The men following Franklin reported that he was again on the move.
And on the morning of the twentieth, the Duke of Bradford’s carriage set out for Bradford Hills.
Caroline was quite practical about the trap until it actually came time to see it through, and then she begged her husband to stay with her and let his men see to Franklin.
When she realized he wouldn’t be swayed, she demanded that he take every precaution. “You don’t need to leave so many guards with me,” she argued.
“You’ll stay in the bedroom until I get back,” Bradford returned, ignoring her argument.
“Be sure to count the number of men before you go charging into the middle of an ambush,” she warned.
“For God’s sake, Caroline, have a little faith in your husband’s ability!” Bradford yelled. He kissed her then, his way of letting her know that he hadn’t really meant to yell at all.
Caroline followed him to the bedroom door, where Milford stood waiting, and whispered, “See to his back, Milford.”
Bradford heard her and shook his head with exasperation. He gave her a quick hug and then shut the door behind him, leaving his wife to pace and pray until he returned.
Bradford had placed two men in charge of driving the empty carriage. He and Milford, with six good men, took another route, and when they reached the outskirts of London, they abandoned the road and took to the hills.
There were several ideal spots for an ambush in Bradford’s estimation and it took two hours of hard riding before they spotted Franklin’s men.
There were four men on each side of the incline, crouched against the dense underbrush, weapons drawn. Bradford saw that another man, separated from either group, watched from the highest point of the hill. He couldn’t see the man’s face, but he was certain it was Franklin.
He motioned to Milford, who turned and also spotted the lone figure.
“Franklin?”
“He’s mine,” Bradford stated, his voice harsh.
The men laying in wait never had a chance. The surprise attack was quickly done with. And then Bradford was racing toward his stallion, intent on getting to the lone man observing the scene from above.
Bradford was on his horse and after his prey before the man had crested the hill.
The forest was dense but the snow made easy work of tracking, and Bradford was upon his enemy before he had cleared the next rise. The pace was furious and when Bradford reached the man, he lunged at him. The two men fell to the ground. Bradford rolled and stood up. The other man lay face down, without moving, and from the unusual angle of his head, Bradford knew his neck had been broken in the fall. He was furious over the quickness of it, aching still with the need for revenge. The bastard’s death had been too easy.
Bradford walked over to the prone figure and used his boot to turn him over. A woolen scarf hid the lower part of the dead man’s face, but Bradford recognized him anyway. It was Franklin on the ground with his neck broken, just as Bradford knew it would be.
He didn’t waste time mulling over what was to be done with the body. Franklin would be buried the way that he had lived. Without honor. His body belonged to the scavengers now.
It was finished. Loretta and Marie had been rounded up by Bradford’s men. There wouldn’t be a hearing on their guilt. Bradford had promised his wife that Loretta would leave the country with her life. He understood her reasoning. She was thinking of her Uncle Milo and what the truth would do to him.
The threat had passed and only the future concerned Bradford now. His future with the woman he loved.
Epilogue
THE DUKE OF BRADFORD CONCLUDED SOME NECESSARY business dealings in London and eagerly returned home to Bradford Hills late one afternoon. He had only been away from his wife for three days’ time but it felt like an eternity, and he was eager to hold her in his arms.
He was surprised when Henderson informed him that his wife was above stairs, entertaining two gentleman callers.
His frown mirrored his irritation. The house was already bursting at the seams with Caroline’s guests. Over his arguments, his docile wife had already invited his mother to pay a visit, and only last week, Paul and Charity had arrived for a four-day retreat.
He sighed his exasperation and went upstairs, fully intending to tell Caroline that he was tired of being hospitable. The sound of laughter coming from his bedroom put him off guard and he hesitated before opening the door.
The sight he encountered did strain his patience. There were two men in his bedroom. One was sprawled out in his easy chair and the other was sitting on the side of the bed, draped over Caroline.
“If you don’t quit twisting and turning, I won’t be able to get your boots off,” Caroline told the stranger.
Bradford raised an eyebrow over that remark, and then his wife glanced over and saw him. “I could certainly use your assistance,” she called out to him.
He didn’t argue, but walked over to the man clinging to his wife’s shoulders and slowly pealed his arms away. “Now, what did you have in mind?” he asked, his tone quite mild.
The man fell back as soon as his anchor was lost. His eyes were closed and as soon as he hit the mattress, he began to snore.
“I think a kiss first,” Caroline answered, smiling. “Welcome home,” she whispered. She reached up on tiptoes and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek.
“That was a paltry welcome,” Bradford announced.
“That was a welcome for the Duke of Bradford,” Caroline told him. “And this,” she said, pulling his head down to hers, “is my welcome for my husband.” She kissed him long and hard, teasing him with her tongue as she clung to him.
“I have learned that the only time you call me Jered is when you want me to take you to bed,” Bradford whispered.
“How very astute,” Caroline returned. Her eyes were warm and inviting, her love there for him to see.
One of the strangers grumbled something in his sleep, and Bradford’s attention turned to them. “Caroline, who are they?”
Caroline had already turned back to the man on the bed and was struggling with one of his boots. “Help me get him undressed,” she commanded.
Bradford sighed with exasperation and took hold of her. He made her look at him and asked again, “Who are they?”
“Didn’t Henderson tell you?” Caroline’s eyes widened suddenly. She looked over at the man snoring on the bed and then back at her husband. And then she threw herself into his arms, hugging him and kissing him until he almost didn’t care at all who the men were or what was happening.
“Why are they in our room?” he asked.
“They are Caimen and Luke, my cousins,” Caroline explained, smiling. “Caimen’s the one in the chair,” she advised. “Oh, I did so want them to make a good impression on you, but my cousins started celebrating as soon as they arrived in London and I’m afraid they’re quite drunk. I couldn’t get them any farther than our room,” she added. “Bradford, do you realize that you’re not yelling at me? You haven’t jumped to any conclusions.”
Bradford pretended to be exasperated again but inside he was smiling. He hadn’t thought anything devious was going on. “I trust you,” he stated.
“I’ve always known it,” Caroline returned. Her eyes filled with tears and she had to hug him again. “I think I love Jered Marcus Benton and the Duke of Bradford,” she whispered.
“I’ve always known it,” her husband returned. His voice sounded arrogant… and terribly tender. He picked up his wife and started out the door, demanding to know where they might find a little privacy. Caroline kissed her husband and whispered directions.
JULIE GARWOOD’S New York Times
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ITH DURAN
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