The Defiant One

by Danelle Harmon

  She waited until he was down on both knees, one hand supporting himself on the grass verge, the other reaching up beneath the coach to examine the axle. And then, exchanging a glance with the all-too-sober servant who was posing as her drunken husband, she made a rigid blade of her hand, raised it high, and brought it down hard on the back of the major's neck in one ruthless, vicious chop.

  She knew right where to hit a man to render him unconscious, and she revelled in her power to do it.

  He crumpled without a sound.

  "Right," she said, straightening up and brushing her hands together in tribute to a job well done. She pulled a pistol from the pocket of her skirt, priming and loading it with ease. "Now that one obstacle is out of the way, I think it's time to collect what we've all been sitting around waiting for." She stepped over the officer sprawled senseless at her feet, sparing him an amused little grin. "Nighty-night, Major de Montforte. Sleep well!"

  And then, still smiling, she, the servant, and the three other lackeys who'd been hidden within the "stricken" vehicle headed for the lights of the coach.

  Chapter 22

  Andrew's spine prickled with uneasiness.

  He sat astride his horse, bathed in the lights of the coach and making small talk with the women. He was half watching Charles, who had dismounted from Contender and was now going around to the other side of the stricken vehicle to help the unfortunate travelers. Celsie was saying something; Andrew turned his head to listen. And when he turned it back again to look toward the coach, he heard the driver up on the box suck in his breath and saw a woman and four men walking toward him from out of the darkness.

  The woman had a pistol and she was pointing it straight at his heart.

  "Hello, Andrew. I am sorry to inconvenience you, but if you would just hand over the aphrodisiac, we can all be on our way."

  Inside the coach, both women gasped. On the boot, the footman reached for his blunderbuss but froze as Andrew caught his eye and shook his head in warning. And now Freckles was beginning to growl, the sound deep and ugly and getting louder by the moment.

  Slowly Andrew's hand went for his pistol.

  "Uh-uh," the woman purred, smiling and shaking her head as though scolding a child. "You don't want to do that. Someone might get hurt, and we wouldn't want it to be you. Or the ladies."

  "Where's my brother?" Andrew demanded. He looked beyond the would-be thieves, his eyes narrowing. "What have you done to him?"

  "Oh, well, it's past his bedtime, you know. I daresay he's taking a little nap." The woman's smile never wavered at Amy's cry of alarm, but her slanting eyes narrowed with deadly intent. "Now, hand over the potion, Andrew sweetie, or I'll put you into a much more permanent kind of sleep than I did your too-gallant-for-his-own-good brother."

  Andrew tensed, his body screaming for action. It cost him everything he had to hold himself still as the four lackeys, also toting pistols, surrounded the coach, preventing escape.

  His angry gaze clashed with the woman's. "And just who the devil are you?"

  "Why, your killer, of course" — again, that malevolent smile — "unless you hand over the potion." She aimed the pistol dead center on his chest.

  "Andrew, no heroics," snapped Celsie from within the coach. "If she wants the potion, let's just give it to her and send her on her way. It isn't worth anyone getting killed."

  "Ah, leave it to a woman to show some sense," purred their attacker, in a faintly amused tone. "Now, obey your wife, Lord Andrew — or make her a widow. You have five more seconds to decide, or I will decide for you."

  Celsie, one hand on Amy's arm to keep her from flying out of the coach to Charles's aid, the other restraining the growling Freckles, decided for both of them. She leaned out the window and met the hostile, slanting gaze. "Why, Eva. I thought it was you. For some reason, I should have known you didn't come all the way back to England just to congratulate us on our nuptials."

  Andrew started. "Eva? You know this jezebel?"

  "She's my cousin. Of course I know her. And so do you."

  His gaze went from one to the other; suddenly he recognized their assailant, though she had disguised herself in peasant clothes and looked nothing like she had earlier at the church. "Why, you were with Somerfield at our wedding!"

  "And trust me, she is more than capable of murder," said Celsie, in a hard, flat voice. She leaned out the window, fearlessly meeting the other woman's amused gaze. "Eva, since my husband here is showing a remarkable inability to make up his mind, I will take charge of this situation and bring the potion out to you myself."

