Secrets of a Scandalous Bride (25 page)

She refocused her eyes beyond the water’s opposite bank.

In the distance, something glinted. It was like a burst of sunlight reflected from a looking glass. Her
eyes searched past the statuary and the ancient stone urns on pedestals. And suddenly…

She realized she had fallen asleep beneath the willow tree and was dreaming. For
he
was there, just as he always was in her dreams.

Pierce…

He was leaning against a pedestal below a verdigris angel, who pointed toward the heavens. And he was staring at her with all the love and longing she felt in her heart.

She was afraid to move. Afraid that if she did, she would wake up as she always did. But then he shifted away from the statue, and something was very wrong with the image.

His arm.

His right sleeve was pinned to his shoulder, and in his left hand there was a silver-handled cane that glinted again in the sunlight.

Her breath caught. In that moment, she knew. She was
not
dreaming.

Dear God
…it was impossible. She was going mad—imagining him. Surely, it was someone who simply looked like Pierce. Oh, but she had to go to see…and she could not move quickly enough.

She could not make her body work properly at all. She tried to stand, but her legs tangled in her gown and she half fell. She couldn’t see because of the tears. And she couldn’t speak for it felt like someone had squeezed all the air from her chest.

She had to get to him before he disappeared. She frantically brushed at her eyes and regained her footing.

And finally she was running, and this apparition
had his one arm held wide for her, his cane now lying in the grass.

She was in his embrace. She could finally breathe. His scent reached the chambers of her mind, and she knew it was he. And suddenly, for the first time in two years, she felt whole. She hadn’t even realized a part of her had been absent—until this moment.

“Sarah…” His beloved, deep voice caressed her. “My dove.”

She nuzzled deeper against his shirt linen, her arms gripping his back. “Oh God. It
is
you. Tell me…oh, talk to me.” Her voice sounded strangled to her own ears.

He gripped her more firmly to him. “I’m here.”

She tried to speak properly, without any success. “You were…where were you—oh, you’ve been hurt.”

She shivered as his hand rubbed the base of her neck. He kissed the top of her head. “Sarah,” he whispered hoarsely, “it doesn’t matter. There’s just one thing. Have I lost you—lost your heart? You must tell me straightaway. You must tell me the truth of it.”

“Lost my heart? I don’t understand,” she said, trying to decipher the pained, exhausted look in his eyes. “What are you saying? Oh, Pierce, don’t be ri—” And then she burst into tears, unable to form another word. But she gripped him to her all the harder.

“Just nod,” he begged, his voice almost gone, “if I’m not too late. If you still love—”

“Of course I love you—will always…” She stopped. She lifted her head and roughly brushed the
tears from her eyes. “Why, I’ve the most constant, stubborn heart of anyone—”

His lips stopped the flow of words coming from her. He was kissing her the way he had always loved her—the way a man was supposed to kiss a woman. Oh, who was she to explain it? She’d only and ever had his lips on her own. Had only and ever wanted to be in
his
warm embrace.

He kissed her until her throat ached with emotion, and then he leaned his brow against hers. “I wouldn’t have blamed you, you know. I know you thought me dead. And I very nearly was. But…I spied Lord Wymith with you—even after I arranged the letters to be delivered.”

She pulled away to stare at his exhausted expression. His face was thinner now, but more dear to her than ever before. “Letters? I don’t understand. Why didn’t you just come to me directly?”

“I paid handsomely to have notes secreted to you when I finally found you.” There was such hope mixed with sadness in his voice.

She shook her head. “Pierce…there were
no
letters. What are you talking about?”

“I could not risk approaching Helston House. Too many of Pymm’s men were on guard there. And I couldn’t hazard telling you where I was, or why I could not come to you, lest one of the notes was intercepted. But I wanted you to know I was alive.”

“I still don’t understand. Why—”

“Because of Pymm, my darling.” His darkly shadowed eyes searched hers, and he finally continued. “He murdered Elizabeth’s father. I came upon him in
the act—hidden behind the old castle in Badajoz—and then he tried to kill me when he turned and saw that I’d witnessed the act. He very nearly succeeded. But he made one mistake.”

