A Most Delicate Pursuit

by Pamela Labud

  “No, I’m not. I just could never face Ash if he learned that I hadn’t taken good care of you.”

  He laughed at that but said nothing. He seemed to drift off after that.

  Not knowing what else to do, she tore another piece of her shift. After soaking it in the cool water, she started wiping his brow.

  He grabbed her wrist. “You’ve no need to trouble yourself.”

  “Nonsense. Let me try to ease your fever a bit.”

  He smiled up at her. “Ah, Beatrice, you are my angel.”

  She laughed at that. “No, I’m not. You forget, it’s because of me that you’re in this tangle to begin with.”

  Bea felt a catch in her chest. He’d called her his angel. His words both warmed her and thrilled her. “As you have been my brave knight,” she whispered.

  After she’d spoken, she saw that he’d ceased moving and had fallen to unconsciousness. Pressing her hand against his forehead once again, she realized that his brow had become warmer still. As she watched, his breathing changed from the quick, gasping breaths to slow and deep. Perhaps there was hope after all, she thought.

  It was like that until the first rays of daylight filtered through the thatch above them. Though he’d not so much as shifted since he’d fallen asleep, his pallor still remained wan, but at least he was no longer moaning.

  Rising from her spot beside him, Bea went to stoke the fireplace yet again. Thankfully Michael still had his flint and pipe in his pocket, or they wouldn’t have had that. But she knew that they’d little water and nothing to eat. It was time to gear up her resources and figure out what she needed to do to keep them both alive.

  Slipping outside, she surveyed the area around the cottage. Michael had found a stream not far from the cabin, so, following a worn path, she made her way to it. Filling two pots and a bucket, she carried the precious liquid back to the cottage. Once inside, she saw a chest in the corner of the storeroom and she went to investigate. Though the hinges were rusty and there was a layer of dust an inch thick upon it, she managed to pry the top open.

  What she found inside filled her with joy. Likely, the cottage had been used recently by hunters. In the chest there was a tin of tea, a fillet knife, and several utensils. This would allow her enough to catch and cook them a decent meal. If they were to have any food at all, it was up to her to provide it.

  Though she’d never been hunting a day in her life, Bea had a pretty good idea of what needed to be done. More than stealing a few eggs, indeed. When she’d gone to the creek she’d seen a fish swimming in the shallow water. Also, some fat plovers might make a meal, and nothing was better than broth to bring a man back from near death.

  Pushing back the thought of Michael’s condition, she set to work.

  —

  Michael drifted in a dream, occupying that place between wakefulness and sleep. He knew the world continued around him, having heard Beatrice’s movements around the cottage: her coming and going, stoking the fireplace, arranging his blankets, and dampening cloths to wipe his brow and ease his fever. She’d hummed part of the time and he realized that she’d the voice of an angel as well. In fact, it was as if her dulcet tones were what anchored him to life and he clung to every sound she made.

  “Michael. You need to wake up for a while.”

  “Hmmm?” He found it hard to arouse fully. It felt as if his mind were weighted down by a ten-stone weight.

  “I’ve made some broth and if you don’t get something inside of you, your condition will only worsen.”

  “Thirsty,” he managed.

  Seconds later, he felt a cup pressed to his lips and Beatrice’s small, cool hand at the back of his neck, tilting his head forward as she carefully dripped cool water into his mouth. He took a sip and then another. The water was cold and tasted like pure ambrosia.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said above him.

  He must have fainted after that because time flowed around him and the very next thing he knew, it was night again and the small cottage was filled with the scent of frying fish and steeping tea.

  “Beatrice?” he called out, struggling to sit up. Before he knew what was happening, he felt her suddenly beside him.

  “Easy or you’ll tear open your wound.”

  Opening his eye, he saw her there, standing between him and the hearth, a midnight angel set aglow by the modest fire she’d set.

  “I must have been dreaming.”

  She knelt beside him and, reaching into the pot beside her, dampened a cloth. “Must have been a terrifying dream,” she said, wiping his brow for what felt like the hundredth time since their arrival.

  Michael let out a breath. “I acted like a frightened child. My apologies.”

  She only smiled in response. “No need to apologize. We all have bad dreams every now and then.”

  “I’ve had my share.” He watched her a moment more. “So, will I live?”

  “I think you’re finally starting to recover,” she told him. “Your fever is almost gone.”

  It was true. While he wasn’t yet his old self, he did feel somewhat stronger, though, to be honest, there was something not right about him besides the scarred wound of his shoulder—something off or unusual. He couldn’t quite put his mind to it, just the same.

  Once she’d finished his brow, she went to work on his wound. Though it stung as she pulled the soiled cloth from the tender flesh, watching her kept his mind busy enough that it became nothing more than a mild irritation.

  As always, any time he spent with Beatrice was delightful. The musical sound of her laughter, her easy smile, and her quick wit combined with her ethereal beauty made her almost too hard to resist.

  But resist her, he did.

  It was paramount that he forever put away any thought about romantic entanglement with Beatrice. His very life depended on it, in fact. For he, more than anyone else, knew that he would never survive another failure. In spite of Beatrice’s tender nature, he was sure that any growing affection between them would only lead to disaster.