  "Celsie, stay in that coach!" Andrew roared, his voice harsh with fear.

  But Celsie bade a near-frantic Amy to take hold of Freckles's collar, stepped around the whining Esmerelda, calmly pulled the bottle of aphrodisiac out from beneath the seat, and opening the door, jumped down from the coach. Head high, she walked around the vehicle and up to the other woman, fully aware that the thugs had their guns trained on her as surely as Eva had hers trained on Andrew.

  "I wish you hadn't done this," Celsie said, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice. "I used to admire you. I used to look up to you. Why, Eva?"

  "My country needs it," she said simply, looking away.

  Celsie sighed. Then she set the bottle down in the dirt and stepped back. Eva, keeping her pistol on Andrew the whole time, sent one of her lackeys to fetch it, then motioned to someone behind her. From the direction of the stricken coach, another thug came forward, leading several saddled horses. Eva kept her pistol trained on Andrew as, one by one, the thieves mounted. Then, as they covered for her, she, too, mounted, tucked her prize in her saddlebags, and with a mocking little salute, wheeled her horse and set her heels to its sides.

  Within moments they were gone, swallowed up by the night.

  ~~~~

  They found Charles just getting to his feet, rubbing the back of his neck and swaying unsteadily.

  "Damned witch blindsided me," he muttered, clinging to the door of the coach to support himself. He let go as Amy flew to him and insinuated herself under one arm to support him. "Never saw it coming . . ."

  "She wanted the potion," snapped Andrew, quickly filling his brother in on their attacker's identity.

  "Well, I hope to hell you gave it to her . . . Confounded stuff is proving to be more trouble than it's worth. Stick to flying machines from now on, would you?" He caught Amy's hands as they worriedly explored his face for signs of damage and, embarrassed, folded her to his chest. "Stop, sweetheart. I'm all right."

  Though his words were gentle, Andrew saw that Charles's jaw was set, his pale blue eyes cold and quietly furious. Andrew couldn't even imagine how humiliated he must feel. "Well, there's no sense standing around here all night," he said affably, trying to take the focus of his embarrassed brother. "You still have that vial Charles?"

  "Yes." Still a bit dazed, he fumbled inside his coat, extracted what was left of the aphrodisiac, and slapped it rather irritably into Andrew's palm. "Take it, and with my blessings."

  Andrew tucked it into his own pocket. "Much obliged. Now, let's get going. I don't know about you, but I've had all the excitement I can take for one night. You're able to ride, aren't you?"

  His brother merely shot him an annoyed glance.

  "I thought so," said Andrew, slapping him good-naturedly across the shoulders. He snared Contender's reins, holding him and ready to subtly lend a hand in case his brother couldn't quite haul himself up into the saddle; but Charles was made of strong stuff, and he was soon astride the tall stallion, grim-faced, a little pale, and very, very angry.

  Though she eyed him with concern, Amy knew better than to try and persuade her husband to ride in the coach. The major's pride had been sorely wounded; he would ride his stallion, and none of them would try to talk him out of it.

  "All right, let's go," Charles growled, guiding the big horse, who was almost tiptoeing in his eagerness not to unseat his wobbly master, back toward their own co
ach. Try as he might, though, he couldn't get any speed or fire out of the big steed. "'Sdeath, not you too. I've got a wife to coddle me, I don't need a damned horse doing it as well!"

  Andrew and Celsie exchanged amused, relieved glances; then, satisfied that Charles was going to be just fine, they followed him, Contender, and Amy back toward the coach.

  ~~~~

  They rested for several hours at a roadside inn, changed horses, continued on, and just before dawn of the following morning, finally pulled up at the tall iron gates of Rosebriar Park. Though Celsie urged her new in-laws to visit for a day or so, they were both eager to press on for their home some ten miles outside of London. Celsie and Andrew bade them good-bye, and stood at the gates watching until the coach, still accompanied by Charles on horseback, faded into the darkness.

  "I do wish they'd stayed," Celsie said ruefully, reaching down to gently pull at Freckles's floppy ears. "It's been a long journey, and he really ought to be resting, not riding."

