The Fairy Tale Bride (34 page)

Let them see Grimthorpe.

Let them see the men who are intent on
killing them.

Let them live.

Winded, Grimthorpe's horse ran for only a
short distance, perhaps a quarter of the way toward the men. To
Miranda's surprise, he uttered a hoarse cry and spurred the
flagging horse on toward the men, instead of back toward her.

It was her chance to escape. Should she head
toward the copse or toward Simon? She focused her gaze on the
distant battle. Could she help them?

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

As she scanned the distant tableau, her heart
skipped a beat. There were only two men standing. The other two
were dark lumps on the scuffed-up ground. For a moment she wasn't
certain, and then she was. That shining blond head had to be
Simon's.

He and Valentine had overpowered their
attackers. And now they were standing, with pistols in hand,
waiting for Grimthorpe. She sagged with relief, at the same time as
a sunlight glinted from something in the mounted madman's hand. His
pistol.

Before she could scream, uselessly or not,
she saw Valentine's arm raise and buck. There was a sharp report.
Grimthorpe fell from his still-running mount and lay still.

She bent over, burying her face in the cool
grass and wept, for Juliet, for Arthur, for Simon and Valentine.
For herself.

She could not stop when Simon reached her and
took her into his arms. And he did not ask her to, holding her
tight, rocking her against his chest as if she were a baby.

After a moment, she realized he was not just
repeating soothing noises, but actual words. "Juliet's safe.
Juliet's alive."

She broke away from his grip so that she
could look into his eyes. "How could she be alive? I saw the
carriage — "

He interrupted her with a kiss and a grim
smile.

"My cousin Arthur has more Watterly in him
than I ever believed possible. He suspected something was wrong
when the men who were to take him to see an interesting rare book
seemed so disreputable."

"But what could they do?" Miranda thought of
her wild ride with Grimthorpe. She had been unable to stop him. How
had her sister and Arthur escaped a speeding carriage unharmed?

His lips tightened in suppressed amusement.
"At the inn, when the carriage was forced to stop to change horses,
they both recognized their chance to escape. As soon as the
carriage started up, they jumped free without being observed by
their abductors."

Miranda blanched. "They could have been
killed."

The absurdity of her statement struck her as
soon as the words were uttered. They almost had been — all of them,
by a cunning and devious madman who wanted the dukedom that was now
Peter's. How ironic that both Peter and Simon would have gladly let
it go. She looked up then. The affection in Simon's eyes jolted her
for a moment. And then she remembered that he had dropped the
barricade to his heart. She laid her head against his chest,
content to hear the beating within, no longer afraid that the sound
heralded coming death.

"Where is Valentine?"

Simon looked down at her resting against him
so trustingly and could not swallow for the sudden fearful
realization that he had almost lost her just when he could claim
her. He touched her cheek softly. "He has gone back to the inn,
where we met up with Arthur, to notify the authorities about
Grimthorpe. We should join them there." He turned her face to his
so that he could reassure himself that she was alive and well. His
fairytale bride.

Her tone was scolding, but her eyes brimmed
with tears. "And so you and Valentine were prepared for a trap,
then? I needn't have worried at all watching those two huge bullies
trying to trounce you and toss you over after the carriage?"

"Of course not. You had nothing to fear. And
you never will again. You're married to me." He kept his reply
bland, but his arms tightened around her and he lowered his lips to
hers for a long kiss.

He did not break apart from her until she
began to shudder in his arms. No matter that she was enjoying the
kiss, she had still been kidnapped and watched a runaway carriage
dash off a cliff, believing her sister to be inside. He wrapped his
cloak around her and drew her to her feet. "Let's get you to the
inn and cleaned up."

She laughed, a trifle breathlessly he was
pleased to note, as she looked down at her torn and dirty gown.
"And you, as well."

His eyes lit with warmth. "A bath for two. I
think that can be arranged."

