He stopped in the doorway, his proud figure discreetly but elegantly garbed in his official court dress, the black making him appear even more slender than usual. Shadowed gray eyes met Aubree’s. He winced at her tears, closed the door, and offered her a lace-edged handkerchief. “You will not wish to walk down the aisle crying.”
Aubree accepted the square of lawn, dabbing it at her eyes.
“Has anyone said aught to make you cry?” he asked gruffly.
Aubree offered a shy smile as she removed the last trace of moisture. “Is a man who sends happiness instead of expensive gifts less than a gentleman?”
The duke looked perplexed. “I didn’t know it was possible to send happiness. Does he bottle the stuff?” He offered his arm. “But expensive gifts do not a gentleman make, that I can tell you. Now let us proceed. In time, perhaps we’ll discover the answer to your question.”
Aubree accepted his arm and followed his lead, the train of ivory satin and lace swishing along the carpeted hall as they walked toward the chapel. The thought that Austin had been the one to bring her friends and pets here held her steady. A man with the insight to anticipate her fondest desires could not be the man gossip made him to be.
She did not know how she would thank him, but she knew what she must do now. Her lips curved upward as they entered the candlelit chapel.
A hushed gasp whispered around the vaulted chamber as the guests craned their necks for a better view of the bride. In the half-light of dancing candles and sunset glow through stained-glass windows, Aubree’s shimmering gown created the impression of etherealness. Beneath the delicate lace, luminous green eyes shone with intensity, framed by long, dark lashes that never flickered as her gaze focused upon the man at the end of the aisle. Wisps of golden curls danced about her face in the draft from the open door, and the rosier hues of her golden skin brightened as her gaze touched upon the one she sought. No one watching could doubt this bride went any less than willingly to the altar.
Garbed in a deep-blue swallow-tailed coat and matching breeches, Austin’s imposing figure waited at the aisle’s end. The midnight blue of his eyes burned against the bronze of his lean features, and the cluster of dark curls upon his brow gave his stern visage a devilish cast. Yet the smile that bent his lips as he followed his bride’s approach nearly sent every woman in the room into a swoon.
Aubree’s own heart fluttered as she drew closer and felt the intensity of Austin’s gaze, but nothing could frighten her on this day. She heard her father’s words giving her away, and accepted Heathmont’s hard fingers without hesitation. They closed around her hand, not relaxing as the minister’s voice droned on with the solemn phrases of this ceremony.
Whispers behind them failed to break their concentration as they repeated their vows. When it came time to produce a ring, Aubree held her breath, uncertain that anyone had taken this into consideration. But behind Heath, Emery produced a small box and handed it to the minister as directed, and Aubree let out a sigh of relief.
Austin slipped two bands upon her finger, one a delicately filigreed heirloom of emeralds and diamonds, the other a simple band of twined gold strands surrounding a single diamond. Aubree gazed at them in awe until the minister’s words prompted her to repeat her pledge of love. She looked up to meet Austin’s eyes, and their gazes locked and held.
The whispers and rustlings behind them grew louder, but the bride and groom had no eyes or ears for anything beyond each other. The minister murmured the words binding them together until death did them part, but not until Emery nudged Austin into action did he hear the final instruction.
Bending to kiss his bride, Austin heard the contented purr of a feline just as a small, furry body wrapped itself around his ankle. Aubree gasped as a second ball of sleek fur discovered the delights of fragile lace and began to climb her veil, with disastrous results. A titter of laughter was echoed in muffled snorts and gasps throughout the chapel.
Still shaken by the vows she had just made, Aubree could do little more than grasp futilely for the kitten entangled in the yards of lace behind her. Lexa, all thumbs, attempted to extricate the now-terrified kitten, but succeeded only in earning a scratch. Austin grabbed the pet at his feet before it could join his adventuresome companion and handed it to Emery, who stared at it with incredulity. Then slipping the pins holding Aubree’s veil in place, Austin uncovered her golden curls, allowing the yards of lace and a frightened feline to drop to the floor.
