Scandalous Again

by Christina Dodd

  The gathers at the waist tore. Off balance, she missed her footing and fell out of the carriage. She put her hands out to break her fall. She hit hard on her stomach. Mud softened the fall, but she gasped, trying to get air.

  Close, too close, the horses pranced, their hooves splashing her with muck. The wheels wrenched back and forth. Inside her head, she could hear the thrumming of other horses. Or perhaps the fall had addled her brains. She rolled onto her back. She scrambled to her feet. Reaching into the reticule, she grasped the pistol and brought it up.

  Mr. Rumbelow stood in the carriage, struggling to draw his rifle.

  The wind shook the trees. The rain fell, dripping into her face.

  “Drop it!” she commanded. “Put your hands up.”

  She hadn’t freed the pistol from its elegant holster. He looked. He laughed. “What’re you going to do, shoot me with your reticule?”

  In a long, smooth movement, he brought his rifle to his shoulder.

  Dear heavens, she was going to have to kill him. Pulling back the hammer, she sighted over her hand and aimed at his heart.

  And around the bend, Big Bill rode on a great roan stallion. “Bastard!” he roared at Mr. Rumbelow, waving a pistol. “Damned thieving bastard.”

  The rifle smoothly turned. Mr. Rumbelow shot Big Bill right in the gut.

  Crimson blossomed beneath Big Bill’s ribs. He screamed, an incoherent shriek of pain and rage. He flung his arms wide, as if to embrace death, and toppled off the horse into the grass at the side of the road.

  The stallion reared, jumped over the body and galloped right at Madeline. Dodging into the brush, she scrambled to get out of the way. The stallion thundered past her, so close his heat brushed her face.

  She staggered. She recovered.

  She’d lost her pistol.

  Mr. Rumbelow laughed again, and this time he didn’t stop.

  The sound of awful merriment went on and on until she wanted to cover her ears.

  He pulled his pistol free of his waistband.

  She searched frantically. Saw the black velvet on a tangle of brush. Saw the pistol free of the holster. She dove for it, but she knew . . . she knew she was too late.

  Still Mr. Rumbelow laughed. He sighted the pistol on her, and he laughed.

  She was going to die. Gabriel!

  A shot rang out. But she felt nothing. No searing pain, no disability. Rumbelow’s laughter stopped. He swayed. Grasping her pistol, she cocked the hammer, lifted and aimed—and saw Mr. Rumbelow fall, a wound in his chest, an expression of surprise on his handsome face.

  She didn’t understand.

  Then Gabriel cantered into the middle of the road, and she did understand. He tossed away his smoking gun, and sat slumped on a bare-backed gray gelding, his chest heaving.

  He’d killed Mr. Rumbelow. He killed him, and saved her life. Now he stared at her as if she were the embodiment of his every dream.

  “Gabriel.” Her muscles, cramped with tension, ached as she slowly lowered her pistol. She stumbled toward him. “Gabriel.”

  He slid out of the saddle and strode toward her.

  They met in the middle of the muddy road. The wind whistled about them, the rain fell in ever-increasing torrents, but they didn’t notice. They’d avenged Jerry. They’d rid the world of a black-hearted villain. They were alive. And they had each other.

  Gabriel swept her into his arms, holding her so tightly she could scarcely breathe.

  She didn’t need to breathe. She just needed Gabriel.

  Tilting her head, she pressed frantic, open kisses along his jawline. Rain ran into her mouth. She could have drowned, but she didn’t care. As long as they were together. He caught her lips with his, he kissed her as if she were his heart, his soul, as if he couldn’t survive without her.

  She wanted to talk, to tell him how she felt. Instead she reveled in the taste of Gabriel, the scent of Gabriel, the glorious warmth and closeness of Gabriel.

  At long last, he stared down at her. “I’d be happier if you’d put that pistol down.”