Sarah could barely speak. “Mistake?”

“He tossed me into the River Guadiana, thinking I was dead. I floated to the shore. I remember almost nothing of it. A Spanish goatherd and his wife were responsible for saving my life—if not my arm. And my leg…well, it is unfortunate that it was not well set.”

She swallowed back bile. “Oh, Pierce…I shouldn’t have left without looking for you. But I couldn’t allow Elizabeth to leave all alone.”

“No. You were right to go away. Pymm told me he would kill anyone who stood in his way. Said he would kill
you
…I just could not risk showing my face in town until I could form a plan that would not put you in harm’s way.”

She reached to touch his cheek, to reassure herself that he was truly standing there before her and would not suddenly disappear.

“I’m sorry it took me so long, my darling. I can’t tell you how much I worried—was desperate to find you and Elizabeth. I’m so grateful you found protection and comfort with the dowager duchess and her friends. I learned you went to Cornwall and Yorkshire during the last year—before London?”

She nodded.

“Two weeks ago I was on the point of desperation. I secretly followed you to Windsor and prayed I would catch you alone. But you were always with your friends or with that man—Wymith.” His face
darkened. “I left another letter for you in the Helston carriage. Did you not re—”

“Pierce, I never received any…Oh my God,” she stopped.

“What is it?”

“The note…notes. Elizabeth received many letters. We all assumed they were from Pymm. They had but a single initial—P. The handwriting—”

“Is nearly illegible using this hand, I’m sorry to say,” he interrupted with a sigh. “But Sarah, what of Wymith? Are you engaged, as the columns hinted?”

She smiled slowly and shook her head. “No. Not at all. I refused him.”

He closed his eyes and exhaled like a man who has won a reprieve from the gallows. He reopened his eyes.

“That is what happens when someone loves another so intractably, you see,” she murmured, stroking his face. “But why did you not come to me after the events at Carlton House? Surely—”

“I was in Cambridge.”

“Cambridge
? Why on earth would you go there?”

“I was desperate—short on funds and hope. I’d gone to search out General Worth, who retired there. You remember, I served under him at the start of the war? His going to Portman Square would not have aroused suspicion. I asked him to warn you, put a stop to Elizabeth’s marriage, and to form a plan to bring Pymm to justice. But as we were returning to London, we saw a newspaper relating the events at Carlton House, and so I rushed back—rode straight through last night to see you.”

She suddenly felt dizzy.

“Where is Pymm now? The newspaper was many days old.”

“I don’t know,” Sarah whispered. “I assume at the Pulteney still. I know he’s been called to address the House of Lords. I don’t know which day. The Prince Regent is put out with him, and several people—my new friends, the Duke of Helston and others—are calling for further investigation and punishment.”

“Sarah, after I see you to a safe place and speak to your friends, I must go to the war office without delay. I will not rest until Pymm is held accountable for what he has done. I would have killed him myself if my sharpshooting skills were not so impaired now. I was on the point of it at Windsor, when I was so close to him in the flesh…”

Her beloved husband’s gaze drifted over her shoulder and Sarah half twisted in his arms to see what had caught his attention. Elizabeth stood, wide-eyed in shock, not thirty feet away. A moment later, she crumpled to the ground.

A shout echoed, and Sarah spied her friends of the last grief-filled years coming toward them—some running, some walking. Even Georgiana, still weak from childbirth, was aided by her husband.

Rowland Manning was the first to reach Elizabeth, his usual nonchalant countenance wiped clean. Fear shone from him as he hurtled himself down alongside her.

Her eyes were already opening, and she struggled to speak.

“Stay still,” Rowland insisted. “You hit your head.”

“No,” Elizabeth mumbled. “Where is he?”

“Who?”

“Colonel Winters,” she said, disoriented. They followed her gaze, disbelief registering in every face.

Pierce knelt beside her and took up her hand. “Elizabeth…”

“You’re not…what…My father? Is he here too?” Elizabeth’s questions drifted to a stop.

Everyone understood the bleak expression on the face of the man who had been Elizabeth’s father’s closest friend. Sarah’s heart broke as comprehension dawned on Elizabeth’s face.

