Diana smiled faintly. “It is over,” she repeated quietly. “It is truly over.” She closed her eyes. “Thank you, Derek.”
“I love you very much, Diana,” he said softly as he rose to his feet.
The door unexpectedly thrust open and Morgan appeared, pistols drawn in each hand. Derek shoved Diana instinctively behind him, but grinned with relief when he saw the duke.
“Are you hurt?” Morgan asked, his eyes resting on Derek’s bloodstained chest.
He shook his head. “We are both unharmed. Marlow, or should I say Rotherby, is dead.”
“Rotherby?” Tristan asked as he joined his brother in the doorway. He too had his weapons drawn.
“Hard to believe,” Derek said dryly, nudging Marlow’s inert form with the tip of his boot. “He very cleverly fooled us all.”
Diana gingerly removed the black leather book from the pocket of her gown. “I imagine there are numerous people who will be pleased to learn of his death.”
Derek took the book with interest. “You said something before about blackmail, Diana?”
“Yes. Marlow told me the book contains numerous bits of sordid information he and Giles used to extort funds from members of society and the government. I attempted to read the book when I first found it, but could not understand the citations. It must be written in some sort of code.”
Derek fanned the pages of the small book with fascination before handing it over to Tristan. “I trust you will keep this safe. We shall no doubt spend many hours trying to decipher this code, Tris. After we have determined exactly what information we have discovered, we will decide what to do with the book.”
“Fine.” Tristan turned to his brother. “I believe the house is secure, but Morgan and I shall check the rest of the rooms to be certain. We will wait for you outside.”
After they left, Derek placed a comforting arm around Diana’s shoulders. He could feel her trembling.
“Thank God, you are safe,” he said softly. “I nearly went out of my mind when I returned home and discovered Marlow had kidnapped you.”
“He was waiting in the front hall.” Diana shuddered. “I had just discovered the book hidden in the back of the painting and was rushing to tell Mr. Ramsey.” She stopped abruptly and searched through the pocket of her gown. “Wait, there is something else. In all the confusion, I forgot about it.” She pulled out a sheet of paper and carefully unfolded it.
“What is that?” Derek asked.
“I found it with the book,” Diana said. “It is the missing church register page. The only existing proof of my marriage to Giles.”
Silently, Derek took the paper his wife held out to him. “We were right. Giles must have stolen this soon after your wedding.”
Hand in hand Derek and Diana walked to the fireplace. Only a small flame flickered in the grate, but it was sufficient. Ceremonially, Derek tossed the paper into the fire. It caught immediately, bursting into flames.
“Now that we have discovered the truth about Marlow, I strongly suspect we will find your property deeds among Rotherby’s papers.” His voice deepened with emotion. “It will bring me great pleasure to turn over the stolen deeds to you, my dear.”
“Thank you, Derek.” She kissed his cheek softly. “I am finally free,” she whispered softly.
“It is a glorious relief for both of us, my love,” he whispered. Seeking to lighten the mood, he flashed her a devilish grin. “And the very best part of all, my dear, is I won’t have to make you climb out that damn window!”
Epilogue
The musicians were poised, their instruments ready, and Morgan, holding his wife close to his chest, waited until the hushed whispers died down before nodding his head. At his command, the strains of a lovely waltz echoed through the vast ballroom, and the musicians played enthusiastically while the crush of elegantly clad guests joined in the dance.
The Earl of Harrowby was not among those on the dance floor. He was trying to persuade his beautiful wife be his partner, but Diana continually rejected his advances.
“Diana, you are being very foolish about this,” Derek said.
She grimaced at him and sank back farther into her chair. “For pity’s sake, Derek,” she said, “stop badgering me. I have no intention of parading about the dance floor in my condition. Now leave me alone.”
“Are you feeling unwell?”
She shook her head. She didn’t dare tell him the truth. Despite his outward calmness, she instinctively knew he would overreact. Visions of Derek lifting her up in his arms and carrying her out of the ballroom filled her head. What a spectacle! “I feel fine, Derek. Just a bit conspicuous, that is all.”
