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Chapter Twenty-Six

Z eke ran through a forest so thick with foliage and bracken the light of the moon barely eked through. Pain lanced his head with every foot strike. His lungs burned. Brambles and thorns tore through his clothes, pricking his skin.

But he couldn’t stop. He had to find her.

He came to a place where the treetops merged, blotting out even the meager moonlight. North and south, east and west, vanished in the darkness. He could as easily be running away from her as toward her.

He strained his ears, desperate for any clue of which way should he go. Only the competing chorus of croaking frogs and night crickets answered his silent plea.

Guilt and fear ripped at his insides. He’d let this happen. If he didn’t find her soon, it would be too late.

From nowhere and everywhere, came a swirling, luminescent fog. It closed in on him, congealing before him to form the distinct figure of a man, austere in his officer's garb—the man he’d dreamed of in Africa. Kitty's grandfather. He knew it as surely as he knew his own name.

Like before, the old man said nothing, just stared, eyes grave. He lifted his hand, pointing at Zeke as if in accusation.

Zeke blinked and found himself flat on his back. The man had vanished. A woman, bathed in moonlight, hovered over him.

Kitty . Touching him with those delicate fingers, cooling his burning skin, soothing his tortured soul. He needed her like air.

“Kitty.”

“I’m here.”

The dream receded. Zeke lay still, eyes closed. His head throbbed, miring his very thoughts in quicksand—as if someone had put a bullet in his skull, then poured an entire bottle of whiskey down his throat.

He inhaled slowly, filling his lungs. For his efforts he caught the subtle but distinct notes of lavender and rosemary. Relief cascaded through him. Kitty was here.

He opened his eyes a crack. Recognized immediately he lie in bed in his private chamber. Night had fallen, and someone had lit the wall sconces. Kitty hovered over him, her cool fingers resting atop his forehead, her creamy complexion bathed in the stuttering golden light.

God she was beautiful.

He liked looking at her, and relished her soothing touch. But why in hell was she here? Something had happened. It was there on the edge of his memory.

She lifted her hand from his forehead and traced her fingers down his cheek, her gaze trailing over his face until she noticed him studying her. Her eyes went wide. Swollen, red-rimmed eyes. She’d been crying. Why?

“You’re awake,” she said softly.

“Apparently,” he rasped out. His mouth tasted like dirt.

She started to pull her hand from his face, and he reached up to press her palm in place. “May I have some water?” came his hoarse plea.

“Of course.” With gentle force, she withdrew her hand from beneath his. She disappeared from his line of vision, returning seconds later. She slid an arm beneath his pillow and levered him up.

She held a glass to his lips and he took a long drink of lemon-tinged water. Some of the cobwebs from his sleep muddled mind cleared. He nodded when he’d had enough and she adroitly lowered.

Feeling more himself, He flattened his palms on the bed and hoisted himself up, much to Kitty's distress. Though he ignored her pleas to desist, she clearly had a point. His head pounded, and for a moment the room spun, but he refused to concede defeat.

When he finally sat upright, his shoulders pressed against the cushioned headboard, he closed his eyes and sucked in a fortifying breath.

That or wretch.

“You shouldn’t have done that. You’re hurt.”

He opened his eyes and slanted her a glance. “I rather noticed that on my own. Now, kindly tell me what the hell is going on. Why does my head feel as if it’s cracked open, and why are you in my bedchamber in the middle of the night? And more to the point, why’ve you been crying?”

She dropped into the chair someone had pulled to his bedside, a morose expression clouding her crystalline green eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, closed it, and out came her quivering lower lip.

The moment that plump lip caught his eye, his loins stirred to life. He would laugh if he didn’t think doing so would make the pounding in his head worse. He shuffled his legs to rumple his bedcovers over his groin, and dropped a hasty glance down at himself.

He was bare-chested, leading him to wonder if other body parts were equally bare. He peeled back the covers and peered beneath. Drawers, and nothing else.

He threw Kitty a suspicious look, and was gratified to see a rosy flush stain her cheeks. “I’d also like to know who undressed me.”

Mainly he wanted to provoke her out of her gloom. She was still in the yellow gown she’d worn to the shooting match earlier, so he couldn’t be half naked for any good reason.

Shooting. They’d had their match.

She sucked in a breath, then her words poured out. “I nearly killed you with Viscount Randall’s pistol. I don’t know who undressed you since the doctor demanded I leave during his examination, after which Collin insisted I wait ’til morning to see you, but I refused.”

