The Defiant One

by Danelle Harmon

  Lord Andrew de Montforte had ruined his life.

  Fearing her wrath if he didn't warn her, Gerald sent a note off to Eva and returned to his rented rooms only long enough to retrieve his pistol and ammunition.

  By midnight, he was galloping west towards Rosebriar . . .

  And revenge.

  ~~~~

  Celsie awoke sometime just after dawn.

  The room was gray. In the distance a long, low rumble heralded an approaching thunderstorm. How strange, she thought, for late autumn. She sighed and reached for her husband. The bed was empty save for Freckles, sprawled across her legs.

  She sat up. "Andrew?"

  Blinking, she looked around the room. A single chrysanthemum stood in a glass decanter by the bed, a note tucked beside it.

  "Dearest heart. I love you more than half. I love you more than whole. I love you with everything I am, which is why you have woken to find yourself alone — I am wide-awake and could not bear to trouble your sweet slumbers with my restlessness. I am off to inspect and set up my delightful new laboratory. Will you meet me for breakfast at nine? I am hungry for far more than just tea and toast . . ."

  Your adoring husband,

  Andrew

  Celsie smiled and held the note to her heart. Well, she was hungry for far more than just tea and toast, too! Her first thought was to go to the laboratory and help him set it up . . . or simply seduce him into an early breakfast. But even an adoring husband needed a little time to himself — not only to adjust to the sudden institution of marriage, but to find a sense of familiarity in the things that made up his working world. Let him play in his new laboratory. She could wait an hour or so for breakfast.

  She went about her morning toilette, dressed in a riding habit of dark plum wool, and pinning a smart round hat to her upswept hair, called for Freckles, who jumped down from the bed and trotted stiffly to the door. There he stood, tail wagging, his cloudy old eyes watching her expectantly.

  "I know. I'm getting far too lazy, being a married woman, aren't I, Freck?"

  She bent down to hug him, but he was impatient; he needed to go out.

  Outside, the morning was still and grey and unseasonably warm, with low, fast-moving clouds filing in from the west. There was rain in the air. An expectant hush. No birds were singing, and a light breeze was already moving ominously over the grasses. Yes, it would rain soon, and even as she watched Freckles trot off over the heath, still a bird dog despite his aging body and senses, she heard again the low, distant rumble of thunder.

  Leaving Freckles to his business, Celsie headed down the hill towards the kennels. How she had missed her dogs! There was Tipper, short, scruffy, and loveable, tail wagging as she ran out of her indoor area in greeting; there was Molly, barking in excitement as she spotted Celsie; and there — what was he doing here? — was Gerald.

  He had been leaning against the old oak that in summertime shaded the outdoor runs, arms folded, obviously waiting for someone.

  Her.

  "Gerald?"

  He smiled and straightened. "Good morning, Celsie. You're late for your morning doggie visit. New husband replaced them in your affections already?"

  She stilled, not liking his tone of voice, not liking his unkempt, unshaved appearance, not liking the way he was looking at her with that ugly, angry light in his eye. She saw an empty wine bottle on the grass near his feet. Again, the thunder rumbled, far away still, but getting closer.

  Celsie drew herself up to her full height. "I thought I asked you to leave."

  "You did." He was no longer smiling, and his bloodshot eyes were hard and glittering. As he uncrossed his arms, she saw that he was holding a pistol. "But I have no where else to go, you see, thanks to your husband."

  "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, nervously eyeing the gun.

  "Oh, Celsie. Why lie to me? Surely you knew he sabotaged the aphrodisiac. Surely you knew that the solution Eva stole was not the same stuff that caused you to attack your eccentric young inventor like a bitch in heat."

  "So you did have a part in the robbery, then!"

  "Of course I did." His face twisted and she saw then that he had been crying. "What choice did I have? My debts were choking me, my creditors were pounding down my door, and my sister, patron saint of dogs but too bloody selfish to help her own suffering brother, turned her back on me. I needed money, Celsie, but you wouldn't give it to me."

  "I gave you enough money to feed the population of London three times over, Gerald, so don't say I didn't help you!"