Derek eyed her rounded belly. “Even being eight and a half months pregnant, you are the most beautiful and desirable woman in attendance tonight, Diana. Come, dance with met.”
She could not help the smile that tugged at her lips. “You are fast learning how to flatter me, my lord.”
Derek grinned charmingly. “I am getting rather good at it, aren’t I?”
“Getting good at what?” Caroline asked, joining them.
“Having his own way,” Diana said, glancing with envy at Caroline’s slim waist. “I presume you were upstairs in the nursery again. How is young Richard this evening?”
Caroline’s face took on a radiant glow of happiness. “My son is absolute perfection. Everyone agrees he is advanced well beyond his three months of age. He and his youngest cousin, Victoria, were screaming down the nursery with hunger cries. Alyssa and I have just come from feeding them. Now that they have both gorged themselves like little piglets, they are sleeping soundly. It is a heartwarming sight.”
“Quiet, slumbering infants are indeed a heartwarming sight,” Tristan said, walking up to his wife. “I do take exception, however, to my handsome son and dainty niece being referred to as piglets, Caroline.”
Caroline laughed. “The truth is not always easy to accept, Tristan. When it comes to his meals, our Richard is a greedy little boy.”
Tristan glanced boldly at his wife’s breasts. “As long as the lad leaves some for his father, I shall not quibble,” he said with a lecherous grin.
“Tris!” Caroline colored noticeably.
“Yes, love?”
“I think you had better lead me out on the dance floor,” Caroline said. She squeezed his arm forcefully, then turned to Derek and said, “Why are you not dancing with your lovely wife?”
“I have been trying to persuade her, but she continues to rebuff me,” Derek said with mocking regret.
Three pairs of eyes regarded Diana thoughtfully. She glanced ruefully down at her protruding belly. She was starting to feel a little better, yet she hesitated, slightly embarrassed. “What will people say?”
“They will probably remark, with great envy, on the astonishing fertility of the Ashton family,” Tristan said kindly. “Three babies in one year. We surely are blessed.”
Diana could see he was sincere. “You are right,” she said suddenly, dismissing her earlier misgivings.
Derek held out his hand to assist her from her chair. Once they were on the dance floor, Diana began to relax. Being held so lovingly in Derek’s arms always had a soothing effect on her.
“Feeling better, sweetheart?”
She looked up at him. “I’m sorry I am being so difficult, Derek.”
Derek smiled down at her. “You aren’t being difficult, Diana. Just very pregnant. Take heart, Diana. This shall all be over soon.”
She merely smiled at her husband, as another cramp gripped her belly. It would be over sooner than he knew, she thought smugly. Her labor pains had begun an hour ago, but she knew it would be many long hours before the child was actually born. There was no pressing need to inform Derek of that.
The annual winter ball held at Ramsgate Castle, Morgan and Alyssa’s home, would provide the perfect distraction until her pains became more severe, Diana decided. She gave her husband another enchanting grin and took a deep breath. It
was going to be a lovely evening.
At dawn, Diana delivered a small, but healthy baby girl. She lay back against the pillows and listened with pure joy to the lusty cries of her newborn daughter. She felt relief, exhaustion, and euphoria simultaneously.
Derek cuddled his new daughter lovingly, and Diana knew it had been almost unbearable for him to watch her struggle-through the last few hours of intense labor. But now that the baby had been born, his face reflected his immense relief.
“Derek?”
“Yes, love.” He sat on the edge of the bed, gingerly holding the infant in his arms.
She looked up at her husband, and her eyes filled with tears. “She is rather tiny, our new little girl.”
“She is magnificent,” he said in a strong voice. The baby opened her small mouth and yawned delicately. Turning to Diana with a teasing grin he said, “Morgan and I have decided to share the costs of constructing a convent.”
“A convent?”
“A convent. For all of our daughters. So we can adequately protect them from the world’s irresistible scoundrels.”
