The Improper Wife (37 page)

“Stop!” she cried again, nearly upon them.

Gray saw her. “Maggie!”

Lansing whipped around just as she reached him, and his sword caught her upper arm. Its point ran straight through her flesh.

She cried out more in surprise than pain as he pulled the sword out again. Her blood spurted onto her dress, staining the pink fabric.

“No!” Gray dropped his sword and sprang toward her as she sank to her knees.

Maggie heard the shocked screams of the ladies, the outraged protests of the gentlemen. One lady wailed, “He’s killed her!” A gentleman shouted, “Where is the sword’s button?” Lansing stood nearby as if frozen in place as men came running toward them. Lansing’s sword still dripped with her blood.

“Maggie!” Gray was on his knees next to her, pulling at the front of her dress where the blood made it stick to her skin. He touched the wound in her arm, and a stab of pain shot through her.

“It is only your arm!” He ripped the sleeve from his shirt and wrapped it tightly around her wound to stop the bleeding.

“I am all right.” Maggie cradled his face in both her hands, making him look at her. “I feared he would kill you.”

Gray held her against him, so tightly she could barely breathe. “I thought he
had
killed you!”

Camerville broke through the throng gathering around them. “What sport is this I hear of? Taking off the button?”

“Grayson’s sword has its button.” Sir Francis picked up Gray’s sword from the grass and raised it for all to see. Maggie shuddered. Gray had fought with uneven odds.

“My button fell off.” Lansing finally spoke, his tone defensive. “I did not know.”

Sir Francis pointed the sword at Gray’s thigh, also bright with blood. “You drew Gray’s blood and did not know there was no button on the tip?”

Disapproving murmurs rolled through the crowd.

Maggie pulled out of Gray’s embrace. “Gray, you are injured!”

He laughed and quickly kissed her on the lips, not heeding their audience. “I do not credit it.”

“Can you stand?” Forgetting her own pain, she tried to help him rise to his feet. Instead, he assisted her.

Two men had taken Lansing by each of his arms and were escorting him away.

Olivia came up to her. “Oh, Maggie! Maggie!”

Lady Camerville followed at her heels. “How could such a thing happen! I believe I shall faint.” But she looked so robust no one took her seriously.

Handing the sword to a servant, Sir Francis took Olivia in hand. “She will be all right, my dearest.”

“It is not such a very bad wound.” Maggie gave Olivia a wan smile, before turning to Gray with a wrinkled brow. “Are you able to walk back to the house?”

He laughed again, putting his arm around her back, careful to avoid touching her wound. “You see my scratch and forget you are hurt? Brave, foolish girl!”

She had not quite forgotten her injury. Her arm hurt so much she felt nauseous, but as long as Gray supported her as they walked back to the house, the pain simply did not matter.

Hours later they were finally alone, content to lie on the bed in each other’s arms as moonlight streamed in the window and embers glowed in the fireplace.

Gray kissed Maggie’s temple. “Does your arm pain you, love?”

Her eyes swept over him. He wore nothing but his drawers and the bandage on his leg. “Not so very much. Your leg?”

He gave a rumbling laugh. “Not so very much.”

She released a contented sigh, so glad to be with only him after all the commotion the episode created. First Decker and Kitt had burst in on them, carting hot water, clean bandages, and poultices. Then Gray had been called away, to discuss with Camerville and Sir Francis how to deal with Lansing. Next, Olivia entered the room and refused to leave Maggie’s side. A steady procession of the lady guests followed, all eager to give their solicitations and to gossip about the dramatic events. For all Maggie’s desire to avoid attention, she had become the high point of the country party. By the time all had left her but Gray, she was so weary she could barely stand. He’d instantly insisted she go to bed. As soon as he lay down beside her, the weariness fled.

“Can we go home tomorrow, Gray?” Maggie longed for the quiet and comfort of Summerton Hall.

“I have already arranged it.” The timbre of his voice sent a thrill throughout her body, awaking her senses.

“Is Lansing still here?” As soon as she spoke Lansing’s name she regretted it. She wished never to hear his name again, nor see him or hear of him.

Gray rubbed his cheek against her hair. “Sir Francis and two of Camerville’s footmen are this moment escorting him to the coast. They will see him on a ship to the Continent. He will not return.”

