Suddenly, all shouting stopped.
Remington heard a thundering in his ears. Felt the ground shaking. He looked up through swollen eyes to see the cudgel-wielding bastards turn and stare in terror.
Eleanor was riding hell-for-leather, right at them, swinging a stout branch and yelling words much worse than his simple hell.
The men dropped him.
He fell to the ground with a groan.
The men scattered, running for cover.
She chased them down, riding Remington’s huge stallion like an avenging goddess.
Remington staggered to his feet.
Fanthorpe. What about Fanthorpe? Where was he?
A quick glance showed the old nobleman crouched in the door of his coach. He held a rifle against his shoulder.
It was pointed at Eleanor.
Remington shouted a warning.
She didn’t hear him.
He started running.
But although he stretched out his gait as far as possible, although his heart pumped as fast as it could, he couldn’t make it. He hadn’t the speed. He hadn’t the time.
Fanthorpe was going to kill her.
When the shot rang out, Remington jerked as if the bullet had hit him, too. “Eleanor.” He wanted to crumple in agony. “My God, Eleanor!”
But Eleanor was still in the saddle, using the branch on two of the fleeing thugs, an implacable smile on her face.
And Fanthorpe was falling, tumbling out of the coach, blood spurting from a wound in his chest.
With dread, Remington looked around for this new threat.
In the lane, Magnus sat on his horse, a smoking rifle in his hands and a deadly expression on his face. He looked at Remington, and in a chill voice said, “He killed my sister, too.”
Justice had finally caught up with Lord Fanthorpe.
Galloping up were Madeline and Gabriel, and behind them were Dickie Driscoll and Clark. While they followed Eleanor’s example and relentlessly rode down Fanthorpe’s men, Remington staggered to a halt. He was hurt, and he was furious. “Eleanor!” he shouted.
At once she turned from her pursuit and rode to his side. Sliding out of the saddle, she caught him around the waist to support him. “Oh, no. Look at you.” Her lovely eyes were horrified as she gazed at his face, and her tender fingers caressed his throbbing forehead. “My poor Remington, how badly have they hurt you?”
“Never mind that!” He scowled at her. “What were you doing, exposing your legs for those men to see?”
She blinked at him as if he were the crazy one. “Didn’t you figure it out? I was trying to distract them so you would have a chance to fight your way free!”
His voice rose. “How the hell did you expect me to fight my way free? I was too busy staring at your ass!”
Her voice rose, too. “Don’t say hell, and you’ve seen it before.”
“When I don’t look, you’d better call the undertaker, because I’ll be dead.” He was shouting now.
She shouted back, “Next time someone’s beating the stuffing out of you, I’ll let them do it.”
“And that’s another thing. Why the hell did you come back? You were supposed to—”
“Ride away and let them kill you? Just because you’re a damned idiot?”
“Don’t say damned,” he mimicked.
“I’ll say whatever I like. I’m your wife, and I love you, and…and they hurt you…” All her fine fury faded. She looked down as if she were guilty, and mumbled, “I didn’t mean to tell you that.”
All his pain abruptly faded. Sliding his arms around her waist, he said, “You didn’t mean to tell me you loved me?”
“I didn’t think you’d believe me.” She fingered his torn, bloody cravat. “You think I married you for your money.”
“No, I don’t.”
She looked up indignantly. “You said you did.”
“I said a lot of stupid things.” He pressed their bodies together, although not too tightly—his bruises were making themselves known. “Saying stupid things is what I do when falling in love with the most wonderful woman in the world.”
She considered him, her face serious, and for a moment, he wondered if he’d made some kind of mistake. Was there some English etiquette for telling your wife you loved her?
Had she not really meant what she’d said? Did she not love him?
Then, like the sun rising, her eyes lit up. Her smile blossomed. “You love me?”
Breathing a sigh of relief, he said, “For how many other women do I let myself get beaten silly?” He brushed her hair back from her forehead. “I love you. You make me whole.”
Sliding her arms around his neck, she tried to kiss him.
But his lips were swollen and one of his eyes was swelling shut.
Lightly, she pressed her lips to his forehead. “You poor darling, we’ve got to get you home.”
Looking up, he realized they were surrounded by a circle of riders, all watching without a bit of discretion. Magnus, Gabriel, Madeline, Clark and Dickie observed them as if captivated.