To smattered applause from their audience, Austin claimed his kiss, his mouth staking his claim for all to see. She trembled in his grasp, and he held her reassuringly, chasing away her fears. Before he released her to meet their guests, however, a teasing glint appeared in his eyes, and his fingers clasped Aubree’s.
“I have taken you for better or worse, my dear, but do you remember if he included the animal kingdom in that list anywhere?”
Aubree gave a brilliant smile and reached for the kitten in Emery’s hands. “Whither I go. . .”
“They shall follow,” Austin groaned mockingly, and to the tune of an ancient processional, the earl led his new countess—and her cat—down the aisle.
Chapter 9
Aubree decided hell would be an eternal reception line as she waited for the next arrogant Corinthian to offer his sympathies or his aid while directing a look that dared her new husband to challenge him. She scarcely meet Heath’s eye by this time. She knew he must be furious, but he exuded unruffled authority.
The irony of these so-called gallant offers did not escape Aubree, although she wasn’t certain Austin was fully cognizant of it. She had met all these young bachelors sometime during her hectic stay in London, but not one of them had shown any more than the slightest sign of interest in a green seventeen-year-old when she was available. They had paid their calls and taken their requisite share of dances and gone their ways, wenching and gambling and drinking. Now they gallantly flocked to assure her of their undying devotion should she ever be in dire need of help. Reminded of her conversation with her father about Austin’s reputation, she grimaced.
“Lady Aubree.” A swaggering young gentleman bowed before her. She recognized him as a friend of Geoffrey’s, though they had never been introduced. She offered her hand almost fearfully, but his next words held no insults.
“May I have a moment of your time later?” he asked, for Aubree’s ears alone.
He must carry a message from Geoffrey, but she was no longer certain she wanted to hear it. Twice now, he had deserted her, bowing to her father’s demands. It was too late to try again.
She smiled, squeezed his fingers, and merely answered, “It’s a pleasure to see you,” before turning to the next guest.
Austin noted this exchange with suspicion. Aubree had not the experience to hide her emotions well, and he had felt her nervous jolt at the man’s murmured words. He memorized the man’s face and returned his attention to the farce of being reintroduced to society.
If the duke had hoped to force society to accept his new son-in-law, much as his daughter had threatened to do earlier, he had misinterpreted his powers of persuasion. These people would come because they were required or because it amused them, but they had no intention of accepting a man who abused and murdered his first wife and kidnapped his second. And Heath had no intention of taking this opportunity to explain himself to anyone. He felt sorry that Aubree had to suffer, but it might make her father easier to convince when the time came to leave her behind. As it most certainly would, judging by this reception.
Lexa and Everett were almost the last of the guests in line, and they hung back sheepishly. The duke shook their hands and ushered them on, but even Aubree’s happy grin did not ease their embarrassment.
“Aubree, why did you not tell us?” Lexa whispered.
“I wanted you to know him.” Aubree grasped Everett’s hand. “I really wanted you to like Austin, so you would not refuse me when I ask you to come visit us. Say you will,” she added eagerly.
Austin caught this part of the conversation, and he felt a moment’s uneasiness at Aubree’s naive invitation, but he revealed none of it as he warmly acknowledged the two.
“I say, dashed unfair of you not to say who you was,” Everett protested, taking Austin’s hand and shaking it. “Thought you was the duke’s secretary or summat. Aubree’s always quizzing the poor fellows. Never dreamed, you know—”
“Everett!” Lexa hissed, putting an end to this embarrassing monologue. Then curtsying prettily, she announced, “Aubree is my best friend in the whole world, but she is a trifle impetuous at times, milord. I trust you will forgive us for not recognizing who you are.”
Austin flashed a rare smile of genuine delight as he bowed over the girl’s hand. “Miss Carlisle, my wife is blessed beyond her knowledge to have such friends. I am pleased you were able to come.”
“Oh, come now, Austin, that’s doing it up a shade too brown,” Aubree declared. “Could we not all go find some punch? I think I shall perish of thirst if I must stand here much longer.”
