.
Georgiana allowed Simon to help her to her feet. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, only to find him studying her again. It unnerved her. “What?” she asked, turning to face him directly.
“One of these days, Georgiana, we are going to—”
He stopped talking, his attention focused on a spot over her shoulder.
“Simon?” she asked, turning around.
A group of men, six in all, emerged from the trees. Their skin was a rich dark brown, and all but the youngest one had tattoos etched on their pectorals and their arms. Some even had tattoos on their faces. Most of them had pulled their long black hair into loose braids that ran the length of their backs. The few who wore theirs down had secured the front part with a band at the crown. They were dressed, if you could call it that, in loincloths that left little to the imagination. Georgiana saw a variety of weapons, including spears and bows. Her heart hammered in her chest as they closed in, blocking any hope of escape.
“Who are they?” she murmured to Simon.
“Khondi,” he whispered back.
Chapter Nine
Simon trudged alongside the armed tribesman who seemed to have been assigned his personal escort, wishing Nathaniel Phillips were there with them so he could wring his neck. If Nath hadn’t championed Sir Jon’s ridiculous fascination with the Black Pagoda, he and Georgiana would be at the cantonment safe and sound, sipping coffee and arguing with each other instead of being marched through the Indian jungle by savages who might be having them for dinner—literally.
At that thought, Simon tamped down the growing sense of panic that was welling up inside him. He’d dealt with dozens of tribesmen during his years in India, often in their own territory, but he’d never met the Khondi. They had a reputation for being the most primitive, the most savage tribe in Orissa, with a keen dislike of the British. One of the only tribes known to openly attack encampments, tales of their savagery, of human sacrifice, were legendary among the British and native populations alike.
An Inconvenient Kiss Page 16