Come the Dawn (10 page)

But her brother snorted fondly. “You’re no such thing. A hoyden and a minx, but never a disgrace.” Then his smile faded. “And as for Thornwood, I think you must learn to wait. He has come back to you, his body intact at least. We can only pray that his mind will return also. And now,” he said gravely, “I want to know
exactly
what you were doing wandering about the streets last night and how in heaven’s name you managed to get yourself shot by a pair of footpads.”

“I had to see him, Ian. I couldn’t bear that we would run across one another among a crowd of strangers outside the British Museum or in a crowded ballroom. And it was worse than I could have imagined. There was
nothing
in his eyes, nothing in his face. I thought his death had destroyed me, but this — this is like a waking death.” Her hands tightened on the linens. “I know I need to rest while this wound heals, but I don’t know if I can stand the pain of staying here and seeing him like
that.”

Her brother frowned. “You shouldn’t be up and about for several more days.”

“I can manage it,” India said grimly. “I
have
to.”

“No doubt you’d try, but I can’t let you. Irregular as it is, you must stay here until the doctor pronounces you fit to travel.”

“But—”

“No buts. You need time to regain your strength. Is that agreed?”

His sister made a muffled sound of protest.

“India?”

“Don’t worry, Ian. I won’t do anything rash.”

Her brother sniffed. “That was the same thing you said the day you decided to jump from the barn with a set of silken wings. I believe you wanted to see if you could fly.”

India smiled at the memory. “At least I had my answer. Fortunately I broke only one arm when I hit that pile of hay.”

Her brother looked at her with bemused affection. “Reckless has always been your middle name, India. Sometimes I think it curses all of the Delameres.” Ian sighed. “All I ask is that you be careful.”

“I’ll try.” India touched his hand. “I’m nearly afraid to ask what Grandmama has to say about all this.”

Ian’s eyes rolled. “Better not to ask. I expect that she will pay you a visit later this afternoon. She means to find out if the earl is related to the Hampshire Carlisles. She called them a dreadful, scurrilous lot and said if he has
any
resemblance to them, she’ll see you carried home herself.”

“Is there
anyone
in England that Grandmama does not know?” India asked wonderingly.

A stern answer shot from the doorway. “No one who counts, my dear.” And then the duchess herself appeared, silver cane in hand, her back stiffly erect as she studied her granddaughter. Ian pulled a chair closer to the bed and helped her to sit down.

“Vastly irregular,” the duchess snapped. “Even for a family such as ours, which doesn’t know the meaning of the word. You are feeling well?”

India nodded.

The duchess looked unconvinced. “I spoke with that surgeon of Thornwood’s. The man assures me the wound is clean and in several days you’ll be able to leave. Meanwhile, he insists it’s best for you to stay here. I suppose I have to agree with him.” She cleared her throat. “I met those three children. An odd business, to be sure, for them to have fallen into Thorne’s care. They are in dreadful need of manners, of course, but rather engaging in their way. Especially that youngest girl.” She made her voice carefully casual. “And you will be happy to know that the earl is
not
related to the Carlisles I knew in Hampshire. A good thing, too, since Henry Carlisle was an out-and-out bounder if I ever saw one.”

India suppressed a smile as the woman looked imperiously about the room. The bed was piled high with pillows, and books lay within easy reach on a nearby table. Crisp white curtains flapped at the window beside a row of framed botanical prints.

The duchess nodded in approval. “Very nice. Yes, you’ll have to stay here awhile longer, India. I shall come to see you every day, of course. So will that ungainly brother of yours.” She slanted Ian a disapproving look. “As long as he isn’t off on some secret mission or other.”

An outsider might have thought her unduly critical, but India knew this was an old argument and she merely smiled. Then the duchess sniffed as India vainly tried to hide a yawn. “You’ve done too much, gel. I can see that clearly now. I’ll be off and I’ll take your brother with me. If you need anything,
anything at all,
you’re to send a message to me. I can have that crotchety old Montvale look in on you, too, if you like.”

“That would be fine,” India said, her voice rather faint. In truth, she
was
struggling to keep her eyes open. By the time her grandmother and brother left the room, her head was already nestled against her pillow.

~ ~ ~

The duchess sat stiffly, eyes narrowed, while the carriage lurched around the sunny square.

“Well, Grandmama?”

“Well,
what,
boy? Do you think to discover some mystery?”

“I am merely wondering what is making you so thoughtful.”

“Humph.” The duchess moved the tip of her silver cane in a restless circle. “There’s something here I can’t put my finger on. Something odd.”

Ian’s jaw hardened. “What do you mean, Grandmama? Do you think that Thornwood has gone past the line with India? If so, by God, I’ll—”

The duchess waved her hand impatiently. “No, no, the man was cool as a Scotland salmon. That’s exactly what bothered me. Any normal, red-blooded male would be more than a little unsettled by being in the same house with your sister. That girl’s a beauty, right and proper, and yet the man seemed as if he’d been closeted with an old hag like myself.”

