She ran a finger across the etched symbols. There was a message there, but what? How to decipher it without telling Ridge what it said? She knew it would provide the final link to finding the city. She could feel it.
Ridge nudged her. “Are you ready?”
She nodded her head and followed him toward the door.
“Good luck in your travels,” Mrs. Unster called out.
India had never really believed in luck, but now she thought they could definitely benefit from it.
As they climbed into the carriage, Ridge’s eyes gleamed with excitement.
“We’ve done it! We’ve actually done it.”
“Yes, it would appear so,” she murmured.
“I’ll make the final preparations for our journey and make sure the ship is properly rigged. With any luck we’ll be in San Sebastian in a fortnight.”
There was that word again. Luck. With luck indeed. She stamped out the nagging worry she felt and tried to look eagerly ahead to their travels. Even if the mere idea of embarking again on the life she had sworn to forsake sent panic racing down her spine. There would be plenty of time for worry when they arrived in Spain.
Chapter Nine
India turned the bracelet over and over in her palm, studying the intricate designs engraved into the face. Exhaustion beat an incessant cadence in her head, but she couldn’t sleep. Wouldn’t sleep. Not with the night.
She glanced out her window into the offending darkness. The stars glared malevolently back at her, mocking her with their beauty.
A noise directed her gaze downward to the torch-lined walkway of the garden. To her surprise, she saw Lord Ridgewood standing on the stone path, his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers.
He removed his spectacles and tucked them away then he stared up into the sky. He stood there, still, as if absorbing his surroundings. For a brief moment of fancy, she considered that he too was staring at stars sprinkled liberally over the horizon.
Was he dreaming of all the far away places he had never visited? She wished she could summon the same excitement he displayed over their impending voyage to Spain. In her youth, she possessed the same adventurous spirit the viscount displayed.
For as long as she could remember she had enjoyed the tales her father recounted. Counted the days until his return. Prayed that the next time he would take her along. But he never had. Not until that terrible summer her mother had fallen ill and died in a matter of weeks.
He returned a week after her mother had been buried, told her to pack her belongings, and they had departed the very next day. He had taken her back to India, where she was born. Where she had spent the first years of her life.
From that moment on, she had traveled everywhere with her father. Africa, America, Egypt, and to the east. But her heart had always remained in India.
Her lips tightened as she blinked back tears. They had betrayed her. Her countrymen. All they had seen was a fair-skinned Englishwoman. An outsider. Not one of their own. Someone they could use to try and sway the British occupying their country.
That day she had ceased to see herself as Indian and seen for the first time that she was British. No common bond with these noble people she had considered her brethren.
After her escape from the awful captivity she had endured for three months, she had only wanted to return home. A home she had not acknowledged in more than a decade. The British High Command in Calcutta had informed her of her father’s disappearance and seen that she was put on a ship to England.
It was assumed he was killed by the same band of rebels that had captured India.
Her throat tightened. But he hadn’t been killed. He was off searching for Pagoria while she was fighting for her life and sanity. Had he known she was alive? Or had he cared more for the city than for his only daughter?
She shook her head in silent denial. She wouldn’t allow herself to think that. He couldn’t have known she was alive. It was the only explanation for why he had left the country.
Lord Ridgewood still stood in the garden, his attention obviously miles away. He hadn’t moved since he had gained her attention several minutes ago. What was he thinking?
She frowned. He was occupying too much of her thoughts. If she was going to carry out her deception, she couldn’t afford to start softening toward him. She must ignore her attraction to him. No matter how likeable he was. Yes, she liked him. Another frown plagued her. Why couldn’t he be utterly unlikable?
His eagerness to loot the city was annoying, but she couldn’t really hold it against him. Had she not the knowledge that the city still lived, she would likely be just as eager to uncover whatever artifacts had been left behind by a dead civilization.
But he was critical of her father. Irritation singed her mood. Much better. If she could summon the anger she had felt each time she had been treated to one of his censorious articles about her father’s beliefs on Pagoria, she could remain objective and convinced that he deserved her betrayal.
Yes, he was quite deserving.
