Beloved (26 page)

“Fiasco?”

“I cannot recount it. The event is too painful even to consider.”

“I suppose you have some soiree this evening?”

“I declined all invitations. I couldn’t face another round so soon after the last. One has no time to as much as catch one’s
breath.” She turned her face away. “And I don’t want to go out at all unless I can be certain I shall see Saber.”

“Do you mean he may not be attending an event this evening, either?”

“He goes nowhere. He came to a party at the Eagletons’, but I think it was merely to make a point with me.” She trembled at
the memory of what had passed between them. “He wanted to make certain I understood we could have no future together.”

Max paced, coming to a halt in front of her. “Rest.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“
Rest.
Go to your bed. Mama and Papa will retire early to prepare for the long journey on the morrow. Great-Grand-mama always retires
early, and so does Blanche. Who attends you?”

“A maid called Rose. She is to come to me from Hanover Square.”

“Can she be trusted?”

“I…Trusted in what?”

“Tonight, when the house is at rest, we shall go to Saber. It will be late, so late that we can hope he will at least be at
home—if not in bed. I would prefer to come upon him unawares.”

“Oh, no,” Ella moaned. “I thought you loved him.”

“I do, but—”

“Then help me to help you. And we
need
his help with this.” Max waved the letter. “He will know how seriously we should take it, and what should be done.”

Ella covered her face. “I am so ashamed.”

“You have no cause for shame. You are blameless.”

She bowed her head. “You speak as if you, not I, were the eldest. I do not understand what will be gained by pressing Saber
when he has made it so clear he does not wish to have anything further to do with me.”

“Has he made that clear?” Max asked softly. “Are you sure?”

A coolness slipped over Ella’s heated skin. She dropped her hands, clasped them between her knees, and regarded her brother.

“Well,” he said, smiling a little. “
Are
you?”

“No. No, I’m not at all sure. I think he may just be so foolish as to think I am disgusted by his disfigurement. Inside me,
I feel—I feel he may love me, Max. Oh, it is all such a puzzlement.”

“No matter.”

She looked up sharply. “No matter?”

“No matter.

Your puzzlement is about to be removed.”

“
You
are a puzzle, Max.”

“While you rest, I shall explain my presence here to Mama and Papa—and to Great-Grandmama, of course. At midnight you are
to be dressed—in simple clothing that will not draw too much attention. We will make our way on horseback. Do you know the
interior of the house?”

“Yes.” Her stomach squeezed. She felt too cold now. “But what would be the point of riding to Burlington Gardens? Even if
Saber will see me, he will only repeat that he has decided we can have no future together.”

A great smile of confidence transformed Max’s serious expression. Confidence and guile. “He may repeat what he pleases. While
I keep watch, you will persuade him otherwise.”

“I’ve tried,” she told him passionately. “He either does not hear or does not care.”

“He will hear and he will care.”

“How? Why?”

“My mind is made up.” Max pushed back his coat and planted his fists on his hips. “Yes, quite made up. We’ll make certain
he’s in bed.”

“Oh!” Ella bobbed on her toes with agitation. “What on earth can we accomplish if he’s in bed?”

“Simply”—Max said, raising one arched, dark red brow— “you will seduce him. He will compromise you.”

Saber looked into the secret herbal draft Bigun had prepared for him and smiled—a cynical smile. What kind of man had he become?

“Drink, my lord,” Bigun said, although the little man was supposedly busy with Saber’s clothes and should not have been able
to see his master. “Drink deeply and sleep deeply.”

“Drug myself, you mean.”

“We do what we must.”

“And we must be drugged in order to become unconscious.”

Bigun faced him. His gold turban shimmered in the subdued light of Saber’s bedchamber. “You must rest.”

“I never rest.”

“At least your body gains strength. I arranged for the ruby earbobs to be delivered tomorrow.”

“Good.” Saber would like to place the rubies on Ella’s ears himself. He tossed back the draft and set down the goblet. “I
must busy myself with the matter of securing the young lady a suitable husband.”

“A very simple matter, my lord.”

Saber glared at Bigun. “Simple? Finding a man worthy of one so …”

“Of one so charming, so beautiful, so perfect of mind and soul—and body?”

“Hmm. Yes, yes exactly.”

“As I said,” Bigun remarked, brushing imaginary annoyances from the coat he held. “A very simple matter. Such a man is readily
to hand.”

“Who?” Naked—as he preferred to be in bed—Saber threw back the covers. He should not feel angry whenever he contemplated securing
a man to take his place with Ella. “Who is readily to hand, Bigun? Speak up, man.”

“You.”

Saber stopped in the act of getting into bed. He rested his knuckles on the mattress and closed his eyes. “I thought we had
covered that topic. It cannot be me. And we both know why.”

Bigun made much of hanging the coat in the large, carved ebony wardrobe.

“We both know why, don’t we, Bigun?” Saber said loudly. “We both know why you
pretend
it cannot be so.” Bigun’s tone was silken. “I do not agree with you. I think the young lady is exactly what you need. Someone
who loves and wants you and—”

“Silence!”

“Do you love her?” Bigun continued as if there had been no explosive interruption.

Saber turned and fell, spread-eagle, onto the bed. “Leave me. Leave me in peace.”

“You love her.”

“I told you to leave. Get out. Now.”

“You, my lord, love Miss Ella Rossmara. You desire her mind and her body. You wish she were beside you—”

“Out,” Saber roared, rearing onto his elbows. “And never mention her name to me again.”

“As you wish.” Bigun bowed and backed toward the door. “But you do love her.”

“Out!”

