The Wild Child (Bride Trilogy)

by Mary Jo Putney

  Dazed, she realized that Dominic had ripped her free with the weight of his own body, pulling her down on top of him. Ignoring her bruises, she wrapped herself around his warm, familiar form. “You’re all right!”

  He gave a shaky laugh. “I don’t know if I’d go that far—my head is going to ache for the next week—but I think I’ll survive.”

  Weeping, she buried her face against his neck. “I love you, Dominic. Don’t you dare die before me.”

  He became very still. “If you love me, Meriel, I may just live forever.”

  The moment of privacy ended as Maxwell knelt beside them. “You weren’t hurt badly, Dom?” Carefully he brushed back his brother’s hair, revealing a bloody laceration.

  “I blacked out, but I’m better than I have any right to expect.” Dominic shakily pushed himself to a sitting position, then got to his feet with his brother’s help.

  “A good thing it was your head Grahame hit,” Maxwell said lightly. “That’s too hard to damage.”

  As Dominic laughed, Meriel glanced at Kamal, who stood by the parapet, gazing down into blackness. “Is there any chance my uncle might survive the fall to the river?”

  “None at all,” the Indian said pensively. “The wheels of karma grind slow, but they grind exceeding fine.”

  She suspected that he was taking liberties with several sets of sacred text, but there were more important questions to ask. “Tonight I remembered everything that happened at Alwari. You were there, weren’t you, Kamal?”

  He turned from the river and regarded her with eyes as deep as eternity. “I was one of the many sons of the Maharajah of Kanphar. Not the heir, but an officer in my father’s army. Sometimes I rode with his bandits to assure they did not exceed his wishes and wreak too much havoc.” His voice became heavily ironic. “It was a most important, responsible position. Great things were expected of me.”

  Quietly Meriel moved to stand in front of him. “So we met at the massacre.”

  Kamal’s face twisted. “I knew there was something different that night, for the raiders were joined by a stranger, a fanatic who spoke Urdu like a native and cried out for British blood. Though I disliked our mission, I did my part in the destruction—until I heard a scream. I looked up, and on the balcony above was a burning woman, the most terrifying sight I have ever seen.”

  “Hiral cursed you, didn’t she?” Meriel had picked up enough Hindi to catch the gist of that tormented cry.

  He nodded. “She commanded me to save you, on pain of my own soul. Then she dropped you into my arms. You were fragile as a bird, your silver hair flying about you. As I held you, I had a…a revelation about the sacredness of life. For the first time I truly understood the consequences of the violence that had been my path.”

  An image flashed through her mind: Kamal’s horror-struck expression, the light of the burning palace in his eyes as he held her safe. “So you rescued me, and took me to the zenana.”

  He spread his hands eloquently. “I knew you would be safe there. Despite my recognition that I could no longer be a warrior, it took me many months to realize that a different life was impossible as long as I was my father’s son. Then I heard that you were to be given in marriage to a neighboring prince. I went to my father and suggested that it would be better to return you to the English, who would be most grateful.”

  Meriel nodded, seeing the rest. “You went to Cambay, and were asked if you would escort Mrs. Madison and me back to England.” Her uncle had long since left India, so there had been no one at the fort to recognize that Kamal had been part of the original raid. He had merely been a polite, well-educated Indian who could be trusted to serve well. “You were a prince, and Mrs. Madison thought you a harem guard.”

  “I was grateful for that—it separated me from my past, and provided a path to penance. But one lifetime will not be enough to atone for my crimes.” He regarded her stoically. “I cannot expect you to forgive me my part in the massacre, when I cannot forgive myself.”

  Tears stinging her eyes, she went into his arms. “Of course I forgive you, for you have been my salvation.”

  He hugged her for a moment. “Thank you, little flower.”

  She stepped away from him, feeling that the door had just closed on the first phase of her life. Now she understood what she was, and why.

  Maxwell said thoughtfully, “Much as I’d like to see Grahame’s name blackened as it deserves, I suppose it’s more discreet to simply allow it to appear that his death was accidental.”