  In short, marry her, but do not fall in love with her.

  “Thank you,” he told her when she’d finished. Though his shoulder ached, it was from healing and not from putrid infection.

  She shushed him. “It’s I who owe you so much, Michael. None if this would have happened…”

  He stopped her. “There’s no blame, Beatrice. As your brother-in-law would say, we are simply victims of our circumstances.”

  “Of course.” She sighed and sat back on her heels. “I’ve managed a stew, of sorts”—she smiled—“though I’ve nothing more than a few wild radishes, some leeks, and some turnips. It looks as if someone has attempted a garden here about.”

  “Attempted is right. Those of us who take our hunting seriously come here and live on the rough.”

  “You mean rough as opposed to staying at Slyddon.”

  He laughed. “Yes, though we try to be ferocious hunters, the truth is we’re a mere passel of kittens when it comes to our comforts and Ash’s wine cellar.”

  Beatrice laughed and Michael could have drowned in the sound of it. “Still, it’s good for one to try to live by one’s wits, you know. Builds character.”

  “Actually, I was thinking the very same thing.”

  He was taken aback at her statement. “Really?”

  She nodded. “Indeed. The truth is, America is a very big place.”

  “Larger than all of Europe and then some. But, you’re going to Boston, correct?”

  “Yes. But, one never knows where life will lead one, you know. I was thinking that if I were somehow to become lost in the woods, or if my employment was not agreeable, I’d have a much better chance if I knew how to take care of myself.”

  “Beatrice, I hardly think that your employer would throw you to the streets, or that wilderness, for that matter. If nothing else, they would send you back here.”

  She shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t know all
that much about Lady Ringsley. Well, other than what my inquiries have provided. But, either way, a girl needs to be prepared for every instance.”

  “I suppose that’s wise.”

  She grinned. “Yes, I believe so, too.” She let out a breath. “So, in light of that, I’ve a favor to ask you.”

  Michael propped himself up on his good arm and eyed her carefully.

  “What can I do?”

  “Teach me how to hunt. Oh, and fish, though I think I have a good start on that. I did manage to catch some fish in that stream where you fetched our water yesterday.”

  “That’s a tall order. And, I have to say, not something a lady usually requests.”

  She laughed at that. “Well, you have to admit, I’m not really like most ladies.”

  “I have to agree with you there.” He thought on it for a moment. She was right about America. More than that, he feared more danger might await her, no matter what happened. There would be no harm in teaching her to defend herself as well. In fact, he was surprised he hadn’t thought of it already.

  “Very well, I will teach you. We’ve a few days more here, I think. Best not to tarry too long in any one place for now.”

  “Oh, thank you.” She lunged forward and, throwing her arms around him, gave him a vigorous hug.

  Michael gasped when she suddenly landed against him. Engulfing him in her warmth, nothing but the thin cloth of her bodice keeping them from touching skin to skin, nearly drove him mad.

  “Beatrice,” he whispered, half of him hoping she wouldn’t hear his plea. “Please,” he muttered, not sure whether he wanted her to continue their embrace or push away.

  “Oh,” she said, suddenly jerking backward, covering her mouth with both hands. “I’m sorry. I’ve hurt your shoulder.”

  He gave her a half-pained expression, very grateful that she thought it was his discomfort that made him pull away and not his body’s lustful response to her closeness.

  “It’s all right. I’m fine.” He did his best to concentrate on his breathing and not the riotous myriad of images that stormed through his mind.

  Beatrice naked on his bed, Beatrice in his arms with her hair loose and flowing around her shoulders, and, worst of all, Beatrice, straddling him, her center poised just above his erection.

  “Thank heavens,” she said, the sound of her voice drawing him back into the present. “I feel terrible causing you further discomfort.”

  Michael bit down on a moan. “Perhaps you could get me a cup of water,” he managed. “I’d get it myself, but I feel a bit weak.” Which was partially true, the other part that if he moved in the slightest, he’d reveal the hardened results of their embrace still evident in his trousers.

  “Of course,” she said, jumping to her feet and returning a moment later with a cup for him. As relieved as he was to have her move away, a part of him really wished she’d stayed. The same part that wanted her in his arms more than ever. The part that would have him begging for her attentions and making an utter fool of himself.

  More than that, Beatrice had decided what to do with her life. Though he’d wanted nothing more than to ravage her like a randy teenager, he respected her far too much to even suggest such a thing. One thing he knew for certain is that the sooner he got her to agree to marry him and send her back to her family, the less time there’d be for him to lose control over his baser nature.

  Lose control.

  What was it about her that affected him so? Never in his life had he been so ready to change himself so completely. More than that, even now when she was out of his sight, he felt like a part of him had gone missing.

  The thought of being without Beatrice left him cold, and that bothered him greatly. Before, when he’d been engaged and later married, he’d still remained a man alone. Aloof. Separate. But with Beatrice, if he let her into his heart, he knew he would never be able to live without her again. It wouldn’t just change his single status. It would change him completely. And though he’d long wanted to be that sort of man—a man in love, like Ash, for instance—he also feared it more than anything.