  Andrew made a scoffing noise and dismounted from Newton. "Of course he should be riding. He's a toughened soldier, not a baby. Besides, Contender will take care of him for the rest of the way home, and Amy will take care of him once he's there. He'll be fine."

  "You think so?"

  "Yes, but I don't know about that Eva or Evil or whatever the devil her name was. Once Lucien finds out about the robbery, there'll be hell to pay, and he, unlike Charles, won't grant her the benefit of the doubt — or any advantages — just because she's a woman."

  "Knowing Eva, she wouldn't want him to. Ah, but still . . . can't you just imagine? The duke of Blackheath versus Eva de la Mouriére. Now there's a confrontation I'd love to witness . . . from behind suitable protection, of course!"

  "She wouldn't have a chance against him, much as I wish it otherwise."

  "Oh, I don't know . . . I think I'd put my money on Eva."

  Andrew only smiled, for he knew his brother all too well. He handed Newton's reins to the footman and sent the two servants, along with the coach in which were piled his belongings, on toward the house, leaving him and Celsie alone at the end of the drive. Then he turned and offered his elbow to his new bride, wanting to make this last part of the journey only with her. Adjusting his pace so the old dog could follow, he began to walk.

  The first blush of dawn was already beginning to plant roses in the gloomy eastern sky. As they moved slowly up the drive, Esmerelda bounding ahead to explore her new home, Andrew felt a strange sense of peace and homecoming that was as surprising as it was welcome. Here he was, beginning a new life as a married man. Here he was, with a woman he actually enjoyed spending time with, a woman whose silken skin and warm flesh he couldn't wait to possess all over again. Here he was — chained in matrimony but free of his Machiavellian brother forever.

  Perhaps fate had dealt him a winning hand, after all.

  A chilly breeze came up, stirring the fading leaves of the tall, graceful chestnuts that lined the drive. He lifted his face to it, watching the sky lightening to the east, the bellies of the high clouds that slept on the horizon shimmering with brushstrokes of brilliant crimson fire.

  Celsie paused with him, and Andrew, after a moment's hesitation, slid his arm around her waist, drawing her close. Together they watched the birth of the new day, their first as husband and wife. He was happy. He was at peace. And his bride didn't stiffen or try to move away, but actually stayed there, as content to be near him as he was to be near her. Maybe, just maybe, this friendship thing was going to work after all . . .

  Though Andrew knew as well as anyone that friends didn't keep secrets from each other.

  "So much for wedding nights," he said wryly.

  "Well, you can't say we didn't have an unusual one. Instead of being robbed of our innocence, we were robbed of the very thing that caused us to lose it."

  "My God, don't remind me of that. I think my heart stopped when you got out of the coach and walked up to that she-devil." He shuddered. "I don't know many people who would have had the courage to do what you did, let alone the wisdom to take charge and relinquish the potion to that bloodthirsty witch."

  "I had to," she said, obviously pleased but a bit embarrassed by his open compliment. "Besides, I could tell just by looking at you that you were about to do something reckless, brave — and foolish. I couldn't just allow you to throw your life away like that."

  "By stepping in, you probably saved it. You know that, don't you?"

  "Well, someone had to step in." She grinned. "After all, you men certainly weren't handling things very well!" She sobered then, her eyes going warm and soft as she gazed up at him. "Did it really scare you, Andrew? That is, my confronting Eva?"

  "Zounds, yes!" He cleared his throat and then, in a lower, more controlled tone, "Yes."

  "Why, you almost sound as though you care about me."

  "Whatever made you think I do not?"

  "You don't want me taking up your time, you don't want me in your life, you don't want me at all —"

  "Stop right there. I do want you. And if I could predict the reaction I'd get, I'd take your hand right now and show you the physical evidence to prove it."

  "You mean you don't need the aphrodisiac?"

  "Men don't need aphrodisiacs."

  She laughed, though he noticed her cheeks went suddenly bright with color.

  Besides," he added, "I'm glad to see the last of that stuff."

  "You're not going to try and get it back?"

  "Get it back?" He shook his head. "No. I've decided I don't want it back. Its discovery was an accident, it was of little benefit to science, and the fact that I haven't able to duplicate it, let alone remember what went into it, would only have made me the subject of ridicule from the scientific community. Oh no, Celsie, I see things clearly now. It was the cause of nothing but trouble from the very first, and I'm well rid of the stuff."