She lowered her voice to a confessional tone. “Actually, I acceded to his request, then snuck back here after everyone was asleep.”

He lifted his hand to stop her diatribe in case there was more. He closed his eyes, taking a moment to digest her rapid-fire speech. He’d forgotten about Collin showing up this morning. He needed to revisit that fact, but one thing at a time.

“You fired Randall’s firearm.” He drew out the words as the memory congealed. He’d crowded her, purposely provoking her. He could almost hear his grandfather saying, I told you so.

“And almost killed you,” she said in a plaintive tone.

The corners of his mouth curved upward. “Kitty, no.”

“Yes.”

“It was an accident.”

She shook her head emphatically. “No. You made me angry, standing so very close behind me and…” She swallowed, fanning her face as if to calm her quaking nerves.

The scent of lavender wafted over him. He grinned and crossed his arms over his chest. Now that he’d righted himself and taken several steadying breaths, he felt much better. In fact, he felt good enough he had to wonder if he’d had some help of the medicinal nature.

“I shouldn’t have reacted to your sour-puss disposition, by firing so hastily..”

His grin wavered. He did vaguely recall her avoiding his gaze while also brushing off his every attempt to draw her into conversation. Why had she done that? But he had no time to reflect further as she barreled on.

“I remembered how, once before, I’d knocked into you from a gun’s recoil.

Do you recall? At the cottage? This morning I thought I’d teach you a lesson by not bracing myself properly again and…

bam ,”--She clapped her hands together, the sound reverberating painfully in his head--“I brained you.” A fat tear rolled down her cheek.

He lifted a hand to wipe it away, but she sprang to her feet like a skittish cat.

“Oh, Zeke. Does it hurt much?” She leaned toward him, placing her cool fingertips gently on his forehead. Her sweet, utterly Kitty scent surrounded him.

He sighed in contentment. “It does a little,” he said, mostly so she’d keep touching him. “You’re watching over me even against Collin’s express directive not to? I feel special.”

She bit her lip and averted her gaze, but not before he saw her chin quiver, and tell-tale moisture dampening her lashes as if she might cry anew.

Dear God, anything but that. “May I have a cold towel for my brow?”

“Of course.” She dashed toward his bureau, returning with a damp towel. She took her time, dabbing his forehead and cheeks. Then she reached around him to drape the cloth over the back of his neck. Doing so brought her bodice eye level.

“Mmm.”

Her mouth curved in a tremulous smile as she straightened. “Randall and Caden said the accident caused us to lose points, and declared the match a draw.”

“Like hell,” he said. The cold towel really was easing his headache. “Not that there’s any prize I want from them. You, however…”

His gaze drifted over her disheveled appearance. Her coiffure had lost most of its pins, and only a sagging coil at her nape remained. Several silky tendrils, gleaming blue-black in the candlelight, framed her face.

“Poor darling. You never even got to clean up.”

She lowered her lashes and put a hand to her brow. “I look a mess.”

She looked like heaven. “Turn around,” he commanded in a rough voice.

She shocked him by obeying without question for once. She probably assumed he intended to adjust his sheets or his drawers.

He didn’t. Using both hands, he grabbed at the remaining pins in her hair and tossed them onto the floor. The thick coil unwound.

She spun around, her hand to her nape. “Why did you do that?”

“Because I like your hair down.” He took advantage of her distraction, wrapping one hand around her waist to pull her toward him. “Sit.”

She rested her slender hip on the edge of the mattress, glancing over her shoulder at the open doorway linking his bedchamber and the night dark, adjoining antechamber. “This isn’t proper. I’m not even supposed to be here. What if someone comes?” She licked her lips.

His eyes fixed on those rosy lips. He didn’t give a damn if anyone came. He just wanted to taste her. To feel her glossy hair brush over his naked chest. To hold her in his arms. “What time is it?”

She scrubbed her hands over her skirts. “Nearly two a.m., I think.”

“No one’s coming,” he announced. “But if it will make you feel better, go lock the adjoining door.”

“Why should I do that?”

“Because I’d like to claim my forfeit now.” He held his breath, aware what he suggested was wrong, and not caring one iota. He wanted his mouth on hers.

He watched her wrestle with her conscience.

In desperation, he played his ace. “You did almost kill me.”

Without a word, she pushed to her feet and hastened for the door.