Bodice Ripper

For a long time, as Mary held her breath, nobody spoke. Then she heard Oliver again.

"Davis? Richard? Remove this man from my family's estate. He's deranged, and possibly dangerous. Take care with him. He's a large fellow, and he served in His Majesty's armed services, so he'll be capable enough."

Mary chanced a peek out through the door. Four or five large men stood with their backs to her. James was facing toward her, and as soon as she moved her head out she knew that he saw her. He didn't betray it in his face, but something in the hardness of his expression changed. He clenched his jaw and waited for them to come and take him.

Two men stepped forward. A third stepped up to join them, and Mary ducked her head back behind the wall before one of them saw her watching.

She could hear James struggling against them, but it was a losing fight. He was strong, she knew, and without a doubt he was capable enough in a fight, but three largish men had him whipped without a fight. Everyone knew it.

The last thing she heard before the door closed behind him was James shouting, either to her or to Oliver or to both:

"This isn't over! I'll find proof, and then I'll be back!"

20

James

Mary would understand why he'd had to leave without saying goodbye. When it came to distractions, angry conversations were the best, and he'd stirred up a hornet's nest. She had to understand, if she'd heard the conversation—and he knew that she had. That didn't make James feel any better about it.

He let out a long breath and watched the world whip by as he took the train to Canterbury. He'd thought it might be smart for him to take Mary's transcribed copy of the address where they could find this "Pearl" person.

In the end, he'd been right. He hadn't gotten another chance at it. Lucky for him that he hadn't needed a second shot at it. Mark one for preparedness.

He'd been away from her barely a few hours, and he missed her already. It tore at his gut, but he couldn't do anything but keep the promise he'd made her as he left. He'd get his proof, even if it killed him.

He surprised himself when he tried to think of her as someone else's wife, and couldn't. She was his, whether he deserved her or not. Before, he'd thought it was a purely sexual attraction, and he'd regretted every minute they'd spent together the past two nights.

But now, he was beginning to wonder if there weren't something more to it. He felt something deep inside him stirring, and he pushed it away. There would be a time when he would be able to take a look at his feelings and figure out what he had on his hands.

Until then, he needed to be focused on the task at hand. Distractions were dangerous, for himself and for Mary.

The sun was already dipping on the horizon, when the train pulled into the station. It wouldn't be the least bit polite to call, unannounced, so late in the evening. The trip would need to take another night, though the thought of putting off seeing Mary again burned in his chest.

He set his bag down on the bed and sat back. He was tired, run ragged, exhausted, even. He'd had some of the most exciting nights of his life, the past couple of days. But the constant excitement and anxiety had been taking its toll, the same way it had in Belgium.

For a months, he'd just gotten used to not sleeping, and occasionally closing his eyes for a moment and opening them to find that he'd lost an hour. It had almost seemed normal, after a while.

He'd gotten shot in his leg, and when they offered him an honorable discharge he'd taken it in a heartbeat. He had promised himself that he was done with that part of his life. He went to uni, he'd healed up nicely, and now he almost felt as if he fit in.

It seemed as if the minute he'd been ready to move on with his life, to put that part of his past behind him, the war had come back to get him. He sat back against the headboard of the bed, sized for two, and set his eyes in the darkness. Then he was back in the trenches and getting ready for the trouble that the morning would bring.

When he opened his eyes again, he couldn't remember what time he'd fallen asleep. He couldn't tell what time it was, either, except that the sun had risen and was being inadequately blocked by a thin curtain.

He pushed himself off the bed and straightened his clothes. The mirror showed that he looked shabby, but it wasn't as if he had another set of clothes with him. It had all been left in the Geis house.

Perhaps it could serve as his excuse for returning when he'd talked to Pearl. Then the trap would spring, and he'd finally be able to sleep again.

There was a man behind the counter of the hotel he'd picked, in a uniform and a plastered-on, unconvincing smile.

"I need help finding an address, could you give me directions?"

For a moment, the man didn't register what he was saying, and James almost repeated himself before realization dawned.

"Ah, yes, sir, of course."

James showed him the address, and he gave directions. They were simple, but James had him write them down anyways.

The weather was cool and damp, and with his jacket on it was just right for a walk. He didn't have time to enjoy it, though. He needed to get back to what was important, before she got hurt.