  Meriel shivered as she thought of the attention that would be drawn by a public revelation of her uncle’s crimes. No one would benefit by the resulting scandal. “The less said about that beast, the better.”

  She turned to Dominic, who enfolded her with warmth and tenderness. Though she had been slow to recognize love, she understood it now, for it blazed in her heart, searing every fiber of being with passion and protection, friendship and bone-deep commitment. “Once you said that you would leave Warfield if I asked you to. If I’m ever mad enough to ask—don’t go.”

  He laughed and kissed her ear. “Don’t worry, my love. I’m not sure I would be gentleman enough to keep my word about that.”

  She burrowed against him, feeling the strong beat of his heart beneath her ear. “You don’t have to be a gentleman, as long as you never, ever leave me.”

  Epilogue

  Efficient as always, Lady Lucia Renbourne had managed to pick a perfect September day for her wedding. Her marriage was in the parish church at Dornleigh so longtime neighbors could attend.

  The ceremony went smoothly, except when the nervous groom dropped the ring, which rolled halfway across the church’s stone floor before being retrieved by the groomsman. Dominic sympathized entirely—he’d been a bundle of nerves even though there’d been a much smaller audience when he and Meriel married.

  The ceremony ended in a radiant kiss, after which the guests poured into the churchyard to await the bride and groom. Dominic made sure that Meriel was firmly attached to his arm. Though she was much more relaxed in crowds than she had been, it was altogether too easy to misplace someone her size.

  As children rushed happily about waving sticks with ribbons rippling from the end, people chatted and small baskets of rose petals were distributed for later use. Growing restless, Meriel surveyed the well-planted churchyard. “I’ll be right back.”

  As she darted off, Dominic noted with a grin that even though her pale green gown was impeccable and her hair was elegantly coiled beneath a flowered bonnet, she’d shed her shoes in favor of grass beneath her feet. Beside him, Kyle’s voice said thoughtfully, “I’m glad to see that she isn’t yet fully civilized.”

  “I think there’s no danger of that,” Dominic said with a private smile as he thought of the previous night. There was much to be said for marrying a passionate pagan.

  He turned to his brother. They’d not had a chance to talk privately since Dominic and Meriel had arrived at Dornleigh the day before, but clearly Kyle was far more relaxed than the last time they’d seen each other, at Warfield. Then he had been stretched to the snapping point from the loss of the woman he loved, and from his feelings of betrayal. Now he looked…balanced. Comfortable with himself in a way that Dominic hadn’t seen since they were boys.

  Kyle remarked, “Have you talked to Wrexham yet? Since Meriel has no close male relatives on the Grahame side, the old boy is plotting to get the title settled on you and her.” He grinned. “So you can finally be an earl.”

  “Good God,” Dominic said blankly.

  “Would you enjoy being the next Lord Grahame?”

  Dominic hesitated. “A title doesn’t really seem that important.” The real treasure was his wife, not her family earldom. “I’ll ask Meriel how she feels about it.”

  Kyle’s expression sobered. “I’m going to leave England, Dominic. I don’t know when I’ll be back.” He nodded toward the church. “I stayed long enough for Lucia’s wedding, but tomorrow I’
m off.”

  “Damnation,” Dominic said involuntarily. He bit back the childish desire to try to change his brother’s mind. Kyle deserved the chance to find his own kind of happiness. “I…we’ll miss you.”

  “And I’ll miss you,” his brother said quietly. “It’s ironic to do this just when you and I have finally made our peace. But if I don’t go now, I never will.”

  “What does Wrexham have to say about this?”

  “I’ll tell him tonight. He won’t be happy, but he has you and Meriel to take care of the succession if something happens to me.” Kyle hesitated, searching for words. “I’ve always wanted to visit far places, see the lands that lie beyond the sun, yet I felt I had no choice but to stay in England and be a responsible heir. Then…someone made me realize I had all of the choices in the world. It’s time to do what I’ve always yearned to do.”

  Dominic held out his hand to his brother. “Just remember to come home someday.”

