Wherever You Are (29 page)

John caught her arm before she made it two steps. “What are you doing?” he whispered. “You have to go in there and put it on.”

She shook her head, too furious to speak. But deep down she knew John was right. She’d begun this game and she had to finish it.

She looked down at her ruined gown now faded to a dull green and stained with grass and dirt and blood. Her first ball gown, the gown she wore to celebrate her marriage. The thought of substituting the dress Morgan bought for this dress was repulsive.

It’s only a dress. A piece of cloth. And it was part of his game.
Play the game, Juliana.

Defeated, she stepped into the room and John closed the door behind her.

She cried when she took her ball gown off, carefully folded it and lovingly placed it on the bed. She ran her hands down the torn and stained fabric, remembering when she put it on, watching Morgan try to tie his cravat while grumbling and complaining. Blinking back her tears, she turned to the red dress.

Barun knew women’s garments. This dress didn’t need the assistance of a maid and sooner than she would have liked, she was ready to go. How was she going to explain her change of clothes to Morgan? It was one thing to lie about the bedding and food but this was going to take some ingenuous explaining on her part.

John was waiting for her when she opened the door. Instead of turning right when exiting the cabin, he turned left. A few yards from Barun’s room, he stopped and spun Juliana around by her arm. His fingers bit into her upper arm and she winced. “Barun’s not a man to play games with, my lady.”

“I’m well aware this isn’t a game, John.”

He released her arm. His brows dipped in confusion. “Then why are you doing it?”

She took a step back and held her arms out. “Look at me. I’m no better than his whore! This is what it has come to, John.” She dropped her arms. “But it doesn’t have to be this way. Help me. Help us.”

He looked away, a muscle working in his jaw.

“Please,” she whispered.

When he didn’t answer she touched his arm. “You’re a good man, John. I know because you’re willing to do what it takes to save your brother. But at what price? Barun is going to kill Morgan and what will become of me? Is it worth it? Is your brother’s life worth sacrificing so many other lives?”

He backed up a few paces. “I did what I had to.”
 

Juliana stared at him for several pounding heartbeats of silence, then nodded once. “And I’m doing what I have to. Now, Barun is waiting for me and we don’t want to keep him waiting, do we?”

John hesitated. It looked like he wanted to say more but instead he turned and walked down the hall. Juliana hurried to catch up. When they reached Barun’s cabin they both hesitated. What she was doing worried John. Good. She’d use that to her advantage. She’d use whatever it took to escape. He looked at her a long time before finally knocking on the door and opening it. Juliana paused, glanced at John, then stepped through.

He was waiting for her, standing beside a table filled with a vast amount of food. Food she knew she wouldn’t be able to eat.

Barun’s eyes lit up as soon as he saw her but she was far from flattered. His look was predatory and it made her stomach cramp.

“You are beautiful,” he said as he pulled a chair out for her. “Exquisite.”

She took the seat so she wouldn’t have to face him. Small victories. It was the small that would keep her going. That and being with Morgan at night. “Thank you for the lovely gown.”

“A lovely gown for a lovely lady.” He took her hand and kissed her knuckles as he stared into her eyes. Juliana forced herself to look at him.

“It was a relief to get out of the other filthy gown.” Beneath the table her free hand tightened into a fist but she kept her expression serene.

He smiled and seated himself next to her. So close their elbows were touching. She didn’t move for fear of giving herself away.

“Eat,” he said.

Barun watched her closely as she put bite after bite into her mouth, chewed and swallowed, while he ate very little. Her stomach churned but she willed the food down, knowing as soon as she left his presence she’d throw it all up. She noticed more and more even the pitch and sway of the ship made her nauseous.

She put her fork down and sat back. “I can’t possibly eat another bite.”

Barun settled into his chair and lit a cigar without even asking her permission. Juliana thought of Patrick and the endless cigarettes he never lit. “Fire,” he’d said. Juliana knew firsthand how fire destroyed a ship and no doubt Barun did as well.

The cigar smoke curled around his head and drifted to her. Her stomach lurched and she swallowed, afraid she would be sick.

