Liberty Hill (Western Tide Series) (34 page)

Lucius turned his ear in the direction of camp and listened for the sound of cannons, but all he heard was the call of birds and the hum of insects. He began to turn back towards his old log when he heard something rustling in the bushes. This immediately caught his attention, for if another man had come this way, the females’ privacy could very well be jeopardized. Or, if this was some wild creature, they could be in very real danger.

Lucius heart rate increased. He mustn’t be afraid. What would the girls think if they knew their guardian was easily frightened? Lucius must prove his valiance by boldly seeking out the origin of this sound and intercepting it before it gained any more proximity to the spring.

He felt along his belt, glad he had chosen to bring his knife, an item he had not been without since leaving the
Steam Rose
. He stepped silently from the trail, making his way through the dense foliage, heart pounding so loud he could hear it in his head.

A nearby branch collided with another, and a twig snapped beneath someone else’s foot.

Lucius pulled the blade from its sheath and held his breath. Whoever this phantom was, he was gaining upon it.

He came to the thick base of a tree and when he rounded it, his eyes widened to behold a sight they had not expected to see.

“Lucius!” cried a dripping wet Evelyn Brennan, who stood mortified in her thin, ivory underclothes.

Lucius got a bewildered eyeful before remembering to avert his gaze.

“What are you doing?” the undignified woman demanded, ducking behind a shrubbery. “Don’t just stand there! Turn around!”

Lucius did as he was told.

“
Evelyn
,” was all he could manage to say.

He could hear her quickened breathing.

“Were you spying on me?” she asked, her voice trembling with embarrassment.

“Heavens no! I heard a noise and I thought-”

“You were supposed to be watching the trail!”

“I was!”

“This is
not
the trail!”

“Nor is it the spring! What were you doing traipsing through the jungle in your… your skivvies?”

Lucius could hardly believe he just said that word to Evelyn Brennan.

“That is none of your business!” she declared.

She didn’t know why she said that exactly. She had only been looking for a bit of fruit, as the swim had made her and the others hungry; but there was something about Lucius Flynn that always put her on the defensive.

Lucius almost turned to face her, but caught himself.

“It
is
my business!” he insisted. “How am I supposed to protect you if you simply wander off whenever you please, hm? Look!” He waved his knife through the air. “I nearly killed you!”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Evelyn scoffed. “You weren’t ten meters from me. Now leave me be! Go on! Get on with you!”

Lucius left the scene in something of a daze. It was the vision of Evelyn, not their conversation, that followed him back to the trail.

He returned to the fallen tree and sat beside the busy ants.

“You wouldn’t believe what I just saw,” he told them. “I might admire you, but I don’t envy you. Your queen doesn’t look
that
, I assure you. No sir.”

As she felt frightfully self-conscious on the return journey, Evelyn trailed behind the others, keeping out of Lucius’ sight. Their meeting in the jungle had been awkward enough without her walking back to camp beside him, serving as a constant reminder of what he had seen.

She was oblivious to his present thoughts, as he did not
need
to be reminded of the scene that played over and over in his mind. Try as he might, he could not drop the reverie, for it would just repeat from the beginning.

He heard the noise, felt his knife, came round the tree, and then… And then!

It was unfair. It was absolutely, positively unfair that Evelyn Brennan, the one woman who was impervious (and hell bent on remaining so!) to Lucius’ charms was the single most glorious creature he had ever beheld. How could such a gorgeous shell belong to such a heartless woman?

He had seen her in her bloomers before, but she had been ten-years-old and seriously lacking the mature, bewitching evidences of womanhood. Where had this new, stunning body come from? And why was God so cruel as to let
Evelyn
have it?

A dreadful thing was happening to Lucius Flynn. Try as he might, he could not think of any other woman who held a candle to what he had seen that afternoon. Evelyn was matchless. All of Lucius’ future prospects were ruined because Lucius was attracted to his oldest friend; the girl he had lost that day in the barn, the bride he had not wanted, the woman who now lured him with a single glance.