The duchess frowned out the window at the smoke that rose from the chimneys and coiled around the tile rooftops. “No, there’s something very odd in this, mark my words. One way or another, I mean to find out what.”

The next two days passed slowly. India alternated between resting and reading to the unruly trio of children, who seemed constitutionally unable to agree on anything. If Alexis wanted poetry, Marianne and Andrew wanted adventure tales. If Andrew wanted history, then Alexis and Marianne wanted adventure stories. India had had little experience dealing with children, but she found she enjoyed Thorne’s wards. They were frank, relentlessly curious, and all too capable of making the same faux pas that she often feared committing herself.

Meanwhile Thorne’s doctor had come every day as promised. The earl himself had been an unfailingly pleasant, if distant, host. But it was that very pleasantness — and distance — that left India’s throat tight and her eyes burning with tears after every meeting. Since their explosive encounter on the staircase, there was nothing in Thorne’s eyes beyond cool affability. He even looked different, India thought sometimes. Every scrap of passion and emotion seemed to have vanished, until India wondered if she had only imagined their tense encounter.

But each hour left her more desperate to be gone from his house. On the second night, when her old dreams returned in shattering force, India knew it must be soon.

~ ~ ~

She ran blindly.

Charging horses streamed around her, neighing wildly in a city gone mad. In the distance she could hear the pounding of Napoleon’s cannons, ranged six to one against the troops of Wellington. Already the wounded had begun to trickle into Brussels, white-faced and exhausted beneath layers of gunpowder and grime. They said little, but they did not need to. There were far too many words in their eyes, which carried the dark horror of the battlefield.

But the man India waited for did not come. After long hours helping the wounded in makeshift tents, India had finally gone back and curled up in a little window seat that overlooked the major thoroughfare. And there she had slept.

Now, a year later, she relived that same dream in all its fury. She relived the night in a moonlit garden where each had gone to escape the heat and din of a crowded ballroom. Devlyn had found her taking a stone from her slipper and had gallantly insisted on bending down to restore the shoe to her foot. He had saved her bonnet on the street the week before. There the magic had begun, the kind of magic that strikes but once in a lifetime. As the moon gilded Devlyn’s dark hair and shimmered over his hard features, a net of light crept over India, touching her soft curves and enhancing the fullness of her mouth. Bent before her on the ground, Devlyn Carlisle had stared up speechless, struck by a storm of sensual awareness. His hands had tightened with the urgency to
possess her. Standing above him, India had caught a jerky breath, feeling a thorn press into her hands. But it was a small pain compared to the vise at her heart as she realized she was staring into the eyes of the man she would love forever.

On and on the dream bore her, carrying wild fragments of those weeks they had spent in Brussels. Then in a blur the days fled past, and she twisted sharply, reliving the moment she had looked into her landlady’s worried face. “Forgive me,” the woman had said in hasty French. “There is an officer below to see you.”

India had flown down the stairs, only to stop when she saw not Dev but one of his fellow officers.

His eyes were glazed, his face covered with soot, but he took her hand and kissed it gallantly. “I have but a second,” he had said apologetically. “Then I must be off again.” His fingers had tightened. “I am sorry, but he wanted me to tell you, should anything happen. I was with him, you see, when the charge was made. I saw his horse go down and then the saber cut he took at his chest. No one could have survived, not after a wound like that.”

A wild roaring filled her ears. The room had tipped sharply. The next moment the world had gone dark around her.

Now, as so many other nights before, India relived that same horror of losing someone to whom she had given her heart and her future. The memories left her pitching on the bed, while her hands reached out blindly to a future she could never have and a happiness she could never quite forget.

Concealed in the shadows, Devlyn Carlisle watched India twist in restless dreams. He was dust-stained and tired from long hours on horseback, but he could not resist one glimpse of her before taking himself off to rest. He drove one hand through his hair, frowning as he fought a raw urge to pull her into his arms. The heat of his body would soothe her.

But Devlyn knew he could not touch her again. He had come too close to revealing himself twice already. Any more mistakes could put them both in gravest danger, and the interests of their country along with them.

But by all that was holy, how he wanted her. The need to possess her was as great as it had ever been. Desire surged through him, hot and mocking. He could smell her soft scent on the air, something with violets and a faint hint of sage.

From one of the bedposts hung her battered straw hat, a white band of cutwork linen across its brim. How like her it was, Dev thought. Beautifully made, with elegant proportions, it was still perfectly suited to action and use.

Temptation overwhelmed him. He moved close, caught her restless fingers and pressed a kiss upon her palm, wishing he could do far more.

But he could not. Only exhaustion made him risk this much.

He took one lingering look then turned from her, pushing away his own dreams and striding back into the night as silently as he had come.

~ ~ ~

The moon was a fragile curve of silver between the drifting curtains when India awoke. She was exhausted, her whole body aching. She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes as she fought through a storm of old memories.

Somewhere downstairs came the faint rise and fall of voices. After a moment India recognized Thorne’s low rumble, harsher than usual. Moving to the door, she listened intently.

