Chapter 7

Seven

A gust of wind rattled the loose panes of glass in the tiny window above Aurora’s head. The noise had not caused her to wake, for sleep had proven elusive, despite all that had happened. After a few more tosses and turns, she threw off the single blanket and reached for the shawl that had been folded at the bottom of her valise. Perhaps a breath of air would help dispel the strange mood that had had gripped her since …

Since Alex had yanked her off her feet and into the carriage!

She had never quite regained her equilibrium. Usually nothing kept her off balance for long. No doubt it had something to do with the fact that she was not used to the presence of a man in her life. An overbearing man, she added, who thought he could order her around as if she were the rawest of recruits. An arrogant man, smugly sure of his irresistible appeal to the opposite sex, and one whose outrageous teasing and flirting made her feel?—

Admit it! Aurora bit at her lip. Loath as she was to acknowledge the truth, there was no denying that his practiced charm, however hollow, made her feel desirable. And attractive. She had never really thought of herself in such terms. After all, a female scorned by both her father and her husband could hardly lay claim to an abundance of either.

But Alex’s casual words and searing kiss had kindled a small spark somewhere deep within her, one which she dared hope might someday, if properly fanned, ignite into real flame …

“And pigs may fly!” she whispered aloud, quickly mocking such girlish dreams. Only a complete ninny would think the sort of romantic nonsense that warmed Robbie’s heart took form anywhere but on the printed page.

Pulling her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, she rose from the thin pallet and crept noiselessly out into the main room. A loud, rhythmic snoring greeted her entrance. Good heavens, maybe the absence of a husband had its advantages, she mused as she tiptoed past a recumbent form. A cough and gurgling sputter hurried her steps toward the door. It was not latched and swung open at her touch with a minimum of squeaking.

Clouds obscured all but the brightest stars and a dampness in the air hinted at an approaching rain. Still, the cool breeze felt good against her cheeks, chasing away the last vestiges of her overheated imagination. Aurora stood very still and tilted her head back, listening to the faint rushing of water over the granite rocks, punctuated by the low hoot of an owl.

“I would have thought you would have welcomed the opportunity for uninterrupted sleep.”

She whirled around at the sound of the soft voice.

“What about you, sir?” she countered.

Alex stepped from the side of the cottage. “Perhaps a bit later.”

“You think it necessary to stand watch?”

“I think it prudent.” He came to stand by her side, close enough that she could breathe in the faint scent of bay rum, smoke and peated malt, with an earthy undertone that was distinctly male.

Her fingers tugged at the corners of her wrap. “Now why is it that ‘prudent’ is hardly the adjective that comes to mind when I think of you, sir?”

In answer, a low chuckle rumbled somewhere deep in his throat. “Dare I inquire as to the other possibilities?” he asked. “Aside from ‘bumbling,’‘odious,’ and ‘insufferable.’ I may have missed a few of the other ones you muttered under your breath.”

Not a one! Grateful that the darkness covered the embarrassed twist of her features, Aurora searched for some appropriately pithy reply.

As if sensing her exact feelings, he chuckled again. “Don’t worry. I’ve been called far worse things over the years.” His hands clasped behind his back and his gaze strayed to the dark tangle of trees beyond the field. “And no doubt deserved them.”

“You are remarkably honest, and forthright,” she murmured. “Hardly adjectives that come to mind when speaking of men in general.”

In the pale wash of moonlight, Aurora could see his lips twitch in amusement, then settle into a more pensive expression. “I suppose you have seen enough of our foibles to speak with some authority. Still, I’m sorry you have come to hold such a low opinion of us.”

“It’s hardly your fault,” she murmured.

“It’s my fault that you were dragged into this dangerous affair. By now you could be safely home with your Robbie rather than stuck here in the wilds with a total stranger—two total strangers.”

A strange shiver ran down her spine. Somehow the prospect of home seemed rather more empty than it did several days ago. Before she could make a reply, his jacket came around her shoulders. “Sir!” she protested. “You’ve sacrificed quite enough of your garments for my comfort today.”

