The Other Guy's Bride (20 page)

Unless she did not know him at all.

That had to be it. She felt obliged to honor her commitment to Pomfrey, without realizing that he would not have her. Of course she didn’t know him, how could she? She’d been a child when they’d been betrothed, and they’d been separated most of their engagement.

Jim raked a hand through his hair. “Miss Whimpelhall,”—what idiocy to speak so formally now—“Mildred. You must marry me. You must realize that what I did has changed everything for all of us. Pomfrey included.”

She frowned as though she was having difficulty comprehending what he was saying. “Because I am a…fallen woman?”

He didn’t know how to answer. She had never flinched from frank talk before, and there had never been a time that required frank, clear-headed talk like now. She must be made to realize that Pomfrey would not have her. “Yes. I would never have said it in so many words,”—in fact, he’d throttle anyone who did—“but, yes.”

“I see.”

“Listen to me. I would do anything if only circumstances could be otherwise, but they are not. I am not the husband you would choose. I wish to God I was some other man. Still, I am hopeful that we can make a marriage work. You cannot deny there is passion between us. That must count for something.”

His words seemed to drive home the immutability of what they’d done, for as he finished speaking she swayed. Even in the sparse light he saw her face drain of color.

“Yes. Something. But no. I won’t marry you.” Her voice was shaky.

He frowned, a growing sense of desperation seizing him. He realized he’d assumed she would agree without hesitation and that deep within him he’d been
glad
it had come this,
pleased
the issue had been forced, certain of his victory—yes,
victory
—and with that realization came guilt and self-loathing. He’d compromised her if not consciously, purposefully.

And yet, she still refused him.

“Mildred. Marry me. I will do whatever I can to make you happy.”

“I have no doubt.” He could barely hear her.

“Then marry me.” He reached across the distance dividing them and seized her upper arms and dragged her to him. She did not come voluntarily. That hurt him more than any words she could have said. He let her go and looked down into her face, willing her by the sheer dint of his resolve to consent to his proposal. “Please.”

“No.”

“Why? What if you are pregnant? What if you are with child?” he demanded, helpless and furious. “Have you thought of that? What will you do then?”

“Pomfrey will provide for him.”

“You poor, misguided fool,” he whispered. “Don’t you see? Pomfrey will not have you. He most certainly will not have another man’s bastard.”

She met his gaze unblinking. “Pomfrey will not know,” she said in a clear, empty voice. “There are many ways to lose one’s virginity. I will claim one of them. And if I am pregnant, many children are born early.”

He felt as if his heart stopped beating. He did not believe her. Her words ran contrary to everything he knew about her, everything he
thought
he knew about her. He shook his head slowly, negating her words, looking for some other explanation, some other reason for her refusal.

“What did you think?” she asked, her emotions raw in her voice. “Pomfrey is a colonel with a brilliant career ahead of him. He has power and prestige, the respect of his superiors and the admiration of his men.”

Each word cut him like a razor blade. He flinched as if he felt the lash on his back.

“He is noble and honorable, though perhaps not so
honorable
as you, for as you have pointed out, he would refuse to marry me if he knew of this. Of us. But he has a venerable name, wealth, and status. You have…a horse.” Her voice broke on a sob. “I’m not going to give up my future because of a lapse in judgment.”

A lapse in judgment
. She could not have found better words to destroy him. Her words threw up a mirror, showing him in excruciating detail how far he fell short of any hope he could ever aspire to her hand.

Of course
.
Of course she would choose to lie to Pomfrey rather than marry you
. He would have done the same. He stood very still, very straight, like he had another time years before accepting a similar judgment:
Worthless. Inferior
.
Only good dead.

“You’ve obviously a much clearer view of things than I,” he said. “I commend you on your perception and, of course, your decision.”

If possible, her face grew even paler, and he hated that, hated that he’d hurt her even now. He couldn’t stand to look at her, and so he grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled her toward him, spinning around and pulling her after him as he stalked from the tent.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice rising in trepidation. “Where are you taking me?”

“Where you’ve been wanting to go since the day we met, Miss Whimpelhall,” he ground out between his teeth. “To bloody Colonel Lord Pomfrey.”

Though the newly discovered muscles deep within her ached and a sharp stab of pain occasionally lanced between her legs in protest, Ginesse mounted the one-eyed camel without any help. Silently, she waited as Jim set loose the remaining camels and sent them off with a smack on the rump into the desert. When he caught her eye, he explained shortly that he was no murderer and that the Tuaregs would eventually catch their camels.

“How
honorable
,” she drawled furiously.

“Not really. Or I’d leave them the horse, too,” he said, pitching additional water bags over the camel’s back and jerking Ginesse’s knee out of the way in order to cinch the saddle tighter. “But I figure everyone should pay for their stupidity, and he’s the cost of theirs.”

That had been the last time he’d spoken to her. Which was wise because ever since he had told her he wished to
God
he was
some other man
, that though he could not
undo
the preceding minutes, he would nonetheless still act honorably and
make it right
, she been toying with the idea of unloading the rifle packed in a scabbard behind her and shooting him.

