Once an Innocent (31 page)

Sir Randell! In the chaos of evacuating the women and servants, Naomi hadn’t realized she’d not seen Jordan’s uncle. In fact, she hadn’t seen him since the previous day. Had something bad befallen him, as well as Aunt Janine?

Frightening images plagued her, and the jouncing of the horse against her ribs made it difficult to breathe, much less think. She pictured her aunt’s exuberant intellect, snuffed out by men serving a selfish little boy. Tears welled, making her view of the ground beneath her face even more blurred. There were so many people to worry over, so many to mourn. All those men killed to protect someone who didn’t want protection.

Behind her and Henri came the pounding of more horses. Hope flashed through her, only to be quickly extinguished when she saw all of the riders were French soldiers. What had become of Jordan and the others? Queasiness rolled through her.

On the road headed toward Lintern Village, they paused. The soldiers fell into formation surrounding Henri.

Henri called out in French, “Is the ship ready?”

“It will be; don’t worry,” answered one of the men. “Didier went ahead to alert the captain.”

“What of the woman?” asked another.

“We take her to the ship,” replied the first. “Then maybe toss her over the rail once we’re at sea.”

“That seems a terrible waste of a pretty girl. I’m sure we can think of a more entertaining way to toss her.”

“Silence!”
Henri yelled. His hand pressed firmly into the small of Naomi’s back. “None of you touch her.”

Another man snorted.
“Le duc
keeps her for himself. She might be gentle enough to train the pup.”

Conversation stopped as the group picked up speed.

Trees and rocks passed in a blur. Naomi’s neck ached from the strain of holding her head upright. Below her torso, the horse’s powerful muscles bunched and pulled, propelling them forward at a dizzying speed.

Her teeth clattered, and her temples soon throbbed. Her arms ached from being tied behind her back. Naomi had no control of her body, trussed up as she was, but she had to escape. Being on a ship with this bunch simply was not a version of reality she was willing to entertain.

Thinking became increasingly difficult by the moment. Her head swam from being inverted as well as the physical pain of the horse’s gallop. Her vision started to go dark around the edges.

No
, Naomi screamed to herself. If she lost consciousness, she’d lose any hope of escape. She squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on something that didn’t hurt — Henri’s hand on her back. It was warm and broad and held her firmly in place to keep her from tumbling off the mount. Setting aside her desire to throttle the boy for his evil duplicity, Naomi concentrated on that single touch, the one point of her immediate experience that was not torturous. Forcing that small sensation to overwhelm every nerve-shattering pain kept the darkness at bay.

Had she not been intently focused on his hand, she might not have noticed when it began to move. The warm pressure slowly traveled from her back to the slope of her rump.

Delightful
, she thought crossly.
Not only am I captive to an adolescent with delusions of grandeur, I’m now his first touch of derriere, as well.

This was intolerable. She would not be held at risk of mortal peril and suffer abuse at the hands of a randy youth. Lintern Village loomed ahead. Going through the village must have been the fastest route to achieve their destination. Would any of the community’s inhabitants see her in time to help? Anger churned her mind into action, and a dangerous idea floated to the surface. They were approaching the vicarage now, wherein dwelt two obnoxious dogs. Henri was distracted by her rump. And he only had one hand on the reins.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Naomi pressed her rear hard against Henri’s hand. She felt, rather than heard, his sharp intake of breath. Gripping her legs and waist around the horse and using Henri’s wandering hand for leverage, Naomi lurched her torso to the front, grabbed a rein in her teeth, and yanked it to the right, as hard as she could.

The galloping horse veered sharply, aiming for the edge of the road and the fence marking the Bartons’ garden.

Henri shouted in surprise and released Naomi to regain control of the horse.

Naomi went limp. When Henri jerked the reins back to the left, momentum allowed Naomi to slide off the barreling horse.

She met the road with her face. Something crunched, and pain erupted around her eyes. Her back hit a fencepost, reminding her to do something very important.

She screamed.

Naomi screamed as she’d never done in her life. Blood ran into her mouth and down her throat. She kept screaming. It was a full-body scream, as her entire being cried out for help.

“Zut alors!”
Henri shouted. He wheeled his horse around while his men slowed to a stop. A few trotted back to where she lay on the ground.