  "Well, I needed more than that. And since you wouldn't give me any more, the only recourse left to me was to marry an heiress . . . but even that blew up in my face, thanks to that scoundrel you call a husband!"

  "Gerald —"

  He hauled the pistol up, staying her, his eyes fierce. "I thought that stupid chit Miss Sarah Madden would do nicely, so I began courting her. All was going to plan, but I needed to hustle things along, so yesterday I slipped a few drops of my share of the potion into her tea. She took immediately ill, and somehow, someway, someone must have found out what I did, because it was all over London by ten o'clock last night. I was run out of my club. All but run out of London. I shall have to leave the country, but I'll tell you one thing, Celsie: I'm not leaving until I have the real aphrodisiac."

  "Gerald, that was the real aphrodisiac. Why, the duke of Blackheath gave it to us himself . . ."

  She trailed off as she realized what she had just said.

  The duke of Blackheath had given it to them himself.

  No. Oh, no. Lucien could not have substituted the real solution with a false one. He couldn't have . . . He wouldn't have —

  Would he?

  Gerald moved toward her and, pretending a show of brotherly love for the benefit of anyone who might be watching from the house, wrapped an arm around her waist. But the pistol nudging her ribs was no act.

  "Gerald, what are you doing?!"

  "You and I, Celsie, are going for a little ride on horseback where you will meet with a slight accident. Your horse is going to go galloping back to the house without his rider. Your ever-so-gallant and oh-so-worried husband is going to leave his lair and go out looking for you." He smiled, and his voice turned ugly with suppressed fury as he marched her toward the stables. "And when he does, I am going to destroy him — as he has destroyed me."

  Chapter 30

  The sound of distant thunder penetrated Andrew's single-minded concentration.

  Frowning, he looked up and out the window, and then at the clock, surprised that so much time had slipped past without his noticing. Stripped down to his shirt, breeches, and a sleeveless waistcoat, he had spent the last two hours setting his laboratory to rights. He felt at peace, his heart happier than it had been in years. How long had it been since he'd been able to bask in the freedom and joy of having his own permanent space? This time, he would be organized. This time, he would stay organized. It was a vow he had often made in the past, but for some strange reason, had never quite been able to honor . . .

  "What do you think, Esmerelda?" he asked, going over to the sofa beneath the window where the dog lay watching him. He sat down beside her, rubbing her silky ears and admiring the way his new laboratory was shaping up. "Looking pretty damned impressive, isn't it?"

  She thumped her tail, then, pricking her ears, turned to look toward the door.

  Andrew had left it open. Though he had always shut and barred the door against Lucien back at Blackheath, there was no need to guard his privacy from Celsie.

  And yet it was not Celsie, but Lucien who suddenly appeared in the doorway.

  Immediately Andrew's face darkened. "I thought I was well rid of you."

  Lucien smiled and bowed. "I beg your pardon. May I come in?"

  "You are in, so you might as well come the rest of the way."

  The duke entered. Though he was freshly shaved and dressed in his usual understated elegance, he seemed faintly preoccupied. Tir
ed. Distracted.

  "You look like hell," Andrew said. "Evil machinations finally catching up with your conscience?"

  "On the contrary. I had business in London and decided to call on you and my new sister on my way home."

  "Why?"

  Lucien just looked at him. "Why, to reassure myself that my decision to . . . shall we say, throw you to each other was a sound one."

  "It was. Now, leave."

  "Lord Andrew?"

  The two men looked up. A servant stood in the door — Andrew could not yet remember his name — his face bleak with worry. He was wringing his hands and chewing his lower lip.

  "What is it, man?" asked Andrew, rising to his feet and instantly crossing the room.

  "It is my lady — she went riding some thirty minutes ago, and Sheik just returned to the stables without her. Oh, my lord! I fear that something dreadful must have happened to her!"

  ~~~~

  "I can't believe you're dong this," Celsie spat over her shoulder, as Gerald hustled her at pistol-point through the darkening woods bordering Rosebriar's most southern pastures.

