Come the Dawn (13 page)

~ ~ ~

The watcher stood in the shadows, looking toward the darkened room on the second floor. The door was bolted and the curtains pulled. One by one the lights went out in the grand house. And still he did not move. His thoughts were dark, his mouth set in a harsh line.

It was not over yet, he swore. As he spoke, his fingers crushed the rose he had taken from the thronged ballroom, a blush-pink bloom whose petals reminded him of India Delamere’s creamy cheeks.

Petal after petal fell silently on the cold cobblestones and then were ground ruthlessly beneath his boot.

Soon the last prize would be within his grasp.

~ ~ ~

India’s eyes opened. A hundred different emotions warred in her head as she studied Devlyn’s dark features sculpted by moonlight.

She caught a ragged breath. “Devlyn, I—”

“No, don’t.” His voice was low, tight. He eased away and sat stiffly on the opposite seat. “Do not misunderstand. It was for you, but also for me, Princess.”

“Princess?” Her voice was unsteady.

“You might as well be. That Delamere pride is part of you, obvious in every gesture and look. But tonight I needed to feel that blind passion course through you. I had to see if your softness and your heat would fill the silence and all those dark holes.” He cleared his throat. “You know about the darkness. I’ve seen that in your eyes, too.”

She shivered. “It was chaos. The wounded just kept coming…”

Thorne’s mouth hardened. “I won’t shame either of us by apologizing for something I don’t regret in the slightest. And
yet…”
His hands tightened as he looked out at the passing streets, silent and lonely in the last hours before dawn. “One thing I swear. It won’t happen again.
Never.”

Slowly, India sat up. “So this is all to be forgotten, as if it never happened?”

“Exactly. It’s the only way. What just took place never should have — and it never will again.”

Abruptly, Thorne sat forward. “You’re bleeding again.”

India looked down, surprised to see the dark stain at her side. “So I am,” she said mechanically.

Thorne muttered harshly, pulled his cravat free, then pressed it against her side. “Don’t move. How could I have been such a fool to—” He shook his head. “Maybe you’re right. Thornwood House is no longer safe for you.” He pulled away the tangle of linen and stared down at the dark drops of blood, then returned it to her side. “More of a fool than I thought,” he muttered. Leaning out the carriage window, he shouted hoarsely. “Devonham House, coachman. And be quick about it!”

A moment later the team turned. Devlyn sat in tight-lipped silence, his hand cradling India’s side.

“What if your memory doesn’t matter?” India said unsteadily. “What if I’m willing to take you any way I can have you, Devlyn Carlisle?”

“But not for long, I’ll warrant. You’ve too much dignity for that. Even if you accepted me, do you think I could agree, knowing that I could give only part of me? Knowing that every second we were together was built on lies and omissions that must eventually tear your heart in two?” he said bitterly. He reached out to catch her hand and with exquisite grace he raised her palm to his lips. “Not like a thief in the night. No, by heaven, not in this damned hole-in-the-wall manner.”

The carriage lurched to a halt outside the elegant town house belonging to the Duchess of Cranford.

After opening the door, Devlyn looked at India for long moments. Then he swept her up into his arms.

“I’m perfectly able to walk.”

“But
I’m
not able to let you,” he said roughly. “It is a small enough service to render, after all.”

Her body was stiff as he carried her up the steps, where the door was thrown open by a sleepy footman. “Who—” The startled servant rubbed his eyes. “My lady?”

“Yes, Thomas, I’m home again. You needn’t stay, however.”

“But, my lady, you’re
bleeding!”
The young footman’s eyes swept accusingly to Thornwood.

“Of course she is. She doesn’t know the meaning of rest.” Devlyn felt the damp trickle of her blood at his hand. “I’m taking her up to her room.”

“But—”

The earl did not wait for an answer. He strode toward the stairs. But at the foot of the great winding staircase Devlyn was stopped by an imperious butler. “Well, man, where’s her room?”

The old retainer, dignified and silent, did not move.

“Her room, blast it. Don’t you understand English?” He felt a tug at his shoulder and looked down at India.

“Don’t bother,” she said softly. “It’s Tuesday.”

“What in bloody hell does
that
have to do with anything?”