What made it all so unendurable was that ten minutes before he’d made these comments he had been buried deep inside her and she had never felt anything more
right
in her life. Even now, she would not undo those moments. He’d taught her the most intimate pleasure imaginable, a pleasure so deep, so intense, so
shared
that she hadn’t known where his body had ended and hers began. All that had existed had been a mounting anticipation, the narrowing spiral toward an exquisite crisis that had crashed over her, leaving her weak and vulnerable and clinging to him. Vulnerable because she loved him. The bastard.

In the last few weeks, she’d learned that what she wanted, what she had
always
wanted, more than respect or admiration or approval or a place alongside her brothers in archaeological history, was to be seen for who she was, unencumbered by her accident-ridden past or by scholastic expectations or by the glow of her family’s illustrious careers. Jim Owens had only known her as a girl with a fertile imagination, an insatiable curiosity, and a romantic disposition—and some issues regarding impulse control. The girl who she was, not the girl she was trying to be.

Just as she saw him.

Cowboy, duke, store clerk, or Bedouin prince. Labels didn’t matter anymore. She didn’t see any of them. She saw a strong, stern-faced man; a man of rare laughter but great humor; a man thoughtful and deliberate, but capable of swift and bold action; a man well-read and well-seasoned; a gentleman and a scoundrel; capable, devious, and, damn him, honorable. The man she loved. The man she wanted.

And now that she knew what she wanted, she would not be satisfied with anything less. If she couldn’t have Jim Owens’s heart, she wouldn’t accept any piece of him. She would not be part of some sad story of unrequited love. She would not spend her days hoping he did not come to regret his “honorable” offer. She had already spent too many years trying to be what she thought others wanted her to be. She wouldn’t spend her life trying to be Jim Owens’s beloved. She either was or she wasn’t.

In spite of it all, she’d
wanted
to say yes. She’d wanted to believe passion, as he’d said, ‘must count for something.’ She wanted to believe that regardless of what he said, or did not say, he cared for her in a way that could become love. And if she spent enough time willing it to be so, she knew herself well enough to recognize that she would make herself believe it. Just like she’d made herself believe that she had a passion for archaeology and Egyptology that equaled her father’s or her brothers’.

How strange to realize that now, when she’d discovered that was not who she was, that might be all she had left.

So, she’d done the only thing she could think of to protect herself from making that disastrous leap of faith, from heeding the tempting call of his honorable intentions. She’d thrown up between them the only barrier she knew he would not try to breach: Pomfrey.

He’d looked so shocked, so
offended
, when she’d told him she had no intention of telling Pomfrey they’d…had a physical relationship. But the assertion had served its purpose. And just to drive home the point that he must not press her, must not pursue the subject, must not play havoc with her resolve, she’d added the fantasy that she wanted the things Pomfrey could give her and he could not. She had expected him to be disgusted; she had never anticipated that he’d turn into this hard, cold-eyed stranger.

It was for the best. It made it easy to remember that he’d offered her an honorable alternative to being a “fallen woman,” not a passionate declaration of undying love.

Undying love. Perhaps she was a fool, but she knew such a thing existed. She’d been witness to one of the world’s great love stories: her parents. Was it too much to want the same? Perhaps it was, but she could not settle for less.

They rode far into the night. Though his possession had left her increasingly hurt and aching, she refused to complain. He stayed well ahead of her, silhouetted against the desert moon, so seamlessly melded with his gray stallion that they might have been a single creature. Finally, sometime after midnight, they came upon a copse of low-growing thorn bushes and he circled back to her side.

“We’ll rest here,” he said, dropping lightly from the Arabian’s bare back.

She tapped the camel with the riding stick, ordering it to kneel. For once, the cantankerous creature complied. Gingerly, Ginesse swung her leg over the saddle and slipped off. Her legs folded beneath her the minute her feet touched the earth, but she never fell. Jim was beside her, swinging her easily into his arms, his face set and angry once more.

How had she ever thought him enigmatic? She could read him so easily now. His frustration, his guilt, his concern. Surely there was love there? Why hadn’t he said so then?

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because it’s none of your business,” she said. Treacherous, unfaithful body, it melted against him.

His eyes glittered like hoarfrost. “Let’s get this straight, Miss Whimpelhall. Until I deliver you to Pomfrey, everything about you,
everything
is my business.”

He jounced her higher in his arms and she startled, flinging her arms around his neck to keep from falling. “Do you understand, Miss Whimpelhall?”

She swallowed, uncertain to how to deal with this cruel-seeming stranger. “Yes.”

“Good.” He carried her a short distance and eased her down, holding on to her arm as she sank gracelessly to the ground. He went back to the camel and unsaddled it, returning with the blanket from her back. He snapped it open. “Lie on this.”

She didn’t argue. She was sore, cold, and exhausted. She barely kept awake long enough to open the canteen he brought her and take a drink before she collapsed, asleep as soon as her head touched the blanket.

It was still dark when she came to and found herself once more in Jim’s arms. A faint light was sifting in from the east and the moon had set.

“We’re leaving? Let me down. I can walk.”

“No, you can’t,” he muttered.

