Three weeks had gone by since Patrick had told her of the engineers' findings. Perhaps the colonel would assume Ruel knew about it. Perhaps he wouldn't mention it and, if he did, she would have to face it. She smiled with an effort. "No, nothing's wrong. Of course I'll watch over him."
"Of course," he repeated, and for once his smile held no mockery or bitterness, only a rare sweetness. "There's no 'of course' about it. You've put up with Ian's screams and my rantings and worked yourself into a shadow these last weeks without a word of thanks from me."
"I didn't want your thanks. I couldn't have done anything else."
He gazed at her for a long moment. "No, I guess you couldn't. But I want you to know I'll remember this and find a way to repay you."
For the first time since the train wreck he was really looking at her, and she felt a tiny shock of awareness. She laughed tremulously. "Are you going to build me a palace too?"
"Maybe." He reached out and gently stroked her cheek with his index finger. "I'll have to think about it. You once said you wouldn't be comfortable in a palace."
The gentleness of his touch was poignantly sweet. "I'm surprised you remembered that."
"I have a long memory." His hand dropped away. "For the important things."
She wanted to reach out and touch him, draw close to that flame that always burned within him. Give and accept in spirit as well as flesh. She had thought she had loved him before, but her feelings had increased tenfold in these past days together.
"I'll see you in a few hours." He turned and left the bungalow.
She shivered as fear rippled through her. Perhaps she did not need to worry. Fate could be kind and let her keep this gift. Pickering might not tell him.
"The next troop carrier goes upriver on the twenty-seventh," John Pickering said. "I could ask the officer in charge to give up his quarters for the trip. Will Ian be ready to travel by then?"
"As ready as he'll ever be." Ruel rose to his feet. "You're very kind. Thank you."
"No thanks are necessary. We're all fond of Ian. He's a fine man." The colonel added briskly, "Now, sit back down and I'll order you a drink. You look like you could use one."
Ruel shook his head. "I have to get back to—" "Sit down," Pickering repeated firmly, "Or I might rethink my kindness."
Ruel dropped back down in his chair. "One drink." The colonel motioned to a white-clad boy behind the bar across the room. "If you don't get more rest, you may be the one we have to ship upriver on a stretcher." He waited until the boy had set two whiskeys in front of them before continuing. "I've seen men who look as haggard as you do before, but it's usually after they've been through a battle."
He had been through a battle, Ruel thought. He sipped his whiskey. "I'm fine. Ian's the one who is sick."
"Then why is your hand shaking?"
Pickering was right, Ruel noticed in surprise. His hand holding the glass was trembling. He exerted his will and steadied it before he said, "I've not been getting a great deal of rest. That doesn't mean I'm ill."
"I'm sure Abdar will be sorry to hear that."
He glanced up. "Abdar?"
"Pachtal's been displaying a good deal of curiosity on his behalf. He came to see me last week, asking questions about your purchase of Cinnidar."
"What kind of questions?"
"The most pertinent was why you saw fit to buy it at all. Naturally, since you hadn't seen fit to confide in me, I couldn't oblige him." He shrugged. "But I received the impression his interest was going to continue in the matter. It's for the best you'll be leaving Kasanpore."
"You filed the bill of sale with the magistrates in Calcutta?"
Pickering nodded. "All duly registered. Cinnidar is definitely yours. Abdar can't touch it."
"Legally."
"As long as his father's alive, you won't have to worry about Abdar interfering in the maharajah's affairs."
"We shall see."
"I just thought you should know." He paused. "Pachtal's also been seen wandering around Lanpur Gorge. Can you think of any reason why he should be interested in the investigation?"
Kartauk. The only reason for Pachtal to be at the gorge was if he suspected Kartauk had not been swept away by the river. Then the last word of Pickering's sentence hit home. "Investigation? What investigation?"
Pickering looked at him in surprise. "The investigation of the train wreck. The maharajah asked us to look into the reason for it." He grimaced. "Not a pleasant task. I've always liked Patrick Reilly and hated being responsible for depriving him of his fee."
He went still. "What in hell are you talking about? Patrick told me the force of the waters pouring through the gorge and hitting the supports caused a vibration that weakened the rails."
Pickering regretfully shook his head. "My engineer tells me if those rails hadn't been of inferior quality, they would never have broken."
Ruel felt as if he had been struck in the belly with a knotted fist. He said carefully, "Are you saying that Ian's injury could have been prevented?"
Pickering blinked. "I thought you knew. Patrick must have told Miss Barnaby about the inquiry."
"If he did, she didn't see fit to inform me." He slowly rose to his feet. "I believe I'll go pay a visit to Patrick Reilly. I have a few questions to put to him."
"I'm afraid you won't get any answers from him. He's usually drunk by noon these days." He paused. "Why don't you ask Miss Barnaby those questions? According to Patrick, she was very much aware of what was going on."
Ruel went still. "What are you trying to say?"
Pickering shifted uncomfortably. "Patrick tried to defend her, but several merchants told us she was solely responsible for ordering supplies and he finally admitted she had ordered the rails. It's a damn shame he was fool enough to trust a woman. It's probably destroyed his career."
I had to cut corners.
The door cost us too much.
Jane's words at the gorge came rushing back to him.
It's my fault.
"I have to go," he muttered hoarsely. "I have to leave . . ."
He was barely aware of Pickering's concerned voice calling his name as he turned and stalked out of the club.
Jane's hands clenched nervously on the arms of the chair when she heard Ruel enter the bungalow. She had told herself she wanted this confrontation over, but now she would have done anything to avoid it. Perhaps he would go directly into the bedroom to see Ian and—
"Jane," Ruel called softly.
He didn't sound angry. Perhaps Pickering hadn't told him, she thought hopefully. Dear God, she had prayed Pickering wouldn't say anything. "On the veranda. Was there a problem with Colonel Pickering?"
He appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the lamplight streaming from the living room.
"Why should there be a problem?" he asked.
She tensed as she realized a strange note underlay the softness of his tone, like a coiled spring stretched taut. "Because you've been gone for hours. It's after ten o'clock."
"Was caring for Ian such a burden for you?"
"No, I just wondered if—" She stopped and then said, "I've already given Ian his dinner and laudanum. He should sleep through the night."