Dinner was an enjoyable meal.

Veronica and Malone first recounted the news from the Zanga village.

“We need to keep an eye out for those hunting parties or raiding parties, or whatever they are.” Roxton frowned a bit. “We’d best go out in groups for a while. I suspect I saw a couple of them earlier today,” Roxton divulged his prior encounter with the mysterious observers .

“You evaded them so easily?” Sándor was thoughtful.

Roxton shrugged neutrally. He wasn’t one to deny his skills, but he didn’t brag about them either.

“Did your parents ever mention them?” Challenger asked.

Veronica shook her head. “Nothing that I can recall. From what the Zanga said they normally tend to stay much further south. They pretty much keep to themselves.”

“What did you make of them, Count?” Roxton tipped his head to the side as he regarded their guest.

“I made it my business to studiously avoid them, Lord Roxton. They did not seem interested in learned discussion or a leisurely meal.” The Count waved a hand at the food in front of them.

“This was wonderful, Count.” Veronica was thrilled with their guest. Bocskai raised an eyebrow at the use of his title. “I mean, Sándor,” Veronica corrected herself relishing his charming smile. She had taken a particular delight in recounting the Count’s expertise with spear and knife to the other treehouse members. They’d been suitably impressed.

Now he was showing himself capable in other ways, refined manners, an appreciation for the elegancies of life, pleasant conversation. Veronica was sure Ned had noticed how a man like Sándor considered her worthy of all the little courtesies and attention. She hadn’t missed Ned’s frown each time the Count made her an object of his gallantry or she praised their guest. Perhaps it was Marguerite’s influence that made her enjoy Ned’s discomfiture.

“Yes, I must say, you’ve stepped in most ably,” Summerlee praised the Count. He stifled a yawn.

“You’ll have to look to your laurels, Professor,” Roxton remarked easily as he raised his glass in salute to the newcomer. No smile reached his eyes. He couldn’t say why, but he had still doubts about this guest of theirs.

The Count sat near Veronica and Summerlee, who, once again, dozed off in the chair at the table.

“Poor dear, he’s worn out.” Veronica looked over at the botanist.

“Taking care of Marguerite is enough to wear anyone out,” Roxton slyly remarked from the other side of the table where he sat next to the linguist. “Hey!” His exclamation came as Marguerite swatted him with her napkin.

His smile was brighter than the teasing would normally have warranted. Marguerite seemed to be better this evening, responding to his raillery with a liveliness that had been missing these past days. Challenger had expounded on several theories. After the worry the pair had caused, it was a relief to see them getting back to normal, their fevers subsiding. Even a lecture from the red haired scientist was welcome. An afternoon of sitting up and a meal with everyone had done the invalids a world of good.

“So you saved Veronica and Malone, Count. We can’t tell you how grateful we are.” Challenger leaned back feeling more like himself than he had for several days.

“Not nearly as grateful as I was,” Ned remarked lightly.

“The way he used that spear was impressive.” Veronica was enthusiastic. “You should have him go spear hunting with you, Roxton.”

“Yes, well now that things are getting back to normal, maybe we can.” Roxton was ambivalent about spending more time with this newcomer.

“Let me show you a room you can use.” Veronica rose from the table and smiled at Sándor. “I’ll help you settle in.” The Count rose with a smile in return following the jungle girl to a room on the lower level. The friendly chatter over music and art faded as the pair descended companionably down the stairs.

“So Malone, what do you think of our guest?” Roxton relaxed for a moment, an arm stretched across to the back of Marguerite’s chair, his hand unobtrusively toying with the ends of her hair.

“He did save us,” Malone said slowly.

“But?” Marguerite prompted. The reporter’s tone had conveyed a feeling belied by the words.

“But he’s too….polished, smooth. Always says the right thing. The perfect gentleman.” Malone was aware of how ridiculous it sounded.

“All the things you and Roxton aren’t,” Marguerite pithily commented. “Ouch!” This was in response to Roxton’s painful tug on her hair. “What was that for?” she demanded.

“I didn’t have an inkwell handy.” Roxton crooked an eyebrow at his feisty companion.

“Thank heavens for small mercies,” Marguerite tossed back as Ned and Challenger looked on, baffled by the exchange. She got back to the subject at hand. “Is that your real opinion of the Count, Ned, or are you jealous?”

That hit too close to home. “You seemed to find him charming!” Ned’s tone was somewhat spiteful.

Roxton frowned at the beautiful woman next to him. His instincts, like Ned’s, found something disturbing about Bocskai. The thought of Marguerite pulling some of her shenanigans on him didn’t sit right.

“No, I found out that he reacts like any man.” Marguerite paused. “Almost.” She considered the Count’s actions since he got there. The determined way he avoided contact with Challenger, Roxton, and herself.

“Stay away from him, Marguerite. We don’t know enough about him.” Roxton studied her a moment. Afraid the dark-haired beauty wasn’t taking him seriously enough, he added. “I mean it.”

“Relax, John.” Marguerite rested a hand on his arm, reassuring him. “Bocskai won’t come anywhere near me. You would have thought my name was Typhoid Mary, the way he’s acted.”

Summerlee’s eyes had fluttered open at their words. He’d heard the last bit of conversation. “Do you think that this Count knows something more about this illness? Something we should know?”