  “What? Oh.” She looked at the pistol, still clenched in her white-knuckled fingers. She could scarcely believe it was over. “I’ve been afraid to let go.”

  Low and intense, he said, “Maddie, I don’t care how good a shot you are, I don’t care if you are a duchess and the most capable woman I’ve ever met, next time we find ourselves facing a villain, any kind of villain at all, I want you to scream and faint.”

  She giggled.

  He was not smiling. He was not jesting. “At least then I’ll know where you are. At least then I know I can protect you.”

  Sobering, she stroked his damp cheek. “Were you worried?”

  “Worried?” He laughed harshly. “Do you realize I lost that game on purpose?”

  “I suspected you did. I was standing behind you, remember?” She shook her head. “You’llnever know what it took for me not to shout at you for playing so badly.”

  “I can imagine.” He still wasn’t smiling. “I threw the game knowing you would keep your word to me and go with him.”

  She stiffened, no longer amused. “Were you so sure?”

  “You vowed that you were mine to command. You vowed that four years ago. You vowed that last night. And you are the duchess of Magnus.” Gabriel looked away from her as if he couldn’t bear to see what was in her face. “I knew you wouldn’t break your word.”

  Gently, she brought his face back. “Just as I knew you had a plan.”

  “A plan! I suppose you could call it that. I needed help, and with MacAllister gone, you were my only hope.”

  “Your only hope?” She smiled. “I like that.”

  “I didn’t. To depend on my woman, to send her into danger, because I knew she owned a pistol and she knew how to use it!” He shook his head, horror and despair mingling on his countenance.

  “Really. I didn’t mind.” Now that it was over and all had ended well, she found she didn’t mind. “You wanted me to go with Rumbelow to the French ship and hold him until you and your men got there. I could have done it.”

  “Thank God you didn’t have to.”

  “Gabriel, truly, I knew you wouldn’t wager me, and lose me, unless it was necessary to stop Mr. Rumbelow. I had faith in you, Gabriel.”

  “When I lost you, you had your doubts.”

  She hesitated to answer, but honesty compelled her. “You told me you weren’t like my father. And you’re not. You’re completely different. You’re dependable, and everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”

  He stared down at her, then nodded abruptly, accepting her affirmation. “I am dependable, but do you know how frightened I was? Riding bareback on a gelding like some impoverished knight to the rescue? Wondering if I would get here on time? Whether I would find you hurt or dead?” Gripping her hand, he kissed her fingertips. “Wondering if you would forgive me for gambling you, for losing you, for sending you into danger armed only with one little pistol? My God, Maddie, how can I ever tell you—”

  A faint noise came from behind them.

  Gabriel stiffened, looked over her shoulder.

  “Wha . . . ?” She looked, too.

  Big Bill had rolled, crawled, lifted himself—and now he sighted his pistol right at Madeline. “Bitch,” he whispered.

  Lifting her pistol, she pulled her trigger.

  Big Bill pulled his trigger.

  Gabriel swung himself in front of her.

  The guns roared in unison.

  Gabriel’s body jolted against hers. Catching him in her arms, she dropped slowly to her knees, his weight bearing her down.

  He’d been hit. Dear God, Gabriel had been hit.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  “Gabriel!” Madeline knelt with her knees folded beneath her, held him in her lap, struggled to hold him out of the mud. “Gabriel!” Pressing her hand to his chest, she felt it rise and fall. He was alive. But . . . groping along his back, she found the wound high on his right shoulder, small an
d horrible. Blood smeared her hand, blood swiftly washed away by the rain. “Please, Gabriel.”

  His lips moved.

  Bending close to his face, she turned her ear to his lips. “What? Tell me.”

  Softly he said, “Stop . . . yelling. I’m . . . fine.”

  She sat up straight. “I’m not yelling. And you’re not fine.”

  “It could be worse.” Opening his eyes, he looked up at the thunderous gray sky. “It could rain.”