  Kyle clasped his hand hard. “I shall.”

  Their gazes met, and Dominic’s distress began to ease. Even with half a world between them, they would not be as separated as they had in the past.

  “I’m giving you Pegasus. When you ride him, think of me.” Struggling to control his expression, Kyle turned and moved into the crowd just as the church doors opened. The bridal couple emerged, laughing, and Meriel joined Dominic in time to toss handfuls of white rose petals at Lucia and her beaming new husband. At least someone in the family knew how to have a normal courtship and wedding, Dominic thought wryly as he threw the last of the fragrant petals.

  Custom satisfied, Meriel seized Dominic’s hand and led him around the church to the far end of the churchyard. “Come look!” She stopped by a clump of blue flowers. “I’ve never seen these before. Do you think the vicar will allow me to take some specimens back to Warfield?”

  The blossoms looked unremarkable to Dominic, but Meriel was the expert. “I should think so. We’ll come back tomorrow and ask.” He glanced around and saw that there was no one else in sight, so he drew her close. “I haven’t kissed you since we left Dornleigh to come to the church.”

  “I knew it seemed like a very long time,” she said demurely.

  Her kiss had the rapturous honesty that held nothing back. Breathing quickened and hands roamed until her back was pressed against a tree, his body pinning hers with the greatest intimacy achievable while still dressed.

  Breathless with passion and laughter, Meriel tilted back her head. “I suppose you’re going to tell me that it really won’t do to make love under an oak at your sister’s wedding when anyone might come around the church at any moment.”

  Reluctantly he stepped back. “You took the words out of my mouth. But think of how much anticipation will add to fulfillment when we are finally alone together.”

  “I’m thinking, I’m thinking,” she murmured, expression sultry.

  As she straightened her gown, he said abruptly, “Kyle’s leaving England indefinitely. To see the world.”

  Her gaze met his. “I’m sorry. You must be far sorrier.”

  “Yes, but I’ll survive. I’m glad he’ll be doing what he has always wanted.” He put an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s walk back to Dornleigh for the wedding breakfast rather than take one of the carriages.”

  She nodded, and they ambled through the back gate onto the wooded path that would eventually take them to the great house. As they entered a cool tunnel of trees, Dominic said, “Kyle mentioned that my father wants to petition the Crown to have the Grahame title transferred to you and me rather than become dormant. Would you like to be Lady Grahame?”

  She thought for the space of a dozen steps, then slanted him an intimate smile. “I should like to see our son, when we have one, carry the title borne by you and my father.”

  Joy bubbled through him as he realized that she was no longer uneasy about the prospect of children. A wife, the land, a family. What more could any man want? “Have I mentioned lately how much I love you?”

  “Not in at least an hour. Far, far too long. Now it’s my turn. I love you, Dominic, body and soul.” Smiling mischievously, she went into his arms and rubbed against him sensually. “Most definitely with my body.”

  His blood caught fire again. As he kissed her, he realized that this path was far more private than the churchyard….

  By Mary Jo Putney

  BRIDE TRILOGY

  THE WILD CHILD*

  THE CHINA BRIDE*

  FALLEN ANGELS SERIES

  THUNDER AND ROSES

  PETALS IN THE STORM

  DANCING ON THE WIND

  ANGEL ROGUE

  SHATTERED RAINBOWS

  RIVER OF FIRE

  ONE PERFECT ROSE*

  SILK TRILOGY

  SILK AND SHADOWS

  SILK AND SECRETS

  VEILS OF SILK

  OTHER HISTORICALS

  DEARLY BELOVED

  UNCOMMON VOWS

  THE RAKE

  THE BARGAIN

  REGENCIES

  CAROUSEL OF HEARTS

  THE DIABOLICAL BARON

  LADY OF FORTUNE

  CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE

  THE BURNING POINT

  *Published by The Random House Publishing Group

  If you loved THE WILD CHILD,

  you won’t want to miss the next

  breathtaking romance from

  Mary Jo Putney

  THE CHINA BRIDE

  Turn the page for a sneak peek

  at this terrific novel….

