Scandalous Summer Nights

by Anne Barton

  She grabbed her makeshift pick and tin cup, then walked along the little path she always traveled to the river. Upon hearing the gurgle of the water over rocks, she ran to the river’s edge, leaned over, and filled her cup. Greedily, she drank, emptying the cup before dipping it into the river again.

  The water ran down her throat, crisp and cool, slaking her thirst and easing the pounding in her head. She lay in the grass, remembering the glorious afternoons she’d spent there with James. That was the unique torture of this place—memories of him surrounded her.

  With a sigh, she sat up and walked farther along the river, soaking in the beauty of the mist-covered mountains and peaceful pastures. She was just about to hop onto the sand beside the riverbank to dig when an odd chill stole over her skin.

  She froze, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, as though someone were watching her.

  Dropping her things, she ran toward the security of the woods. Heedless of the branches and thorns that assaulted her, she darted toward the old cabin and ran inside. Her hands trembled as she slid the lock into place.

  As her heart pounded violently, she told herself that her nervousness was due to lack of food and companionship. She sank onto her pallet and pulled her knees to her chest. For several minutes, she barely breathed as she listened for the sound of footsteps in the brush or the rattle of the rickety door in its frame.

  But it turned out that no one had followed her, and she needn’t have worried.

  She was quite, quite alone.

  James had been to London and back looking for Olivia.

  But she’d vanished like a fairy into the forest. Gone.

  Though she’d stopped at the inn in Sutterside, she’d never stayed there. And while she’d asked a couple of people about the mail coach, no one seemed to have actually seen her on one. He did find the horse she’d taken when she left Haven Bridge. And a farmer close by said he’d sold fruit to a young woman with a large bag.

  Olivia’s trail had grown cold after that. He’d visited her aunt Eustace’s house and, on Rose’s suggestion, their cousin Amelia in London, but neither one had seen Olivia. Everyone was desperately worried about her. Especially him.

  She’d been gone for seven nights, and when he thought of all the danger that could have befallen her, it made him insane.

  But after interrogating three different serving women at three different inns along the highway today, he realized he needed a new strategy.

  And he needed something to go on.

  So he was going back to where the trail had started to retrieve the only real clue he had—Olivia’s letter.

  He’d left it at the cottage where her family was staying, and it occurred to him that they might have some new information as well. So he reluctantly returned to Haven Bridge—without Olivia.

  He was a few miles outside the village when he noticed a scuffle going on, well off the side of the road, to his right and up a small hill. Urging his horse forward, he rode up the incline to investigate.

  An elderly man holding a basket of vegetables cowered as a larger man in a torn, filthy jacket circled him, wielding a knife.

  They both turned in surprise as James approached and dismounted. He eyed the man with the knife. “This is hardly a fair fight. You have a dagger, while your opponent is armed with a few potatoes and carrots.”

  “This is no fight,” the old man croaked, as if James could not deduce what was going on. “He tried to steal my vegetables!”

  The robber sneered at James, his yellow teeth gleaming against the backdrop of his grimy face. “Spare me your lectures. You know what they say about thieves and honor. I don’t give a damn about fairness. I want an advantage.” His gaze flicked over James’s empty hands. “And right now, it looks like I have it.”

  The robber turned his attention to James and took three steps toward him.

  James didn’t budge. The farmer, wild-eyed and trembling behind the robber, reached for a potato and cocked his arm as if to hurl the spud at his attacker. James shook his head and waved him off. “I’ll handle things from here.”

  The old man hobbled quickly down the hill toward the road, losing a couple of carrots on the way.

  “Your valuables,” the thief demanded, waggling his fingers at James. “Let’s have them.”

  James’s fists clenched involuntarily; he stretched his fingers and smiled. “You’ve terrorized enough people for one day. Pack up your things and go far away. Don’t come back. Ever.”

  “Maybe I will take a nice long ride—on that horse of yours. But first I’ll have your blunt and your valuables.”

  “I wouldn’t even give you a halfpenny.”

  “Brave talk for a fellow facing the tip of my blade.” He admired the sharp point. “There’s no ladies around to impress, you know.”

  “And do you prey on helpless women, too?”

  “Well, now. I could tell you that I don’t, but it’d be a lie.” He cackled at his own twisted wit.

  The skin between James’s shoulder blades prickled. “Have you seen a young woman traveling alone here in the past week?”

  “Maybe. What’s it worth to you?”

  James’s patience snapped. He took one stride forward, grabbed the hand with the knife, and twisted it behind the thief’s back. “What did you do to her?” A lethal mix of rage and dread coursed through his veins, and his self-control teetered on the edge of a cliff. “Think carefully before you answer, because I’ll jump at any damned excuse to break your neck.”

  The robber struggled to twist himself free, but James tightened his grip until the thief’s fingers turned blue and the knife dropped to the ground.

  “Where is the lady?” If he’d hurt Olivia, he was dead. Stone cold.

  “It was a week ago I saw her. All I took from her was a bottle of wine.”

  “Lying bastard.” James spun the thief around and slammed a fist into his chin. He staggered back, landed on his ass in the dirt, and immediately began scuttling backward.