Remington pointed his thumb at the torn and huddled group of thugs nearby. “Did you get them all?”
“How many were there?” Gabriel asked.
“Six,” Eleanor said.
Magnus looked disgusted. “We only have five.”
In his Scottish accent, Dickie Driscoll said, “I don’t think ye have to worry about number six.” He nodded toward the drive.
Lizzie trotted toward them, a mouthful of shredded blue satin in her teeth. Coming to Remington, she laid her offering at his feet, then sat and thumped her tail on the ground.
Eleanor laughed aloud.
Remington tried hard not to smile—it was too painful. In fact, now that the excitement was over, everything was too painful. “Good dog.” He went down on one knee to scratch Lizzie’s ears. As if she knew what he was thinking, she nudged him meaningfully and looked up at Eleanor.
Remington could take a hint. He looked up at Eleanor, also, with just as much adoration as the dog. “Will you marry me?”
“We’re married.” She was still grinning, not taking him seriously.
“I want to do it properly. I want to marry you, in a church, with my mother’s ring, knowing full well who you are.” He offered her his hand, bloody knuckles and all. “Will you marry me?”
Madeline gave a stifled sob.
Tenderly, Gabriel drew her into his arms.
In a disgusted voice, Magnus said, “Oh, for God’s sake.”
And Eleanor realized Remington meant it. Taking his hand, she knelt beside him. Looking into his eyes, she said, “My darling Remington, I would be honored to marry you.”
“Thank you. Now.” He tried to look pleasant when the world was whirling around him. “I’m afraid I’m going to faint.”
Epilogue
“My favorite part of the whole brawl was when Remington fainted like a girl.” Downstairs in the foyer, the duke of Magnus slapped his knee and roared with laughter.
Gabriel put his hand to his forehead and pretended to collapse, and the rest of the men roared, too.
Remington stroked the adoring Lizzie’s head and waited until the laughter had died down. With a superior smile, he said, “You’re jealous because I rode back in the coach with my head pillowed in the ladies’ laps.”
The men all laughed again, nodded and affectionately thumped Remington on the back.
Annoyed, Eleanor turned to the ladies gathered in the upstairs gallery of Magnus’s home in Sussex. “Listen to them. They’re cackling like fools. Don’t they know he took a concussion to the head and almost died?”
“To say so would indicate compassion.” Madeline dismissed them with a wave of her hand. “Compassion isn’t manly.”
“They’re men, what do you expect? Logic?” Lady Gertrude looked lovely in her green satin gown, and her cheeks were rosy with excitement.
“I think they’re nervous.” Mrs. Oxnard’s eyes were wise. “It’s
not every day you stage a double wedding for two such distinguished couples.”
The ladies fell silent as they considered that great truth.
Magnus had decided that if Eleanor and Remington could repeat their vows, he wanted a chance to give his own daughter away, and so the single wedding grew to a wedding for Remington and Eleanor, and Gabriel and Madeline. In an hour the event would take place on the estate in the de Lacy chapel.
Eleanor looked at Madeline. She was lovely in a gown of pale blue muslin, which showed her arms and bosom to an advantage. Eleanor wore a matching gown in pale pink, but the straight line of her Empire waist skirt draped over the slight swell of her belly.
“You look beautiful,” Madeline said, proving again that the cousins thought alike. “I envy you. You’re done with this dreadful nausea.” She pressed a hand to her still flat abdomen. “It would be dreadful if I was ill during the ceremony.”
Eleanor laughed. “But memorable.”
Their children would be born two months apart. Remington and Gabriel were convinced they would be girls and, they said, as much trouble as their mothers.
As usual, the men would be wrong.
With an upwelling of affection, Eleanor hugged Madeline. “Who would have thought eight years ago, when you took me in, we would come to this?”
It had taken four months to organize the wedding Remington had proposed. Four months of upheaval and excitement. Word of Lord Fanthorpe’s demise at Magnus’s hand swept the ton, leaving them openmouthed with shock. That Fanthorpe had killed Magnus’s sister made the elders nod and claim they’d always suspected it was so. That Fanthorpe had gone after Magnus’s niece left everyone disavowing any association with him. Everything about his memory was now tainted.
