And since what had once been the draw bridge now lay beneath them, a pile of grayed lumber, splinters spearing up like spikes on a mace, they may very well have to.
Jim stood so close to the edge of the moat the scuffed toes of his boots extended a full inch over the brink. “Jim, get back.”
He didn’t move, just kept staring up at the ridiculous structure, his eyes hooded, jaw set. He lifted his head, looking up at the crooked heights of the tower, and swayed a little.
“Would you just get back, you stupid man!”
His head jerked back before he turned her way. “I’m not going to fall,” he told her. “But it’s nice to know you worry about me.”
As if she were fool enough to worry about him. A woman who worried about a man like him, a man who spent half his life in dangerous places, clinging to the side of a mountain, rafting down rivers that had swallowed dozens of men whole, would forfeit countless nights’ sleep staring at the ceiling and imagining the worst.
She simply wasn’t that dumb. And all those nights during which she’d memorized every fold in the silk canopy over her bed, learned exactly where the moonlight fell on her wall every hour between midnight and sunrise—it was only ridiculous coincidence that so many of them happened shortly after one of his letters arrived.
“I wasn’t worried about you,” she snapped. “But having my partner die in the first week doesn’t bode well for my chances of winning.”
Pain streaked through his sherry wine eyes, causing her to realize the implications of her words. “Oh, Jim, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…I didn’t think…darn it!” Unthinkingly, she placed her hand on the tense muscle of his forearm. “I never for an instant meant to stir up bad memories. Nor ever, ever believed the papers had the right of it and the tragedy was your fault.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He contemplated her hand on his arm for a moment. His shirt was rolled up, his skin dark beneath her fingers, encased in thin cotton not quite as white as it had been two days ago. She felt the flex of muscle beneath her fingers, perceptible even through the cloth, too interested to move her hand away even though she knew she should. Without realizing what she’d intended, she squeezed, marveling that his flesh had no give to it at all.
“It doesn’t matter what I think?”
“It doesn’t matter what anybody thinks,” he said, voice utterly without expression, and shook off her hand.
Doesn’t it? she wondered. Then why did he look like that, hollow-eyed, pale?
“We’re already behind.” He stepped over the edge of the moat, skidding down two feet as he dug in his heels. He dislodged a clump of mud that tumbled down and plopped into the green water, punching a dark hole in the scum that was quickly swallowed up by the backwash. “Time to get moving.”
“Where are you going?”
The look he tossed her was all too familiar. The you’re pretty, but you’re not too quick on the uptake, are you? look. “Where do you think?”
“Through that?”
“How else?”
“How else do you suppose everybody else got there?” Somehow she could not imagine the prince of…whatever he was the prince of…trailing his beautiful silk robes through that. But then, he probably sent his minions into the muck while he relaxed in a tent with one of those poor women.
Jim hooked a thumb in the direction of the remnants of the drawbridge. “Over that, I imagine. But I don’t think it’s an option for us.”
“But—”
“See how gray most of the wood is, how pale the sharp edges are? It hasn’t been down long.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t noticed the details, but it was perfectly obvious now that he pointed it out. “Wonderful. That bridge has stood for decades and it falls down just when we need it.”
There was that look again, so dismissive that she was half tempted to give him an assist down that slope—with her foot.
“Somebody smashed it after they’d gotten their clue?”
He inched halfway down. “You can bet on it.”
“But that’s not fair!”
That made him laugh, so much so he had to grab for a protruding root to steady himself. “So says the queen of fair play. Or should I say the ace.”
“Point taken,” she admitted. “But the rules…”
“You’ll find the rules pretty darn flexible when fifty thousand dollars, not to mention a lot of pride, is at stake. We’ll be lucky if someone didn’t booby-trap this damned moat.”
“Booby traps?” She eyed the slick water with open suspicion, half expecting spears to pierce the undulating green. Jim was only one short slide from the edge. “Wait!”
“For what?” He probed the edge with his toe. Muck rippled sluggishly away from the contact.
“How deep do you think that is, anyway?” Nerves jittered in a stomach already offended by the stench.
“What do you care? No one’s asking you to come along.”
He said it so easily, as if it had never even occurred to him that she might try. If she didn’t go now, she’d be sitting in the shade with a fan the entire trip, waiting for him to do all the work. Tempting, but she’d committed to doing this and she was damn well going to do it. “Of course I’m coming!”
“I wouldn’t really recommend it.”
“I want to come,” she said, with enough fake enthusiasm to choke a bull.
He snorted, then waved her nearer. “Come on, then.”
“How deep?”
“What does it matter? I can swim.”
“I can’t,” she lied.
Frowning in exasperation, Jim glanced up and down the wall of mud. “Hand me that stick.”
“This one?” The branch, six feet long and no thicker than her thumb, decorated with a few shriveled oak leaves, balanced on the edge of the ledge. She held on by the very tip and extended it to him, though her nose didn’t appreciate bending so close to the moat.
“Thanks.” He yanked it from her grasp. Unprepared, she wavered on her perch as her stomach lodged in her throat.