With a sigh, he watched as Miranda
surrendered to the feelings that were quickly replacing the grief,
fear, and despair of minutes ago. She wrapped her arms around his
neck and pressed her lips against his eyes, his cheek, his ear, his
mouth. Soft, warm kisses of love and hope and desire.

As if murder and treachery and danger were an
aphrodisiac, he realized that she had no wish to wait for their
room at the inn to reaffirm their love and the simple joyous fact
that they lived.

She did not even seem to realize that she was
sobbing despite the smile that lit her face between kisses, until
his lips caressed her cheeks and his tongue tasted her tears. He
had been given a gift this morning, which he had refused. That she
offered him this chance again was a blessing he did not have any
intention of refusing.

He felt the crushing need and translated it
into a lingering exploration of her body. The torture was no less
than it had been when he found her in his bed and had had to drive
her away. This time, however, there would be no worry about a child
to keep him from completing their joining.

For all he cared, they could have a hundred,
a thousand. He was no longer a duke. He was only a man who wanted
his wife. He lay her back, spreading his cloak on the grass and
allowed his lips to play with her ear before moving to her mouth to
swallow her sigh. She turned her head and met his lips with her
own, impatiently. They kissed — not briefly, but possessively.
Forever.

Miranda caught fire within as she undid the
fastening of his shirt and rubbed her sensitized palms against his
firmly muscled ribs. She surrendered thought, listening only to the
demands of her body and the soft sounds of pleasure — hers or
Simon's she could not tell and did not care.

His hands had found their way under her
skirts, as if he sought to assure himself that she was whole and
real, not a fairy ghost, by touching her, reaching for the heart of
her passion and helping it to burst through the pain and sorrow
that had held them apart for so very long.

Still sensitive from their encounter in the
morning, Miranda was shocked at the wanton way her body burned for
him. When he pressed into her, she welcomed him, waiting for the
pain and finding only pleasure that washed away any last doubt that
she and Simon were made for each other as perfectly as any couple
in her fairytales.

When he groaned against her skin and drove
deeper, she wrapped her arms and legs around him, helping him
closer, where he belonged, until there was no more two, only a long
shuddering cry sounding the triumphant music of one shared
soul.

* * * * * *

"So he has killed before? And to think I
flirted with him." For once, Miranda was pleased to see, Juliet was
subdued. She had not bounced over to greet them when they entered
the inn — although that could have been because of the state of
their clothing or Simon's obviously besotted possessiveness as he
ordered blankets and hot cider for his wife.

But the likelihood was more that her younger
sister had finally realized how dangerous a man she had tangled
with. Why, Miranda realized with a smile, she wasn't even flirting
with Arthur. And flirting had come second nature to Juliet since
she'd been a child. Instead, she sat pale and quiet, a blanket
thrown over her shoulders and a warm cup of tea in her hands. When
she caught sight of Miranda examining her, she said softly, "I
thought you were dead."

Miranda swallowed down her own sudden tears.
"I thought you had gone over in the carriage. Thank goodness the
two of you were so quick-witted."

Arthur seemed somehow sturdier, and Miranda
marveled at the transformation that a bit of confidence had made in
the shy scholar. She was glad that her worried questions had
alerted him to the danger. If not, from the ruins of the carriage,
she did not doubt that she would have lost her sister today.

Simon, his arm tight around her waist, gave a
quiet laugh. "I expect the quick-wittedness of all the Fensters
helped us win the day against that monster. You are indeed a
formidable family. Grimthorpe was a fool not to have learned his
lesson five years ago."

Miranda blushed at the reminder of the black
eye she had given the cad.

"Thank God my shot hit him in the heart."
Valentine flashed her a quick reassuring smile; but then his
expression turned grim. "He tried to destroy my sisters enough for
one lifetime. I don't regret killing that wretch and I'll gladly
hang if necessary."

Simon's hand tightened to prevent Miranda
from leaping to her feet before he could quell her sudden panic by
saying, "It is not. I spoke to the magistrate when he came to
examine the madman's body. He is a sensible man and agrees that you
acted as you had to in order to save our lives and those of your
sisters. There will be no further inquiry. We are free to go."