He had not known the greatest danger of this journey would not be sickness or thieves or wildlife. The greatest danger was Evelyn Brennan, and the very real possibility of falling in love with her.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

It was twilight as they walked into camp. Men were busy about their evening chores: building fires, cooking supper, and stowing away goods. Some had already settled down for the day and were enjoying a drink with a handful of friends around the fire. In the distance, someone could be heard strumming a guitar and singing the latest favorite by the lyricist, Stephen Foster.

Lucius glanced behind to make sure the women were keeping up, and when he turned back around, he nearly collided with a familiar face.

Brock Donnigan met him with an amused expression.

“Taking a walk, are we?” he asked.

From the rear of the troupe, Evelyn nearly pummeled into Adele, for her eyes were fixed on the Australian and she forgot to watch her step.

“Damnation,” she muttered as she came to an abrupt halt. She did not want to intrude on the men’s conversation, and perhaps if Lucius dealt properly with Brock, she would not have to. She could hide behind Adele and Bartholomew and remain unseen.

“Donnigan,” Lucius spat the name like a curse. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“We’re all heading the same direction, Flynn,” was the terse reply.

“Indeed we are. Now if you’ll excuse us, we should be getting back.”

“No cards tonight?”

Lucius held up his hands.

“I can’t shirk my responsibilities now, can I?” he said. “The lot of us don’t have the luxury of running away like you.”

“Funny, I thought that’s why you were here. Pity Stephen Whitfield had to abandon you with his family. That’s an inconvenience. Limits your freedom now, doesn’t it?”

Lucius launched at the remark, closing the gap between himself and Brock with alarming speed. He stopped just under Brock’s nose and, red-faced, delivered a hasty speech.

“You have a paltry idea of leadership, boyo. Your miserable decisions in Chagres killed that poor man and you did not have the decency to see after his widow and child. You are a heartless coward and a contemptible excuse for a man. You stay away from us, you hear? I do not want to see your face again.”

With that, Lucius stole away with alacrity, his ears burning scarlet with rage. After an uncertain glance at Brock Donnigan, the others followed, but Brock caught Evelyn’s arm before she could pass by untouched.

“Unhand me!” she demanded through clenched teeth.

“Don’t squirm, Duchess. I only wanted a word.”

“You’re a bastard.”

“That’s not quite the one I was looking for.”

“Let me go!”

“Such hostility! How did it come to this? You were the one to break my heart, remember?”

“How could I when you haven’t got a heart to break? You live only for pleasure.”

“And I find great pleasure in you now. You look and smell divine, Athena. Did you have a bath?”

Evelyn looked longingly after the others, who were disappearing behind a steady stream of transients, all coming and going from town. This was a busy place, and the presence of so many bodies made her friends believe she was in step with them.

She stopped fighting and stood still in Brock’s grasp, turning her head to meet his eyes.

“What do you want, Mr. Donnigan?” she asked pointedly.

He smiled at her submissiveness.

“I missed you,” he told her, his tone gentler than it had been. “I wondered how you were getting on.”

She lifted her chin.

“I have been perfectly well, thank you. And you? How have you ‘got on’?”

“Well, to be honest,” he said as he leaned in closer, “I’m quite lonesome without you.”

“You chose your solitude, Mr. Donnigan.”

“Only because you would not choose me.”

“And you know very well why not. I did not mean as much to you as you would make me believe.”

“You are my sun and moon, Duchess.”

“Such pretty words. Use them to lure some other lass to your bed.”

She turned to go, but his grip tightened.

“There is no other woman. Not for me,” he said, eyes sharp. “What words would you have me speak to
you
, Evelyn? What can I say to make you stay?”

“The words I would have are beyond your limited vocabulary, Mr. Donnigan. You proved yourself incapable of making the promise I wanted most.”

“And if I promised you now? Could I convince you that I am a changed man?”

“Forty-eight hours could make no such alteration.”

He shook his head and raised her hand to his lips, where he planted a tender kiss.

“One night without you was enough to make me crave a lifetime beside you,” he said softly.