  “What did you do to her?”

  “Nothing!” The robber struggled to stand, blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth.

  James shoved him in the chest, easily knocking him back to the ground. “I want to know exactly what happened. Where is she now?”

  “How the hell should I know? I looked through her bag—there was nothing worth taking. Just some clothes and food.”

  “Food?” It seemed a curious item to pack, unless… “What else?” James growled through his clenched teeth.

  “A small pouch of coins. Hardly anything.”

  “And you took them.”

  “I left her the food.” The thief scooted away until James grabbed him by the front of his jacket and hauled him to his feet.

  “If I find out that you laid a hand on her, harmed her in any way—”

  “I didn’t, I swear! She pulled a knife on me. I had to run for my life.”

  “You should have run farther.”

  Before the robber could reply, James landed a solid blow to his nose. His eyes rolled back in his head and he dropped to the dirt like someone had chopped him down with an ax.

  He wasn’t dead, but close.

  Oddly enough, the encounter gave James newfound hope. If Olivia had truly managed to escape the thief—and if any woman could, it was she—then perhaps her trail was not as cold as he feared.

  Why had she brought food with her? She may have wanted to travel without stopping for meals, or… perhaps she planned to hide out indefinitely. But where?

  He checked the thief’s pockets and found a gold watch and a few coins, but nothing that could be traced back to Olivia.

  At least he knew she had been on this path, presumably traveling on foot, just seven days ago. He would walk it, looking for clues, on his way back to Haven Bridge.

  He took his horse by the reins, leading him down the narrow, grassy trail, unsure of what he hoped to find. Maybe a scrap of fabric had ripped off the hem of her dress or she
’d dropped a hairpin or some other bauble. He was desperate to find any little thing that might confirm she’d been there and hadn’t vanished from the face of the earth.

  And then, something bright gold winked amid the weeds and brush along the side of the path. He blinked, and it was gone. He took a few steps forward and dropped to his knees, parting the tall grass and searching for the glint of gold.

  There it was.

  The ring they’d found together at the river. He recognized the smooth, ancient metal, the beveled edge, the delicate size. Olivia’s ring.

  His mind spun madly. Why would her ring have been carelessly tossed in the brush?

  He couldn’t imagine her discarding it—regardless of what she’d written in her letter, he knew that the afternoons they’d spent by the river meant something. And those memories were all wrapped up in this ring. No, she wouldn’t have willingly gotten rid of it.

  But what if there had been a struggle? The robber could have demanded she take it off or tried to wrestle it from her. And if she’d resisted at all—just the foolishly brave sort of thing that Olivia would do—the ring might have gone flying into the grass, lost. Until he stumbled upon it.

  Dread chilled his insides. He prayed that Olivia had fled from the thief as fast as her legs could carry her and that somehow, somewhere, she was safe. But his discovery of the ring shook his faith. Like a punch to the temple that comes out of nowhere, it left him stunned and reeling.

  Dear God, he loved her.

  He loved her with an intensity that frightened him. He should have realized it before now, but he’d been distracted. His expedition, her father’s letter, the fight with Huntford, and his guilt over the way he’d treated his brother had kept him from seeing what he should have seen all along.

  She was the center of his world, the only thing that really mattered.

  The possibility that something terrible might have happened to her shook him to his core. His life was nothing without her. He’d give up a pharaoh’s riches to have her by his side. And he prayed he had the chance to tell her that.

  He brushed the ring across his lips before sliding it deep into his pocket.

  He thought of the thief lying unconscious several yards behind him. Certainly there was more to the story than the robber had revealed. Part of James wanted to revive him with a splash of water and demand the rest of the facts; part of him wanted to revive him just so he could pummel him all over again.

  The only thing James knew for sure was that the pieces of the puzzle were not fitting together. He needed to analyze Olivia’s letter again, find out what Huntford had learned—if anything—and devise a new plan.

  He simply had to find Olivia. And he had the awful, sickening feeling that time was his enemy.

  The sights and sounds around him came into sharp focus—the weeds rustling in the breeze, the shadow of a hawk circling overhead, the frantic drumming of his heart in his chest. He pulled his horse alongside him, jumped into the saddle, and took off, hoping Haven Bridge would hold some answers.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Strata: (1) Layers of earth that correspond to different historical periods. (2) Levels of social hierarchy or class, as in

  The daughter of a duke and a mere solicitor may be in completely different social strata but still be perfectly matched.

  Through the window of the cabin, Olivia watched the sky turn pink. It would be dark soon, her self-imposed week of seclusion almost over.

  She would spend one more night there, and in the morning use what little of her strength remained to walk to Uncle Humphrey’s cottage. She wondered if James’s kind old uncle would even recognize her.

  Her normally bouncy curls were limp and tired. Her dress, covered in dirt and dust, hung on her like a sack. She could scarcely imagine how pale and drawn her face must look.

  And so, partly because she had no wish to give Uncle Humphrey a stroke, and partly because she desperately longed to be clean again, she decided that on this, her last night, she’d risk a quick swim in the river.

