Elusive Hope (12 page)

The man in question, her supposed escort, her protector…was still fast asleep.

How could he sleep with the morning clamor blaring down at them from the canopy? An unholy cacophony that had begun before the first gray mist chased away the darkness and now continued in both intensity and volume as the heat rose with the sun. Plucking her French hand mirror from her valise, she eased her fingers over the elaborate gold gilding and smiled at the delicate violets painted on the back. A gift from her father on her fifteenth birthday. But like everything from her father, it came with an admonition.
Only the finest, fairest ladies in Paris have one of these, my dear. Keep it near to ensure you always look your best
. Magnolia could still feel the sense of unworthiness that flooded her at that moment, the fear of not being able to live up to her father’s standard. A fear that had become her everyday reality since. Still, she had loved the mirror. And the ivory comb that came with it, which she now pulled from her valise and began sifting through the hopeless tangles in her hair, all the while keeping an eye on the sleeping hero.

“Humph.” Some hero he was. What sort of man took payment to assist a helpless lady? What sort of man cared not a whit for that lady’s comfort in the middle of the jungle? Her comb struck a particularly thick snarl, and she struggled to loosen it without breaking her hair. A man as stubborn and thickheaded and twisted as this knot, that’s who!

Exasperated, she growled, and switched to another section of her hair, wishing Mable were here to make her presentable as the slave always did in the morning, but the girl would have just gotten in the way. Besides, Magnolia’s mother needed her. All their other slaves had run off after the war, leaving Mable to be lady’s maid to both Magnolia
and
her mother. The absolute shame.

She raised her mirror to examine her face and began to sob at the sight of dirt smudged on her cheek and bite marks rising like volcanoes across her creamy skin.

The hero moaned and turned on his side. Sculpted arms folded across his chest. Dark stubble peppered his chin and jaw, while equally dark hair dangled over his neck. Mercy me, but the man was handsome. When he was asleep. When he was awake, his brutish personality all but masked his natural good looks. Yet hadn’t he displayed moments of kindness to her last night?

Lifting her skirts, she examined her leaf-covered feet, remembering his gentle touch as he’d applied the salve. So gentle for such a beast of a man. Equally confusing was the way his touch had made her feel. As if she were dancing in a field of flowers. But surely those sensations were merely a result of reaching the end of the most excruciating day of her life. Anyone’s attentions would have caused the same reaction.

Having rid her hair of most of the snarls, she repinned it and returned her mirror and comb to her valise, then struggled to rise. An impossible feat when one wore a bird cage strapped to one’s waist. Finally, she managed to lean forward on her knees, plant her hands in the mud—there was simply no way around that—and push herself to stand. Wincing at the pain burning across her feet, she made her way to Hayden.

“Wake up!” He didn’t move. Searching the ground, she gathered a stick and poked him with it. “Wake up.”

In one swift movement, he jerked upward, cocked a pistol, and swung its barrel at her chest. Magnolia screeched and leapt backward.

Hayden blinked several times, gaping at her, before he lowered his weapon and rubbed his eyes with a groan. “When are you going to learn it is dangerous to wake a man from his sleep?”

“I didn’t realize you were such a grump in the morning.”

“Well, now you do.” He lay back down. “Leave me alone.”

“Is there a creek nearby where I can wash and change my clothes?”

“You woke me to ask me that?” He growled.

“Yes I did. The sun is risen and we should not be dilly dallying.”

Emitting a bestial sigh, Hayden sat up again, grabbed his canteen, and took a sip. “It’s barely past dawn, Princess. I would have expected someone so accustomed to languid inactivity to sleep much longer.”

“If you must know, I hardly slept at all. No thanks to you.”She tossed the stick at him, missing him by an inch. He never flinched. Which only made her angrier. “I was assaulted all night long by feral insects and would have probably been eaten by a wolf if I hadn’t stayed awake.”

“I doubt your expert vigilance would have stopped a wolf.” He handed her the canteen. “You get the last sip. We’ll refill it when we find water.”

