Winning the Mail-order Bride & Pursued for the Viscount's Vengeance & Redeeming the Rogue Knight (9781488021725)
Page 45
She dashed a hand across her eyes. This was no time for tears, she must fight for what she wanted and fight hard.
‘You are a foolish, stubborn man, Lord Gilmorton,’ she told him. ‘But you will not be rid of me that easily. You think I haven’t considered what it would be like to live with you in here, as your mistress? To be scorned and mocked? Believe me, I have thought of little else on my journey back to town, and I am quite prepared to suffer the jibes and taunts and the gossip if it means I can share a little more time with you.
‘But if you insist on sending me away then I shall come back, every day. They say money can buy almost anything in this place, well, I have a little money and I will spend it all, if necessary. I will bring your meals, fetch you water for washing, run your errands. I will camp outside your door, if they will let me, and I am sure if I pay them well enough they will do so. And I shall attend your trial, testify to your good name, even if it does no good at all. You taught me to love again, Gil. You taught me that there are still good men in this world, men to be trusted. And I want this world to know how much I love you, my lord, even if you refuse to acknowledge it!’
She turned from him, hunting for her handkerchief and biting her lip hard in an attempt to stop herself from weeping with frustration. Beyond the door, the passageway rang with the sound of footsteps and loud voices as the gaolers went about their business, exchanging banter with each other and their prisoners. Inside the cell, there was only silence.
‘We could buy a feather bed,’ he said at last. ‘I could get a special licence. Make an honest woman of you. If this is what you truly want.’
Relief flooded through Deborah. She exhaled, feeling the tension ease. This was no Gothic romance like Mrs Radcliffe’s novels. Deb knew there could be no happy ending, but she and Gil could give one another a few more memories, a little comfort. She turned slowly and walked back to him. Gil immediately enfolded her in his arms and she laid her head on his shoulder.
‘Oh, yes, Gil,’ she whispered, ‘there is nothing I want more.’ She thought suddenly of the quotation that had been in her mind upon waking, and she murmured softly, ‘“All for love and the world well lost.”’
‘For me, perhaps, but when I am gone—’ his arms tightened ‘—you will be left to fend for yourself and the world can be very cruel.’
‘I have been looking after myself for years,’ she told him. ‘But we will not think of that now.’
‘No.’ He kissed her, smiling down at her in a way that made her heart flip over. ‘If you will not change your mind about this foolishness, then we must send to the inn for Elsie to bring your bags. And I will pay her shot there until…’ He swallowed, unwilling to say the words. ‘For as long as is necessary—’ He broke off as the door rattled open. ‘Well,’ he said irritably, ‘what the devil is it now?’
Turning, he was surprised to see Harris there, looking curiously uncomfortable.
‘It’s Lord Kirkster, my lord. He’s at Bow Street.’
He heard Deborah’s soft moan. ‘They caught him!’
Harris shook his head. ‘Nay, ma’am. He insisted on coming back. Said he could not let another man take the blame for his crimes.’
Gil said sharply, ‘I thought I could rely upon you, John, to get him on the packet.’
‘Ah well, my lord. In the end he didn’t want to go and with Miller to back him up, I had no choice but to drive ’em back to London.’
‘It’s my guess you did not try too hard.’
Harris gave him a long, considering look. ‘Well, no, my lord, not once I could see his mind was made up.’
Deb’s hands went to her cheeks and Gil stepped up close behind her, his hands sure and sustaining on her shoulders. ‘Oh, Deb—’
‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘It is as it should be. He said he would one day make me proud of him and I am more proud of him now than I have ever been.’
‘And I’m here to tell you that you are free, my lord,’ said Harris, allowing himself to smile at last. ‘The magistrate sent the order back with me. It seems…’ He screwed up his eyes, as if trying to recall the exact wording. ‘The Bank wishes to apprehend the felons who are forging counterfeit notes. They aren’t interested in those unfortunate enough be caught up on the periphery of these crimes and will not be bringing any action against them.’
