Page 8 of A Zephyr Rising
“But it’s not simple.I—” She caught her breath, trying to find the right words.He took her hand, his skin feeling cool against hers.His unwelcome touch made her stomach quiver.Staring at his hand, she clenched her jaw.“I want to know it’s the right choice for my life.For both of us.”
He laughed and reached into his breast pocket for a cigarette case.“You know it is.Both our families have always known.There isn’t any doubt in my mind we should be together.I’m astounded you seem to think there is.”
“But this has nothing to do with the Martins.You should help me regardless of whether I agree to marry you.You should help me because it’s the decent thing to do.”
Stephen lit a cigarette and stepped closer to her.“I only want to protect you, Ginny.If you’d let me, I’d have married you years ago.I’ll always dream of you.”His hand slipped behind her back, drawing her in more closely.
He’d ignored her.Burning with latent fury, Ginger craned her neck away from the scent of tobacco smoke.“Did you tell Henry you’d help me in order to corner me like this or because you can actually help?”
Stephen blew a stream of smoke from the corner of his lips.His eyes narrowed.“Cornered?”He took another drag from his cigarette.“Perhaps you should think more carefully about how you’re speaking to me.If I could help, you wouldn’t be so rude, would you?”
She looked him directly in the eye.“Can you help me or not?”
“I can help you.”Stephen ran his fingers over the edge of her collarbone, then traced the back of his knuckle against her jawline.“It so happens a friend of mine works for the Home Secretary.I can send him an urgent message.Let him know about this situation and see what he can do.”Stephen’s look was stern.“But I can’t make any promises, Ginny.It will take more than your word alone to assure them the younger Martin isn’t a spy.”
Ginger longed to step away from him but couldn’t.Not when he held the cards.“What about Mr.Martin?”
“I doubt we can do much for him.His refusal to nationalize won’t speak in his favor.But I’ll ask.”His eyes scanned hers as though gauging her response to his touch.
“Thank you.”The idea of Stephen acting as her intermediary didn’t entirely comfort her.“What’s your friend’s name at the Home Secretary’s office?So I know who to tell my father to send a note to?”
Stephen’s gaze strayed, as though to make sure they were alone.Would he attempt something like a kiss, knowing he had the means to manipulate her?She held her breath.A bird’s wings fluttered as it landed in a fountain further in the garden.The bird tilted its head, watching her with a beady dark eye.If only she had wings to fly away, like it did.
After a moment, he said, “David Peterson.But tell him to wait until I’ve made inquiries.”He held out his hand.“Now.Since that’s behind us, care to stroll back to the tent as friends?We wouldn’t want everyone to believe we’ve been having any sort of unpleasantness.”
Behave.She resisted the urge to flee.She’d feel less trapped with both feet in a peat bog than she did with him.
She smiled, relieved, and took his hand.“I can’t tell you how grateful I am for your help.”
As they made their way toward the tent, Ginger searched for Charlotte.She spotted her standing beside her husband, smiling.Robert was in animated conversation with her about something.
Her heart lurched.Charlotte could have married the future Earl of Braddock.She’d rejected Henry for Robert—a man whose family name did not appear inBurke’s Peerage.
She wished she could simply tell him no, be done with it.Defy her father and not worry about the consequences.But was she as brave as Charlotte?
ChapterFour
Sitting down to breakfast the next morning, Ginger nodded at her father and Henry.They paused from their quiet, serious discussion with wordless greetings.Her father had the newspaper open.“Not more bad news?”Ginger asked.She wished she could breakfast in bed like her mother did and avoid morning discussions.Not that she minded the politics—she didn’t like mornings.
But breakfast in bed was a privilege extended only to married women.Unfortunately.
“It’s all bad news when we’re at war.”Lucy made a face.“I still don’t see why any Englishman should have to go and fight a battle over what’s happening in Serbia.”
“Nor should you have to worry.”Henry pulled at a curl from Lucy’s dark ponytail.“You should be able to enjoy playing with dolls and riding ponies.”
“I’m fourteen, not four.”Lucy straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.Ginger suppressed a laugh.Lucy’s awkward attempts to seem grown had increased lately.Maybe because of her own uncertainty about the future.Lucy gave her father a sharp look.“You don’t think the war will mean any delay in my going to Brillantmont, do you?”
“It may.Swiss finishing schools are hardly a priority, and we all have to make sacrifices.”With a somber expression, he sighed and added, “You may as well know, as I’ve already told the rest of the family.I’m being called to serve in Cairo at the Foreign Office.”
“Cairo?”Lucy’s lips formed a round “o” with the last syllable.“That dreadful place?All I remember is flies and heat.When do you have to go?”
It surprised Ginger that she remembered anything from Cairo at all.Ginger barely did.More than likely, Lucy’s “memories” were little more than stories they’d recounted over the years.
Her father lifted his teacup and spoke over the rim.“You mean when do ‘we’ go?”
What?
Lucy gasped, upsetting her glass of water.As the footman rushed to mop it up, Ginger leaned back, trying to keep her own reaction muted.Her mother must have insisted they all go.Would her father be expecting them all to leave in two weeks?