“I’m so sorry, my dear. I could not save him from Pymm’s blade. I was too late…”

D
awn had always been Elizabeth Ashburton’s favorite time of day. It was the hour that held the most promise. By noon, half of the things she had meant to accomplish were usually still undone—
especially
now that she was married. Her eyes still shut, slumber wandered slowly out of her grasp, and she wondered why she did not want to open her eyes. And then with a blink, she remembered.

Her father was dead.

Not that she had ever doubted it. It was just that she had left Portugal with Sarah in such haste that she had not seen his body—had not given him the burial required for true peace of mind. Until now, she had not realized that she had held onto the slimmest thread of hope.

For a full half minute yesterday, that fondest wish had bloomed. And then been snipped from the vine. She refused to think about it. She could at least be forever grateful Colonel Winters had been spared.

And Sarah’s heart returned. Her friend’s eyes had not left her husband’s for a moment all afternoon.

Elizabeth inhaled to harness her emotions. She had so much she was determined to do today. Nothing
would stop her from seeing to the little details she had secretly planned. She refused to understand it was a reaction to yesterday’s events. She would not grieve for her father today. She’d grieved for two years and she would make this day for Rowland alone.

Exhaling quietly, she eased to the edge of their immense, white-netted bed with the care of a feline. It was more difficult than she thought. Rowland seemed to sleep with one eye open at all times. Twice his breath caught, and he stiffened, and twice she became motionless, waiting for him to resume the slow, even breathing that was his signature in deep sleep.

Then, just as her toe touched the floor, she felt his hand grip her wrist. He pulled her on top of him.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” he said, his voice gravelly.

She sighed. “Why am I forever being asked that?”

“Because you are never where you should be,” he growled.

“Really? And where is that?”

“Come a little closer, my lamb, and I shall tell you precisely. And how I plan to keep you here.”

“Well, perhaps I have plans of my own.”

“Is that so?” He drawled his seductive words.

“Yes.” She would not tell him. “But they are not your affair.”

“Everything about you is my affair.” There was something more than amusement in his voice. Something she could not pinpoint.

His hand was stroking the sensitive spot at the base of her back. The one that made her shiver.

“Come here,” he said softly, sliding his fingers beyond her spine.

She smiled. It had been the way of it all night. He could not seem to get enough of her. And as she found it impossible to resist the unspoken promises in his caress, she did exactly as he asked. Once again her well-laid plans were going to wrack and ruin. And yet, when he held her like this, with his granitelike torso pinning her to the bed and his heavy sex pulsing against her hip, she didn’t care. And when he whispered the sorts of things he would do to her, all her ordered ideas became nothing more than scattered good intentions—even if it was his birthday…and even if she had a celebration to arrange.

His hot breath fanned over her breast as he delivered the first of his many wicked promises. Like a match to tinder, their passion for each other ignited. She splayed her fingers over the hard planes of his immense shoulders and his body shifted over hers. As she reached down past the hard, rippled surface of his abdomen to caress his thick shaft, he groaned, and softly cursed his great need for her.

Each time they came together, she felt as though they were binding themselves ever closer, and yet, to Elizabeth, it also seemed as though Rowland always withheld a sliver of his soul.

His lovemaking now took on a desperate tenor in the darkness, and she wished she could see his face more clearly. He was relentless, drawing out her pleasure, again and again, with his fingers and his mouth, until she was faint with exhaustion. Then and only then did he guide the large blunt end of his erection against her intimate flesh.

“
Mhuirnin
…My
mhuirnin
.” His low, husky voice repeated the words until they floated in the
silken predawn air, lushly caressing her senses as he finally, finally thrust deeply, and allowed himself to find the pleasure that was his alone to take. Her body stretched tautly to accommodate him while he took extraordinary care to arouse her ever higher, ignoring her caresses. He was single-mindedly instigating every act in this interlude.

As he slowly buried himself deeper and deeper inside of her, Elizabeth began to notice his almost grim determination to bring her to a new level of happiness. Suddenly, intense pleasure blossomed within her loins, spreading like wildfire through her body.

His brow furrowed, his eyes closed, he drove into her one last time, filling her completely as he pulsed deep inside of her.