“But not nearly enough for mine.” His eyes were twinkling just like the stars. “That is, not counting the brief interlude after my bath.”

“You are incorrigible, sir! Do you flirt so shamelessly with anybody who wears a skirt?”

He took a moment to stare up at the heavens. “No.”

It was not the answer she expected. The teasing tone was gone, replaced by a deeper note that rung of melancholy or perhaps regret. Aurora started to look around, only to find her head drawn down against his shoulder. She could feel the heat of him through the rumpled linen, and hear the steady beat of his heart. A good deal more steady than her own at the moment. Such intimate contact should have drawn a sharp rebuke, but for some reason, the protest died on her lips and she made no attempt to pull away.

“Do you see Orion?” he asked abruptly, pointing up at the stars. “According to Greek mythology, he was a hunter, pursued by the Goddess Diana. When she accidentally killed him, she begged the Gods to immortalize him in the night sky.” He paused. “If you follow the line of his belt, it leads you to the North Star.” His finger moved. “There. Do you see it?”

She nodded.

“No matter where you are in the world, you can always find your way by using the constellations.”

“A sad story.” She shifted so that cheek rested against the base of his neck. “What is it that you are hunting, Alex? And are you often lost?”

There was a flash of vulnerability in his eyes. “More times than I care to admit.”

Aurora watched as the clouds scudded across the night sky, changing the pattern of winking lights with every passing second. “It is not always easy to discern the right path.” The crescent moon was visible for an instant, only to disappear just as quickly. “The life of a soldier must not be an easy one. Why, many times, the choice is not yours to make.”

The wry smile was back on his lips. “Perhaps that makes it the easiest life of all.” His hand sought hers, enveloping it in his warmth. “And what of you, Aurora Sprague? Do you march along with steadfast steps, undaunted by any obstacle that may arise in your path, until you have arrived at your chosen destination?”

She wasn’t sure how long they stood there in conversation. Like the clouds above, each of them revealed only random glimpses of their past lives. The words were cautious, guarded, intent on keeping many things well hidden, but by the time the first rain drop fell, they were no longer mere strangers.

“You had best go in, before you take a chill,” murmured Alex.

That was quite unlikely, she thought, not with the warmth of his hand on hers, and heat emanating from his chest. She found she was loath to give them up, but the wind kicked up and the drops began to fall with greater regularity.

“You must take shelter, too.”

He walked her to the threshold. “I will, in a minute.” His fingers slipped away. “Good night, Aurora.”

“Good night, Alex.” There was a moment of hesitation before she blurted out, “Nice.”

His face betrayed his confusion. “What?”

“You asked me what other adjectives come to mind regarding you. ‘Nice’ is one.”

As were ‘thoughtful,’ ‘perceptive,’ ‘wise’ and ‘humorous,’ though she refrained from saying them aloud. The list could have stretched on quite a bit longer, for during their rambling conversation he had revealed more of himself than he might have guessed. Perhaps most surprising was the fact that he saw his own flaws and, indeed, could laugh at them.

In her experience, precious few people—especially men—possessed the strength to admit to weakness.

“You are a nice man, Alex Woodmore. And quite admirable, really. It seems that at heart, you are a good deal less cynical than you would have people believe—including yourself.” Without waiting for a response, she ducked her head and hurried inside.

Alex watched her disappear into the shadows. Nice , he repeated to himself. A number of ladies had paid him far more gilded compliments, but he didn’t think any of the glittering phrases had affected him nearly as much as that simple word.

He leaned back against the cold stone, keenly aware that a twist of her silky curls no longer tickled the underneath of his chin. The emptiness there left him feeling … bereft. She had fitted into the crook of his arm like the piece of a missing puzzle.

And what adjectives might he choose to describe her? His fingers came up to rub along the line of his jaw. Mere words seemed inadequate to describe the whole of her. With a harried sigh, he realized that, if pressed, the first might have to be ‘bewitching’—too damn bewitching for his own peace of mind! From there, the list could go on to fill a ream of foolscap.