“You mean men like their fathers,” Diana said with a mischievous smile.
Derek laughed. “Tristan was correct, my love,” he said, leaning over to kiss her damp brow. “We are truly blessed.”
Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek
of Adrienne Basso’s newest historical romance,
HOW TO BE A SCOTTISH MISTRESS,
coming as a print and eBook in July 2013!
Chapter One
Northern England, June 1306
“We’ll have rain by nightfall, I fear,” Lord Henry Libourg, Baron of Arundel, declared solemnly as he slowed his horse’s canter, drawing closer to his wife so as to be heard above the pounding hooves. “’Tis bound to make a mud pit in the middle of the bailey, but the newly sowed crops will benefit.”
“Rain? Are you daft, my lord?” Lady Fiona matched her mare’s pace to that of her husband’s war stead, then eyed him with healthy skepticism. “There is nary a cloud in the sky to mar the perfection of sunshine.”
“Rain it will be, my lady,” Henry insisted with authority. “I feel it in my bones.”
He slapped his gloved hand deliberately against his thigh, then grimaced. Fiona turned her face upward toward the bright sunshine, shaking her head. It was moments such as this when the nearly twenty-five-year age difference between her and her spouse became glaringly apparent. Only an old man spoke of his joints aching when rain or snow approached.
The unkind thought had no sooner entered her head when Fiona silenced it. Henry was a good husband—dear to her in many ways. She had been sent to his manor as a young girl of twelve, to serve his wife and learn the duties of a proper lady. When that good woman had died in childbirth five years later, Henry had surprised Fiona by asking her to be his wife and mother to his infant son.
Born to a family of minor nobility that took little stock in the welfare of its female members, Fiona had been relieved when her father agreed to the match. Relieved and grateful, for it allowed her to stay at the first place she had truly considered home.
She knew others could not understand why she would eagerly wed a man of modest means and position so much older than herself, but as the Baroness of Arundel, Fiona had found a purpose that filled her with confidence and self-worth. Though affectionate, she had come to accept that hers was not, nor would it ever be, a marriage of passion. Yet Fiona loved Henry truly, in a way that stretched far beyond a sense of duty.
All in all, it was a good life.
Fiona turned her gaze away from the sunlight twinkling through the leaves and gazed out at the trees surrounding them. Summer had finally arrived, but a thick layer of dead brown leaves carpeted much of the forest floor, mingling with the green of the smaller bushes and ferns.
“Oh, look Henry, ’tis a cluster of blooming feverfew,” Fiona exclaimed. “Please, may we stop so I can gather some? Two of the kitchen lads have broken out in a fierce rash. They are suffering mightily and treating them with my usual ointments has proven useless. I am certain the addition of feverfew will make all the difference.”
Filled with excitement, Fiona tugged on her reins with a short, sharp motion. Her horse protested, rearing in response.
“Careful now, you don’t want to take a tumble on this hard ground,” Henry admonished. With impressive skill, the baron reached out a strong arm to ensure his wife kept her seat.
Fiona cast him a grateful smile, tightening her thighs around her mount instinctively. She was a competent, though not especially skilled, horsewoman. Fortunately, Henry was near to keep her safe.
Once her horse was calm, the baron peered over at the soft, white petal flowers she pointed toward, his expression perplexed. “Feverfew? Are you certain? They look like ordinary daises to me.”
Fiona smiled. Henry was a man of solid intelligence as well as experience, but medicinal herbs and flowers were completely foreign to him. “With their yellow centers and white petals, I’ll allow there is a strong resemblance, but you must trust me, sir, when I tell you those are not daisies.”
“I trust you, Fiona. I’m just not certain ’tis wise to delay our return home. We have been gone for most of the afternoon and there are duties that await us both. If I can spare the men, you may return tomorrow to collect your flowers.”
“They are not merely flowers, Henry, they are medicine. And truly, the need is so great that I fear tomorrow might be too long to wait. The sooner I try a new treatment, the sooner the lads will be healed.”
