The Unintended Bride (15 page)

"Nothing? You could have been killed if you had not caught yourself." Had that been the intention? Was her life in jeopardy now because of his quest? Or had it been an accident?

A primitive urge came up within him. He would not let anyone hurt her. She was his. He crushed her against him, kissing her without the gentleness that he had first intended. She did not respond as she had when they were trapped in the attic. Instead, she stood quiet in his embrace but did not try to escape.

He broke away from her with a groan and buried his face in her neck. "I am sorry. I cannot bear to see you hurt."

"I will heal," she said, her arms coming around his waist. The feel of her warm arms, through only the thin material of his shirt, made him wish he had not made the resolve to wait. But he owed her that much restraint, and more.

"I know you will heal." He set her aside gently, adding, "And I will give you time to do so."

"You will not leave me here?" He heard the unhappiness in her voice, but he could not tell its source.

Should he take her with him? His instincts warred with each other. He needed to keep her with him. He needed to protect her. A fierce swift anger against anyone who might hurt her flooded through him.

Reason spoke to him once the flood of rage subsided. She did not want to be his wife. She was merely being agreeable. Perhaps even trying to escape any gossip that might result from their hasty wedding.

He had no right to drag her across the countryside with him. She did not want to go on an uncomfortable journey chasing will-'o-the-wisps and shadows centuries old.

"You would be better off here, with your sister. You would be comfortable. You would be safe." Safe. He wished he could be sure of his words. He wished he could know what was best. If he left her here, would whoever had struck . . . if someone had struck . . . try again? Or was he the true target?

Perhaps once he was gone, there would be no more danger to Hero.

She closed her eyes. He savored the feeling of holding her arm lightly in his fingers and looking down upon her serene face as she considered his words. "Safe. Is there such a thing?" She seemed to doubt it as much as he just then.

Her eyes opened and she looked at him. He could see the clear determination shining in her eyes. "No. I want to go with you. I want to know what is happening just as you do."

Part of him was jubilant. Another part was horrified. How dare he believe he, Arthur the scholar, could protect her against true danger. He might not even be able to prevent her from getting a paper cut. "When I know, I will tell you."

She smiled as she shook her head. "I am not so patient as you think. Besides, I might be able to help you puzzle this out." She took his hands in her own and gazed directly at him. He could feel her conviction as she spoke. "No. We were both affected by the game. We should both try to find out who has done this to us, and why."

He could not deny that it pleased him she would be so insistent. And so reasonable. There were no tears. Only logic. Pure logic. What joy. His grandmama used imperious commands and icy fury to get her way. Gwen had a habit of pressing tears from her eyes without making a sobbing sound. And her father blustered about everything.

Hero's calm logic was all he could wish for in a companion on this quest. It would be an easier journey with her along — for him. Still, it was only fair to let her know what she was facing. "The travel will not always be comfortable. For a young woman gently raised —"

She smiled. "That is a small enough objection. You needn't worry about me, Arthur. I will take what comes without complaint." He could see that she believed what she was telling him. The question was, should he?

He nodded, placing his pocket watch down upon the nearby table. "Very well. If you decide you want to go home, you need only let me know. I do not want you to suffer on my account."

"I will bear that in mind. Not, of course, that I ever intend to ask to go home." She added with a touch of shyness, "I do not want you on your own."

"I don't deserve you," he said softly, bending to kiss her temple. Her hand rested against his chest, warm and soft.

"When do we leave?" Her voice was breathless, and her fingers slid up to caress the back of his neck.

His palm pressed against the small of her back. "I thought we might use the next two days to prepare, and then begin."

She touched his cheek, urging him toward her mouth. "Do you know where you head first?"

Lost in the kiss, he did not answer for a while. "I want to be methodical about this, so we will travel from the closest place to the farthest."

She gave a soft sigh and pressed her lips against his jaw. "Where is the farthest?"