  She found the small cake of lavender soap she’d packed, unwrapped it, and inhaled its sweet scent. She gathered the tin cup, too, and the shawl that would have to serve as a towel. When the sky turned a smoky shade of purple, she ventured out of the cabin.

  The small indulgence of bathing in the river wasn’t going to ease the heartache of losing James—she doubted anything could—but at least she might feel human again.

  She traipsed along the trail to the river, dropped her things on the grassy bank, and drank several cups of water. Nothing but pastures, mountains, and gorgeous sky surrounded her, and still, she hesitated. Stripping naked out of doors was daring, even for her. It had been different when James had been with her. She’d been too distracted by the heat in his green eyes and the feel of his hands on her to be embarrassed or ashamed.

  So much had changed since then.

  But after a week of tears, boredom, and hunger, she was determined to enjoy this small pleasure. She took a deep breath and hauled her dress and chemise over her head in one swoop, relieved to be free of the soiled garments. Her skin tingled in the humid evening air, and as she released her hair from its braid, the long strands tickled the small of her back.

  She hopped down the embankment and sat on a smooth rock at the water’s edge. The rock, still warm from the sun, heated her bottom while she dipped her toes into the cool, gurgling river. Her nipples tightened in anticipation as she eased herself into the chilly water.

  Without James to carry her, she couldn’t be squeamish about letting her feet sink into the soft bed of the river. She grabbed the soap, dunked her head beneath the water’s surface, and came up gasping, cold droplets running down her neck. After lathering the soap between her palms, she worked it through her hair, then leaned back and let the gentle current rinse the suds away. Next, she scrubbed every inch of her body, from the tip of her nose to the spaces between her toes.

  When at last she was done, she stepped from the river, skin pink and glowing in the moonlight, and rubbed herself dry with her soft shawl.

  Darkness had fallen quickly, but she was reluctant to return to the cabin—and even more reluctant to don the dirty clothes she’d worn before.

  But maybe she didn’t have to.

  She scooped up her dress and chemise and, holding them at arm’s length, walked back to the river. It would only take a few more minutes to wash them, and if she hung them out overnight, they’d be mostly dry by morning; she could face Uncle Humphrey and her family wearing clean clothes.

  She’d left her other, equally dirty, gown back in the cabin, so she had nothing to wear while she washed the clothes. Still, it wasn’t as though she had any company, save for a random deer or fox, and it wasn’t as though they wore breeches or jackets either.

  So, whistling a melancholy ballad, she plopped herself down on the warm, smooth rock and went about washing her gown—her first ever attempt at playing the part of laundry maid.

  Oddly enough, she found that the mindless work of swirling, soaping, rinsing, and wringing was rather soothing. It even took her mind off of James—a little bit.

  James burst into Uncle Humphrey’s cottage and strode into the study, where Humphrey, not surprisingly, snored in his chair. Ralph limped into the room behind him, a crooked smile lighting his youthful face. “Welcome back.”

  “You’re still here.” James hugged him, holding on a little longer than usual. “I thought you and Mother might have decided to return home. I glad you didn’t.” He led Ralph back into the small foyer so they wouldn’t disturb Humphrey.

  “M-Mother turned in early tonight. Should I wake her?”

  “No, let her rest.”

  “She’s been worried about you,” Ralph admitted. “I told her you would be all right.”

  “Of course I am. Olivia is the one who is in danger.”

  “Wh-where is she?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea.” James dragged a hand through his
hair. “A couple times I thought I was close to finding her, but I wasn’t. The only clue I have is this.” He dug deep into his pocket, withdrew the ring, and held it out for Ralph to see. “It’s hers. I found it on a path that runs parallel to the main road just outside the village.”

  Ralph looked at the ring soberly, as if he understood that it represented all of James’s hopes—and his worst fears. “M-maybe it was loose and fell off while she was walking,” he ventured hopefully.

  “Perhaps,” James replied. But he knew that the ring had fit snugly. He sank onto a bench in the cramped hallway and patted the space beside him; Ralph joined him.

  They sat in silence for a minute, each lost in thought as James turned the gold band over and over between his finger and thumb. “We found it a couple of weeks ago while I was digging on the northwest corner of Humphrey’s property. Olivia was the one who spotted it in the soil. I knew she was destined to have it.”

  Ralph shook his head as though he hadn’t heard correctly. “B-by the river? I was walking there earlier today.”

  “That far? You really are getting stronger,” James said proudly.

  Normally, Ralph would have beamed at the compliment, but he frowned like he hadn’t heard it. “It’s odd you should m-mention that place. I thought I saw someone walking near the tree line this morning, but they d-disappeared into the woods before I could tell for certain.”

  Good God. The cabin was nearby. What if she’d—

  James grasped Ralph by the shoulders. “Could it have been Olivia?”

  “The p-person was far away. I j-just assumed it was a boy poaching.” He closed his eyes as though he were envisioning the scene. “B-but yes,” he said confidently. “It could have been her.”

  Suddenly, all the clues made sense. She’d packed clothes and food and wine. She’d never gotten on the mail coach.

  What if, this whole time, Olivia had been hiding on Humphrey’s land, almost in plain sight? What if she’d spent the better part of a week trying to survive alone, in a primitive cabin in the woods?