“Get her!” she heard Henri yell to one of the men. “Hurry!”

The man dismounted just as the front door of the vicarage opened, and those two obnoxious, marvelous beasts shot out, barking as though they were the hounds of hell, not spoiled spaniels.

“No time,” shouted one of the Frenchies. “Leave her, just leave her.”

Blood stung her eyes and clouded her vision, but beneath the bottom slat of the whitewashed fence, Naomi saw two pairs of booted feet emerge from the house. Mr. Barton and his manservant. Grateful tears slid down her face.

“But I want — ” Henri protested.

What Henri wanted was never to be known. Seemingly out of nowhere, a horse flew past at a dead gallop. An arm shot out and hit Henri across the chest, like a jousting lance.

The young duke tumbled from the saddle and hit the ground.

More horses approached. Mr. Ditman vaulted from the back of his and landed on Henri. A gunshot felled one surprised Bonapartist, while another was shoved from his horse. The other men from the Abbey gave chase to the routed French.

Naomi’s erstwhile knight pulled Phantom to a halt. He slid down, grimacing in pain and clutching his arm.

Jordan’s pain reminded Naomi that she was in quite a lot of it herself.

Their eyes met and held. She offered a wavering, bloody smile before slipping into the welcoming abyss.

The door to Naomi’s room opened.

Jordan, sitting on the floor in the hallway across from her door, lifted his head. The surgeon’s grave expression sent his heart into convulsions. He jumped to his feet. For the last hour, he’d felt as though his own life hung in the balance. He couldn’t stop picturing her as he’d found her, jammed against the fence post, twisted like a broken doll. And so much blood. It had poured from more sources than he’d been able to identify. Her glorious sunrise hair had been matted with it. Her beloved features had been obliterated by rivulets running down her face. “Well?”

“Lady Naomi suffered a broken nose, multiple contusions on her face and scalp, a dislocated elbow, and probably a concussion, as well.”

A shudder rocked his body. So many injuries. “Will she live?”

The doctor patted his arm. “Of course, she will. Despite the number of injuries, none of them put her life in danger. She’s fortunate not to have broken her neck.”

Once more, he saw her broken body on the road, and this time pictured it with her neck at an unnatural angle. It could have been that. So. Bloody. Close.

“Can I see her now?” he rasped. The surgeon gave his assent and promised to check in on her in the morning.

In Naomi’s room, her maid, Brenna, had her mistress’s head propped over a basin to wash the blood from her hair.

“Let me help.” He cradled her head while Brenna gently worked fragrant soap over her scalp. Shouldn’t such activity rouse her? “Why is she still unconscious?” he demanded.

“She woke up in a great deal of pain,” the maid explained. “Sawbones had to stitch, too, and needed her still. He gave her some medicine for the pain, and to help her sleep.”

His eyes roved her face, assessing the damage.

The bridge of Naomi’s nose was swollen. Bruising seeped onto her cheeks and ringed both her eyes as if she’d been given the one-two by a prizefighter. Her lips, usually delectably plump and eager for his kisses, were gruesomely distended. Tiny cuts and scrapes marred her forehead and cheekbones. A gash on her chin had been sewn shut. That would leave a scar.

He stroked her cheek softly with the back of a finger. “Don’t worry over the mark, pet,” he murmured. “It will only make your face even more interesting. And it’ll be a wonderful conversation piece at parties.”

Brenna removed the basin and towel dried Naomi’s hair. She combed through the worst of the snarls, then quietly departed, leaving Jordan alone with her.

He took her hand and knelt beside the bed. For a minute, he just breathed in her lemon-blossom scent. His nose found her neck. The warmth there reassured him of her vitality. Naomi was alive.

But it could have been different. It could have been worse. She could have died.

Seeing her like this, injured, hurting, and stilled by a drugged sleep, nearly unmanned him. If he lost her, he didn’t know how he would have gone on.

And that was a problem.

Jordan’s work demanded he go on. Even now, Henri, Duc d’Artagne, his former ward and traitor to the king of France, was bound and locked in his old rooms. Two armed men guarded the door, awaiting Jordan’s imminent presence to transport Henri to London, where the boy would be dealt with by Castlereagh and French authorities.