  She felt as though she were walking a path through her worst nightmare; with Gerald partially inebriated and very desperate, she dared not predict what he might do. She had never seen him like this, and her only thought was of escape, her only fear for Andrew. She must find a way to warn him! She must find a way to disarm Gerald and turn the pistol on him!

  But although Gerald had been drinking, his wits were honed by the blistering need for revenge. With a rough slap on the rump, he had sent poor Sheik flying back to Rosebriar, and now here they were, all alone in the gloomy woods, the rain beginning to pelt her nose, and the thunder growing louder, deeper, with its approach.

  "Gerald, I beg you to reconsider what you're doing," Celsie said again, when he didn't answer her the first time. She looked at him from over her shoulder, her palms damp with sweat, her heartbeat quickening with every step they took through the darkening woods. "My husband has done nothing to deserve this cold-blooded plotting to end his life, and I swear I'll die before I let you harm him!"

  "Don't tempt me, Celsie. You're all that stands between destitution and fortune and trust me, I intend to have that fortune. Now, move."

  He shoved her forward. Her toe hit a root hidden amongst the carpet of moss and she fell heavily, scraping her chin on a stone and getting a faceful of wet, decaying leaves. Her heart pounding, her nerves taut with growing panic, she picked herself up and, on shaky limbs, forced herself to continue on, feeling the savage nudge of the pistol against the small of her back, propelling her ever forward.

  "Gerald, listen to me," she pleaded, trying to make him see reason. "You haven't thought this through. You can't just go around killing people . . . especially a duke's brother! Don't you realize that if you shoot Andrew, you'll be hanged for murder?"

  "Not if I flee the country, and I can assure you, Celsie, that after what your husband has done to me, there's no way in hell I can remain in England. Maybe not even in Europe. Oh, no. It's off to America and its unlimited opportunities for me. Now, hurry up, damn you, we're about to get soaked."

  "Then just tell me how much money you need and I'll give it to you! This is not an unsurmountable problem!"

  "Will all the money in the world buy back my honor? My standing in Society? Will it undo all the damage your half-witted husband has done to my reputation? Oh, no, Celsie. Your handsome young inventor is going to come looking for you. And I am going to kill him when he does."

  "But, Gerald, think of the aphrodisiac!" she cried, grasping at every thought that came to her. "If you kill him, you'll never have it! Only Andrew knows what's in it! Only Andrew is capable of re-creating it! If you kill him, the aphrodisiac dies with him!"

  "Your pleas are falling on deaf ears, Celsie. Besides, even if I were to spare your clever husband, I can assure you that Eva, if she has been tricked as I have been, will not."

  Eva. Oh, God.

  "Now, move."

  She moved. The trees were thinning out into a clearing that overlooked the rapidly darkening valley, and above them, the sky was the color of slate — and growing blacker. It was starting to rain in earnest now. Celsie could hear it falling all around her, pattering down on grass and earth, rising in volume as though heralding the oncoming storm. And there, just ahead, stood the deserted ruins of what had once been a sixteenth-century manor house, long since lost to fire and abandonment. Its roof was all but gone, its west wall had fallen into a misshapen hill of loose stone and brick through which grasses, brambles and burdock were thrusting, and great empty holes in the walls marked where windows had once looked out onto the surrounding countryside.

  Celsie had often played here as a child, but now, the place was downright eerie.

  "You'll be safe enough here," Gerald said, motioning her forward with the gun and pulling a length of hemp from his pocket. "Get under what remains of the roof."

  She eyed the rope and stood her ground. "No."

  He looked away, clenched his teeth, and then hit her hard enough to send her sprawling to the ground. Her head ringing from the blow, Celsie surged to her feet. She made a mad grab for the pistol, but Gerald was too fast — and too strong for her. Twisting her arm behind her back, he instantly overpowered her and bound her wrists with the length of hemp. Then, hauling her to a young maple springing from the rubble, he tied her to it, gagged her with his stock, and finally stood back, meeting her angry, frightened eyes with a look that was at once sullen and wounded.