  Troth worked late the next night, translating and writing letters for Boynton at the English Factory. As Chenqua’s employee, part of her job was to perform any special task requested by merchants who were clients of her master. She was grateful for an excuse not to be at Elliott’s hong, where she ran the risk of running into Maxwell again. He’d haunted her dreams the night before, and she’d woken hot and humiliated. A good thing he would leave soon, never to return.

  Tonight he’d intended to visit Hog Lane. Would he find the area interesting? For a man who’d traveled as widely as he, the local taverns and prostitutes would probably be nothing special. With a sharp ache, she envied him his freedom to travel. If only she had really been born male!

  Because her mind kept wandering from her work, it took her longer than usual to do the translations. Her brushwork was clumsy and several letters had to be redone. She was startled to hear the office clock striking midnight as she finished. Perhaps in the morning she’d skip her exercises and sleep late.

  Yawning, she left the English Factory. The porter who guarded the gate nodded farewell, used to her irregular hours.

  Though Hog Lane, a mere block away, hummed with lights, noise, and activity, the waterfront was quiet, with only a handful of sampans gliding silently over the water. She was heading toward a cluster of taxi boats to get a ride across to Honam Island when a dark, stealthy figure approached. “Jin Kang?”

  She recognized the whisper of a young man who worked at a drink shop on Hog Lane and sometimes supplied her with useful bits of information. “Good evening, Teng. What brings you away from your business at such a busy hour?”

  Teng drew close, his voice dropping. “I heard something you should know.”

  He’d obviously also heard that she was working late. There were few secrets in this narrow strip of land. “It’s very late.” She covered another yawn. “Is your information urgent?”

  “Two toughs from one of the gangs were in the shop. I heard them discussing the money they’d earn for killing a Fan-qui, one under Chenqua’s protection.”

  Troth stared at him, her fatigue forgotten. “No one would dare kill a Fan-qui!”

  “Maybe not, but they were laughing over the number of taels of silver they’ll earn when they break the skull of the new Fan-qui lord, MaxWell.”

  Gods above, if he was still in Hog Lane, he’d be an easy target! “Have you seen this Lord Maxwell tonight?”

  Teng shrugge
d. “I don’t know the man, but the street is full of Fan-qui sailors on leave. He might be among them.”

  “When did you hear the men talking?”

  “Only a few minutes ago.”

  Seeking help would take precious time. Hog Lane was a small area, and gods willing, she’d find Maxwell before the gang members did. She was whirling to leave when Teng caught her sleeve. “My information is valuable?”

  She yanked free. “You’ll receive your reward tomorrow, I swear!”

  Then she bolted, racing along the silent fronts of the hongs toward the noise and lights of Hog Lane.

  Sin was sin the world round, Kyle decided. Still, the rough friendliness of the sailors at the various drink shops was a pleasant change from the suffocating respectability of the night before.

  Even dressed in his oldest clothing he was conspicuous, but since he wasn’t a ship’s officer he was accepted easily. It helped that he was willing to buy rounds of fiery samshu, a local liquor guaranteed to banish sobriety, and quite possibly the lining of a man’s stomach along with it. He drank sparingly.

  Information usually flowed freely in the lower reaches of society, and that held true here. He ambled from drink shop to drink shop, talking with sailors of several nations and avoiding the swift sporadic fights with the skill of long practice. As the evening progressed, he collected a wide range of opinions about the China trade, though his future colleagues in the House of Lords would be appalled at the ways in which he was educating himself.

  The thought of their horror did not bother him. As a boy, he’d always dreamed of traveling to distant lands. Only after he’d achieved his goal had he understood his yearning. Being a viscount and heir to an earldom from the moment he first drew breath had condemned him to a life of narrow privilege. Mostly he’d known men much like himself, bred to power and the rigid customs of his class. That was why he was drawn to people who were different. One of many reasons for loving Constancia had been that she was Spanish, as exotic as she was warmhearted.