  What if he failed with Beatrice as he had failed everyone else in his life?

  But then, what if he didn’t?

  In the end, it was that small hope that sustained him. More than that, he wanted to be the man Beatrice needed him to be—one who wouldn’t ever fail her, who wouldn’t use her to his own ends, but instead a man who would love her in the way she deserved to be loved.

  He’d risk everything for Beatrice, no matter the cost. Of course, she could refuse him once again, and he’d accede to her wishes. He wasn’t like Bainbridge—he would not force a woman into marriage. It would break his heart, for certain, but she was worth all that and more.

  So the only thing for him to do was prove his love for her and hope that she, too, would fall in love with him.

  He would have to mount a campaign to earn her love. Michael had been an excellent soldier and a clever tactician. If any man alive could earn her love, he knew it was him. From that moment on, he would double his efforts to win her heart.

  —

  Beatrice couldn’t believe her good luck. One would think that fleeing one’s home in the middle of the night, only to be attacked and nearly killed later, would be a terrible run of misfortune. As a rule, she would have heartily agreed.

  But since those harrowing events had happened two days earlier, she’d had enough time to consider more than her running away from home. As a result of her perils, her resolve and her strength had been tested. In spite of her being frightened out of her wits, she’d managed to follow Michael’s directions to the letter. She’d endured terrible weather and being lost in the wilderness. She’d proved herself most useful at tending to her companion when he might very well have died without her intervention.

  In short, she’d learned that whatever came against her, she would manage to overcome it.

  More than that, however, was the very opportunity their present situation accorded her. Michael was an excellent outdoorsman. He’d fought in the war and had been pushed beyond the limits of endurance. He could survive in the wild, and very likely thrive in it.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Michael asked her as he worked on sharpening the end of a particularly sturdy stick he meant to turn into an arrow.

  “I am. I believe knowing how to care for oneself is more valuable than any of the skills I’ve learned thus far. I mean, there are savages in America. Or I might have to defend myself from a bear. I’m quite sure speaking seven languages and playing the piano forte will be of no use in a fight.”

  Michael smiled. “Of course. Still, if you do find yourself about to be abandoned, do try to get a message out. No matter where you are, Beatrice, I assure you, Ash and I will come to your rescue.”

  She crossed her arms. “I’m sure you would, but being months away and having to cross an ocean, I need to stay alive until you get there.”

  “True. Very well. Let me see what I can find that will work as string for a bow.”

  She watched him dig into the chest and became mesmerized by his tall, lean, and muscular form. Fascinated by the way his muscles moved under his skin, it puzzled her why she’d never really noticed the wide span of his shoulders or how his body narrowed to his waist. And when she looked down to the juncture where his back ended in his firm, round bottom, well, it absolutely made her mouth go dry.

  The room went warm around her and Beatrice started to fan herself. She’d been attracted to men before, and Michael in particular. But this was different. Since they’d landed in this broken-down cottage, it was all she could do to keep away from him. Impossible to do, for the most part, but made even worse when she thought of touching him. Suddenly she wanted to sit next to him, to hold his hands, to lean in for a kiss…

  Beatrice shook herself. What in Heaven’s name was she thinking? Michael had proven on more than one occasion that he’d not wanted an entanglement from her. The way he’d always mana
ged to slip away when they’d unexpectedly met at parties, or how he’d sit the farthest away from her when he’d come to dine with Ash and Caroline. She was not a fool or a child. She easily understood his discomfort whenever they’d been thrown together.

  And now, it must have been utter torture to be forced to not only spend time with her but be forced to let her tend to his wound.

  “Brava,” he shouted, rising up from the floor. “I’ve found a good measure of bowstring. Fortunately for us, the cottage’s former inhabitants left us a generous amount of hemp with which to string our bow.”

  “Really?” Beatrice moved to peer over his shoulder. “I went through that chest myself and I saw nothing of the kind.”

  Michael laughed. “Of course not. There’s a false bottom, see?”

  “How very clever of them,” Bea said as she leaned in closer. “Look! There are more knives.”

  “And a pistol with gunpowder,” he said, pulling out the gun and the small pouch. “Good show.”

  She was so delighted that when he turned to her, Bea threw her arms around his neck. For a few seconds, the joy of their find overcame them both.

  “We might just survive this caper after all.” He laughed.

  She smiled, pulling back. When she looked up at him, their gazes locked and it seemed an eternity passed while they hung suspended in the moment.

  “Yes,” she said at last, looking away. “I need to fetch fresh water,” she said and practically ran from the room.

  What am I doing? Walking to the creek’s edge, Bea spied a rock set against a tree. Taking advantage of the shady spot, she sat down for a moment.

  What had just happened?

  “Beatrice,” Michael said, suddenly behind her.

  Jumping to her feet, she turned to face him. “I…,” she began, but her words failed her.

  “You forgot your bucket,” he said, and held it out to her.

  Beatrice took a breath before reaching out to take it. “How silly of me. I swear, my head must be frolicking in the clouds.”

  The moment she touched the handle, he pulled her close and, embracing her with his good arm, leaned down and kissed her.