“Nonsense.” Challenger spoke gruffly. “Marguerite and I are recovering. None of you have been infected. Both of us have improved steadily.” The scientist refused to concede the possibility that he and Marguerite wouldn’t be fine and that there was anything of importance he’d hadn’t discovered.

“But what if the others are infected now?” Marguerite asked, her worried frown taking in Roxton. “Arthur, both you and Veronica had such a sudden need for sleep….”

“We’ll take precautions.” At first Summerlee meant his words to just soothe Marguerite but as he realized the validity of her worries he added, “It’s really the only sensible thing to do.”

“But what precautions should we take with this Count? I’ve heard some pretty weird tales about Transylvania and the Carpathian Mountains.” Malone couldn’t quite manage a casual tone.

“This isn’t a Bram Stoker novel, Malone,” Challenger chided. “And it’s not Transylvania anymore, technically it’s Hungary.” Challenger considered the matter for a moment. “Of course there’s no saying how things have turned out since we left.”

Everyone was silent for a few moments, contemplating a world left behind and how out of step they might be when they returned.

“Now it’s time we get the two of you back resting. This is the longest either of you has been up in the past ten days.” Summerlee spoke briskly, anxious for his own bed.

At the white-haired scientist’s words Roxton gallantly stood and offered his arm to help Marguerite rise.

Malone got to his feet to give Challenger a hand. No matter what their disagreements, all of them knew it was important to stick together, especially with a newcomer in the treehouse. Despite his reluctance to show a weakness, the older man placed his hand on the reporter’s shoulder to balance himself as he walked and gave him a grateful grin.

“I’d best follow to make sure Challenger doesn’t decide to stop at the lab.” Summerlee ambled along behind the two men.

Marguerite turned to descend the stairs, but realized Roxton was just standing there, frowning. He came to a decision and then walked over to the storage box where they kept extra guns. Taking out one of the smaller pistols he checked it to make sure it was fully loaded. Returning to her side he handed it to her.

“Keep this with you.” He pressed the gun into her hand. She looked at it and then at his eyes. They were deadly serious and worried. She nodded and slipped it into her pocket. “And don’t try any more foolery with him. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

Marguerite couldn’t decide if it was overprotectiveness or just jealousy that was affecting the hunter. Maybe some combination of those emotions. Whatever it was, it was part of how he would always react when he thought she was in danger. She stretched and pressed a brief kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Roxton smiled and swung her up into his arms.

“I can walk!” Marguerite protested.

“Take advantage of the pampering while you can,” Roxton advised lightly. His mouth twisted in a grin as he carried her down the stairs. “Soon you’ll need to make up for the work you missed while you were ill.”

“You’re all heart, Roxton.” Her tone was sardonic.

He stood her on the floor of her room. “Do you need help getting to bed?”

Marguerite arched her eyebrows as she just looked at the hunter.

Roxton tipped his head, eyes bright with laughter. “Well, I can dream.” He closed her in his arms. Marguerite rested her head against his chest. They stood there quietly for a long moment. Challenger’s voice could be heard from his room, frustrated that he wasn’t able to detour to the lab. Summerlee’s slower steps creaked a board here and there on his way to his room. Veronica was bidding the Count a good night and then her lighter tread joined Malone’s on the stairs.

Marguerite raised her head, and with her hand at the back of his neck, encouraged the hunter to bend his head a bit. The kiss was long and slow. Hands gently, tenderly stroked shoulders and backs. When they finally released each other’s lips they were breathless. Marguerite clung weak-kneed, Roxton’s arms tightened the embrace unable to let go, but both knew they couldn’t proceed. Footsteps from the floor above emphasized the point. The lack of privacy was a frequent irritant.

Roxton swallowed, mouth dry. “I’d better go.” But he made no move to release Marguerite. She nodded against his chest and then with an effort leaned away. They looked in each other’s eyes. She stroked his cheek. He turned his head to kiss her palm.

“I think it’s time we plan another holiday.” Roxton tried for a lighter note to ease the moment. “A little hunting, a campfire, a single blanket,” his finger traced her lips and then his hand was smoothing back her hair, “and a beautiful woman.”

“I think I’ll insist on Brighton Beach or maybe the Isle of Wight, not a safari,” Marguerite teased, aiding in the effort to cool things down. She gripped his arm enjoying the sensual feel of the muscle underneath her fingertips.

“Don’t you want to be ready for when we get back to England and I decide it’s time for another expedition? You won’t make me go alone, will you?” His tone was decidedly coaxing. The fingers of both hands were at the back of her neck, his thumbs stroking her jaw. One hand slipped down to her waist, prepared to pull her back into his arms again.

Marguerite reached down and stilled his hand before it could wander elsewhere. She stretched and kissed his mouth lightly. Roxton closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, striving for control. He kissed her forehead.

“Keep that gun close,” he admonished quietly, aware of how noises could carry in the treehouse.

“Be careful as well,” Marguerite responded equally solemn. Roxton nodded and left.

Marguerite wasn’t surprised a short while later to hear the scrape of wood on the treehouse floor. She knew precisely what it was. Roxton had positioned a chair inside the doorway of his room to enable him to watch for any suspicious behavior on their guest’s part this night.