Becoming physically involved with Naomi Lockwood was foolish. Falling in love with her was disastrous. He hadn’t been as focused on the mission as he should have been. He’d been too wrapped up in his budding romance with Naomi to see what was happening inside his own house. He couldn’t devote enough attention to his work or to Naomi to properly see to them both. Whatever Jordan did, he had to do with his whole self. Anything less was unacceptable.

“I’m so sorry this happened.” His voice was thick, his throat tight. His fingers worked through her damp hair, smoothing it across her satin pillowcase. “I told them to look for Lady Janine,” he informed the sleeping woman. “I told them not to stop until they have her, even if they have to turn over every pebble in the county.” He sniffed loudly. “She’s a remarkable old battleaxe, isn't she? Now I know why you’re all so devoted to her. I’d grown to like the idea of having her for my own aunt. I never had one, you see. Father only had brothers, and my mother was an only child. I wish — ”

Teeth clamped over his tongue. No sense wishing for things that could not be.

“I love you.” Half-expecting her to reply, he paused. With no response forthcoming, he pressed a tender kiss to the corner of her mouth, one of the only places on her face not marked by cuts or bruises. “No other woman could ever compare. After being loved by you, I don’t want it from anyone else. It would be like settling for the stars after seeing the sun. But you have to understand — ” His voice cracked. Ruthlessly, he fisted moisture away from his eyes. “You have to understand that I can’t do this to you. If I stay, you’ll always be in danger, again and again. This can’t be, my love.
We
can’t be.”

One last touch of her hair. One last kiss. And then he was gone.

• • •

In her dream, she was falling. The sickening sensation of air rushing past her body, of weighing nothing and too much all at once. The certainty of pain at the terminal point.

She fell from windows, down stairs, from rooftops, out of a chair. Once, she even fell from her mother’s arms, as a fully grown adult. When she hit the ground, she cried out.

There was always someone on the periphery of her dreams. Often, someone malevolent. Sometimes it was someone she loved, whom she couldn’t reach or who couldn’t reach her. Those people were shadows, insubstantial as a wisp of smoke.

Blue eyes peered at her as she fell. Cold but warm. She knew those eyes. If only she could fall to him, she’d be safe. But she couldn’t. She didn’t. She just fell and fell and fell. Over and over.

Until the time she smashed against a frozen lake and woke up.

There was no question of her location. She didn’t have any of those foggy “Where am I?” moments the heroines in those overwrought Gothic novels she loved so well experienced. This was the room she’d been staying in at Lintern Abbey. She was in Jordan’s house. Safe, warm, and feeling as if she’d been hit by a boulder.

“You’re awake!”

The excited gasp drew her attention, but turning her head was slow going.

Aunt Janine stared at her from a chair beside her bed, a book open in her lap. Tight worry lines bracketed her eyes and mouth. She leaned forward and laid a cool hand on Naomi’s forehead. “How do you feel, dear?”

“Auntie,” Naomi moaned. “Oh, Auntie.” Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she sobbed softly.

Kind arms enveloped her in a loving embrace. “Shh. There, there, child. It’s all right.”

A good, healing cry banished much of the lingering fear brought on by her nightmares, but she worried they would return. Aunt Janine offered her a glass of water. Naomi took a long drink and hiccupped.

“I expect you’ll want to get up and stretch your legs,” Auntie said. Her demeanor was returning to her usual no-nonsense attitude. Naomi took it for a good sign. “You’ve been in bed for the better part of four days.”

“That would be lovely,” Naomi said. “But how is it you’re here? Are
you
all right? I was so worried when the ladies had to leave, and I couldn’t find you. We couldn’t find you anywhere.”

Aunt Janine fidgeted in her seat. Her eyes were downcast and she cleared her throat. “Well, what happened was … ” Her arthritic fingers patted at her hair. Aunt Janine
never
fussed with her hair.

“If I didn’t know better,” Naomi said coolly, “I’d think you felt guilty about something.”

That did it. Aunt Janine’s nostrils flared. “I feel guilty only for having worried you, not for my behavior. Not that it’s any of your business, but the fact is, Sir Randell and I have embarked on an affair.”