The Scandalous Adventures of the Sister of the Bride (25 page)

What a terrible waste never holding her again would be.

And the blasted woman was going to think she was right all along.

“Sam!” The scream ripped from her lips.

Oh, God no!

Realization struck her with the force of a physical blow. Compounded by fear. And
terror. And an unrelenting sense of loss. Without thinking, she ran toward him. The
world slowed as if in a dream. Her legs wouldn’t move fast enough.

She couldn’t lose him. Not now. Now that she knew. Her heart caught in her throat.
She choked back a sob and raced toward Sam’s lifeless body, sending a prayer heavenward
with every step.

Dear Lord, please don’t let him be dead.

The damnable motorwagon had tumbled and rolled over and over at least three times
and now sat at an odd, twisted angle, the front wheel lower than the back two, the
merciless motor still chugging away, the whole thing listing heavily to one side.
It resembled nothing so much as a wounded mechanical beast. A deadly, vile beast.
Sam had been thrown some feet away.

Dear Lord, he wasn’t moving. What if he was dead? What if she had lost him? What if
his stupid machine had killed him? She dropped down on her knees beside him.

“Sam! Oh God, please!”

Was he breathing? A pulse, she should feel for a pulse. Frantically, she grabbed his
wrist and tried to find some semblance of life. He wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. Surely
she would know if he were dead.

“Please, Sam, please stay with me.”

She couldn’t feel anything. She should feel something. The beat of his heart, the
throb of his blood in his veins. Panic gripped her. She needed help but she couldn’t
leave him lying here. Alone. What if he died and she wasn’t here? What if he came
to and had no idea where he was or who he was or anything?

“Please, please don’t die. Come back, Sam, please.” She patted his cheeks briskly,
hoping to get some reaction, some color back into his face. “There’s so much you don’t
know.” He was so pale, ghastly, deathly pale. She slapped his face harder. “So much
I didn’t realize. What a fool I’ve been. Please, Sam, please come back. Don’t leave
me. Not now.”

Surely his lashes flickered against his cheek. She bent over him, leaning closer,
hoping to feel his breath. “Sam?”

Without warning his arms wrapped around her, pulling her down on top of him, and his
lips met hers in a kiss hard and firm. Joy and relief swept through her. He was alive!
Thank God.
He was . . . Her eyes widened. This was not at all the kiss of a dying man. Nor was
it the kiss of a man who was less than perfectly all right. At least thus far.

She pulled away and stared down at him. “You’re alive.”

He grinned up at her. “Disappointed?”

“Yes! No, of course not.” She swallowed hard. “I thought you were dead.”

“Not today.”

“You looked dead,” she said slowly. “You weren’t moving.”

“Just the wind knocked out of me.”

“Your eyes were closed.”

“I needed a moment.”

She sat back and studied him closely. “You’re fine, aren’t you?”

“Fine might not be entirely accurate but I seem to be in one piece.” He struggled
to sit up then rubbed his face and cringed. “Ouch.” He stared at her. “You hit me.”

“I was patting your cheeks in an effort to revive you.”

“With undue enthusiasm, I would say,” he said, still rubbing his cheeks. “My face
is stinging.”

“Come now, Sam. I was just trying to, well, bring you back to life as it were. Which
does call for more than a half-hearted attempt. And I did a fine job of it as you
are so clearly alive.”

“I was never dead.” He scrambled to his feet and groaned at the movement. “Holy mother
of . . .” He gently felt the back of his head and grimaced. “Did you smack me on the
back of the head as well?”

“Don’t be absurd. That would have been stupid.” His cheeks were fairly red. “Admittedly,
your face does look a little pink but I didn’t know what else to do. And you are such
a stubborn man it seemed necessary to . . . to attract your attention. To bring you
back from the brink of death.” She stared up at him. “One might say I saved your life.
It seems to me a little gratitude is called for.”

“Had it actually needed saving I’d be extremely grateful.” He extended a hand to help
her up.

“I didn’t know that. You certainly looked dead.”

“I wasn’t.” The moment she was on her feet he released her hand and headed toward
the motorwagon.

“You kissed me!”