Evelyn opened her mouth to speak, but found no refute. As she searched Brock’s face for signs of deceit, she only saw the man with whom she had spent so much time upon the
Steam Rose
, the man she had once found so desirable. Her heart beat wildly as she recalled the intensity of that desire, and her cheeks flushed with the heat of its return. For a moment, she could not remember what separated them.

Was it true? Was Brock confessing that he would wait for her? Was he truly willing to prove her worth by denying himself in favor of her dignity?

Her knees buckled slightly as she read the earnestness in his eyes.

* * *

As they neared their tent, Lucius saw Samuel Davies sitting with his back to them and his face to the fire, his elbow crooked and his arm held aloft as the music of a harmonica filled the air around him. Nearby, the sound of male laughter interrupted the tune, and Lucius stopped to search for the jolly set. What he found was a makeshift table that had been erected in the center of a canvas semicircle, where six men were enjoying a game of rummy. The smoke from their cigars floated in a cloud above their heads and a bottle of red wine changed hands among them.

Lucius felt an overwhelming urge to change course and join the party. It felt like another lifetime when he had possessed the freedom to give himself up to the luxuries of cards and drink within the company of men. It was a pleasant liberty, back in the days when the fair sex had been his hobby, not his duty.

Women were a blessing, certainly, but their presence was terribly restricting. He felt he needed a proper male romp, where he did not have to worry about propriety or decency, when he could say things like “bugger” and “bloody” without feeling sheepish. And he wanted a drink. Oh yes, he most definitely wanted a drink. 

From behind, Josephine and Adele continued towards Samuel and the welcome smoke of the campfire, which provided a small sanctuary from the mosquitoes. As they passed by, the feminine scent of their soap and oils overwhelmed Lucius’ sense of smell. He snorted involuntarily and scowled after them. How much perfume did a female have to apply before she nearly choked a man? Honestly. Evelyn’s scent was much more subtle. She smelled of lavender, and vanilla, and… where was she?

Lucius turned around, scanning the scenery for her mahogany curls. She was nowhere to be seen. He waited a moment, for while dodging tents, fire pits, and bodies, she could have fallen behind. She did not appear, however, and he could feel the blood returning to his face in swift, hot torrents.

He spat a pernicious curse as he retraced his steps to find her.

“DONNIGAN!”

Evelyn and Brock turned to see Lucius emerge through a cluster of men and canvas.

“I told you to stay away from us!” he shouted.

He stormed up to Brock and slapped his hand away from Evelyn, who leapt back in alarm.

Lucius jabbed a finger into the Australian’s chest.

“You touch her, you speak to her, you so much as look at her like that again, and I promise I will kill you,” he told him. “We’re done with you, boyo. You hear? We’re
done
.”

“Speak for yourself, mate,” Brock remarked. “The duchess has a mind of her own, and she can come back to me anytime she wants.”

Lucius sneered.

“She doesn’t want you,” he hissed. “You’re no good for her.”

“You might remind
her
of that.”

“
Stop
it!” Evelyn demanded.

Lucius turned to her, and it occurred to him that perhaps she had
chosen
to stay behind. The thought sat sour in the pit of his stomach and took the fire from his opposition.

He took a step away from his rival, his every muscle tense with rage and jealousy.

“I
will
kill you,” he said again, lifting his hard eyes to meet Brock’s and despising the smug look upon the outlaw’s face. “I mean it.”

He reached out and took Evelyn by the wrist, leading her away.

“I’ll be here when you change your mind, love,” Brock called out.

It took everything in Lucius to keep walking, but walk he did, with a conflicted Evelyn Brennan in tow.

When they were out of Brock Donnigan’s sight, Evelyn wrenched her arm away from Lucius.

“I am sick to death of being handled by men!” she cried.

Lucius stopped walking and spun round to look her in the eye.

“Do you want a gentleman?” he asked.

“What?”

“Answer the question, lass.”

“Of course I want a gentleman.”

“All right. A gentleman. A man who will look after you, keep you safe, love you, honor you. A man who will open the door and pull out your chair and bring you wildflowers to set in a vase on top of your piano. A man who will look at you in fifty years and see you as you are right now, young and lovely. This is the kind of man you want.”