Gil’s fingers tightened on her shoulders. ‘And that includes Miss Meltham?’
Harris’s smile widened. ‘Aye, my lord. It includes Miss Meltham.’ He looked around the room. ‘I have a carriage outside, my lord, and I will send someone from Gilmorton House to collect up your belongings.’
‘Then let us remove from this place immediately,’ declared Gil. ‘We shall go directly to Bow Street, to offer your brother all the assistance we can.’
‘Are you sure?’ She glanced up at him. ‘When you have but this minute gained your freedom?’
‘He is your brother, Deborah. You will not be happy if we did any less. We are as one now, my darling.’
‘Are we?’ She was very still. ‘You need not marry me, Gil. I will not hold you to that, now you have your life back.’
He caught her hands and stared down at her, his eyes dark and intense.
‘I have no life without you, Deborah. You taught me that it is worth risking everything for love. So, will you marry me, my darling, to live as man and wife for as long as Fate allows us?’
‘Oh, yes, Gil.’ Mistily she smiled up at him. ‘No more doubts, no more fears. We will face everything together. My love.’
EPILOGUE
Five years later
The giant beech tree at Gilmorton had provided shade for generations of Laughtons and the latest addition to the family lay on a blanket beneath its spreading branches, chortling as the leaves moved and whispered gently above him.
‘Baby Randolph is a very contented child,’ remarked the Dowager Viscountess, reaching out a finger towards the baby, who gripped it in one chubby fist and pulled it towards his mouth.
‘And so he should be.’ Deborah smiled at her mama-in-law. ‘He is very much loved. As is this little man.’ She pulled four-year-old James on to her lap and cuddled him.
Her elder son endured this treatment for a few moments, until something new caught his eye and he struggled to escape from his mother’s arms.
‘Papa, Papa!’
Gil was walking from the house and the boy ran towards him as fast as his sturdy little legs would carry him. Gil swept him up, laughing as he threw his son into the air before settling him comfortably on to one arm. As he came up to the little group beneath the tree, Deborah could not prevent the smile that pushed its way out from inside her. Gil had been in London for three weeks and she had missed him terribly. She wanted to follow James and run into Gil’s arms, but she restrained herself. He would come to her, once he had acknowledged the rest of his family.
He set little James upon his feet, stooped to plant a kiss upon his mother’s head and greeted the baby with a gentle touch on his cheek before throwing himself down upon the blanket beside Deborah and pulling her close for a deep and lingering kiss. She felt the familiar desire sparking inside her, as strong as ever, and her body pressed towards him, momentarily oblivious of her children and her mama-in-law. They were all watching this display of affection with undisguised interest, and when at last Gil released her, she felt the blush flaming her cheeks. She sought for something to say that would cover her confusion.
‘You look very pleased with yourself,’ she observed at last.
‘I am glad to be home,’ he said simply, sitting very close and holding her hand, as if he could not bear to be parted for another minute.
‘How was the coronation?’ asked the Dowager.
‘Too long, too hot, and very tedious.’ He grinned. ‘It was as grand as Prinny—I beg your pardon
—his Majesty could make it.’
Deborah shuddered. ‘I am relieved I had the excuse of the baby not to go.’
‘And, of course, I was obliged to remain and look after your wife since you were duty bound to attend,’ added the Dowager, her twinkling eyes belying her serious tone.
Gil shook his head, saying sadly, ‘I am desolated that the ladies in my life are so averse to pomp and grandeur.’
‘The newspaper accounts were enough for us,’ said Deborah. ‘I understand the Queen was turned away from the Abbey.’
‘Yes, the officials shut the door in her face.’ His mouth twisted. ‘A farce and I am glad to leave it all behind.’
‘I feel sorry for the Queen,’ remarked the Dowager. ‘It must be horrid to be married to a man one cannot love, or even respect.’