Jim jabbed the stick into the muck. It sunk in two feet and stuck there, vibrating like a tuning fork. “Two feet. Good enough?”
“Wonderful.” Just wonderful. She’d been hoping it was deep enough to swallow up that stupid stick. Two feet gave her no excuse at all.
Jim waded in, water lapping at his shins.
“How’s the water?” she asked, as sprightly as if they were in Newport and he’d just dipped a toe into the frothy ocean.
“Slimy.” He surged forward.
“Wait!”
“What now?” he asked, irritation finally getting the better of him.
She dredged up the most winning smile she could manage. Odd, how the encouraging expressions, always so easy for her to wield, were becoming so hard for her to aim convincingly his way. “There’s no reason for both of us to ruin our shoes.”
“I already said you didn’t have to come.”
“There are…other options.”
Hands on his hips, shin deep in muck, he stared at her in disbelief. “You want a ride?”
“Oh, it’s not like you allowed me to bring along so many shoes that I can afford to waste a pair for no good reason.” She caught herself halfway to a pout. Petulance might have worked when she was seventeen, but she could do much better now. “And it’s not as if you’d have any trouble carrying me,” she purred, her lashes fluttering, casting a provocative look down his strong frame.
“Oh, no you don’t.” He surged toward her. “Don’t try that on me.” He pitched his voice high, the annoying whine of a mosquito, and mimicked: “Oooh, you big strong man. You simply must rescue little ol’ me.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” she said, trying to look offended, knowing a smile was on the verge of betraying her.
“Of course not.” He turned around, presenting her with a broad, cotton-clad back. “Climb on.”
“But I thought you said…”
“Not because you simpered at me.
” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “But because you’re right. It would be stupid for both of us to ruin our shoes.”
You’re right. Lord, but those words from him could keep her going a while. She began to gather her skirts but felt the heat of his steady regard. “Do you mind?”
“Not a bit. Go right ahead.”
After ten seconds it became clear that he wouldn’t be shamed into politely turning his back. Kate bent to her skirts again, feeling heat climb her cheeks no matter how many times she told herself not to be girlish. It was not as if she hadn’t flashed her cleavage at him that first night with ruthless abandon. But that had been so calculated and detached there had seemed nothing whatsoever sexual about it. But now, as he watched her with open appreciation, she felt anything but detached.
She hadn’t been shy about such a silly thing since she was barely into her teens. And so she yanked up her skirts in one abrupt motion, drawing them nearly to her knees, giving him a full view of stocking-clad ankles, a long length of shin. “You’re going to have to turn around now,” she told him.
“Huh?”
“So I can get on.”
He shook his head. “Of course.” He spun around, stirring up a small whirlpool around his ankles.
His head was bent. The thick, rich waves of his hair had been clipped short midway down his strong, dark neck, a faint V arrowing down until it disappeared into his collar. His shoulders were broad, a lovely width of muscle beneath limp cotton.
She swallowed. Saving herself from wallowing through that nasty water had seemed like such a good idea at the time. But lately all her good ideas seemed to have unintended consequences. “Umm…”
“You’ve got two seconds before I start walking. If you want to cross after that, it’s going to be under your own steam.”
Gingerly, she stepped as close to the edge of the water as she could manage without actually touching the slop. Then she reached out, put one hand on his shoulder, and jumped. Skirts billowed around her, around him, as she latched on, arms around his neck, legs hugging his side.
“Jesus!” He staggered back. “You’re not as light as you look.” He leaned forward, trying to find his balance, then tugged at her arms clenched around his neck. “You’re strangling me.”
“I’m so very sorry,” she said, and squeezed tighter.
“I meant you’re light as a bird. A little bird. A feather, even. You just jump with, um, purpose, that’s all. And I was unprepared.”
“That’s better.” She loosened her hold. But only a bit—why risk tumbling off?
He moved through the water, his body shifting against hers. It was an intimate posture, her breasts pressed hard against his back, her thighs snug along his sides. His hair, sun-warmed, silky, was just beneath her nose. He’d dunked his head nearly every time they passed a stream. Every time they made camp, he’d disappear for a quarter hour and return dripping. And now his scent came to her, blotting out the stench of the moat. He smelled of clean water, warmth, man—oh, what was it about a man that smelled so good? She dropped her head, allowing her nose to just brush the top of one wave, as soft as it looked.
With each step he took, the muscles of his sides flexed against the inside of her thighs, the motion steadily rhythmic. Sometimes she bumped against his back, sending a jolt of pure sensation spearing through her.
“Stop that.” His words barely penetrated her lovely haze.
“Stop what?” she murmured.
“Stop wiggling, I’m going to drop—” At that, his arm whipped around, his hand coming up hard beneath her rump, and she yelped. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “I wasn’t aiming—I mean, I just wanted to keep you from falling, and…oh, hell.” He released her abruptly, forcing her to cling like a monkey, and charged across the moat. Water lapped behind them, dampening her trailing hem, but she paid it no mind. Speed now took on primary importance, for if she stayed plastered against his back for much longer, their little indiscretion in the gazebo was going to be the least of what they had to regret.
