A Dark and Brooding Gentleman (21 page)

‘You must be brave on your wedding day, Phoebe. It is what your father would want. And upon our return to Scotland Sebastian will see that Sir Henry’s debts are cleared and that he is released.’

Phoebe nodded. ‘You are right.’ She dried her tears and let Mrs Hunter lead her down the stairs. And as she reached the bottom of the staircase, Mrs Hunter smiled and stepped aside, and there, waiting across the hallway, was her own dear papa, dressed in his best wedding finery. Phoebe ran to him, tears of joy streaming down her cheeks as she threw her arms around him.

‘Papa! Oh, Papa!’

‘Child!’ Sir Henry laughed and hugged her to him as if she were still his little girl. ‘Mr Hunter was insistent
that a father ought not to miss his daughter’s wedding day. And I do believe that he was right.’

Mrs Hunter pressed a posy of flowers into her hands and her papa led her through to the drawing room where two tall dark-haired, dark tailcoated men stood waiting.

The Duke of Arlesford, who was standing by Sebastian’s right-hand side, gave her a smile, then looked at Sebastian. Her papa handed her to Sebastian and left her there.

In both Sebastian’s and Arlesford’s buttonholes was a fine sprig of purple heather.

‘From our own moor, Phoebe,’ Sebastian whispered as he smiled at her, and Phoebe’s heart was flooded with happiness and she thought there had never been a better man in all the world. She faced to the front, where the old priest stood, and she married the man that she loved.

Phoebe and Sebastian had set off back to Blackloch alone the next day. Both had been of the opinion that there was nowhere else in the world that they would rather be for their honeymoon than the beautiful Blackloch Moor.

As their coach travelled over the narrow winding moor road they could see the great dark house that was Blackloch Hall, silhouetted black against the fiery orange glow of the setting sun. On the horizon was the purple haze of the distant islands. The moor was quiet and the breeze gentled in welcome, and the air was sweet and fresh and scented with heather. And when the coach drew to a halt outside the great studded front door Phoebe and Sebastian climbed out.

Sebastian drew her against his chest so that they
stood together and stared out over the blushing moorland.

‘We are home, Phoebe,’ he whispered as he nuzzled her ear.

‘To our moor,’ she said and the golden heart-shaped locket nestled between her breasts seemed to glow warm as she turned her mouth to meet his.

And Sebastian scooped her up into his arms and carried her, as his dearly beloved wife, across the threshold into Blackloch.

All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

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First published in Great Britain 2011
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited,
Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

© Margaret McPhee 2011

ISBN: 978-1-408-92367-2