  Unknotting his cravat, she gently removed it from around his neck. “You’re not funny.” But he was talking, at least. He was going to live, at least—if she could just get this bleeding stopped.

  “No sense of humor.” He took a laborious breath. “Did you kill him?”

  She didn’t even have to look at the body sprawled in the brush. “Oh, yes.”

  “That’s my girl.” Another one of those painful breaths shuddered through Gabriel. “I’d kill for you, too.”

  “You did.”

  “I’d die for you.”

  “Don’t . . . you . . . dare.” She wrapped his cravat around his wound and tied it tightly. “Don’t you dare.” She glanced about her. She needed help. There was none. “Damn MacAllister! Why couldn’t he be around the one time I want him?”

  Gabriel wheezed with laughter.

  “If I assist you, can you get into the carriage?”

  “If you assist me.” His eyes were slits of pain. “Stay with me.”

  “Of course I’ll stay with you.”

  “Forever.”

  “Forever.” Silly tears gathered in her eyes. “And forever is a damned long time, so you’d better survive to see it.”

  “That’s my girl.” He smiled and slowly lifted his left hand to stroke her sopping hair out of her face. “So you do forgive me for wagering you? And losing you?”

  “I understood what you were doing.” What a stupid thing to worry about now, when they’d both faced death and he was reclining in the mud in the road with a gunshot wound in his shoulder.

  “I don’t give a damn about understanding. I want forgiveness.”

  “I forgive you!”

  Tugging at her hair, he brought her head closer and looked into her eyes. “Maddie, I love you.”

  She saw bright red blood seeping up through the white linen, and she cursed.

  His eyes opened wide. “Does that mean you don’t love me?”

  “I adore you. I love you.” She stripped off her sash and tied it atop of the cravat. “I will even be thrilled and excited that you love me—when we have you on a bed and a doctor taking that bullet out of your shoulder.”

  “So you do love me.”

  She wanted to tell Gabriel to shut up, to save his breath for living, but right now, things needed to be said. “I’ve always loved you. Did you think I would do those things . . . with you . . . if I didn’t?”

  He sounded a little slurred, but he was smiling again. “What things would those be?”

  “I’ll show you when you’re better.”

  “I’m a fast healer.”

  “You’d better be.” Because she couldn’t resist any longer, she leaned down and pressed her lips to his. Both Gabriel and Madeline were wet and muddy. And his lips were warm and generous—and alive. “I love you,” she murmured. “I love you. I love you.”

  “Will you marry me?”

  “Yes.” But she’d said yes before, and hadn’t. She waited to see if he would question her, doubt her.

  Instead he smiled. “Today.”

  Apparently he planned to live long enough to make it to the church, and a bit of her tension seeped away. If Gabriel had decided he would live, then he would live. “They have to call the banns. It’ll be four weeks at least.”

  He watched her with that bone-melting intensity that made her breathless. “I’ve got a special license.”

  “A special license?” She stared blankly. “When did you get that?”

  “Four years ago, and I’ve carried it everywhere, waiting for the day you came home to me.” He had to be in pain, but he seemed not to think of that as he watched her, his beautiful, dark-fringed eyes serious. “Marry me today.”

  She wanted to say a lot of things. She wanted to accuse him of overconfidence. She wanted to say she hadn’t come home to him. She wanted to rescue the pride he had shredded so completely with his arrogant wager.

  Madeline tucked her chilly fingers into his. “Today.”

  Outside Chalice Hall, lightning struck and thunder roared. The wind howled around the gargoyles and sent the smoke puffing back down the chimneys, and the rain fell in torrents that filled the streams and made the roads a quagmire.

  In the corridor, the clock struck midnight. Madeline sat in a chair beside the bed, twisting Gabriel’s signet ring on her finger and watching her husband as he slept. The candlelight flickered on his drawn face. He was in pain and would be for days, but—she touched his cool forehead—he showed no signs of infection.