Tipping it to her lips, she barely got enough of the precious liquid to wet her tongue.
No more water?
She stared in horror at her stained gown and the dirt smudges on her arms and hands. “But I simply must have my morning toilette.” Besides, she was terribly sweaty, though it wouldn’t be proper to mention that. “I’ve never slept in my clothing before and you have no idea how uncomfortable it is.”

He didn’t seem to be listening to her anymore as he stood, shoved the pistol into his belt, and retrieved his coat from the dirt. “Well, now that I’m awake, we shouldn’t
dilly dally
, as you say.”

“I’m a lady and I have certain needs.” She hated the slight catch of desperation in her voice.

He turned to stare at her as if she’d dropped out of the sky.

“So, if you’ll lead me to some water,
Hayden
”—she seethed out his name for effect—“I’d be most obliged.” Better to establish who was in charge before things got out of hand.

“I am not God, Princess. I cannot produce water out of a rock no matter how much you demand it. However, if you need to relieve yourself, you may do so in the bushes. I will wait here.”

Heat stormed up her face. “How dare you mention such a thing?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache. “If we are going to be traveling together for four more days, I don’t see how we can avoid such breeches of etiquette.”

Magnolia flung her hands to her hips and tried to spit a retort, but only nonsensical stuttering emerged.

Hayden seemed to be trying to make sense of it but finally shook his head. “What about your feet?” He leaned over to examine her toes.

“I brought along a pair of satin dance slippers. Though this heinous wilderness will destroy them within hours, they will suffice for now.”

He nodded his agreement then waved her off like a spoiled little child. “Run along. Take care of your business and be quick about it.”

Magnolia’s stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday morning. “Aren’t we going to eat breakfast?”

“We’ll find some fruit along the way.”

Magnolia had never met a more obnoxious brute of a man. As soon as she relieved herself, donned some new stockings, and slid her slippers over her bandaged feet, she returned to the clearing and handed him her valise.

His amused gaze shifted from the case back to her before one of his eyebrows lifted. “Why do I want this?”

“To carry, of course.”

“You brought it. You carry it.” He dropped it to the ground, then disappeared into the greenery.

Magnolia didn’t have time to be angry. She didn’t have time to pout or gather the tears that melted most men’s resolve. No, it was all she could do to keep up with him or be lost in the jungle forever. She did have time, however, to pluck an orange from a passing tree and toss it at him. It would have struck him too, if he hadn’t ducked. How he knew she’d thrown it, she had no idea, but his chuckle filtered in his wake like a slap to her face.

Several hours later, Magnolia wished she’d eaten the fruit instead. Not only was her stomach rasping out its final breaths, but she could no longer feel her feet. They’d gone from aching to burning to completely numb. She wished she could say the same about her arms. Pain stretched all the way from her fingers across her shoulders and down the other side as she shifted the valise—that had transformed into an anvil—to her other hand. It hadn’t seemed so heavy the day before, but she hadn’t been this tired, either. Her hair had loosened from its pins and hung in sweaty strands over her shoulders. The hem of her dress was so caked in mud, it felt like she’d sewn iron bars into it. Yet what worried her most was that her stomach had stopped complaining hours ago. She feared it had taken to eating her own flesh from the inside out, and if she ever had a chance to remove her clothing, she’d find her midsection completely gone.

Just when she thought about gulping down the rest of her pinga rum, Hayden stopped at a small creek to fill the canteen and eat some wild bananas he’d foraged along the way. But no sooner had she splashed water onto her face and arms and sat down to enjoy her fruit, than Hayden was ready to leave again. The man had the strength and stamina of a bull. And the personality to match. How could she have ever found him appealing enough to kiss?

A band of monkeys scampered on branches and swung on vines overhead, yapping and squealing—which was more than Hayden had said to her all day. More than once, she’d tried to engage the man in conversation, but all she’d gotten were grunts that sounded much like the monkeys above. Gazing up, she ducked to avoid any droppings that might further soil her gown and add to the putrid scent emanating from the stained fabric.