“But I don’t understand why not. You are quite free now. You must have nothing but leisure since this wretched war is done.”

“That may be so, but your husband is barely three weeks in the grave, my lady.”

“What does it matter
how
long Frederick has been dead? I never loved him, if that’s what you’re thinking. Come, my lord. It will be unforgettable. Kiss me and I’ll show you.” The woman’s voice was slow and sultry.

India frowned, knowing she had heard that voice before. She was considering its identity when she heard Thorne’s curt answer.

“It is very late, Lady Marchmont. Your beauty is obvious, but I’m certain you can find many other men who would accept your generous offer.”

India heard the stamp of a foot and the crack of shattering china. “I don’t
want
any other man. I want you, Thorne. And what I want I invariably get,” the countess purred.

“Not this time.”

“No? We shall see.” There was a sultry laugh. Silk rustled.

Fire filled India. So the notorious Lady Marchmont had set her sights on Thornwood, had she? If India had anything to say about it, the beautiful widow would be disappointed with this night’s work.

Smiling darkly, India looked around the room and set to work.

~ ~ ~

 “Come, Devlyn, surely you can feel some sympathy for me. I am a young, passionate woman. My husband’s death has left me bereft and lonely.”

Her companion laughed grimly, trying to pull free of her trapping fingers. “I doubt that you were
ever
lonely, my lady. In fact, I think you must have men lining up in search of your favors.”

“Perhaps I have, but that does not mean I have accepted any of them,” the dashing widow murmured. “Not until tonight,” she added suggestively.

At that moment coal buckets clanged from the doorway, and a vision in grime stumbled into the room. The woman’s face was dark with soot and her hair was bound by a dirty mobcap.

India maneuvered her tin buckets filled with an array of brushes and dusters toward the fireplace, stopping only long enough to drop a quick curtsy. “There you two be. Don’t let me disturb you. I’ll work around you, so I will. Can’t ever let that soot build up, you see. I had a niece in service what didn’t clean the fireplaces for two days and the next thing the whole family was laid low with a putrefying contagion of the lungs. Aye, just you go on about your business and pay no heed to me. I’ll be about my cleaning, right over here.”

India clattered through the room, dropped her buckets noisily on the marble hearth, and began laying out her equipment before her.

But Helena Marchmont was not about to have an audience for her attempted seduction. “Really, this is the outside of enough! See this creature gone, my lord.”

“But you heard what she said, Helena. Hygiene standards must be maintained, after all.”

Angry light flared in the widow’s eyes as she studied the grimy figure bent over the fireplace. “Have you worked in service long?” she demanded sharply.

The voice beneath the mobcap was muffled. “Long enough, miss. Mebbe three months in London, I’ve been.”

The widow’s eyes narrowed. She bent her head sideways, hoping to get a better look at this odd, forward servant. But somehow the look was always denied her.

The earl cleared his throat. “As you can see, Helena, our, er, talk had best be postponed.”

The widow was opening her mouth to protest when a bucket clattered at her foot. The next moment a greasy cloud of soot and coal dust enveloped her white satin slippers. The countess gave an angry cry and jumped back, but the movement sent coal dust wafting over her silk gown. “You did that on purpose!” she said shrilly.

“Oh, I do beg pardon. Right clumsy I am sometimes. It’s these old bones acting up. Rain tomorrow and no mistake. Why, just last month I was telling my niece—”

“We have no interest whatsoever in you
or
your stupid niece,” Lady Marchmont hissed. “Go and fetch a clean cloth, so I may tidy my slippers.”

“Oh, I’m certain I couldn’t do that, not now. It’s these fireplaces I must be tending. It wouldn’t do to have the whole household down with a contagion. Next thing
you
would be sure to take ill, my lady.” India continued relentlessly. “They do so say as how sickness takes a dreadful toll on a woman’s looks. Aye, it can leave her gray and haggard, old before her time.”

With a little cry the widow shrank back, her hands going protectively to her carefully rouged face.

Her companion managed to suppress a smile. “I really do think you had better be on your way home, Helena. I’ll send a footman to escort you.” He reached for the bellpull, and in a suspiciously short time the butler appeared.

“Yes, your lordship?”

“Lady Marchmont is just leaving, Chilton. Do see that her cloak and gloves are brought up, will you?”

The countess spun about. “But I haven’t said that I—”

She never finished.

With an ominous clatter, the little mahogany table to the left of the widow toppled forward. Crystal decanters of claret, port, and whiskey hurtled through the air, their crystal stoppers flying and their contents splashed across the widow’s already blackened skirts.

The countess shrieked, staring down at the litter around her. “This dress cost me fifty guineas. I’ll have
every
bit of it out of your wages, just see if I don’t!”

The earl put his hand firmly at Lady Marchmont’s back and pushed her toward the door. “I shall see the damage is reimbursed, never fear. Meanwhile you had better hurry home. In those wet skirts you run a risk of serious influenza.”