Wilson, Gayle

by Anne's Perfect Husband

  "To our marriage," Travener said. "That was always my intent, I assure you, but... Things were not moving as quickly as I had hoped. Anne had proven to be most uncooperative, even after my public defense of her. She really left me no choice. Neither of you did."

  "And you couldn't afford to wait. Because there was another story about Darlington that was also bound to come out. One that would certainly have upped the stakes in your matrimonial race."

  Travener laughed again. "So you do know. I had wondered. Even the proudest of the Sinclairs can be convinced to forget and forgive, it seems, if enough cash is on the table. A family tradition perhaps? After all, I heard that your brother also married a whore."

  Despite the innkeeper's warning, when Ian had seen the empty bed and the knife, he had allowed a fragile hope to form within his heart. And now...

  He blocked the images, concentrating instead on the still dangerous man before him. "Don't," he cautioned softly.

  "Your noble rescue this time, major, has come too late, I'm afraid. Even now Anne may be carrying my child."

  I am not too late unless she is dead. And she was not. That was all that mattered. That and convincing Anne of that truth.

  He felt her stir against him. She turned her head, looking at Travener over her shoulder. Her arms were still wrapped around Ian's body. Automatically, his hand soothed down her upper arm, the soft skin like silk beneath his palm.

  She flinched under the small caress. Bruised? Or repulsed by a man's touch after what she had endured?

  "My child," Travener said again, his voice softly taunting. "You may marry her to preserve her honor, of course. And given your reputation, I should expect no less. But what ever will you do with my bastard? Raise him as your son?"

  Ian wondered why he had not already killed Travener, which would, at least, have shut his filthy mouth.

  "Of course, she is a very rich woman," Travener went on. "Having control of that fortune will, I'm sure, make up for a great deal. I wonder if it will make up for watching my son inherit it. And watching him bear your name. Such a proud name. Such a noble sacrifice. But after all, what are guardians for?"

  "To slay dragons," Ian said softly.

  "Do you plan to slay this one?" Travener asked, his voice amused.

  "Give me one reason why I shouldn't."

  "I am unarmed."

  "So was she. At least when you began this."

  "Taking the knife from the table was rather clever. I confess, you surprised me, my dear."

  Still smiling, Travener bent. Ian's eyes and the muzzle of the pistol followed the motion. And although his heart jumped with a sudden hope, he couldn't believe Travener would be that stupid.

  "I should never have considered this a viable weapon," Travener went on, retrieving the knife from where Anne had dropped it. He continued to talk as he straightened, bringing the weapon up with him. "The edge is too dull to be effective against an opponent. Of course, only the point need be sharp to do what you threatened, my dear. Had you come at me with it instead, that would have been another story entirely. As it was, however..." Travener shrugged, his thumb caressing the tip.

  "You couldn't afford to let Anne kill herself. Not until you had her vow and her signature."

  Travener hefted the knife's weight lightly, holding it out on the flat of his hand. "I would eventually have gotten both."

  "I think you would have given up before she did," Ian said.

  "I don't suppose we will ever know, will we?"

  Travener stretched out his hand toward the bed, as if he were about to drop the knife onto it. It was the move Ian had been waiting for. As soon as the hand that held the weapon shifted from handle to blade and begin to lift, its motion obviously designed to bring the knife above Travener's head and into a throwing position, Ian's finger closed over the trigger.

  Doyle Travener deserved to die. It was the only way out for Anne. The only way out for either of them. The threat of the knife was the impetus Ian had needed to allow him to put an end to this.

  Before he could complete the motion his finger had begun, Anne moved. She jerked away from the hold of his damaged arm and threw herself in front of him, positioning her body between his and the knife Travener held.

  Distracted, Ian delayed a fraction of a second too long. Only when the firelight, glinting off the movement of the blade, drew his attention back to Travener did he fire.

  In that split second, however, the long tanned fingers had already released the knife. It flew end over end across the room, its target Ian's heart.

  The throw was skillful enough that it might even have found its aim, had it not been for the woman who had thrown herself between Ian and the blade. The point struck Anne's bare shoulder with an impact that was communicated through her body to the man who held her.

  Travener had already staggered backwards as if he had been jerked by a rope, a small dark blossom forming in the center of that smoothly muscled chest. He fell against the bed and then slid off it onto the floor. One hand lifted to claw at his chest as the handsome face contorted in agony.

  And even as Anne slumped in his arms, her weight pulling against the damaged muscles in his arm, Ian's eyes held a second longer on Travener. And despite the room's dimness, it seemed he knew the exact moment when life left the wide blue eyes.

  ***

  It was the innkeeper who directed him that dawn to the doctor's house. Ian had poured out onto his huge palm most of the coins that remained in the leather pouch he'd filled before he'd left London. It was more than a sufficient payment for the directions and for the clandestine burial of the stiffening body they had left upstairs. And even enough to see that he would keep his mouth shut about both.

  As he had held Anne in the curricle, Ian could feel his fever building. His breathing was becoming increasingly strained as fluid slowly and inexorably filled his lungs. And in spite of his belief that the wound Anne had sustained was minor, he also believed that he could feel her will to live seeping away.