He must have saddled the camel while she slept, for it was ready and waiting, the gray stallion tied behind. He deposited her sideways in the saddle and then mounted, drawing her onto his lap.

“This isn’t necessary,” she said. “I am perfectly capable of riding alone. I did so all last night.”

He closed his eyes briefly, as if to bring his temper under control. When he opened them, he sounded more composed. “I know that, and I regret it. I also know you must be in some pain and that last’s night ride only made matters worse,” he said. “You shouldn’t be riding astride. Not for a while yet. But the fact of the matter is that as much as I’m sure you don’t want to be anywhere near me, let alone in my arms, we don’t have the luxury of waiting for you to heal. I’m sorry.”

Heat rose in her cheeks. “How far are we from the garrison?”

He hesitated. “I’m not certain. The Tuaregs didn’t follow a straight trajectory. In the course of tracking them, I lost my reference points. We could be three days or a week.”

She heard a slight underlying tension in his voice. “Do we have enough water?”

He didn’t equivocate. “Probably.” He tilted his head. “You’re quite the pragmatist, aren’t you?”

She couldn’t hear any mockery in his voice, but she stiffened nonetheless. “I like to know where I stand.”

“Don’t we all,” he murmured and clucked lightly to get the camel moving. “Don’t we all.”

From his seat atop the stallion, Jim watched Ginesse swaying atop the one-eyed camel with some concern. She was ahead of him, and her head was bobbing a little too loosely. She looked like someone’s dirty bag of laundry. The once pristine robes had long since ceased to be white, her hair was knotted and tangled with bits of twigs, and her face was streaked with dust and sweat. And still he thought her the most gorgeous creature on earth.

He was undeniably mad. And it was a madness he doubted he’d ever recover from. Because as much as he wanted to, he could not deny how much she meant to him. He could not look at her without feeling a deep sense of recognition, of homecoming, of a long journey well-ended. Which had to be the definition of insanity when one was referring to a woman who’d told you she did not want you, that she would abdicate her sense her honor—and regardless of what she might appear to be, he
knew
her to be honorable—in order to marry someone else.

“How much farther do you think?” she asked faintly, swaying lightly atop the one-eyed camel.

His concern deepened. They’d been traveling for four days since leaving the Tuareg camp. Whenever he asked her how she was faring, she answered that she was fine. He didn’t believe her anymore. Because she would never have asked such a question unless she felt her strength waning. She never complained, never. She was as intrepid as she was stubborn.

Even though they’d spent the first day in terse silence, he should have realized it wouldn’t last. Not with her. Before the second day’s sunset, she was relating little anecdotes about dead kings and Tanzanian bipeds, Napoleon’s hygienic practices and the best way to serve cactus.

But they’d run out of food yesterday morning and spent the day beneath a makeshift shelter, hiding from the sun. Their water rations were quickly being depleted. If they didn’t make it to the fort by tomorrow, he’d have to kill the horse—a better fate than dying of thirst—so they could continue on.

“Soon.” He’d never lied to her, but then he’d never needed to.

“Oh.”

“Do you need some water?”

“No. It’s just…the sun is so hot. Does it seem hotter to you?”

“We’ll stop and rest.” It was still morning, vestiges of last night’s cold still keeping the heat at bay. If she found the sun overwhelming now, she would find it unbearable in a few hours.

“No. The longer we rest the longer it takes. We have to press on.”

He shook his head. “I’ll have to strap you to the camel in a few minutes.”

She gave him a weak, crooked smile. “Well, you can’t say you wouldn’t enjoy that.”

Good Lord, the girl was audacious. Audacious and gamine and utterly beguiling. He’d never met her like before. He never would again. He wouldn’t spend a day searching. He would settle for a memory of a three-week trip across a blasted desert taking the only woman he would ever love to another man, a trip surely designed in Hades for sinners.

They had an unspoken agreement that they would not touch on any “too personal” subject, in particular what had happened in the Tuareg’s tent. Now, she’d broken that unvoiced pact.

He should have expected it. She would never play by the rules.

“I might at that,” he admitted wryly. “But you wouldn’t. We’ll just take a short break.”

“No. No…I’m just really tired. Perhaps…if you would just…hold me in front of you? I could sleep.”

This could be dangerous territory. Despite the slight formality with which she addressed him and her concentrated effort to avoid touching him, she could not hide her body’s response to his. He’d carried her on the camel in front of him after he’d realized what discomfort she’d been in. He’d noted the way she melted against him for the briefest of moments when he first took her up in his arms, how her eyes grew luminous when he looked at her mouth, the way her breath skittered when he brushed the hair from her eyes.

Just as she would have noticed his reaction to her. She’d have to be wearing armor not to. So after two days she’d announced she was perfectly able to ride independently. It had proved a double-edged sword. His relief was patent, but he missed her body close to his even more.

“Of course.” They reined in their respective mounts. He got off and tied the stallion behind the camel then climbed aboard the camel behind her. Without any hesitation, she relaxed back against him. Awkwardly, he looped his hand around her waist and took hold of the reins. She rolled her cheek into his chest. Her eyes were already closed, a faint wry smile playing about her cracked lips. “Don’t worry, Jim. I promise not to take advantage,” she murmured.