The instant he gained semidry land she let go, sliding down like a jelly released from its mold. Jim was puffing as if he’d run five miles instead of a mere thirty feet, his chest bellowing in and out—a chest that she was now far more familiar with than her peace of mind allowed. Her palms still held the feel of him, slab-hard, completely male. And she’d always been one to appreciate a well-made man, even if she’d never had the right to touch.
But why not now? Foolish, treacherous thought; it whispered along the edge of her mind like a poisonous serpent, lurking, waiting, every bit as lethal. She was no longer a married woman, no longer a girl. Neither vow nor convention prohibited her from touching a man who appealed to her.
But if she did, the least she could do was choose a man who actually liked her. And no matter how attractive Jim was, no matter how sturdy and utterly lovely his muscles, that was an insurmountable flaw.
“Thank you,” she murmured, unwilling to meet his eyes. Good intentions, she’d learned long ago and to her everlasting regret, often failed beneath the power of Jim Bennett’s eyes.
“Forget it.”
She nearly laughed aloud. As if that were ever going to happen.
“We’d best get going,” he continued, and held out his hand, palm up.
“I—” She hesitated. She didn’t need any more evidence that touching him, having him touch her, was a very bad idea. But the bank above her was steep and slick, and she didn’t relish the thought of slipping back into the muck. She took a deep breath, trying to steel herself against the feel of him, and knew the instant that she placed her hand upon his that she’d failed utterly. There was no way to armor herself against him. His hand was warm, hard and rough and entirely gentle, his fingers wrapping around hers with firm possession.
“It’s all right,” he promised. “Do you think I’d let you fall in, now that I’ve gone to the trouble of getting you this far?”
He was as good as his word. They clambered up with little incident. Kate nearly forgot the treacherous slope beneath her—every sense she had, every thought, was too thoroughly occupied with the feel of her hand in his. His strength was so obvious, the skin callused from the work he’d done—not the hands of a pampered aristocrat at all. These were competent hands, hands that had done their share of work and done it well. Hands that could drag a man his size up the side of a mountain surely wouldn’t let her slip away.
“Here we are.” He gave one last pull, lifting her over the rim and setting her down in one movement. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Of course I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You’re a little flushed.”
She snatched her hand away, hoping he hadn’t noticed that she’d left it in his too long. “I’m fine,” she snapped.
His mouth flattened into a harsh line. “Whatever you say.” He turned toward the doorway.
The big arched door that must have once filled the massive opening was long gone. They stepped inside and instantly the temperature dropped a good ten degrees, the light blotted away as if the sun had just dropped below the horizon.
“Well, isn’t this cozy?” Jim asked. The walls were dark and stained with damp, hung with the shredded remains of fake ancient tapestries. Two rusted crossed swords hung above a soot-blackened hearth flanked by the moldering heads of two unfortunate stags.
“Remind you too much of home?”
“More than you know.” And then he visibly shook off the gloom. “Ready to start? We’ve only got an hour or so of daylight left.”
“What are we looking for?”
“Anything that doesn’t belong.” He nudged a rotting carpet with his toe and it shredded at the first bump. “Something that’s not falling apart, maybe.”
“There can’t be much of that.” Kate wandered farther into the room, looking up at the swags of thick cobwebs that swung from every beam.
“Well, if we’re not in the right place, everybody else came here, too.�
� Trails ran through the thick layer of dust over the slate floor. A flurry of muddy footprints clustered in front of the hearth. “Seems like most of the action was this way,” he said, heading for the opening that led off to the left, a dark tunnel beneath the curve of the stairway to the second-floor gallery.
He paused in the shadow of the archway and waited for her. He hadn’t waited for her since they’d begun. Usually he just strode off with an impatience that implied he hoped she wouldn’t follow. But now he stood expectantly, hands on those narrow hips with an expression on his face that, while not exactly welcoming, no longer said: “The sooner you get away from me, and the farther, the better.”
She’d always thought she preferred polished men. Men with carefully combed hair and crisp white shirts and manicured nails.
And there he was, green and damp to his knees, hair badly cut, sporting whiskers that should have been shaved two days ago. A man who might have—and she had more than a few suspicions about that—been born to drawing rooms but who’d quit them a long time ago and thrown himself into the wildest, most uncivilized places he could find. And yet…he drew her now, even more than he had that evening he’d wandered into her gazebo and burned himself into her memories. There were twin gathers on the front of his shirt, the wrinkles where her fists had clutched him to hang on, and it all rushed at her at once, sensation, the smell of him, the feel of his body beneath her, however innocent it had been at the time. But there was nothing, ever, the least bit innocent about touching him.
“I think I’ll go this way.” She gestured awkwardly behind her and fumbled for the explanation. “There’s no sense in us going together, is there?”
No longer forbidding? The glower returned in an instant, brows drawn down, shadowing his eyes to the point that no expression could light them. “Meet back here in half an hour. If you’re not back, I’ll come looking for you.”
For the space of a heartbeat, she allowed herself to believe it, to sink into the promise contained in that one sentence. I’ll come looking for you. But his next words brought her back to reality with a nasty thump.
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
A Wedding Story Page 9