  Just as her blood continued to seep out and stain the sheets of the high bed on which the doctor had directed him to place her. Obediently, he had laid her down on it.

  He was almost reluctant to release her, however, afraid that if he did, he might never get her back. Steeling himself to that inevitability, he finally stepped back, moving out of the doctor's way.

  He heard the Scots physician's soft gasp as he unfastened the greatcoat Ian had wrapped her in and then turned back the bloodstained sheet, revealing what had been done to her. No matter what he was thinking, the doctor began to work, quickly and competently, staunching the flow of blood from the wound in her shoulder.

  Then he bathed her other injuries, as if he were unaware of the man who stood in the shadows behind him, watching every move of his hands. And finally, when everything that could be done for her had been, the doctor mixed several drops of laudanum in a small amount of water. Lifting her head, he helped Anne swallow the mixture before he laid her down against the pillow and tucked the blankets around her.

  "I need your help," Ian said, when the doctor straightened at last. The physician took time to put the glass down on the table beside the bed before he answered, his voice cold.

  "My help for what?"

  He laid his hand on Anne's brow, and as a father might, brushed the tangled strands of rain-stiffened hair off her temple. Her eyes were closed, the blue veins in their thin lids visible in the lamplight.

  "I want to marry her."

  "Are you responsible for this?"

  "No," Ian said softly.

  The doctor turned, his eyes for the first time considering his face. "You understand—"

  "I understand everything," Ian said.

  Still the physician hesitated, his gaze considering.

  "I'm afraid we don't have much time," Ian warned.

  "Time enough to wait for her permission. None of her injuries is life-threatening. The wound in her back is superficial. And the other..." He shrugged.
/>
  "Forgive me. I didn't make myself clear. I don't have much time. And I will need your help to be sure she is protected."

  Again the physician's eyes evaluated the man standing in the shadows. Then he crossed the distance that separated them, looking closely into Ian's face. He put the back of his fingers against his brow, and his eyes widened.

  "This morning," Ian warned.

  And this time, without question, the doctor nodded.

  ***

  "Anne?"

  She opened her eyes and knew that she must be dreaming. Ian was bending over her, his face very close. She lifted her fingers, which seemed detached from her control, to touch his cheek. His skin was hot against the trembling coldness of hers. He was unshaven for the first time since she had known him, making him...vulnerable, somehow.

  The abrasive texture of his whiskers beneath her fingertips was incredibly sensual. And only with that realization did she remember that touching Ian was forbidden, a luxury of emotion she could not afford.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Which hurt. And although she tried, she couldn't remember why it should. She felt as if her mind were separate from her body. Almost as if she lacked the will to think.

  "Look at me, Anne," Ian commanded softly.

  The wine, she thought. There had been something about the wine Travener had forced her to drink—

  Travener. With remembrance of his name, everything came flooding back. Everything.

  She opened her eyes to find Ian's face still above her. Incredibly, despite what had happened, he was smiling. The same infinite kindness, which had been there when she had looked up and found him in the doorway of the room where Travener had taken her, was in his eyes.

  As soon as she had seen the knife on the platter the innkeeper had brought into the room, she had known what she had to do. And she had been more than prepared to do it.

  Prepared until she had seen Ian, standing in the doorway, looking at her exactly as he was now, without judgment or condemnation. He had called her to come to him, and instead of doing the one thing that would have freed them both...

  With the pad of his thumb he touched the skin under her eyes, wiping something away. Only when he brought the moisture to his lips to kiss it off did she realize she was crying.

  He smiled at her again. And the movement unplanned, her own lips lifted in response, their torn flesh pulling against the crust of dried blood.

  "Say yes," Ian said.

  "To what?" she whispered.

  The smile she had always loved widened, relaxed and very assured.

  "To me, of course," he said. "Say yes, my darling, and then I'll let you sleep."

  "Will you stay with me?" she asked, her tone as hopeful as the voice of the smallest of her charges, pulled from the throes of nightmare and afraid to close her eyes, lest she fall back into it. "Promise me you'll stay."

  "As long as I can," he said. "That I will promise you on my immortal soul."

  Her eyes held his, seeing nothing but truth in them, just as she always had.

  "Say yes, my darling," he commanded again. Inexorably.

  "Yes," she whispered because she trusted him. She had from the beginning.

  He nodded, smiling his approval. She felt like a clever pupil who has finally, after a great effort, satisfied a demanding tutor. He took the hand that was still touching his cheek and gently folded her fingers before he kissed the backs of them.

  Although she wanted to continue watching his face, exhausted by the small exertion of talking to him, her eyelids fell. She was vaguely aware of droning voices in the background, but she was far too tired to think about what they might be saying.

  And whenever she opened her eyes, Ian was always there, just as he had promised, his head bowed as if in prayer against the hand he still held, tightly enclosed in both of his.

  Chapter Seventeen

  "Had I known you were in such a hurry, I could have procured you a special license," the Earl of Dare said. "Or perhaps your ward found the thought of an elopement more exciting. I believe we have agreed she suffers from a tendency to romance."