“But of course, my lord. Love does strange things to men, but it can be most healing.”

“Get out!”

“A woman’s soft hands upon a man’s fevered body—”

“Get—” The door slammed before Saber finished shouting his order.

His head ached.

His head invariably ached when he’d fought sleep for more than a few days, as he had since his last confrontation with his
demons.

Bigun was right. The need for rest was desperate now. Sleep must come at any price.

Warmth spread through Saber’s limbs. He doused the light and rolled toward the windows where, as he insisted, no draperies
had been drawn over the casement. Outside was utter darkness. A wind slapped tree limbs against the panes and light rain tapped
the glass.

The wind hummed.

The humming rose and fell.

The tapping rain was as the music of tiny silver finger cymbals. The finger cymbals of dancing Indian women. Dancing and turning,
dancing and turning. Undulating bodies. Silver and gold—silk—soft.

Saber drifted.

Ribbons of silk wafted about him—slipped away.

Drifting.

The wind hummed, and hummed.

The rain fell harder.

When the wind would have cooled his body, a covering was drawn over him. The cover settled softly over his shoulders, molded
to his legs.

Warm softness curved around his back.

Soft.

A hand slipped beneath his arm and around his chest, and held him.

How long had he lain there?

The thunder of hoofs came again. Blood filled his eyes and he could not see who rode toward him—friend or foe.

Saber rested his head on the churned earth once more. From all around him came the stench of sweat. Sweat, fear, and death.

Moaning and wailing, screams of pain rose on every side. Screams from the living who felt life draining away. Then the sounds
ebbed, save those of approaching horses.

He held very still. Those who came might think him already dead.

He was dead.

His heart hurt. It pounded, twisted, pounded. It would stop and he would be dead.

He was already dead. “Aiee!” The cry rose to a shriek. Hoofs fell so close to his face, he felt the earth give beneath the
animal’s weight.

The horse pawed the ground. Tack creaked and jangled. Saber held his breath.

At last the hoofbeats started again, leaving, galloping away.

Perhaps he was safe.

But he was dead. Pressure on his chest pushed the last air from his lungs. His own sweat broke to run and mingle with the
blood that burned his eyes.

Screaming. Oh, God, screaming again. They had all held their breath, just as he had, hoping their lives would be spared. Why?
Why pray for a life that was all pain, a life that would end soon, anyway?

He wasn’t dead.

He could try to get away, to get help—for himself and his wounded men.

They screamed.

More horses. Thundering again—coming this way. Men’s voices raised. Shouting. They had returned to finish what they started.

“No. Leave them. No!”

An arm clamped tightly about him, clawed at him, pawed at him. Warm breath puffed against his spine. He felt his enemy’s face.

“Get off. Get off, I tell you!”

He rolled toward his assailant and struck out with his good right arm. “Damn you! You’ve done your worst.”

“Stop it!”

“Not again,” he yelled. His sweat made his hands slick. He needed a knife. “Never again, do you hear me?”

“Please!”

“Beg, you bastard!” Saber scrambled over the other’s body, searching for his knife, for any knife. There had been one close
by.
“Beg.”

“Please! Oh,
please.
”

His fingers found the place where the knife would be. He remembered now. He’d placed it where he could always find it. Sobbing
his relief, he grabbed the cold handle and sat astride the body of his tormentor.

Fists pummeled his belly.

He lashed back, striking an unseen face, and raised the knife.

“Saber!”

Saber.
His name. He pinned the other’s neck. “Saber! Please. What is it? Saber!”

He grew still. He was cool again.

Looking around, he saw moonlight, moonlight through un-draped windows. Moonlight on tumbled white sheets.

The rain had stopped. “It isn’t raining,” he murmured. “It was raining.”

“I’m sorry.”

Saber looked down at his “enemy.”

Crushed beneath his weight, her great dark eyes glittering in the moonlight, lay Ella.

She looked not at him, but at the knife poised to strike at her heart.

E
lla.

He opened his mouth, heard her name within his mind, but could make no sound.

Beloved.

She would be his only beloved for as long as he lived. Slowly, as if in a trance, she raised her arms and wrapped the fingers
of both hands over his on the handle of the dagger. For an instant he didn’t guess her intention, didn’t guess that she meant
to help him take her life….

“No!” He wrenched the gleaming weapon away and threw it across the chamber.

“You want to kill me,” Ella whispered. “So kill me.”

“No, no, no. Don’t say it.”

“You hate me. I am disgusting in your eyes.”

He fell down beside her and gathered her in his arms. “You are beautiful in my eyes. You
are
beautiful. You are my only beloved one.”

She sobbed silently, her slim body heaving. Her dress and petticoats had been removed, but she wore a modest chemise of some
fine stuff.

“All my life I have been a mistake,” she said into his chest. “I caused my mother pain. For me she was forced to do things
she hated to do—to keep me, and Max. I am worthless.”

My God!
This was his fault. He had known how fragile his Ella was. He’d known from the first moment they spent alone. Then she’d
trusted him with those secrets that tore at her heart, and he’d felt disgust. Yes, then he’d felt disgust—or disappointment
so deep it could not be ignored. But now he felt only his need for this girl. He needed her so desperately that he could not
conceive of drawing another breath once he left her presence for the last time. And he would leave her eventually, and forever—once
he had dispatched his duty and made certain she was under the protection of a man who would love and care for her.

“Why do you hate me, Saber?” Her voice was indistinct. He stroked her tumbled hair. How could he not? “I don’t hate you. I
told you, I love you.”

Her tears wetted his chest. He rolled to his back, pulling her on top of him, and covered them both with the sheets.