Fortune's Flower (Passport to Romance Book 1)

by Anthea Lawson

  Thank the gods for his horse—a solid dun that did not balk at re-entering the water. The return trip was easier, and with the rope to guide them they avoided the deep water. James rode up to Sir Edward.

  “I think we should try and get the men across next,” James said. “Give them less time to think about it—since they don’t have the benefit of horses.”

  The botanist nodded, and James gestured Khalil and the men forward. It took some coaxing, some appeals to their manliness, and some outright threats, but one by one the bearers entered the river, clutching the rope, and cursing or praying as they were inclined. Richard, good lad, had ridden his horse several yards out. He encouraged and shouted, and helped them up the muddy shore until they had all arrived safely. The mules followed in a jangling, braying pack.

  James let out a breath. The most difficult part was over.

  “Who’s next?” He turned to the Strathmores.

  “Richard gets to have all the fun,” Isabelle said, kneeing her mount forward. James followed her partway across, but the girl was a born horsewoman and was in no danger, though the current pulled fiercely at her skirts. She gave a triumphant cry as she gained the far bank.

  Lady Mary was next, followed by Mrs. Hodges. There was a difficult moment when Mrs. Hodges’ mount halted halfway, but she prodded the animal forward before James could reach them, and made the rest of the crossing without mishap.

  “Go along, then, Lily,” Sir Edward said. “I’ll come right behind you.”

  “Of course.” She smiled brightly, but James could see the anxious set of her shoulders, her tight grip on the reins.

  Her horse pranced nervously and nearly shied as it entered the water. James rode over. Of them all, he knew Lily was the least-experienced rider. Too much time spent sketching flowers instead of riding through fields of them. He urged his own horse beside hers, trying to shield her from the brunt of the current, and she gave him a grateful glance.

  When they reached the middle of the river, something swirled past in the water, startling the horses. Lily’s mount let out a shrill whinny and reared wildly. The movement, combined with the current dragging at her, proved too much. Lily fell from the saddle with a splash.

  “James!” she cried, reaching as the water tore her away.

  “Grab the rope!” He kicked free of the stirrups and leapt after her. Where was she? He lifted his head above the fierce water, panic clutching his heart.

  There—she was in the deep water, but had caught the rope, and now clung one-handed, her skirts streaming out behind her.

  “Hold on!” He did not know if she heard him. Her head dipped under as she fought to reach the line with her other hand.

  In a heartbeat he had her, one arm slipping around her small form, lifting her up, the other hand joining hers on the sodden rope.

  “James!” she screamed, her eyes wide.

  He looked. Lily’s horse had gone down and the current was bearing it directly toward them.

  “Hold on!” he shouted, and let go of the rope.

  The water closed over their heads, dragging them with it. He tried to stand, but as quickly as his feet found purchase, they were dragged out from under him. He could barely keep his own head above water. Lily had it worse, but he would not let go even when the water upended him.

  A sun-bleached snag thrust out into the water some distance below the ford. James threw his arm around the branchless trunk before they could be sucked under, and then drew Lily to him. “Put your arms around my neck.”

  Her hair was plastered to her face, dark against the pallor of her skin. She locked her arms around him and clung so tightly he could scarcely breathe.

  Using the fallen tree for support, he inched them toward shore. Soon the water came only to his waist, then his thighs, his knees. He pulled Lily into his arms and stumbled onto the bank.

  When they got there, he let himself sink down, rewarded by the feel of solid ground beneath them. He looked into Lily’s face. It was pale, her lips almost blue. Spasms of coughing racked her.

  “That’s my girl,” he said, holding her shoulders until the coughing subsided. “Everything’s fine, love. Everything’s fine.”

  She clung to him then, and opened her eyes. “I thought we were lost. Did we make it across?”

  He smiled down at her. “Yes. We made it across.”

  “Lily!” Richard shoved his way through the underbrush, his face frantic, his clothes dripping. “Are you all right?”