Henry made a soft sound of resignation beneath his breath. “God’s bones, Fiona, I think you are the only woman in all of England who would make such a fuss over kitchen lads.”
Graceful in victory, Fiona smiled sweetly. “You are the one who taught me to care so diligently for our people, good sir. Now come, there looks to be enough to fill my saddle pouch as well as yours.”
The baron slid off his horse, then caught his wife around the waist when she began to dismount from hers. Their eyes met briefly as he set her gently on the ground. Impulsively, Fiona leaned forward and playfully kissed the tip of Henry’s nose.
“Impudent baggage,” Henry bristled in mock annoyance.
A deep chuckle bubbled through Fiona and she laughed merrily. The sound echoed through the forest, startling a flock of black birds from the branches of a nearby tree.
“Wait here,” Henry commanded, handing her the leads of both horses.
Fiona nodded in understanding, waiting patiently. Even though they rode on their own land, it was wise to be cautious, especially in these uncertain times.
She watched the baron make slow progress toward the clusters of feverfew, his shrewd gaze darting back and forth. Bored at being stopped on the journey, the horses ambled a few steps and lowered their heads to drink from a large puddle at the edge of the forest. Fiona allowed it, securing their leather leads to a tree trunk. She then turned back to Henry, anxious to begin her harvest.
At last, he gave the signal and she scampered forward, glad she was dressed in her new pair of leather boots. The ground was moist and springy, her feet sinking nearly to the ankles in some spots.
“I don’t suppose I can ask you to hurry,” Henry muttered, as she strode past him to reach the first large bunch.
“I shall try my best,” Fiona replied. “But doing a proper job of harvesting takes time.”
Though his expression was wry, Fiona heard the twinge of pride in her husband’s voice. She had never shied away from hard work and took a marked interest in all who lived at the manor, be they peasant, servant or knight. And it was no secret she was well loved for her dedication.
Determined not to take a minute longer than necessary, Fiona sank to her knees, surveying the bounty growing before her. Gathering a large handful of blossoms growing at the base of an oak tree, she skillfully twisted her wrist, breaking the stems near the base of the roots. She made certain not to take every flower,
ensuring the plans would survive and produce more feverfew in the coming weeks and months.
With such a great number of soldiers, servants and others depending on her for care, Fiona knew well the importance of keeping the castle stillroom stocked with precious medical supplies, ever at the ready to treat the ills of those who needed help.
Moving forward on her knees, Fiona reached around the trunk to harvest another bunch of the precious flowers. As she broke off the stems, an odd sense that something was amiss surrounded her. It was quiet, almost too quiet. She turned her head to check on Henry, who stood several yards behind her.
His sword was drawn, his stance vigilant, yet relaxed. Telling herself she was being fanciful, Fiona returned her attention to the feverfew. Stretching forward, she tugged on a few remaining flowers, then suddenly, a masculine hand shot out from behind the tree and seized her wrist in a cruel grip.
A scream lodged in Fiona’s throat, her body too stunned to react. The grip tightened and pain radiated through her arm, but fear and shock kept it at bay. Lifting her head, Fiona looked up into the eyes of the fierce warrior who held her captive. A knight, she surmised, from the style of his garments and one not needing to resort to thievery, judging by the fine quality of cloth he wore.
He was broad of shoulder, with deep-set blue eyes, framed by dark lashes. Though crouched before her, she could see he was tall and well-muscled. His hawk-like nose was straight and masculine, his mouth sensual. He wore his thick, dark wavy hair longer than the current fashion, reaching just below his chin. There was a thin scar slashed across his left temple, ending at the corner of his eye. A memento of a long-ago battle, no doubt.
The sharp angle of his square jaw was covered with the dark stubble of several days’ growth of beard, adding to his menacing appearance, which bespoke of power and authority. Strangely, he was a man Fiona realized she would have considered handsome, had the situation not been so terrifying.
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