When Lady Shapster’s part in Eleanor’s kidnapping became common knowledge, she received the cut direct from every hostess and slinked home to her husband—who didn’t care to attend his daughter’s wedding. It was grouse hunting season, and anyway, wasn’t she already married?
So Magnus would give Eleanor away, too, and she found herself indifferent to her father’s neglect. After all, she had Remington.
The day was fine, the morning sun shining as everyone waited for the call to go to the chapel. Only family and close friends had been invited, so the guests would number a mere two hundred, and Eleanor couldn’t help a clutch of fear as she thought of facing all those staring eyes. After all, she was still Eleanor, shy and quiet—except when those she loved were threatened.
When Remington had recovered enough to sit up in a chair and receive visitors, Magnus had paid him a visit. When Magnus had lost Madeline in a hand of cards, he had decided he’d had no choice but to recover the family fortune. He’d been investigating the old business of providing supplies to His Majesty’s Navy. He had pulled strings; he had the contract, and he wanted Remington to handle it and take the profits. Because, he’d said in his bluff manner, he’d promised his father he would make reparation to the Marchants for the great injustice done to them. And because Remington had given Magnus a great gift—the truth about his sister’s death. All those years, Magnus had been convinced it was his brother, Lord Shapster, who had killed Lady Pricilla. Now he knew the truth, and both Lady Pricilla and Abbie could rest in peace.
Remington had agreed to take the business, on the condition Magnus continue to use his influence in the government for a percentage of the earnings. They had shaken hands on it, and it wasn’t until Magnus had left that Remington had found the deed to his father’s old estate on the table beside him.
The animosity between the families was over.
Stepping to the banister, Eleanor looked down at Remington’s fair head. The hours he’d been unconscious haunted her still, the lump on his head and his swollen face giving witness to the beating he’d taken. The healing had taken weeks, and she had guarded him fiercely from too many visitors—and from himself, when he’d tried to get up too soon.
She’d almost lost him. She would never forget.
As if he felt her gaze on him, he looked up at her and smiled.
With the sunshine falling on him from the atrium above, his blond hair glowed and his eyes crinkled at the corners. He was still the most handsome man she’d ever seen, and she could scarcely believe he was hers—and that he loved her.
But he did. He expressed it in every way. And when she’d told him about the babe, he had sat down with her in his lap and held her as if she had given him a miracle.
“The carriages are here,” Magnus called.
“Oh, the carriages are here. Girls!” Lady Gertrude clapped her hands. “You need to don your bonnets and your pelisses.” Leaning over the banister, she called, “And Remington, dear boy, the doggie cannot go to the church with us.”
Remington laughed and handed Lizzie over to her own special footman.
Since acquitting herself so admirably in the fight four months ago, Lizzie had gone from being a stray to being an honored member of the family, and she adored Remington with all her canine devotion. And Remington, although he wouldn’t admit it, adored her, too.
“Do you know,” Lady Gertrude said in a low voice to Mrs. Oxnard, “that Remington actually asked if Lizzie could carry the wedding rings? I think he was jesting, but really, I’m not sure.”
Madeline and Eleanor submitted to being dressed by Horatia and Mrs. Oxnard. They accepted their bouquets. They started down the foyer.
Gabriel and Remington came to the foot of the stairs.
Gabriel stared proudly at Madeline as she descended.
Remington held out his hand to Eleanor as if he couldn’t wait to hold her again.
On the last step, she gave him her hand.
Lifting her fingers to his lips, he kissed them and in that dark, dangerous, beastly growl she loved so much, he asked, “Eleanor de Lacy, will you marry me today and be mine forever?”
Her joyous smile broke forth. “With all my heart.”
About the Author
CHRISTINA DODD is the author of twenty-two romances that have 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. You can visit Christina at her website: www.christinadodd.com.
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Books 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
LOST IN YOUR ARMS
MOVE HEAVEN AND EARTH
MY FAVORITE BRIDE
ONCE A KNIGHT
ONE KISS FROM YOU
OUTRAGEOUS
PRICELESS
RULES OF ATTRACTION
RULES OF ENGAGEMENT
RULES OF SURRENDER
RUNAWAY PRINCESS
SCANDALOUS AGAIN
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.
ONE KISS FROM YOU. 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 b
y any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
ePub Edition © January 2005 ISBN: 9780061795602
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