She sat up in the bed, her heart pounding in sudden anxiety. “Can you be so sure? I want him nowhere near Sean!”

He reached over to ease her back down. “There is nothing for him to return to. He signed a letter resigning his commission, and the tale of his dishonorable behavior will fly through the
ton.
”

She gave him a worried look, but again settled against him.

His arms encircled her. “Believe me, Maggie, I would have preferred to see him hanged, but a trial might have exposed his connection to you. It was too great a risk.”

She buried her face in the pillow. “I have created so much trouble for you.”

He made her face him. “It is nothing to what you have lived through. Forgive me for doubting you—”

“No,” she broke in. “It is I who beg forgiveness. I have used you so ill. Why, your family believes you a bigamist because of me!”

They lay so close, eye to eye, that his breath warmed her nose. The corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile. “That is a little thing, known only to those who love me enough not to speak of it. It is something to be borne, like my father’s infirmity. Let us not allow such matters to ruin our happiness.” His eyes darkened. “I love you, Maggie. Will you do me the honor of marrying me? I want you for my wife.”

Her heart swelled to near bursting. “Oh, Gray!”

She closed the scant inch of space between their lips. He tasted of brandy, like that first time he’d kissed her, when even in her dread of him, she’d felt the draw of his masculinity. He deepened the kiss, and pulled her against him. Through her thin nightdress, she felt the warmth of his bare chest, felt the power of his arousal.

His lips proceeded to taste of the tender skin of her neck and his hands pressed her harder against him.

She gave a small groan. “Gray, my arm truly does not pain me much. Is your leg—?”

“My leg is splendid.”

To prove it to her, he quickly stripped himself of his drawers and knelt above her, pulling the nightdress over her head. With both her good arm and her injured one, she reached for him, eager for the lovemaking this night promised, and for all the lovemaking to come.

Epilogue

November, 1817

M
aggie doubled over in pain. “Where is Gray?” she cried, her voice hoarse.

“We’ve sent for him.” Olivia bit her lip. “Oh, dear, does it hurt so terribly?”

Maggie flashed her a venomous look. “Of course it hurts. You remember.”

“That was nearly two months ago. All I can truly recall is holding my new baby daughter.” Olivia smiled dreamily. “Oh, I do hope you have a daughter! Wouldn’t that be lovely? Your daughter, mine, and Miss Miles’s all growing up together.”

“Mrs. Hendrick’s, you mean,” gasped Maggie as another contraction rippled through her.

The door opened. “Gray?” Maggie cried.

“No, it is Tess, my love.” Lady Caufield rushed in. “Harry and I have arrived to help!”

Harry poked his head in. “Got here in time,” he repeated, smiling and nodding his head.

“I just knew we should come today!” Tess turned to her husband. “Dearest, this is no place for a gentleman!”

He bowed and blew his wife a kiss. She turned to Maggie. “Oh, this is so exciting! Another baby so soon! I’ve hardly had a chance to make more clothes. I had to pull all my stitches out of the one little dress I was making. You ought to have seen it. It was the sweetest dress, but the needlework went awry—”

“I do not care about needlework!” Maggie shouted.

“Not care about needlework?” Tess said in a surprised voice. “But it was what made the dress.”

Another contraction hit. “I do not care about dresses!”

“She is at that irritable stage,” Olivia confided to Tess.

“I am not irritable!” Maggie screeched. “Where is Gray?”

The midwife pressed down on Maggie’s belly. She was a capable woman, experienced in bringing about even the most difficult of births, but Maggie wanted nothing to do with her.

She wanted Gray.

Voices came from in the hallway, Harry’s pompous tones the loudest. “Gentlemen are not allowed in there.”

The door opened.

Maggie sat up. “Gray.” She breathed a sigh of relief, but another pain came and she emitted a sharp cry. “At last.”

“Why the devil was I not sent for sooner?” He rushed to her side, brushing her sweat-dampened hair from her eyes. “I should not have taken the boys riding.”

“I sent for you as soon as I knew,” she said through gritted teeth. She bit her lip and bore another contraction.

Even as the ripples of pain went through her, she gazed at him in marvel. Gray. Her husband, the dearest father Sean could ever have.