But ‘compassionate,’ ‘intelligent,’ ‘generous,’ ‘loyal’ and ‘kind’ were also among those that immediately sprung to mind. Some careful questioning had managed to coax from her a few more details about the so-called Sprague Agency for Distressed Females. Alex found himself shifting rather uncomfortably against the damp wall. He had never stopped to consider the differences between men and women except in terms of mere physical attributes. Her halting tales had opened his eyes, both to the hardships and injustices suffered by many females and to the deeper, more complex facets of her own character.

The clues were scattered at random throughout her conversation, but he was skilled enough at deduction to have guessed at the truth, or at least part of it. He was sure that despite her show of toughness, she had been deeply wounded by the men in her life. An unfeeling father, a hopeless husband. Rejection—even by those who deserved no regard—hurt, as he knew all too well.

Most people used their own private pain as an excuse to retreat, to give up on life. Aurora Sprague had used it as a challenge. She had had refused to knuckle under to despair, nor to give in to the strictures of Society. She had fought back with rare courage, and each of her small victories had helped validate the struggle, as well as to relieve the suffering of another. And through it all, she had not become dried and bitter, but had maintained a vitality and sense of humor.

Alex had met a number of extraordinary men through the course of his soldiering, but he didn’t think he admired any of them more than he did the young lady who had fallen, quite literally, into his lap.

A glimmer of a smile flashed at the memory. Then his eyes pressed closed and lightness gave way to darkness. Would that he might remain blind to what else she had forced him to see! While the mirror of Aurora’s words had revealed a good deal about herself, they had also made him take a close look at the full reflection of his own character.

It was not an image of which he was proud.

As a soldier and a gentleman he could hold his head high. By anyone’s standards, including his own, he had not lacked for honor, integrity or courage in how he had comported himself. But as a husband? In that regard he had exhibited naught but cowardice and dereliction of duty, shirking all responsibility for his actions. The brutal truth of it was, Aurora had made him see he was little better than any of the other louts who so casually inflicted caused pain because Society said they had the legal and moral right to do so.

Oh, his own cruelty had, of course, been more subtle than anything physical, but no less reprehensible. Why, in all the years since that fateful ceremony, he had hardly given more than a passing thought to the person who bore his name. His only concern had been for his own wants and needs. Never for a moment had he paused to wonder what her hopes, her dreams, her fears might be.

His jaw tightened. Under military law, he deserved to be shot. The real world, however, was a good deal more lenient to men of title and privilege. No, the only one who would judge his transgressions harshly was himself, and only punishment he would suffer was the shame of knowing that he deserved Aurora’s scorn rather than her admiration.

Somehow, he doubted ‘nice’ would be the adjective that came to mind if she knew the truth.

He stepped out from under the thatched eaves and held his face up to the driving rain, wishing it could wash his conscience clean. It was some time before he went back inside the cottage, dripping wet and chilled to the very marrow.

The two men rode out just after first light, one heading north toward Ayr, the other turning south in the direction of Girvan. Aurora had shaken out the rolls of bedding, washed the tin bowls and swept the earthen floor. Twice. She poked her head out the door and glowered at the leaden skies. It hardly looked promising weather for a walk, and in any case, she had been asked not to stray from the cottage, to avoid attracting any notice from the occasional passing shepherd.

Actually, that was not entirely correct—Jack had asked her, while Alex had simply barked a curt command to stay put.

Hmmph! As if it had been necessary to add the last little bit about trying not to get into any mischief that might jeopardize the mission! The nerve of the insufferable man! As if she had been the one to accost the wrong suspect, or swoon so that they had to put up at an inn where one of the enemy might find them. With another sniff of indignation, she banged the door shut and stalked across the room to fetch her reticule. Perhaps she might find a piece of embroidery or clutch of knitting buried in its depths, she thought rather acidly, so that she might be seen to be engaged in a proper feminine pursuit when he returned!

And pigs might fly!