  She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and James felt her relax suddenly in his arms. “Yes. I am.”

  Her cousin’s expression lightened. “You should have heard Isabelle scream when your horse went down.”

  The others were shouting to them and making their way down the shore. James lifted Lily and stood with her in his arms. He could not let go. Not yet. The feel of her against him—warm, breathing—was too precious, the twine of her arms around his neck all he needed.

  “James,” she whispered into his ear, “I believe we are on solid ground. You can put me down.”

  Evening was laying long shadows across the hills when at last they straggled back onto the main road. The westering sun deepened the cinnamon-colored soil to a rich orange and gilded the limbs of cork oak growing beside the river.

  “Where are the ruins you spoke of?” James asked Khalil. “The animals are tired.”

  “Not much farther.” The guide pointed to a small rise ahead. “Just the other side.”

  “Take some men ahead to set up camp. I’ll see to the rest of the party.”

  By the time they reached the camp set in the ruins, lanterns were burning and the tantalizing smell of lamb kebabs wafted from the cooking fires. The tents were standing, rugs and cushions strewn about the interiors where oil lamps winked and glimmered.

  “Here we are,” Richard said.

  Lily dismounted before anyone could offer help, and looked about curiously. “Wherever here is. It makes a lovely composition.”

  Firelight flickered against stone walls, bits of geometric carving running along the top, visible where the stone had not crumbled away. Fluted columns stood sentinel at the edge of the rise, barely silhouetted against the fading light. Beyond, a few early stars twinkled. James swung down to assist Lady Mary.

  “Thank you.” She smiled tiredly at him as he steadied her.

  Sir Edward moved slowly over to them. “I’m a bit stiffer than I’d like. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure, though.”

  The accident at the crossing and the long road had left them all feeling subdued, but dinner revived the party considerably, and they lingered over cups of tea. Richard excused himself and went to squat with Khalil by the open fire, likely after a cup of Turkish coffee. During their trips to the souq he had become a convert to the dark, heavily sweetened brew served in tiny cups.

  “Your son is going native,” Sir Edward said to his wife.

  “At least he is not drinking out of a gourd.”

  “Don’t the ruins seem mysterious?” Isabelle glanced into the shadows. “Especially in the moonlight.”

  “Worth exploring, I’d say,” Richard said, approaching. “I don’t feel sleepy at all.”

  James looked over the camp. Why not? The men would be on watch. The family needed something to take their minds off the near-tragedy of the afternoon. “If you enter the ruins, beware,” he said in a stage whisper.

  “Why?” said Richard and Isabelle together.

  James raised his hands above his head, curling his fingers. The light from the fire cast his shadow, huge and grotesque, on the ruined wall behind them.

  “Evil djinns.”

  “Rubbish,” Mrs. Hodges said.

  Everyone else laughed.

  “Do you feel up to going, Lily?” Isabelle asked.

  “Of course I do. I’m quite resilient when it comes to falling off horses, although I’d prefer to fall onto a pile of folded linens or a mound of hay and not into a raging river next time.”r />
  James offered his hand, smiling.

  “Go along, then,” her uncle said. “Roman ruins by moonlight. Perfectly splendid! We crossed the Mediterranean for adventures like this.”

  She let James draw her to her feet, and he folded his hand over hers. Life was too precious and uncertain to be locked away for the future.

  “Do take lanterns,” Lady Mary said.

  “We will,” Richard said. “If there’s a djinn to be found, I don’t want to walk past it in the dark. They grant wishes, you know.”

  “Really.” Isabelle tossed her head. “There’s no danger… is there?” She looked to James for reassurance.

  “Giant spiders,” Richard said. “The ghost of Hannibal.”

  “Ha.” She drew her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.

  “It should be safe,” James said. “Khalil scouted the area before we arrived.”

  “Come on.” Richard tugged Isabelle’s arm. “Do you think that’s a skull over there?” Without a backward glance, he headed deeper into the ruins, his sister close behind.