He did not protest when her hands moved to slip the shirt from his shoulders, allowing it to fall carelessly to the floor. "I cannot say at this point. It could be Constantinople for all I know."

"Constantinople!" Hero pulled away from him in shock.

He smiled, coaxing her back into his arms. "I'm sorry, I'm just being ridiculous. No doubt we will find confirmation of whether what we seek truly exists or not before we would need to decide to leave England."

Hero allowed the bloom of triumph to fill her as she returned his kiss, as she dared to do as the milkmaid in the book she had read in the bookshop attic might, and run her fingers across the bare skin of his chest, feeling the tight run of his ribs. He was kissing her. And he was going to take her with him on his quest.

His kiss became more passionate, and his arms grew deliciously tight around her. "Shall we retire, then?" she asked shyly when he had moved his lips to her neck.

He did not respond, and she was afraid he thought her too forward. She did not want him to know that she was anticipating this night because of the book she had read in the attic. In fact, she did not want him to know she anticipated anything at all. Hastily, she added, "That way we can better rest in preparation for our journey?" Not that she hoped they would rest.

"Perhaps we should — " He did not finish his sentence with words but with a soft rain of kisses on her neck, her shoulders, her earlobe. For a moment she thought he would lift her and carry her off to the bed. But then he pulled away abruptly. "Wait." He turned his head, stilling as if listening for something.

Hero quieted herself as well. All of her senses were focused as she listened, hoping to hear nothing at all that would pull them away from the delightful things they had been doing. A sound outside the door made her tense with dismay. A soft sound at the door, almost as a cat might scratch to gain entrance. But the knob did not turn.

She wanted to open the door, but she could not; she was frozen, watching as something began to push through the gap between the door and the floor.

The white square of paper was becoming increasingly familiar. Her hand tightened upon his arm as she whispered in dismay, "Not another note."

Arthur hurried over to throw open the door and glance into the hallway. "No one," he said, his fingers brushing through his hair in agitation as he closed the door once more. He bent to retrieve the note where it lay beneath his foot. He moved to the dressing room, where the light still burned, and read the note carefully.

Hero was afraid to ask him what it said. Afraid to cross to him and read it for herself. The one who had sent it knew this was their wedding night. And still he had left a note.

"He could not have known we were still awake, Arthur," she said nervously. "He must not have expected us to find the note until morning."

"Good," he answered. "That will put us closer to his heels than he meant us to be." He looked up at her, all signs that he had been on the verge of taking her to bed gone. He sounded determined when he said, "Perhaps it will make him easier to catch."

As she watched, he began to dress himself in the clothing she had just managed to remove from him. Her disappointment was a sharp and lonely feeling deep inside her. She forced herself to ask calmly, "What are you doing?"

He looked up at her in surprise, as if he had expected her to understand. "We must leave."

Astonished, she could not help a plaintive question. "Now?" He expected her to pack for a journey in the time that she had been hoping to be sleeping with her husband, in a real bed instead of a makeshift one on an attic floor?

He frowned, as if he did not understand her objection. "Certainly now."

"Wouldn't we be better served to wait for daylight?" After all, it was only a few hours away.

He spoke patiently, as if to a student or a child. "As you said, he did not expect us to find this note until morning. Would you have us turn away an advantage such as this just for a few hours' sleep?"

"Of course not." But for a chance to spend her wedding night with her husband in a real bed, she might. She did not say so, however, because it was obvious he did not feel the same.

Hero stayed motionless with disappointment for a few moments longer, but then she, too, began to dress. All she could think of, with faint bitterness, was that the note had arrived too soon. For it had arrived before she could find out what her wedding night would hold. And now, apparently, it would hold a midnight ride to some unknown destination.

At least, she comforted herself, he was taking her with him. There would always be tomorrow night. Hopefully, that would go more successfully than tonight.

When he had shrugged into his jacket, he said, "I will call down for the carriage," he said. "And ring for your maid to help you finish dressing and pack."