“You noticed that, did you?” He reached his vehicle and grimaced. “Damn it all. Look
at that.”

She hurried after him. “You let me think you were dead.” “I didn’t let you think I
was dead. I had nothing to do with what you thought.” He circled the motorwagon, found
whatever it was he was looking for, and turned off the still-chugging motor. “I certainly
could have been dead, I suppose.”

“But you kissed me.”

“You said that.” His tone was absent, his gaze fixed on his vehicle. “Probably because
I wasn’t dead.”

“You took advantage of me!”

“You’re not the one who was dead. One might say you took advantage of me. And I’m
pretty sure you kissed me back. With a great deal of enthusiasm.”

“I was simply glad you were alive.”

“You kissed me back.” He squatted down and studied the front wheel. “And you hit me.”

She glared. “I wish you would stop saying that. I did not hit you, I . . . I
patted
your cheeks. Briskly. In a manner designed to stimulate the flow of blood.”

“You did not pat me, you
hit
me. Hard.” He tugged at a metal bracket. “And you kissed me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “
You
kissed
me.
I was simply trying to determine if you were breathing.”

“I was.” He blew a frustrated breath. “Look at that.”

She eyed the vehicle. “Look at what?”

“Right there.” He ran his hand over the front wheel. “Some of the spokes are broken
or bent. And here.” He pointed to a part of the metal tubing underneath the floorboards.
“That’s bent.” He straightened and continued to move around the vehicle. “The damn
thing did roll over—”

“More than once,” she murmured.

“But you wouldn’t think it would do that much damage. And there’s probably more here
that I’m not seeing.”

“I knew that thing wasn’t safe.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I told you
it could kill you.”

“No, you said I was taking my life in my hands.” He bent forward and examined the
motor.

She huffed. “It’s the same thing.”

“Not really.” He glanced at her. “It was the fall that would have killed me.” His
attention returned to his wounded beast. “Jim is not going to be happy about this.”

“It can’t be that bad. The motor still ran.”

“It’s not enough.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Repairs are going to be significant.”

“It doesn’t look bad.” She studied his vehicle. “A few scratches perhaps.”

“It’s more than a few scratches.” He worked his way slowly around the motorwagon.
“There are things that are bent that shouldn’t be. It’s an innovation, Dee. You don’t
want something like this not to be in perfect condition. Not if you want people to
commit to buy one in the future.” His jaw tightened. “Jim’s going to need a real workshop
for this, not just the tools he has with him. And this is going to set everything
back. Just the damage I can see is problematic enough. Who knows what Jim will find
when he starts working on it. What did you mean by ‘don’t leave me’?”

Her breath caught. “What?”

He straightened and looked at her. “What did you mean when you said don’t leave me?”

“I don’t recall saying anything of the sort,” she said quickly. Now that he wasn’t
dying or dead there was no need to say anything. At least not until she decided what
if anything she wanted to say. Or do. “You must have imagined it. When you hit your
head. Head injuries will do that sort of thing, you know.”

“I didn’t imagine anything.”

“You could have. You were flying through the air, after all. That alone would probably
be enough to make you hear things that weren’t said. I for one have never seen a man
fly before.” She shuddered. “I don’t mind telling you, I found it most disturbing.”

“You were devastated at the thought of my death.”

“Well, of course I was devastated.” She scoffed. “You’re a guest at Millworth, and
not being distraught at your death would be—”

“Rude?”

“Exactly.”

“And you are never rude.”

“Never.”

“And that’s all there is to it, then.”

“Absolutely.” She nodded. It was obvious that he didn’t believe her. “Goodness, Sam,
why wouldn’t I be upset? We are friends, after all.”

He studied her for a moment then smiled in a knowing manner and turned back to the
inspection of his machine. “Yes, that’s what I thought.”

“And that’s exactly what you should think.”

“All right.” He turned back to his perusal. “Then that’s what I think.”

“Because that’s all there is.”

“If you say so.”

“There’s nothing more to it than that.”

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” he murmured.

She rolled her gaze toward the sky. “Not again.”

“It’s the right quotation this time. I checked,” he said in a hard tone. “I do like
to be prepared.”

“I know it’s right.” She shrugged. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“I am usually right.”