  "I didn't want to do this," he said defensively. "But you leave me no choice."

  He turned and walked away even as Celsie sank to the ground, her fingers groping in the rubble behind her for a sharp stone. A moment later, she saw him leading his horse, previously hidden, from around the other side of the ruins.

  And then he galloped away, back in the direction from which they had come.

  Toward the woods and pastures beyond.

  Toward the house.

  Toward her husband.

  ~~~~

  Andrew grabbed his hat, stuffed his arms into his frock coat as he ran and with Lucien on his heels, charged toward the stable, his animosity toward his brother temporarily forgotten in his panic over Celsie's safety. Word had been sent ahead, and already grooms were leading Newton and Lucien's diabolical black stallion, Armageddon, outside.

  "Any idea which direction she might have gone?" Lucien asked, swinging up onto Armageddon in a swirl of dark cloak. He glanced up at the darkening sky as the stallion pranced and pawed, eager to be off.

  "Damned if I know, it's only the first morning I've spent here. Why don't you head east and I'll head west, and if we don't find anything, double around to the south and north respectively."

  "Very well then. Godspeed, my brother."

  But Andrew had already turned Newton and kicked him into a gallop. The big Thoroughbred pounded down the drive, his steel-grey mane lashing Andrew's face, the trees whipping past on either side in a blur.

  And there — a figure on horseback, galloping toward him.

  Bloody hell. Of all people —

  "Lord Andrew!" cried the earl of Somerfield, waving his hat frantically. "I say, hold up there!"

  Andrew never slowed. "Look, Somerfield, I don't have time to exchange pleasantries right now; Celsie's gone missing and may have suffered a fall —"

  "I know that, damn it!" Somerfield had turned his horse and was now thundering alongside Andrew. "I was just coming to get you! That confounded man-hating horse of hers just went flying past me . . . I headed in the direction from which it came and found Celsie!"

  "Dear God, man, is she all right?"

  "Broke her leg," Gerald yelled breathlessly. "She needs help."

  "Where is she?"

  "Old ruins — south pasture!"

  Andrew swore beneath his breath, torn between sending Gerald back for a carriage and charging headlong to Celsie's rescue. He had no idea where the ruins were, an
d now the rain was starting to come down harder, the sky off to the west crackling with eerie purple light as lightning split the clouds and forked down into the valley. There was no time to lose.

  "Lead me to her," he commanded. "That storm's going to be upon us any minute."

  "But —"

  "For God's sake, hurry, man!"

  Andrew pulled Newton up just enough to let Somerfield take the lead, then let the gray have his head. Newton, who had once made a name for himself at Newmarket, had no trouble keeping up and pulled hard against the bit in his demand for more rein. The wind whistled in Andrew's ears. Rain beat against his face as the horses veered off the drive, plunged down a muddy embankment, and charged headlong across the south pasture, heading toward a copse of trees that bordered fields of newly planted wheat, all going dark now beneath the oncoming storm.

  Hurry! Andrew stared out over Newton's ears, cursing Somerfield's mount for its slowness.

  Thunder cracked down just ahead. Somerfield's horse shied violently, nearly unseating him. He kicked the animal, hard, yanking on its reins as he sent it charging into the woods. Newton followed, his hooves cutting up the earth and sending clods of mud flying behind him. Lightning flashed, and just ahead through the trees, Andrew saw the cold gray walls of an ancient ruin.

  He gave Newton his head, charged past Somerfield, and was leaping off the Thoroughbred's back before the great animal had even slowed to a stop.

  And it was at the exact moment that he saw Celsie tied to a tree, her eyes wild with fear and blood running down her wrists, that he heard the click of a pistol from behind.

  He whirled.

  Somerfield had dismounted and was standing just behind him, a pistol in his hand. "I am sorry," he said, raising the weapon and training it on Andrew's chest. "Sorry, that is, that I'm not going to regret killing you."

  Andrew stared at that deadly black hole, his mind, his heartbeat, racing as Gerald walked slowly toward him. "Why, you're mad!"