It was as if the words and the warmth that had passed between them last night had been no more than a fleeting dream. Alex had been brusque over tea and toast, his eyes studiously avoiding any contact with hers. There had been no invitation to participate in the brief strategy session, only a series of terse orders that had sent Jack scurrying for the door.

Had he regretted revealing that a soldier was not all steel, grit and a blaze of scarlet and polished brass? Did he think that his humanity made him somehow too vulnerable? Or perhaps on further reflection, he had simply taken a disgust of her and her radical ideas and actions. No doubt, if he were to choose an ideal female, she would be obedient, sweet-tempered and enchantingly incapable of lifting a finger to do anything save summoning her maid.

Men! If all of them were so blasted quixotic in their moods, perhaps she was better off without one.

Her own mood turning even sourer, Aurora sat down at the table and began to pick out the shards of broken glass from her reticule. The tedious task was nearly done when her fingers brushed up against the spine of a book. She fished it out and regarded the gilt stamped title. It was not one of her own choices, so Robbie must have taken it into her head to add one of those horrid novels she so favored to the bag. Well, it promised to be a long day, so she might as well take a peek.

Several hours later, as the last page was turned, Aurora shifted to ease the crick in her neck. Well, that wasn’t quite as silly as she had imagined, even though the heroine was a bit too flighty for her taste and the hero lacked a dash of …

A dash of what? She looked up from the book and propped her hand in her chin, giving the question her full attention. The gentleman in the story had no more depth to him than the paper of printed page, she decided. He was so flat and one-dimensional that she imagined in the space of a short time, his charm would wear rather thin.

No, the sort of man able to bring the heat to her cheeks would need a good deal more substance to him. More mystery, more complexity, more surprises. She paused as a small voice in the back of head added that a shock of raven hair and sparkling sapphire eyes would be not be amiss, either.

The cover of the novel closed with a decided snap. The notion that Alex Woodmore might cause any warmth to stir within her was only because the thought of him was, at the moment, making her blood boil. Oh, there was no denying that he was sinfully attractive, and that his kiss had ignited all sorts of strange sparks inside her that refused to die out. But he was also arrogant, overbearing and altogether infuriating, she reminded herself.

Hardly the stuff of storybook heroes.

Fingering the cording of the slim leather spine, she heaved a sigh and glanced around the room. It would still be some time before the two men could be expected home so she supposed there was nothing to do but fetch some other reading material from her valise.

Then her eyes fell on the battered canvas sack in the corner. Earlier in the morning, as she had straightened up the Alex’s things, she had noticed the corner of a book sticking out from among his belongings. She couldn’t help but be curious about what sort of writings he would favor. Homer? Virgil? The poetry of Wordsworth? Surely he wouldn’t mind if she took a quick peek. Of course, it might only turn out to be some dry treatise on military theory, but anything would help to relieve the tedium of confinement.

The binding was frayed, noted Aurora as she drew the slim volume out of the sack, its faded cloth dusty and faintly discolored with spatters of rain and salt spray. There was no printing of any kind on the front or the spine. It wasn’t until she opened to the first page that the title appeared, the letters large and bold in a strange, sinuous typeface. The Kama Sutra . Underneath, in smaller print was written, A Manual on the Divine Mysteries of Love from the Continent of India.

Aurora had to repress a grin. So the sardonic Major was really a romantic at heart, seeking to understand that most ethereal of human emotions. Her brow furrowed slightly at the subtitle. She had heard something of the French manuals on courtly love and chivalry written during the Middle Ages, but India …

With a shrug, she flipped to the first chapter.

Oh. That sort of love.

She blinked and turned the page. And then another.

Her cheeks were becoming very warm indeed. At one point she was forced to pause and turn the page upside down. Good Lord, if that was what went on in India, no wonder her husband had never come back!

The women she had worked with had never been shy about discussing the more graphic aspects of married life, especially as Aurora was supposedly an experienced woman herself. But their descriptions seemed rather different from what was depicted in the detailed woodcuts. Looking a bit closer, she finally noticed there was some sort of text running along the bottom of the pages. Making herself a bit more comfortable on the hard crate, she began to read.