  James glanced at Lily. “Which way?”

  She looked back at the fire, then seemed to come to some decision. “Up there.” She gestured to the pillars cresting the top of the hill.

  They set off, Lily stepping nimbly over the rubble while James guided them around larger obstacles. The lantern light picked out fitful details—an arched doorway, lichen staining a tumbled wall, the handle of a broken ewer protruding from the soil. They gained the rise, the bright splashes of the fires below seeming very small. Old Roman columns rose around them poised against the night sky.

  “In the darkness they seem almost new,” Lily said. “As though we’ve been transported back thousands of years.”

  Looking out over the dark valley, James could almost believe it was true. “I can hear the legions tramping down the road.”

  “And the rumble of chariot wheels. What was this place, do you think?” She turned slowly, examining the tumbled stones.

  “A villa, a private retreat, perhaps.” He set the lantern down, shrugged out of his coat, and laid it on a nearby block of granite.

  She sank down with a sigh. “It was a long day.”

  “I’m happy to reach the end of it with everyone intact. Are you sure you suffered no harm from our plunge in the river?”

  “I’ll be perfectly all right, thanks to you. If you had not caught me…” She looked at him, her eyes shining in the lantern light.

  “Someone else would have.” His heart clenched as he relived that moment when she had slipped from the saddle into the current. “Richard would have enjoyed rescuing you, I’m sure.”

  “Perhaps. But then I would never have heard the end of it. I’m glad it was you, James. I am always glad of you.” Her last words were nearly a whisper.

  He heard them all the same. She was staring up at the column beside them, the stars crowning it. The look on her face was wistful, filled with a melancholy yearning James recognized all too well.

  He sat down beside her and took her hand—the same hand he had clung to as they tumbled beneath the muddy water. He traced each of her fingers with his own.

  “When your horse went down today, Lily…” He shook his head slowly. “I could not live with myself if I let any harm come to you.”

  “I feel the same. It was very foolish of you to leap after me.” She looked at him. “And very brave.”

  She reached up to trace the line of his jaw, one finger tentatively coasting over his lips. He closed his eyes, only to open them when he felt the warmth of her lips. A quiver raced through him. Softly, gently, she moved her mouth against his. James sat very still, letting her lead the way. Her hand cupped his face and she leaned in toward him, deepening the kiss. So, their embrace under the tree had not been their last after all.

  When at last she broke the kiss, she smiled up at him, eyes shining. “James,” she said. “You are my James and my Mr. Huntington all rolled into one.”

  “Lily.” He reached for her. She leaned into his touch, came willingly into his arms, and lifted her face toward him.

  “Kiss me,” she breathed.

  Her words were a spark kindling suddenly to a blaze. When he leaned down to press his lips to hers, she responded urgently. Life burned brightly through his blood and he had to touch her, skin to skin; he had to taste her and know that she was real and here. And his.

  Need hurried his fingers down the row of buttons at her back, loosening her dress until he could slip it off her shoulders, his palms hot on the bare skin of her arms. Her corset thrust her breasts up, the thin silk of her chemise doing little to shelter the tight pink tips. James brushed his hand over her, heard her gasp deep in her throat as he tightened his fingers on the nub.

  Her hair was falling loose, unruly and dark over the paleness of her chemise and skin. She looked like a goddess of the night. Passion shone from her eyes, and her mouth was soft and moist from his kisses. She untangled her fingers from the sleeves of her dress, then reached and laced them into his hair, pulling his mouth back to hers.

  An answering wildness rising in him, James took her lips and swept his tongue into her mouth. He would kiss her so deeply, so thoroughly that she would never forget, never call him “Mr. Huntington” again. Not with the brand of his kiss seared on her lips. She arched against him, lips parting wide, yielding to his advance.

  Without releasing her mouth, he tightened his arms and pulled her onto his lap, turning her, nudging her legs until she was straddling him. Heat flared between them and he lifted his hand to cup her breast again, greedy for the feel of her.