As he relaxed his grip and arranged her in the cradle of his arms, the luxurious pull of sleep followed soon after and she was unable to resist. It was only in her dreams that she was able to fully see the restlessness behind his fierce lovemaking.

He had always hated dawn. In the past, it had meant just another day of misery and unrelenting labor, of watching his mother and sister suffer in silence. His scoundrel of a half brother Howard and he had been far more capable of survival; both of them were cunning, and possessed a knack for skirting justice to bring a few meager bits to their dirty hovel in the rookery. For women, it was a different matter altogether. It was a terrible way of life. The torture had been watching the two females in his family suffer without being able to do a bloody thing about it.

But this morning, this dawn, was different. He was
capable of doing something, of correcting a wrong.

As he walked toward the stable, his soul felt light in his body—as light as his bones felt heavy, strangely enough. He thanked God Elizabeth had finally fallen back into slumber. Disentangling himself from her embrace had been one of the hardest things he had ever done.

He grasped the reins of the dark bay gelding from Lefroy. He had always avoided mortal danger until now. But he was an impatient man, with still no trust of others—especially lords or magistrates, all of whom usually had ulterior motives that could sway the winds of justice. And if there was anyone who could worm his way out of a noose, it was Pymm.

The others had agreed to meet him. He knew without doubt that they would play out all their myriad parts in this folly.

“I’ll return in two hours or less. I won’t miss a moment of her secret, bloody celebration. And by the by, if you nick a single grain on that new desk you’ve been hiding for her, I’ll—”

“I knows,” Lefroy said doggedly, “you’ll dock me wages.”

“Yes. And this time it actually might mean something, since I’ll be a rich man soon enough.”

He placed his boot in the stirrup and in one practiced motion swung onto his mount. The clatter of the horse’s hooves as he wheeled the gelding about broke the silence in the stable. “Watch over her in the main building. Don’t leave her alone for a second. And keep that gob of yours shut.”

Lefroy opened his mouth and then thought the better of it.

“Very good. I knew there was a reason I employed you. Now go on.” He nodded toward the main building and put his heels to the horse’s sides.

Lefroy cleared his throat. “Master?”

“What is it?” He looked over his shoulder.

“I’s proud o’ you,” Lefroy said so gruffly Rowland almost missed it. “We’s all are. Thought you should know.”

“Don’t go down that path, old man. If you start blubbering,” he said dryly, “I’ll be forced to—”

“I knows.” Lefroy made a pathetic attempt at a smile. “Good luck to you then.”

It was a good thing he left at that moment, for a half minute later he might have had to bear witness to Mr. Lefroy’s countenance, which crumpled altogether.

When Elizabeth woke again, she wasn’t entirely certain of the hour. It was still more dark than light, but Rowland was already gone to the Prince Regent’s mews as he had told her he would do that morning. Well, even if she was late getting started, her husband had dispelled much of her gloom about her father’s cause of death. Even if Rowland could never say the words she longed to hear, he took such care to comfort her. And that was all that mattered.

She dressed quickly and ran down the stairs, hoping Mr. Lefroy had not forgotten her instructions.

For some odd reason the stable master was standing quietly at the base of the stair. Waiting for her. Without a word he followed her to Rowland’s study.

“Oh, Mr. Lefroy,” she said a little out of breath, barely glancing at the older man. “Is it not perfect
here? Thank you so much.” She ran her hands over the new burled walnut desk, which now rested in the same spot as Rowland’s former desk.

He shook his head with a grimace. “Weighs fifty stone, it does. Took four o’ me men to get it in here. And two o’ them are now missing toes.”

“I hope he likes it,” she said.

“I would be willing to wager ’e will. Don’t think ’e ever got a present.” Mr. Lefroy’s voice was devoid of emotion. “Then again, none o’ us knew his birthday.”

“Well, it was stated on the Special License. Oh, we must hurry before he returns. I’m determined to surprise him. But first, the two errands to—”

“I remembers, my lady.”

“I think I preferred it when you used to call me lovey, Mr. Lefroy.” She had thought her words would bring a smile to his face, but they did not. A fine case of the dismals appeared to be simmering below the surface of Mr. Lefroy’s blank expression. But she had no time to tease him out of a sulk.