Her frown told him what she thought of his language.

“A thousand apologies, Princess. Now tell me why the day should be of any interest right now.”

“On Tuesdays Beach does not speak, of course.”

“Of course,” Devlyn muttered. “Why didn’t I know that? Since your butler does not deign to speak, why don’t
you
tell me where your room is?”

“Up the stairs and to the left.”

But Devlyn got no more than a few steps when his way was again blocked, this time by a plump woman with a string of keys jangling at her waist. “I beg your pardon,” he said, “but I need to get up the stairs.”

The woman did not move. Indeed, she gave no sign that she had noticed his presence.

Devlyn started to speak, then stopped. He stared down at India. “Don’t tell me. It’s Tuesday and she—”

“Oh, not because it’s Tuesday.” India’s voice was softly protective. “Mrs. Harrison never recognizes the presence of a male after midnight on the second week of the month. It has something to do with an uncle who had promised her passage to the West Indies, where she was to meet her future husband and be married. Unfortunately, her uncle died in a state of violent inebriation and his heir refused her any assistance. As a result, Mrs. Harrison’s chance at love was shattered. I suspect she has never quite forgiven either man.”

“Mrs.?”

“Just a formality. She never married,” India whispered.

Devlyn frowned. To India Delamere this all seemed entirely commonplace, but he was stunned. In his family servants had been treated well, but impersonally. Certainly his mother and father had never made the slightest effort to remember the likes and dislikes or personal history of their staff.

It struck Devlyn that he had never had any attachment to those who had served as he grew up. He began to think his life was made a great deal poorer by that loss.

He was wondering what else was in store as he sidestepped the motionless cook and made for the beautiful staircase that spiraled up to the second floor.

But when he put one foot on the stairs, India’s voice caught him up sharply. “No, don’t!”

He looked down, one dark brow cocked. “What now? No, don’t tell me. Napoleon is visiting and no one else may use the staircase when the emperor is in residence.”

“Of course not.” India’s eyes narrowed. “I see,” she said gravely. “You are poking fun at our little rituals. I suppose they must seem frivolous to an outsider. Others have told me so often enough.”

Pain darkened her eyes and instantly Devlyn regretted every sharp word. He had a furious desire to know who had dared to say a cutting word to this unique creature in his arms. Devlyn would gladly have run the bastard through with a blade at that moment.

“No, not frivolous. They simply require a bit of getting used to. Now perhaps you will tell me why I must not climb the staircase?”

India glanced at the elegant little timepiece pinned to the bodice of her dress. “Because it’s after twelve o’clock.”

Devlyn waited. No doubt this was supposed to mean something to him, but he had no idea what.

“It is nearly time, you see.” She looked expectantly at the staircase.

Devlyn also looked. A tall figure appeared at the top of the stairs, clad in the pristine crimson livery of the duchess. As Devlyn watched in amazement, the man hooked one leg over the banister and began a perfectly balanced, hair-raising descent that brought him in a matter of seconds down two flights of steps. At the bottom he slid off handily and came to a halt before India.

He made a careful bow. “My lady,” he murmured, and moved off toward the kitchen.

It was only then that Devlyn noticed the servant’s awkward limp as he tapped across the gleaming marble of the alcove. “An accident?”

“Albert and his family have been with us forever. He accompanied Papa on many of his archaeological excursions abroad. But he was badly wounded at Ciudad Rodrigo in the thick of the fighting. Papa called in the best physicians, but the leg was still lost. Papa insisted on giving him an easier job, but Albert wouldn’t hear of it. Every night he insists on patrolling the house to see that all is secure. With all those flights of stairs so devilishly difficult, Ian and I hit upon this method to ease his way.” She looked up at Devlyn, her face utterly sincere. “It
is
better for him, don’t you think?”

The Earl of Thornwood could only stare down in amazement. In his whole life, had he ever given half this much thought to the people who cleaned his dishes, laid his fires, or cared for his clothing?

He nodded gravely. “Yes, you are quite right, Princess. It
is
a much better system. It was very clever of you and Ian to have thought of it.”

“I’m glad you agree. It is safe to go up now. We will have no more activity for a quarter hour.”

Devlyn’s brow rose. “What happens then?”