Chattering merrily, the reception line dispersed to seek refreshment.
Overflowing the main salon, the wedding guests had formed into small cliques and groups. Well-meaning ladies, young and old alike, hurried to surround Aubree and Lady Clara with eager questions.
Unable to politely separate herself from the conversation, Aubree sent Heath a despairing look. With a faint grin, he nodded toward the refreshment table, indicating he would return shortly. In truth, he felt relief at leaving her thus protected. The punch bowl had become the gathering place for a conspicuous number of unattached gentlemen, and their mood did not appear to be one of jollity.
Emery drifted along at Austin’s side, unaware of potential trouble. He rambled on of some scheme to invest his income in a fool contraption that operated wheels with steam just like Fulton’s boat did paddles. At any other time, Austin would have been interested, but at the present he could see no future beyond the next few hours.
Most of the young gallants were younger than he, Heath observed as he served himself from the punch bowl. He had probably gone to school with their older brothers, who were conspicuously absent. He recognized one or two, but they kept their backs to him, continuing their conversation as if he were not present.
“You don’t call out a bounder like that,” one voice protested. “You horsewhip him through the streets.”
“After what he did to his first wife, no decent woman would look at him. The only way he could have caught her was to compromise her. Too bad her brother’s not alive to punish the cad.”
Coming down out of his clouds, even Emery caught the meaning of this last. Heath poured him a cup of punch.
“I heard she’s no better than she should be, throwing herself at the lecher’s feet,” another voice said scornfully. “Then after he’d spoiled her, he demanded a ransom to wed her.”
Heath slowly and deliberately set both cups of punch back to the table to tap the speaker upon the shoulder. Emery made as if to interfere, but too late. When the young gallant turned, Heath’s fist connected squarely with his jaw, and the obnoxious speaker crumpled to the floor.
The crowd of young gentlemen pushed one another aside in their attempts to confront Heath. Both sides ignored the gasps circling them. Angry mutterings came from the group of Corinthians, but all waited for the fallen man to rise.
The golden-haired giant rose rubbing his jaw.
Heath informed him, “You may say what you wish of me, but you will apologize to my wife.”
A muttering of surprise and approval arose at this declaration, but a rustle of stiff petticoats and the scent of lilac warned Heath that his wife had arrived. Without taking his eyes from his antagonist, he ordered Emery, “Take her away from here.”
“Why? So she won’t know you for the cowardly bounder that you are?” the giant said from between bruised lips. “Meet me outside and she need not worry over you again.”
Aubree dodged her cousin’s hand and placed herself between the two men, hands on hips. “Go away and play your little boy games elsewhere. If Geoffrey sent you, tell him he is far and away too late, as usual. This is my wedding, and I’ll not have it ruined.”
“Aubree!” Emery spoke tersely, jerking her from the ring of men. “This is not your affair. Let Heath handle it.” He hauled her toward the nervous women gathering nearby.
Aubree wriggled free and ran back just as a second man offered his challenge. A third and fourth echoed their demands, and Heath regarded them all with cold acknowledgment.
“Very well, gentlemen. If that is the way it is to be, I believe this gentleman has the right to choose his own weapon. After that, I will be glad to meet you on my terms.” He frowned as Aubree dashed between them again, and his black glare raised to meet Emery’s apologetic one.
“Austin, if you go through with this, so help me, I—”
“Madam,” Heath interrupted coldly, “if no one else can teach you how to behave, I will most certainly be obliged to do so.”
“Aubree, Heath cannot refuse this fight and still consider himself a gentleman. You can do nothing,” Emery told her.
Heath watched her green eyes flash in anger, but this time she looked from him to the insolent pups around the punch bowl.
“Fine, then. If this is such an honorable cause, why don’t all of you take him at once? Lord Heathmont, the master swordsman, the hero of Corunna, can most certainly fight all of you at one time. It would be a much more gallant display than wearing a man down one by one until the last one of you wins simply by reason of exhaustion.”