“Tell me,
sanam
, why the sudden change of heart?”

“Excuse me?” Her eyes watered and it was hard to see him through the smoke. Plus it took every bit of her willpower to force the food back into her stomach.

He turned the cigar and stared at the glowing tip. “At night, I do not sleep well and when I do not sleep, I tend to think.” He raised his dark, fathomless gaze to hers. “Mostly I think of you. Lately, I wonder about you.”

Juliana kept her gaze steady, tried to keep her heart from hammering out of her chest. He was playing with her, and unfortunately she had no idea in which direction this game had just turned. “And what is it you wonder, Sanjit?”

“Many things, my sweet.”

She leaned forward. The cut of the dress made it easy for him to see down her bodice. Something she was sure was deliberate. His gaze strayed to her bosom, then back to her face. No emotion. No flicker of lust. He was remarkably self-controlled and incredibly hard to read.

“You escaped me once,
sanam
. You were very determined to leave me. Going as far as injuring me in the process. I can’t help but wonder what is different. Why are you cooperating now?”

She hesitated. Which direction was the right direction to go? Play on her fear? Appear to be after his money? If only she could read his expressions or his body language. But he was deceptively sprawled in his chair, ankle crossed over a knee, cigar dangling from his fingers. No expression on his face except curiosity. Nothing in his eyes to indicate what he was thinking.

She adopted his tone and his body language and shrugged. “Things change,” she said. “What I had once thought of as an opportunity isn’t so much anymore.”

“Meaning?”

She leaned back in her chair and folded her hands over her churning belly. “Have you ever seen two deer fight?”

He shook his head and took a drag off the cigar. The tip flamed bright red then dimmed.

“Once, when I was a child, I saw two bucks fight. They were impressive with their large racks. And very violent. They were fighting for supremacy over a doe. Whoever won got the female. They fought for a long time, their antlers crashing into each other over and over again. They were breathing hard. The doe had no choice. It mattered little what she wanted. You and Morgan are like those two bucks. Whoever wins gets the girl and the girl doesn’t have a say. Obviously you have defeated Morgan. I know a winner when I see one.”

He stared at her for a long time as he puffed on his cigar. It was hard not to squirm under his direct gaze.

“You have no feelings for the slave?” He reached over and took her hand. He placed it on the table before them and covered it with his. It took every bit of self-control to keep from snatching her hand back.

“No. No feelings.”

“And you understand I can provide better for you than the slave?”

“Yes.”

He turned her hand over palm up and shoved the burning tip of his cigar into her flesh. She screamed. Her body convulsed. The smell of burnt skin gagged her. She tried pulling her hand away but his hold was bruising. Smoke rose from her skin and her screams rose with it.

Finally, he pulled the cigar away. She leaned over and threw up. Barun sat back in his chair, watching her with expressionless eyes and puffing on his cigar.

Juliana’s vision dimmed and through sheer force of will, she kept herself conscious. The stench of burning flesh and vomit overrode the aroma of the sweet smell of his cigar and caused her stomach to cramp.

“That is my brand,” he said calmly. “From now on you will know you belong to me. Do you understand?”

She cradled her hand close to her stomach and curled her body over it. Tears poured out of her eyes, her sobs coming from deep within.

John was suddenly there, beside her. She didn’t remember seeing him enter but he gently took her arm and helped her stand. Her legs shook and she had to lean on him as they left Barun’s cabin.

“What the hell did he do to you?” John asked as soon as the door closed behind them.

She shook her head. “Up top. T-take me up top. Please.”

Her knees buckled and he took the majority of her weight, practically carrying her up the steps. The pain was excruciating. She wanted to beg him to cut her hand off. As soon as they reached topside, she slid to the deck and sat with her head bowed, riding the waves of pain, waiting for the throbbing to ease. John fetched a bucket of clean water and put her hand in it. She didn’t scream but she wanted to. She felt the ship tilt and everything went black. She awoke when John splashed her face with water.