“That’s when Albert returns by the little basket chair that we fitted to the staircase. He is most adept at using it by himself, but he would be uncomfortable if we were watching.”

Devlyn fought to hide a smile. “Of course, we must not be present,” he said gravely.

“Not that you have to
carry
me at all,” India began. “I am well able to walk. It is but a bit of blood and my side feels quite well, I assure you.”

“Out of the question. I’m taking you up and will see you placed safely in your bed. There you are to stay until the surgeon pays a visit tomorrow.”

“Oh, I shall, shall I?”

“Yes, you’ll do
exactly
that.” At that moment something brushed against Devlyn’s leg. A large gray shape ghosted around him and blocked the stairs.
What now
, Devlyn thought.

He looked down at feral green eyes, a wide nose, and gleaming white teeth.

Sweet heaven, it was a wolf and the huge creature was crouched to strike.

Grimly, Devlyn swung around, placing his body between India and the wolf, wishing desperately for a weapon of some sort. Even a walking stick would be better than his bare fists against those teeth.

“Down, Luna. It’s quite all right, he is a friend.”

Luna?
Devlyn heard a last low growl give way to a whine. Good God, was this wild creature her
pet?

India looked up and smiled. “It is terribly selfish of me, I know, but I couldn’t leave her behind. I found her nearly dead in Brussels when I was — when I was traveling about.”

Traveling about.

Dev understood instantly. When she had been looking for him. What sights she must have seen in those nightmare weeks following Waterloo. And how like her to be concerned with a helpless creature even when she had so much trouble of her own.

Thorne’s fingers tightened unconsciously. He felt a burning urge to pull her close and kiss her fiercely.

Except that the great beast would probably bite off both his legs, Devlyn thought darkly.

“Is something wrong?”

“Wrong? Why do you say that?”

“Because the way you’re holding me is going to leave bruises tomorrow.”

Instantly Thorne relaxed his fingers, cursing slightly.

But India’s gaze was thoughtful. Before Devlyn could say a word, she looked away. “Go ahead, Luna,” she ordered softly.

As the great silver-haired wolf turned and loped up the staircase, Thorne followed, struck by the feeling that he had stepped into a bizarre dream. “How old is she?” he asked, watching the magnificent creature move over the priceless Persian carpet.

“A little over two years, I think.” India frowned. “I couldn’t bear to leave her behind in Norfolk, but it has been rather an ordeal for her here in London. I hooked her to a leash and took her to Hampstead Heath one afternoon for a run, but she ended up scaring away all the sheep. Then two despicable old men had the arrogance to try to shoot her. I couldn’t allow
that,
of course.”

“Of course,” Dev said, managing to keep his voice calm. “You shot them instead, I take it?”

“I
would
have if I’d had my pistol. Instead I simply stirred up the sheep a little bit.” A dimple appeared at India’s cheek. “Well, perhaps more than a little. When I was done, the great bleating creatures had charged everywhere. They knocked down those two beastly men before they could do any harm to Luna, so all was well in the end.”

Two hundred sheep sent hammering off in terror over Hampstead Heath? No doubt their owner would not see things quite the way India did.

Dev cleared his throat to avoid laughing aloud at the thought of the ensuing chaos. He began to wish they had had someone of her utter resoluteness with them at Waterloo. No doubt she would have sent Napoleon screaming back to Paris in terror before a single shot was fired.

India frowned at him. “I’m sorry that you think us comical.”

“But I don’t. Unusual. Adventurous. Resolute. But never comical.”

“Oh.” A long pause. “But really, there’s no reason to carry me. I would—” Her face flushed. “I would prefer to walk.”

“And make that wound bleed again? Out of the question.”

Devlyn moved past a marble alcove decorated with life-sized Greek statues, Hindu deities, and thirty-foot Italian Renaissance tapestries. “Where now?”

India pointed down a corridor filled with landscape paintings. At the far end stood a mahogany chest covered with polished chunks of Baltic amber, an exquisite miniature of an old Spanish galleon, and a collection of snakeskins.

Devlyn shook his head. “I feel as if I’ve walked into the British Museum. Is there
anything
your family doesn’t collect?”

India’s face was pale. He realized she was fighting exhaustion and pain.