  Ian looked up from his chair to find his brother leaning against the frame of the library door. Despite the teasing tone, the look in Dare's eyes said he was well aware there was far more to his brother's runaway marriage than a "tendency to romance." And of course, although Ian had no intention of telling him so, there had been nothing remotely romantic about the weeks he and Anne had spent in Scotland.

  As soon as they had returned to London, he had sent his brother word of their marriage, and he had been expecting this visit since he'd dispatched that message. Now that it was at hand, however, he found himself surprisingly unprepared to answer Dare's questions.

  "Is Elizabeth with you?" he asked instead.

  "She's gone upstairs to find Anne. Don't get up," Dare said, as Ian started to rise. "You look far too comfortable to be disturbed." He walked across the room and sat down in the facing chair, his eyes studying Ian's face. "You've been ill."

  And how bloody tiresome that it's always obvious, Ian thought, but he said aloud, "The climate in Scotland is uncertain in the spring."

  "Then why go? You knew I would help you with the license. After all, I believe I was the first to suggest you should marry the chit."

  "Actually, Elizabeth was the first. I should have taken her advice," Ian said, thinking about all that might have been prevented if he had.

  "You might at least have avoided the gossip."

  "I can imagine what they are saying."

  "You don't care two figs what they're saying. If you had, you would never have eloped with your own ward, who, it has now been disclosed, is heiress to a considerable fortune."

  "I didn't marry Anne for Darlington's money."

  "I never imagined you did. However..."

  The hesitation brought Ian's eyes up from their focus on his hands, which he was annoyed to find were clasped together too tightly in his lap.

  "I came to wish you happy," Dare said.

  "Then I hope you will," Ian said.

  "And yet for some reason, looking at you now—"

  "Don't," Ian said softly, just as he had once before. "There is nothing you can do here except wish us happy. And forgive me, if you can," he added, smiling at his brother for the first time.

  "Forgive you for what?"

  "For sending you away. It seems your instincts were better than mine."

  "I confess I'd be interested in knowing what changed your mind," Dare said. "You seemed quite adamant at the time."

  "One may be adamant and wrong."

  "That's true, of course. You discovered you were wrong?"

  "I think that should be obvious."

  "Why do I feel there is more to this than I'm being told?"

  "Because you are suspicious by nature?" Ian suggested.

  "You are in love with her?"

  "Of course," Ian said.

  "And she is in love with you."

  It had not been a question, but Ian answered it. "Yes."

  "Then..."

  "Then I think you may wish us happy with a clear conscience."

  "Well, I certainly shall," Elizabeth said from the doorway. "I couldn't be more delighted. I feel quite like a successful matchmaking mama."

  Ian and Dare stood to face the feminine invasion. Elizabeth was glowingly with child, the thickening of her waist cunningly hidden with an embroidered cashmere shawl, which had been draped around her shoulders, the ends crossed in the front.

  Ian's eyes, however, after their first cursory examination of his sister-in-law, had gone immediately to the woman who stood behind her. Anne was dressed in a gown of bronze sarcenet. The color brought out the natural luminescence of her skin and added copper highlights to her hair and her eyes. And to him she had never been more beautiful.

  She smiled at him, that same enigmatic tilt of her lips with which she answered his every expression of concern since their marriage. Far too self-c
ontained. Especially since they had returned to London.

  Throughout the long days and nights they had spent in Scotland, Anne had slept on the floor beside his bed, his hand held tightly in hers. Sometimes she dreamed. And when she did, she would come into his arms like a child, her cold body sheltered against the fever-ridden heat of his. Half-delirious, he would hold her as she trembled with the force of her memories.

  And even then, knowing the thing she feared, in his baseness he had wanted her. He wanted her now. She was his wife, and yet she was not. And he had finally been forced to acknowledge she might never be.

  At first, he had told himself that the horror of the night he had rescued her from Travener would gradually fade. Together they would rediscover the easy friendship they had once shared. He had even dared to hope that, as long as he was patient, moving from that to the kind of relationship Dare and Elizabeth had would one day be possible. And now...

  He pulled his gaze from Anne's face and found Dare's on his. The earl's eyes fell to the too-revealing line of the skin-tight pantaloons Ian wore. And when they rose again, they were alight with brotherly amusement.

  "You may congratulate yourself later, Elizabeth," Dare said, his gaze now carefully confined to his brother's face. "I had forgotten we're interrupting a honeymoon. My apologies. We came to welcome Anne into the family. Rogues and scoundrels all."

  The earl's voice was touched with some emotion, nostalgia perhaps. After all, those were the same words with which Ian had once welcomed Elizabeth to the family.

  "Now you are one of us," Val continued. "And you will find that whatever our other faults, the Sinclairs always defend their own, even unto death." There was a small awkward silence, and it was the earl, ever sensitive to nuance, who broke it. "I demand the traditional bridal kiss, and then we shall be on our way."

  "Nonsense," Ian said, because he had no choice. And because he was forced to admit that it might even be better if they had guests. At least there would be something to distract Anne from that which loomed unspeakably between them. "I'm sure Elizabeth is tired from your journey."