  “Ah.” She flung back her head, exposing her neck to his mouth, seeming oblivious to her wanton position, lost in the heady pleasure of the night. Even through her skirts he could feel the heat of her there, at the juncture of her legs. She pressed against him, her womanly softness so close to his throbbing erection.

  James moved his mouth down, one hand pulling her chemise away as he dipped his head. His lips found her taut nipple and he wrung another gasp of pleasure from her. She shifted on his lap and heat speared through his groin. It was easy enough to gather her skirts in his hands and pull them up, knuckles skimming the soft skin of her legs as he bared her even further.

  She was unbuttoning him too, he realized as the cool night air over his shoulders was replaced by the heat of her touch. The breath rasped in his throat as he slid his hands up her thighs and curved under her tight, rounded bottom. He could lift her, unbutton his trousers, and let her hot, wet warmth enfold him as she slid down his cock. He could have her here and now. He was sure she would not refuse him.

  James let out a stifled groan. Much as he wanted her, he knew this was not the place. She deserved better than a hurried coupling braced on the stones of an old ruin. He needed time to coax her and build her pleasure, comfort, and luxury to lead her to a place of passion she would never forget. He pulled her against his chest, holding her still against him, summoning all his willpower.

  “Mmm,” she said, her mouth vibrating against the skin of his neck. She pressed her lips there, then the soft heat of her tongue flared over his skin. Gods, she was irresistible.

  It did not help his resolve when her hands drifted low between them. Her touch found his hardness, her palm smoothing against the strained fabric of his trousers.

  “Lily,” he managed.

  “Yes?” Her voice was throaty with pleasure. “I am so curious about you. When you touched me in the bey’s palace—is there an equivalent pleasure? Let me just…”

  How could he tell her no? Every nerve in him was centered there, where she was unbuttoning his trouser flap. This was too dangerous, but he could not stop her. He would do anything to feel her touch him, yes, like that, her hand stroking the sensitive underside, then wrapping around him.

  “You are so hot and hard and yet the skin is so… soft. And”—a teasing note entered her voice—“you seem much larger than any of the marble statues I ha
ve viewed.”

  He laughed. “Sculptors don’t show the aroused male state—at least not the sculptures on public display.”

  “Then I arouse you?” A brush of her fingertips along the ridge of his cock caused him to shudder with pleasure.

  “Far more than is good for you.” He drew her hands away, removing the utter distraction of her touch. The night settled in around them, the faint echo of Richard’s laughter drifting up from the ruins below. It was time they returned to the camp.

  Lily seemed to feel it too. She tugged her skirts down, then slipped her arms through her dress and pulled it back over her shoulders. Still, she did not leave her position on his lap. Her voice held that teasing note again as she leaned forward.

  “Can you do up my buttons as quickly as you undid them?”

  “Of course not. I am closing away your delights. It’s to be expected that the process will be slowed by regret.”

  “Well.” She leaned against him and linked her arms behind his head. “I am quite comfortable here, so you may take whatever time you need.”

  Whatever time he needed. A lifetime would not be enough.

  When he had finished with the buttons, he pulled her hard against him and ravished her mouth with one last kiss. Let her remember that as she lay in the canvas hollow of her tent, the wild, fitful light of the stars above singing her to sleep.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Lily urged her mount up the rocky track, leaning forward to help the mare scramble up the incline. The afternoon sun lay hot across her shoulders and insects droned from a nearby stand of trees. After three days of following the river the expedition had turned into the hills, leaving cultivated fields for open, rocky slopes and thickets of oaks and evergreens.

  Ahead, James guided his horse around a tumble of stones, his lean figure easy in the saddle. She could not stop thinking about him. Paging through her sketchbook this morning it had become so clear—James in half-profile sitting beside the evening fire, James speaking with the Arab drivers, his face serious, his face smiling. Even when she had been trying to shut him out, she could not keep from drawing him.