“We can’t stay here,” he said urgently. “I need to get you back to the hold before Barun finds us.” He wrapped a clean cloth around her hand and tied it into a makeshift bandage, and led her down to the hold. The trip was nothing but a path of pain and nausea.

Morgan was awake when she returned. Quickly she pulled away from John although it took all her strength to do it. John closed the door and she heard the lock turn.

“You shouldn’t be up,” she said, surprised her voice was strong.

“Where were you?”

She could lie, but found she didn’t have the energy for it. Besides, she didn’t want lies between them. Barun had taken enough away, she refused to let him rob them of their trust with one another. “I had dinner with Barun in exchange for supplies to heal you.”

He made a strangled sound, his expression as close to frozen horror as she’d ever seen.
 

“Trust me. Okay? I know what I’m doing.”

His gaze landed on her bandaged hand. He lifted it, sending a fresh wave of pain through her. Her vision dimmed again and she stood still, waiting for it to pass. Morgan, of course, didn’t miss any of her reaction.

“What the hell did he do to you?”

She opened her mouth to tell him but the words wouldn’t form. It was too horrifying. Slowly he unwrapped the bandage. His face paled at the perfect circle in the middle of her palm, red and raw and oozing.

“Oh, Juliana.” He kissed her fingers, and looked up at her with tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She touched his cheek with her uninjured hand. “It’s nothing compared to what he did to you.”

He let go of her, spun around and slammed his hand against the wall. “I feel like such a goddamn invalid. I can’t even protect my wife.” He rubbed his hands over his face and groaned. He dropped his hands and looked at her with a pain that went far beyond his injuries.

“Look at you,” she said. “You can barely walk. You can barely see because your face is so swollen. Let me do what I can.”

“I’m supposed to take care of you. Not the other way around!”
 

“You really are an eighteenth-century man, aren’t you? Don’t forget, Morgan, I didn’t grow up in this time. I can take care of myself. I can take care of both of us.”

He lifted her injured hand. The wound throbbed in beat to her racing heart. “Is this what you call taking care of us? This is just the beginning. It will get worse, trust me.”

She had no doubt he was right and it scared the crap out of her, but she had to do what she had to do to keep them alive. “I’m working on John, trying to convince him to help us.”

Morgan made a low sound in his throat. “John was the bloody traitor! He burned my ship, killed four men in the process and led Barun straight to us. I wouldn’t trust him with anything.”

“You haven’t seen him, Morgan. He feels guilty, and I’m working on that guilt. I think I can turn him to our side.”

He pressed his lips together and for the first time looked at her gown. He was pale before but now he was gray. “Your dress.” The words were choked, forced out.

“Clothes aren’t important right now.”

“Tell me you haven’t… He hasn’t…”

“No.” She took a step closer to him. “Never, Morgan.”

“Then what are you doing? What games are you playing?”

“I’m walking the deck with him, having dinner with him in payment for the bedding, decent food and clean water. That’s all.”

“He’ll want more. He won’t be happy with that for long. Then what will you do?”

He was voicing her own fears and she didn’t have an answer. “I’m all we have. You have to trust me with this.”

“Damn you, Juliana, don’t do this to yourself. To us. I love you. I’d rather you die than give yourself to that man.”

“Trust me,” she whispered. “Until you heal, until there’s another way, this is the best chance we have.”

He turned and paced away. Slowly she sank to the floor and gingerly held her throbbing hand close to her while Morgan walked. A long time passed. Her eyes were growing heavy, the pain diminishing to a dull throb. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into Morgan’s arms and sleep.

She knew Morgan wouldn’t like her plan, but it never occurred to her he might not like her after it was all done and over.

When he finally looked at her, his face was slick with sweat and he was breathing deeply. Where there had once been desperation in his expression, now there was fury. “I will get well,” he declared softly. “I will heal and then I will kill the son of a bitch.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Did he hurt you?”

Morgan was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, bruised face closed from all expression. He’d been asleep when she left to go to Barun—or had been pretending to sleep, at least—and she’d hoped he would be asleep now. “No.”

“How’s your hand?” He pushed away from the wall.