At the sound of the woman’s name, Patrick stiffened.
Reginald continued, pleased to finally get a reaction from his opponent. “I’ve had her, too, you know. My brother, Harry, takes her to the theatre from time to time. Before we left London, I escorted her in his place.” He smirked at Patrick, who grew more uncomfortable with each passing minute. “She told me all about you.”
Patrick writhed at those words. “She would never do that.”
“No?” Reginald stepped even closer, if that was humanly possible. “How else would I know she was your first? How else would I know the way you grunted and groaned as you slapped against her—”
Patrick shoved him as hard as he could, hoping to get enough space between them to throw a punch. Reginald came back at him with the same idea, and his fist smashed against Patrick’s nose, spattering blood all over his white shirt.
It hurt like hell, but Patrick didn’t swing back.
“What’s the matter, Patty?” Reginald asked, laughing. “Afraid to hit me back?”
Patrick felt warm blood trickling down his face and tasted its metallic tang in the back of his throat. He hated Reginald Bourne more than any man alive. But he didn’t want to start a fight that, no matter what the outcome, he knew he would never win.
Reginald stepped up to him again and whispered, “She told me you like to be held after you finish.”
The pain in Patrick’s eyes spoke volumes even as he said very little. Clearly, Lady Wolstanton’s betrayal hurt him.
Linley’s mouth fell open at the revelation.
For the first time, Reginald and Patrick, as well as her father and the others noticed her presence.
“You are weak, and you are a coward,” Reginald said. “And now Linley finally sees you for what you really are.”
Reginald’s first mistake was to turn his focus on Linley. He took his eyes off his opponent. This blunder gave Patrick a split second to step back and punch from the shoulder, rocking Reginald with one firm blow to the head. The man tumbled backward over a camp chair and sprawled onto his back in the mud.
Linley ran forward and shoved Patrick as hard as she could. She pummeled his sides and his chest with her little fists. She hated him for hurting Reginald, for rising to his challenge and stooping to his level. And she hated him for Lady Wolstanton, although she was not sure why.
From his seat by the fire, Sir Bedford sat shocked as to how the argument suddenly became a brawl. Even Linley fought now, punching and kicking, and hurling curses at a stunned Lord Kyre.
“Enough!” her father said. “I refuse to see my team brawling like spoiled children! Everyone to their tents. Now!”
As the guilty parties skulked to their tents, Sir Bedford lit another cigarette.
“It is a wise father that knows his own child,” he told Schoville. “But I’m afraid I am at a loss with mine.”
Schoville leaned back in his chair, watching the sparks from the fire flutter up into the night sky. “This Lord Kyre business has gotten out of hand. You should have never allowed it.”
“If I never allowed it, she would want him all the more for it,” he explained. “I let him come along in hopes that the utter absurdity of their relationship would become apparent.”
Schoville sat forward and yawned. “By no means am I telling you how to raise your own daughter, Bedford, but I think Linley could benefit from learning about man’s true nature. And unless you want a very heartbroken young woman on your hands, you should be the one to tell her.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
In the last valley before the tall, grey, snow-capped mountains began, the lush, green landscape gave over to a craggy ravine. Linley craned her neck back as far as she could, and all she saw was cold stone. It was as if a wall had been carved out of the mountainside, reaching higher and higher until the human eye could no longer fathom the distance. There seemed to be no way out but up—to climb the foothills of the Himalayas.
“My goodness,” she said. “That’s one hell of a mountain!”
Her father smiled, seeming not the least put off by the obstruction in his path. He stumbled on the rocky ground, running his fingers over the cold slab.
At last, he found what he searched for—a narrow break in the rock face.
It was an unassuming opening, one any passerby would dismiss with hardly a moment’s notice. But upon further inspection, it was clear this was no ordinary fissure.
“If we cannot go over,” Sir Bedford said, grinning. “We must go under!”
Linley and her father stepped into the mountain passage. It must have been carved hundreds of years before but appeared safe and dry, and she was unafraid.