Trying not to think about her situation, Magnolia forced her thoughts to happier days back home in Roswell before the war, when her only concern had been what gown to wear and which social function to attend and with whom. Her parents had seemed happy then, hadn’t they? That was before she’d made the fatal error that had cost them nearly everything. Then when the war took the rest, things had gone from bad to worse. Her parents had never treated her the same after that. Before Martin, she’d had freedom. Afterward, she was a prisoner. Before Martin, she’d been her father’s princess. Now, he did nothing but scold her about everything from her attire, to her manners, to the way she wore her hair. Perhaps by regulating every detail of her life, he believed he could stop her from making another mistake, make her so perfect that she’d only attract the “right sort of gentleman.” Of course, how he expected her to accomplish such a feat in the middle of the jungle, she had no idea.

“You owe your mother and me. You owe this family.” She could still hear him say. “And by God, you’re going to restore our family name and fortune or you’ll be no daughter of mine. Do you hear me?”

Yes, she had heard him. And each time he’d said it since. Yet for all her trying, she still seemed to do nothing but disappoint him. Perhaps she would never be good enough. Batting aside a leaf the size of her body, Magnolia plodded ahead. Were her parents worried about her now or were they simply angry she’d left? Most likely the latter, for she had once again besmirched the Scott name.

Drawing a filthy handkerchief from her sleeve, she rubbed the perspiration from her neck and face, chuckling at what her father would say if he saw her now. Sunlight drew her gaze to her right where creeping plants, laden with clusters of pink flowers, circled a tree trunk in an arrangement too beautiful to describe. Stopping, she drew in a deep breath of mossy air, perfumed with orchids and a hint of the sea, and set down her valise. Just for a moment. She only needed a moment. Stretching her aching hand, she glanced at the luxuriance of tree ferns all around her, their massive leaves at least six feet long, in every shade from red to brown to green. A small bird with bright orange wings landed on a frond, studied her for a moment, and began to warble a tune. If she wasn’t so miserable, she might say the jungle was stunning in all its dangerous beauty.

A shadow caught the edge of her eye. Turning she saw a man standing with his back to her, dressed in an elegant suit of fine poplin, complete with cane and silk top hat. A crackling sound filled the air. Magnolia froze. She rubbed her eyes. When she opened them again, the man glanced at her over his shoulder and winked.
Winked!
She’d know that wink anywhere, along with those green eyes, finely chiseled nose, and cultured whiskers. Martin? Martin Haley? Her blood ran cold. It couldn’t be. He took off at a sprint.

“Martin!” Clutching her skirts, she tore after him, ignoring the pain shooting up her legs. She plunged through the foliage, shoving branches and vines aside, with one thought in mind.
Kill Martin Haley!
For what he’d done to her. What he’d done to her family. Her thoughts whirled. How could he be in Brazil? In the middle of the jungle? And dressed to the nines? No matter. She would kill him anyway. How, she didn’t know and didn’t care. She simply dashed ahead, blind with rage. Until he disappeared. Faded into the steam coming off the plants. Whirling around, she searched the trees, bamboo, vines, her breath heaving, her feet aching, her mind spinning. No sight of him.

Plopping to the ground in a puff of muddy skirts, she began to sob. Moments later, footsteps thudded, and she jerked her gaze up to see Hayden emerge from the leaves, fear rumbling across his face.

Was he afraid for her? Now, she
was
dreaming.

“What happened? Why did you run off?” He squatted and brushed a strand of hair from her face.

“It doesn’t matter.” She swiped her tears away and took the hand he offered. Once on her feet, she tugged from his grasp. “I can no longer feel my feet. I’m covered with bug bites and”—she hesitated—“sweat, if you must know. Yes, sweat.”

The concern from his face vanished, replaced by his typical look of annoyance. “Forgive me if I don’t have a carriage to convey your ladyship through the jungle. What did you think the journey would be like?”

“Must we walk so fast? And you don’t listen to me. Or talk. And my arm hurts from carrying my valise.” She glanced over the maze of green and brown. “And now I’m seeing things.”

Hayden gave her a patronizing look. “Oh, do forgive me, Princess. I was under the impression you wished to get to Rio as soon as possible. Yet now I discover your real desire is to engage in idle chatter whilst we take a Sunday stroll through the jungle.”

Magnolia would love to stroll over his face with her muddy feet at the moment. Instead she bent over, grabbed a handful of the black ooze, and swung her arm back to toss it at him.