After their wounds had healed, Maggie and Gray had traveled to London. With a special license, they’d been secretly married, truly husband and wife at last. Gray treated her to all the delights and entertainments London had to offer: the theater, the museums, Hyde Park. And the shops. How he had indulged her in the shops! She raised her left hand to gaze at the beautiful ring she wore on her third finger, all gold and sapphires. “Like your eyes,” he’d said.

Another pain hit and she cried out again.

He moved the bed linens off her legs.

“You cannot do that, sir!” the midwife exclaimed. “It is not seemly.”

“She’s my wife,” he retorted, as if that explained it.

The midwife pointed. “The baby is about to be born. You must leave here, sir. This is no place for you.”

“No,” Maggie cried, struggling to sit up.

Gray eased her down again. “I’ll stay, mistress. I have some experience in these matters.” He grinned at Maggie. “Lambing and calving and kittening, you know.”

Maggie’s laugh was choked off by another wave of pain. “He stays,” she rasped.

Suddenly her hips rose off the bed and she cried out, a long agonized wail. Gray pushed the midwife out of the way.

“The baby’s coming,” he cried.

She felt the release, and heard Gray shout for joy, when he caught the baby in his hands.

“It’s a girl, Maggie,” he said, his voice cracking. “A beautiful girl.”

The midwife managed to wipe off the baby around Gray’s big hands. The newborn cried lustily. He handed her to Maggie.

He had been wonderfully correct. The baby was the most beautiful baby girl in the world.

Soon she was cleaned up, put in fresh bedclothes, and her baby was passed around for the others to admire. Tess cooed and ahhed and laughed in delight. Tears streamed down Olivia’s face.

“I have been thinking of names,” Tess declared as Olivia handed the baby back to Maggie. “And I have narrowed it down to Harriet, Jaquet, Vincentia, Hester, Mabel, Lucretia, Eliza, Katherine, Jane, Marianne . . . what are the others? . . . oh, Rosamund, Tabitha, Lettice . . . Did I say Harriet? That is the female form of Harry, you know.”

“You did indeed mention it,” admitted Gray, who planted a kiss on his wife’s forehead and touched the downy head of his newborn daughter.

“We have selected a name, Tess.” He gazed proudly at mother and daughter. “We shall call her Grace.”

“Grace?” Olivia smiled. “Of course, after your mother!”

Gray nodded, gazing down at his wife and infant daughter. “After my mother.”

Maggie thought her heart would burst with happiness. They were a family. She and Gray and Sean and Grace. And all those they loved were present in them. She reached for Gray’s hand. He lifted it to plant a kiss on her fingers.

She returned the love in his eyes. “Do you remember?” she whispered. Her thoughts flew back to the other time he’d placed a newborn baby in her arms. How desperate and alone she had been, but this man changed everything. Because of him she had a home, a family, a son, and now a daughter.

His eyes shimmered with moisture. “Maggie,” he murmured. One corner of his mouth lifted in the kind of half smile that always set her heart aflutter. “Will you next be asking for meat pasties and ale?”

About the Author

When Diane Perkins was a little girl she thought everyone had stories filling their heads. It never occurred to her to write down her stories, even though she loved reading, especially reading Historical Romance. Instead she spent a career as a county mental health therapist helping other people craft real happy endings. It took a lull in Diane’s busy life for her to finally put fingers to the keyboard and bring her stories to life. Once started she never looked back, even going on to win the Romance Writers of America’s prestigious Golden Heart Award, the Royal Ascot, and other romance writing prizes. She now writes Regency Historical Romance full-time. Happily married and the mother of a grown daughter and son, she and her husband live in Northern Virginia with three very ordinary house cats. Diane would love to hear from you. Contact her through her web site at www.dianeperkins.us

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Chapter
ONE

Spring, 1816

M
ist still clung to the grass in a field on the outskirts of London, near the Uxbridge Road. Only the barest peek of dawn glimmered on the horizon. Spencer Keegan paced the length of the field and back, mist swirling around his feet like smoke above a cauldron.

“This is utter nonsense, Spence.” His friend Blake’s voice sounded crisp and clear in the damp air. It was also filled with exasperation.