“Not that I’ve noticed.”

“What don’t I know?” he said abruptly.

“What do you mean?”

“You said there was so much I didn’t know. So much you didn’t realize. What don’t
I know?”

“I have no idea. You certainly think you know everything.”

“For God’s sake, Delilah.” Before she could protest, he moved closer and pulled her
into his arms. “You didn’t want me to die because you’re in love with me.”

“Don’t be absurd.” Even to her own ears her protest sounded weak. “I would have been
concerned about anyone’s death.”

“You’re lying.”

“I am not!” She tried to push out of his arms but he held her fast. “I wouldn’t have
wanted anyone to die at the hands of that mechanical beast of yours. Especially not
a friend.”

His gaze bored into hers. “Why won’t you admit there’s something remarkable between
us?”

“Of course there is,” she said, still pushing against him. “Why, we’re friends.”

“We’re more than friends and you know it.”

“I know nothing of the sort. Obviously, you’re suffering from some sort of delusion
brought on by a hit to your head.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “Yes, that must be it.”

“Now, unhand me.” She wasn’t sure if he believed her or not. There were moments when
the man was truly difficult to decipher. Regardless, she certainly couldn’t think
with his arms around her and she did need her wits about her. “At once.”

“My apologies, Lady Hargate.” He released her and stepped back. “I don’t know what
came over me. My injuries must be more significant than I had thought.”

“Well, you’re not dead,” she said helpfully.

“There is that.”

“And you realize your mistake.”

“Oh, I’ve made no mistake.”

“But you said—”

“I know exactly what I said.” His unflinching gaze met hers.

“But you are wrong.”

He raised a brow.

“You are.” She glared at him.

He shrugged.

She threw up her hands in frustration. “You are the most arrogant man I have ever
met.”

“And you are the most confusing woman I have ever met.” He paused. “And stubborn.
My God you’re stubborn. Have I mentioned that?”

“I can’t recall. Possibly.”

“Well, it certainly bears repeating.” He studied her closely. “It’s also worth noting
that in spite of your feigned indignation—”

“It’s not the least bit feigned. I am indignant!”

“In spite of that, you have not denied what I said.”

“It doesn’t warrant a denial,” she said in a lofty manner.

“Of course not.” He cast her an annoyingly smug smile.

“It’s entirely too absurd to deny.”

He shrugged. “If you say so.”

She stared at him. “And you claim I am stubborn.”

“If the fashionably shod shoe fits,” he said under his breath and turned back to his
machine.

“As there is no possibility of riding in that beast of yours today I am going back
to the house.” She turned on her heel and started off. “I didn’t want to ride in it
anyway. I was just trying to be polite.”

“Because you’re never rude?” He called behind her.

“Never!”

“Hah!”

“What an annoying, irritating, arrogant beast you are!”

“One more thing before you go stalking off.”

“You’re too late, I am already stalking off!” She stopped in midstep and swiveled
to face him. “What is it?”

“I would never leave you.” His eyes narrowed. “All you ever have to do is ask.”

Her heart thudded. She deliberately misunderstood him. “What I have asked, what I’ve
wanted, is for you to leave.”

“That’s the problem then, isn’t it? I’ve never believed you.”

“One of many problems!”

He smiled in a slow, annoying manner. “And I find it interesting that when you thought
I was dead, you begged me not to leave you when all you’ve been trying to do since
I arrived is get me to leave.”

She stared at him. “Ironic, isn’t it?” She turned and started off again.

“I wouldn’t call it ironic. I’d call it just desserts.” He called after her. “Or fate.”

If one believed in such things as previous lives, one might, at the moment, have decided
one did something quite terrible in a previous incarnation. Delilah must have been
very bad indeed to find herself now in this situation.

Blast it all, she was indeed in love with the man. Of course she was. For an intelligent
woman she’d been fairly stupid. She should have known it from the beginning. And perhaps
she did. Perhaps she’d known somewhere, in the dim recesses of her heart, the moment
she’d looked into his brown eyes. The moment he first made her laugh. The moment he
first touched her hand. And perhaps that was why she’d told him she never—no—
it would be best
—if they never saw each other again.