  "Or most of it, anyhow. There is still that vial in your pocket . . ."

  "Ah yes, I'd forgotten about that."

  "I haven't."

  He glanced down at her, one brow raised. She blushed and looked away, though she moved her body so that his hand, which had been around her waist, slipped to the small of her back. She laid her head against his shoulder. Gently Andrew stroked the base of her spine through the sleek satin gown, then let his hand move out over the curve of her bottom.

  She didn't move.

  Only closer.

  He turned her so that she was facing him, and gently holding her arms, looked down into her tired but smiling eyes. "Tell me, Celsie. Do you want your wedding present before or after what remains of our wedding night?"

  "Ummm . . . that all depends on what the remains of our wedding night have to offer," she murmured, with a coy little blush.

  "What would you like it to offer?"

  "You —" the blush deepened and she looked up, searching his gaze — "but only if you're not too tired and eager to get to bed."

  "I am tired and eager to get to bed, but I can assure you, madam, that once there, sleep will be the furthest thing from my mind."

  "Is it the furthest thing from your mind, now?"

  He smiled slowly. "Indeed."

  She gave a breathless, self-conscious little laugh. "Listen to me! There must have been permanent aftereffects from that potion after all. I'm behaving like some sort of wanton."

  "Are you?" He grinned. "Do explain."

  She opened her mouth, shrugged, and began digging at a stone with her toe, her cheeks as bright as the sunrise. "I want to go to bed with you — as your wife. I want to consummate our marriage. I want to know you as a woman knows her man, not as a friend, not as an acquaintance, and certainly not as a partner in resentment." She quit worrying the pebble and instead started stroking Freckles's head, at a level with her knee. "I want all that, Andrew, but I'm embarrassed for wanting it, I'm not quite sure why I want it, and when all is said and done, well . . . well, I guess I'm just a little jittery."

  He rea
ched down, and ever so gently, lifted her chin with his finger so that she was forced to meet his gaze. He smiled, cradled her face in both hands, and tenderly stroked her flaming cheeks with his thumbs. "I know you're nervous. We don't have to consummate it tonight, Celsie. Or even tomorrow night. We have the rest of our lives to get to know each other."

  As hard as it had been to say the words, as difficult as Andrew found the idea of waiting another hour — let alone another day — to get inside her body, he had expected her to be pleased that he was being so considerate. Instead, her brows came together and her eyes darkened with worry and hurt. "Are you saying you'd be content to wait a lifetime to consummate our marriage?"

  "Hell, no."

  "Good," she said, visibly relieved, "because I don't want to wait that long, either. In fact, I don't even want to wait until tomorrow night." She stood on tiptoe, put her lips to his ear, and whispered, "I want to do it now."

  Her suggestion bypassed Andrew's brain and went straight to his genitals. He laughed, not quite believing what he'd just heard. "You do?"

  "Yes." She went back down on her heels, her eyes glowing with coy shyness as she looked up at him through thick, tawny lashes and embraced his waist with her hands. She held his gaze. Let her hands slide downward. And now he felt her palming him through his breeches, testing his hardening bulge. "Now."

  Andrew sucked in his breath. Already he was a slab of stone down there, pushing against the protesting fabric of his breeches. God help him. She wanted him. She wanted him now, and this had nothing to do with the damned aphrodisiac!

  "Andrew?"

  He couldn't take any more. His hands cupping her buttocks, he pulled her so close that even through the voluminous fabric of her petticoats, he could feel her pelvis pressing against his erection. The sensation inflamed him all the more, tightening his groin, causing his heart to pump madly. He kissed her. She made a sighing noise in her throat and returned the kiss, her tongue eagerly seeking his own, her hand now roving up his neck, her fingers tunnelling through his hair. Still holding her bottom, he pushed his fingers against the heavy satin of her skirts, trying, failing, to find the junction of her thighs. Damn these hoops. Damn these petticoats. Finally he lifted her petticoats, slid his hand between her legs, and quickly manipulated her to a gasping climax.