  Never taking her gaze from him, she seated herself again. Pulling her legs under her, she tucked her white nightgown tightly about her feet and tugged the cashmere shawl around her shoulders.

  She was glad to be inside on a night like this. She’d had enough of rain and wind earlier today as she held Gabriel in her lap and they pledged their love.

  They’d been rudely interrupted by MacAllister, who was limping from the accident that had made him so late. Cantankerous as always, he complained the whole time he helped Gabriel to his feet and into the carriage. MacAllister had been searching all over the countryside for them, he said. The king’s men had the French ship in custody. Except for a few hoodlums’ bodies and a few hysterical women, all was well at Chalice Hall. As he set the horses in motion, he groused, “But evidently, I canna leave ye two alone without ye getting in trooble.”

  The bullet extraction had been relatively easy. With absolute bed rest for a fortnight and plenty of beef broth and red wine, the doctor had promised a full recovery for Gabriel.

  The elderly clergyman had been less pleased to perform a marriage on the authority of a time-worn paper dated four years ago, but an ample donation to his orphanage had convinced him to perform the ceremony. MacAllister had stood up for Gabriel. Thomasin had stood up for Madeline. And as many of the bruised, shocked guests as could fit in the bedchamber had served as witnesses.

  As soon as the storm let up, they would leave, their antes safely in their pockets, to spread the tale of the marvelous game and how Lord Campion had lost a card game in order to defeat a blackguard, capture a French ship—and wed, at last, the duchess of Magnus.

  A smile played around Madeline’s face. Married. To Gabriel. That ridiculous wager of her father’s was now null and void. Mr. Knight would be annoyed, of course, but she would explain and . . . No. Gabriel would insist it was his task to explain matters to Mr. Knight, and Madeline would welcome him taking that responsibility. She trusted him to manage the difficulty well.

  A ruckus in the corridor brought a frown to her face. Didn’t everyone know Gabriel needed his rest?

  The sound came closer and, donning her robe, she hurried to the door to quell it. MacAllister limped up to her, extending a sealed sheet of paper. “Yer Grace, this came for ye this minute, delivered by your groom. He’s soaked through to the skin, is Dickie, and he wouldna’ listen when I said ye were asleep. He broke down in the mud, walked most of the way, and he wouldna’ go away until ye have read this.”

  Madeline recognized the handwriting on the paper. “Eleanor.” Was she ill? Dead? Had Mr. Knight done her a harm? Dread filled Madeline as she tore the sheet open.

  When she had read the brief note, she lifted her head to see Gabriel awake and staring at her in concern.

  “What is it, love?” he asked.

  “It’s Eleanor. She says unless I come at once, she’ll be married to Mr. Knight tomorrow at noon.”

  About the Author

  CHRISTINA DODD is the author of over twenty romances that ha
ve made regular appearances on the national bestseller lists, including the New York Times. She has won numerous awards, including Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart and RITA awards.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

  Also by Christina Dodd

  CANDLE IN THE WINDOW

  CASTLES IN THE AIR

  THE GREATEST LOVER IN ALL ENGLAND

  IN MY WILDEST DREAMS

  A KNIGHT TO REMEMBER

  MOVE HEAVEN AND EARTH

  MY FAVORITE BRIDE

  ONCE A KNIGHT

  OUTRAGEOUS

  PRICELESS

  RULES OF ATTRACTION

  RULES OF ENGAGEMENT

  RULES OF SURRENDER

  RUNAWAY PRINCESS

  SCOTTISH BRIDES

  SOMEDAY MY PRINCE

  TALL, DARK, AND DANGEROUS

  THAT SCANDALOUS EVENING

  TREASURE OF THE SUN

  A WELL FAVORED GENTLEMAN

  A WELL PLEASURED LADY

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  SCANDALOUS AGAIN. Copyright © 2003 by Christina Dodd. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  ePub edition © March 2003 ISBN: 9780061797606

  First Avon Books paperback printing: March 2003

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