Juliet stood. "Yes." Her eyes scanned the
occupants of the inn. "I must get back to the house party and make
sure that Hero is coping."

Miranda could not help smiling when she met
Valentine's eyes. Their sister was returning to normal she worried
that Hero might be even now stealing her beaux.

When she would have followed the group as
they left the inn, Simon stopped her. "Valentine," he called. "Your
sister and I have never had a proper wedding trip. I think we shall
spend a few nights in this inn. Tell the new duke and my mother to
manage without us."

Miranda's mouth fell open. "Have you told
Valentine?"

"Everything." He seemed unperturbed, and even
a bit surprised at her astonishment. "Don't you trust your own
brother?"

"Well, yes. But I cannot believe you do, so
suddenly."

"I have learned a great deal about your
brother since you came back into my life, Miranda. I am certain
that he can be trusted with our family secrets."

Valentine met her eyes and nodded. "I'm glad
that you have your happy ending, Miranda. You both deserve it." He
smiled crookedly at her. "And enjoy your privacy." His look was
skeptical as he glanced around the sturdy old inn. "What little
you'll have of it."

He turned to leave, and then turned back,
addressing Simon directly. ''I'll make certain that Juliet and
Arthur arrive home safely. You take care of my sister."

Miranda looked after the others, torn for a
moment. "Perhaps we should go along, there are so many things to
clear up."

Simon tipped her head up until she was
looking directly into his eyes. "So far today I have taken you by
the side of a pond and in a grassy field. I think it is only fair
that the next time I give you the luxury of a bed." His eyes
twinkled. "And it is a long ride home."

She looked up at her husband, who was as much
the worse for wear as she was, and said with a thoughtful frown,
"Do you think we can persuade the innkeeper to find a bath big
enough for the both of us?

His grin began slowly and then spread across
his face. "I shall pay whatever he asks to ensure it."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Peter asked for a month to accustom himself
to his former home, to allow his daughters to adjust to the changed
situation. Simon granted it. It did not please him, but he
understood.

Just as he understood when his mother
requested he not tell Peter that he knew he was his father.

"He turned away from this life because of his
shame, Simon. Don't add to it by making him face it every day when
he sees the knowledge in your eyes. It will be hard enough for him
as it is."

He had wanted to refuse her request. Miranda
had persuaded him to abide by it instead. When he agreed, he had
every expectation that the secret would make the month pass slowly
and painfully. But he had not counted on coming to like the man who
had cuckolded his own father and the faked his death to avoid
living with the results of his own perfidy.

Perhaps he had been a fool to trust such a
man. He hoped not. For today was the day that they officially
disinterred him from the dead.

He hoped his troubles were over. He had
dismissed Miranda's worries about Peter. If the man's decision made
him miserable, it was only just. He had made so many others
miserable for so long. Simon had felt free to make love to his wife
with abandon at night even as he tutored his father in his duties
as duke during the day. He was determined not to regret this idyll.
And to that end, he was willing to do almost anything. Including
forcing Peter to resume his responsibilities.

And his title.

With a bold stroke he signed the necessary
papers and gave them to the waiting servant. "Deliver these at
once."

"Yes, Your Grace." The man nodded.

Not the proper title for much longer, Simon
reflected. "You may tell Mr. Watson that I am ready to speak to
him."

"Very good, Your Grace." The door closed
quietly, opening again almost instantly.

"I have begun the paperwork. The agreed-upon
month is over. Welcome home, Your Grace." Simon used the term
determinedly as he stood away from the desk he had sat behind for
five years.

He took the leather pouch from his pocket and
removed the sealed envelope meant for the true Duke of Kerstone. He
tossed the envelope, unbroken seal up, atop a pile of papers that
would require the new duke's attention. He commanded, "Sit." Peter
would not escape the truth of his destiny. He would not allow
it.