Austin smiled grimly as he regarded this petite, towheaded fury. “Well, gentlemen, will you allow a woman’s tongue to defeat you, or are you ready to step outside?” His glare challenged them.
“Pistols, at twenty paces,” the golden giant affirmed readily.
Aubree’s furious glance swept them all, waiting to see who spoke next.
The first challenger stepped forward. A stray lock of hair fell across his brow as he bowed before Aubree, a look of concern in his eyes. “This is for your own good, milady. You had best go with your cousin.”
Aubree’s scathing glare swept from his beautifully folded cravat to his polished boots and back. Looking him in the eye, she deliberately trod upon his toe. When he did not flinch, she kicked him in the shin. Then, smiling sweetly at his pained expression, she curtsied and replied, “My aim will be higher if you come looking to me for thanks.”
She turned and swept away, leaving a flurry of muffled chuckles behind her.
She walked away so furiously, Emery had to maintain an undignified pace to keep up with her. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the meaningful jerk of the duke’s head in his direction, and he hesitated. Aubree hurried on, but the duke nodded his approval as Emery made his way through the crowd toward his father and uncle.
Aubree shoved everyone aside and, lifting her skirts, ran down the wide hall to the stairs. No one dared stand in her way as she flew up the graceful mahogany staircase.
Gaining her chambers, she found a startled Matilda laying out a frothy gown of sheer gossamer upon the turned-down covers of her bed. Disregarding the meaning of this scene, she turned her back to the maid.
“Unfasten me, quickly, Mattie,” she demanded.
The maid hurried to do as told, thoroughly confused by the command. Not daring to question, the stout woman hurried to do as told, her gnarled fingers locating and unfastening the row of tiny buttons. She helped Aubree struggle from the folds of confining satin, but stood back in amazement at her next command.
“The breeches in the bottom drawer, Mattie. Get them while I take off these petticoats.” Aubree tugged at the recalcitrant ties.
“Milady, no. I’ll not complain if you want to keep summat of your brother’s, but it’s no place to be callin’ for them on your wedding night.”
Aubree dived for the drawer and pulled out the ancient pair of buckskins. She h
ad wanted something of Henry’s, true, but she had other reasons for keeping these about. She pulled them on and worked at the buttons beneath the shocked stare of her maid.
The shirt from her riding habit followed next. By this time, someone was pounding on the door, and she did not dare hesitate. No inane group of masculine hotheads would mar her day with bloodshed. If she wanted their defense, she would ask for it. Until then, they mounted a filthy game she could never condone.
Fastening the shirt, she ran to the window and, to the maid’s scream of horror, dropped out of sight.
Heath selected his pistol from the pair offered and stepped back a pace, flexing his muscles as he accustomed himself to the weight of the long-bored gun. He had expected this result to his return to society’s notice and had warned the duke of it, but his father-in-law had declined to discuss it. He did not fear for himself, but the lives of others were at stake.
He sought Emery in the circle of men on the side lawn. No one had deemed it necessary to go any farther for this brief encounter. A guard had been posted to prevent any unwarranted interruption, but Emery had been allowed through. He responded to Heath’s look and came forward.
“The duke has made promises to me that I would see carried out, Beresford. My solicitor should have a copy of the agreement by now. Should anything happen, you will see it is kept in full?”
Emery’s thin face set in a grim line as he nodded to this request. “I wish I had never introduced you to Aubree. I warned you. . .”
Heath looked away, checking the pistol’s sight against a distant tree. “I am responsible for my own actions, Emery. Leave Aubree out of this.”
One of the older men stepped up to act as judge. Heath and the blond giant joined him in the center of the circle.
As they received their instructions, a slight figure slipped from an upstairs study window and ran along the castellated roof of the remaining ancient fortress. This oldest section of the castle jutted out into the side lawn, forming a protective barrier from the remainder of the grounds, making its base the ideal location for a secluded rendezvous. The shadowy figure halted at the point nearest the meeting below and lifted a slender arm between the crumbling battlements. In the moonlight, the silver barrel of the shotgun in her hand gleamed.
Indigo Moon Page 9