"What about your things?"

"I have not yet unpacked from my visit here," he answered distractedly. She could see his mind was on the coming travel. And perhaps, upon what he would do when he found out who had been sending him the notes.

It seemed to take no time at all for them to be packed and ready to go, a true miracle. Whenever her family would go anywhere, it would take hours, sometimes days to get all their supplies together. Packing for one was much less arduous.

Hero spared only one glance for the bed she had hoped to share with her husband tonight. And then they slipped out while the rest of the guests were sound asleep.

As they crept quietly down the staircase, he asked, "Shall we have Miranda awakened?" His anxiety was palpable. "I do not want her to worry after you again, so soon."

"I have left her a note explaining everything," Hero offered. "I see no point in upsetting her at this late hour."

"Will she be furious with me?"

It was amusing to see him so worried about her most forgiving sister's reaction. "Miranda?" She decided not to tease him but to ease his mind. "No doubt she will be delighted that we are to spend time together. My sister believes in happy endings in the most unlikeliest places."

"I will do my best to see that they do come true for you. You deserve them."

"I'm not so romantic as my sister," she demurred.

Mentally, she added, most of the time. For some reason, she persisted in seeing Arthur in a most unrealistic light — as a knight in shining armor who would wear her colors and pledge himself to her forever, as Launcelot had done for Guinevere. Although, come to think of it, they hadn't been married. Perhaps that was a bad example.

He answered more seriously than she thought the conversation warranted, "Stil1, I owe you that, seeing as how I took you from the man who should have had you."

Astonished that he would say such a thing, she would have questioned him on that statement. Unfortunately, the library door opened at just that moment, interrupting the conversation. "I'm surprised to see you both awake at this hour." Digby's voice came from the direction of the library doorway.

They turned, both shocked to have been caught escaping like thieves in the night by this man. Hero looked at Arthur, not certain what she should say either to the man who would have liked to be her husband, or the unfortunate one who hadn't wanted the honor but had it bestowed anyway.

Arthur replied stiffly‚ but still civilly, "I've received an urgent message from home."

Digby's brow lifted imperiously. "And you take your wife from her family in the dark of night?"

At that, Hero knew exactly what to say. "I insisted on accompanying him, Mr. Digby." For Arthur's benefit, as well as a partial rebuttal to his absurd statement moments ago, she added, "It is my duty as his wife now. And I am pleased to do it."

"Of course, I would expect no less of you, Miss" — he caught his mistake smoothly and corrected himself — "Mrs. Watterly. I regret that my words made you doubt my devotion to you." His expression seemed gravely apologetic.

"You are too kind, Mr. Digby," she answered with a tinge of sharpness. He meant well she knew. Although she did wish he had not spoken of devotion. She most definitely did not want to be worshipped from afar.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Or perhaps you have not yet adjusted to the fact that we are married. I will not hold your words against you any more than my wife has chosen to," he said. "This time."

The pained look of dismay on Digby's face made all Hero's sharpness disappear, however. "I'm sorry to be so short with you. But we must hurry, Mr. Digby. The carriage is waiting." She turned back to Arthur and could not decipher the expression upon his face. It seemed as if he'd had a revelation but not one that made him happy.

They hurried out into the dark without another word.

Her mind was so busy trying to understand all the undercurrents of the scene with Digby, she did not think to question their destination until they were well away from London. "Where are we headed?"

"We are going to follow the trail wherever he leads." He handed the note to her. It read: You will find what you seek among the crumbling stones of Buryton Abbey.

It was as short and cryptic as the first. "Do you know where Buryton Abbey lies?" She had never heard of it.

"As it happens, there was a reference to it among the information I used to verify Malory's letter. If the roads are good, we shall be there by this evening." His words seemed sharp. But she dared not ask what was wrong. She contented herself with observing his behavior and trying to formulate a likely hypothesis from her observation.