“We collect whatever intrigues us,” she said firmly. “The materials or costs are irrelevant. All that matters is their honesty. Honesty carries its own beauty.”

Devlyn frowned a little at her words, knowing they were a question he could not answer. Not until he’d found Napoleon’s cursed diamonds.

He stopped at an open door.

“This is it,” India said. “You can put me down.”

Thorne did nothing of the sort. Instead he stood studying the large room. One glance would have told him this had to be
hers.
Upon one long lacquer table lay an array of precious Pacific coral. Nearby a line of seashells circled a working astrolabe from a Spanish galleon and a beautifully illuminated medieval book of days in jewel-tone colors. A miniature hot air balloon, rendered in stiffened silk and fine slivers of bamboo, sat on a table under the window. Beside the model lay a notebook covered with sketches of various basket structures and rigging types.

Thorne stared down at the woman in his arms. “The sketches are yours?”

“Of course,” India said. “Ian and I have been working on some modifications.”

Devlyn cursed softly. “Don’t tell me you’ve been
up
in one of those things?”

India’s brow rose. “They are entirely safe, as long as one has calculated the proper amount of ballast. Of course, if you allow too much, you will crash. And if you allow too little—”

Devlyn shook his head. “I don’t want to hear it. Balloon ascensions,” he muttered. “Next you will tell me you’re thinking about jumping out of one of the things with a pair of silken wings to see if you can fly.”

India shook her head seriously. “Oh no, not
wings.
But there is a new device designed by a man in France. It has a curving canopy and dangling strings. He calls it a parachute and I’ve been trying to persuade Ian to—”

“I don’t want to hear! If nothing else, your family ought to find you a husband just to keep you from afflicting damage on yourself and everyone within three counties.”

India stiffened. “I see. That, I suppose, is your notion of why a woman should take a husband.”

“It appears to be better than
most
of the reasons women choose for marriage,” Devlyn said grimly.

“As you seem to have forgotten, I
have
a husband, and I find your manner loathsome. Put me down this instant.”

“Gladly.” Devlyn deposited her in a heap on top of a pile of pillows. “Hot air balloons,” he muttered furiously.

But his exit was cut off by the arrival of the Duchess of Cranford, looking more fragile than usual, her tiny body half concealed beneath a heavy shawl. “What exactly do the two of you think you’re doing?” She closed the door behind her, mindful of curious servants below on the stairs. “It is nearly one o’clock in the morning.”

Devlyn thrust his hands into his pockets. “Well,
she
tried to—”

India cut in. “He positively doesn’t know the
first
thing about—”

“Be quiet, the both of you.” The duchess glared at the two of them. Her eyes narrowed at the small bloodstain on the side of India’s gown. “Obviously you have no more sense than a caged baboon, India. I’ll tend to that wound of yours in a moment. Meanwhile, you will stay in that bed and not move a muscle, is that understood?”

India opened her mouth, then closed it. Sighing, she nodded, knowing that any attempts to argue with her grandmother would ultimately be useless.

Next the frail old woman glared at Thorne. “And as for you, my lord, I shall expect to see you cooling your heels downstairs in my study precisely on the first stroke of eight o’clock. Is that understood?”

“I shall try to fit it into my schedule,” Thorne said tightly. “Has anyone ever told you that you are perfectly Machiavellian, Your Grace?”

The duchess smoothed her shawl. “More times than you might imagine, young man.” Her eyes focused on the distance for a moment. “William Pitt once told me that had I been born a man the course of Europe might have been changed.” She laughed softly. “As for your Machiavelli, I continue to read him once every year just to keep myself in good form.”

Devlyn looked impressed. “In the original Italian, of course?”

The duchess’s brow rose. “But of course. Doesn’t everyone?” Then she made a shooing motion. “Now be gone with you. My granddaughter and I have work to do.” With that curt order, she turned to India.

Devlyn left, feeling like an ungainly chicken sent clucking from its master’s path. On his way down the stairs he passed four avidly curious footmen, the cook, who froze at the sight of him, and a silent butler. Behind him, he heard the creak of Albert’s wicker basket being pulled into place.

Thorne wasn’t sure if
he
had gone mad or this whole household had.