Threads of purple and mauve streaked the pink clouds of the eastern cityscape as they crossed the yards toward the stables. Elizabeth’s thoughts darted among the things she had to do, while Mr. Lefroy checked the horses’ traces and the carriage. They would go to the fishmonger to have first pick of the catch. She didn’t mind the overly strong, briny scent of the docks. She would make Rowland’s unacknowledged favorite—cod in red-pepper sauce. And flowers must be purchased and arranged, a dessert prepared, and they were still vastly understaffed. It would take her a few
weeks to hire a full complement of servants.

All of her friends were to come that evening. It truly would be their last gathering with everyone present. She wondered if the Duke of Helston and Colonel Winters’s dealings at the military headquarters regarding her father’s murder would prevent them from…she glanced at Mr. Lefroy’s impenetrable, grim profile as he helped her into the carriage.

“Wait,” she said suddenly, refusing to let go of Mr. Lefroy’s gloved hand.

He looked toward her, his face grave. She had only ever seen Mr. Lefroy smiling.

“Mr. Lefroy, by all that is holy, where is he? He usually goes to the royal mews in the afternoons—never at dawn. He is always here then. Where has he gone, truly?”

“’e didn’t say, ma’am.”

“Oh no, you don’t, old man. You will tell me this instant or I will feed you nothing but broth and stale bread for the rest of your existence.” A terrible premonition churned her thoughts to clotted disaster.

But there was no need for Mr. Lefroy to answer, for the sound of a horse’s hooves preceded the arrival of the one person who would not hesitate to tell her everything she would most not want to hear.

Colonel Pierce Winters grimaced as he carefully swung about his injured leg to dismount; his one hand pressed the pommel and gripped both reins. With all of the military precision for which he had been known, Colonel Winters stripped Lefroy of all information he did not already possess, and had the three of them hurtling helter-skelter in the carriage
toward a destination that brought cascades of fear to her feverish mind.

Dear God, he could not. He would not.

But, in her heart, she knew very well that he could, and he would.

The ride through Regent’s Park braced him. The dark bay’s ears pricked up as a white-tailed rabbit darted across the path. He steadied his young horse with a gentle word and practiced hands.

Across the outer circle, and over Macclesfield Bridge, the sacred dueling ground of Primrose Hill loomed. It was the one part of London Rowland knew little about. It was reserved for idiot men of rank who had nothing better to do in the morning than shoot each other’s bloody nobs off for perceived slights to their so-called honor.

Yes, well, he was very nearly one of those bloody idiots now, wasn’t he? And here he was, playing the role to the letter already.

Several men lurked under an enormous hemlock tree ahead. On the approach, he recognized Ellesmere, Helston, and two other men, strangers both. Perhaps the surgeon and the starter?

Rowland dismounted and secured his horse with the other mounts.

“Where is he?”

“Impatient, are we?” Helston drawled his words. Only his dark eyes betrayed the duke’s seriousness. “The guest of honor is due shortly.”

“Care for a cheroot?” the marquis offered, as he puffed on his own.

“No,” Rowland replied stiffly.

“Smart man. Filthy habit,” Helston said, tendering a small silver flask.

“Absolutely, not.”

Ellesmere chuckled.

“Hmmm, no whip?” The duke studied Rowland, his expression giving away nothing. “You’re not going to bungle this, are you, Manning? My wife and I are to set sail no matter what happens.”

“Of course you will, Helston,” Ellesmere said in an exaggerated manner. “That’s what we like most about you—all swagger and no follow-through.”

Rowland sighed. “Look, since you’re here as my seconds—and
thirds
, could you at least feign a little faith. Have a little more—”

The sound of four horses galloping over the bridge interrupted. Streaks of dawn finally broke through the cloud cover, and it was easy enough to discern their faces. His half brother Michael and Joshua Gordon flanked Leland Pymm and another man. Rowland nearly smiled when he finally recognized the choice of the general’s second: the portly, fawning Lieutenant Tremont. Only now, the man’s florid complexion was replaced with frozen-white fear.