‘Yes, I think so and I thank heaven that is not the case here,’ said Deb, smiling at Gil.
He leaned in to steal another kiss and once again she felt a wave of gratitude for her good fortune.
‘Oh, and I almost forgot.’ He reached into his pocket. ‘I arrived at the same time as the post and there is a letter for you. From Sydney Cove.’
Immediately her eyes lit up. ‘Randolph!’
He laughed and handed it over. ‘Who else should it be from? I am now so familiar with his writing that I know it instantly.’
‘It is so long since we heard from him,’ said Deb, eagerly breaking the seal.
Five years ago she had not dreamed things would work out so well. By telling the authorities all he knew of Warslow’s counterfeiting schemes Randolph had avoided the hangman, but Deb had thought fourteen years’ transportation would prove a death sentence. However, with the help of his faithful valet he had not only survived the long sea journey, but he had thrived, overcoming his addictions and using his education and considerable intelligence to make himself useful to the government officials.
* * *
Gil watched her with tender amusement as she scanned the closely written lines.
‘With sea voyages taking half a year, is it any wonder?’ he murmured.
‘You will wish to read it in peace,’ said the Dowager, rising.
Deborah looked up immediately. ‘No, no, ma’am, there is no need to go, I assure you.’
‘Of course there is,’ said her mama-in-law. ‘How can you concentrate on your brother’s news if you have the little ones clamouring for your attention? I shall take them off to pick flowers.’ She lifted little Randolph into her arms and held a hand out for James. Come along, darling. Let us go and see what pretty flowers we can find to put in the nursery.’
They walked away and Deborah returned to her letter.
‘Well,’ said Gil after a moment, ‘what does he say? It cannot be dreadful news, because you are smiling.’
‘Oh, Gil, just listen! He writes that he is being hailed as a hero, having helped to rescue passengers and goods from a ship that sank in the bay. Because of that and his exemplary service to the colony he has been given a full pardon and has been granted one hundred acres in, now what has he written here? I think it is an area called Airds.’ She looked up, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. ‘He says that being transported was the best thing that could have happened to him. With Miller to look after him he not only survived the voyage, but he also defeated his craving for laudanum and strong drink. And he maintains that the climate there suits him very well and he has discovered he has a talent for business.’ She folded the letter and put it down. ‘Who would have thought it would all work out so well?’
Gil touched her hand. ‘Are you sad that he is so content without you?’
‘No, not really.’ She saw the troubled look in his eyes and smiled. ‘I was there when he needed me, but he is his own man now. And I have a life of my own, too. A very good life.’
‘Truly?’ Gently he pushed her down on to the blanket. ‘You have no regrets?’
She reached up and ran one finger lightly over his scarred cheek.
‘Only that it took so long to find one another and we hurt each other so badly along the way.’
‘I was a damned fool,’ he muttered. ‘What did you do to me that I did not deserve? Whereas you—’
‘Hush now.’ She put her fingers to his lips. ‘If you had not sought me out to wreak your vengeance, I might have lived my whole life without finding true happiness. I shall be eternally grateful to you for that, my love.’
His grey eyes were warm with love as he gazed down at her and said softly, ‘You are the best thing that ever happened to me, my dearest Deborah.’
She smiled, aware of the familiar desire pooling deep within. She pushed her fingers into his silky hair and drew him closer.
‘Then stop talking and show me, my lord.’
* * * * *
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ISBN-13: 9781488021701
Pursued for the Viscount’s Vengeance
Copyright © 2017 by Sarah Mallory
All rights reserved. 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 by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, M3B 3K9 Canada.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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The spy who sought refuge…
When injured spy Sir Roger Danby comes asking for shelter at her inn, Lucy Carew is wary. He may be strikingly handsome, but the disgraced single mother has learned the hard way with men like him. Against her better judgement, she gives him refuge.
Sir Roger has never been at the mercy of a woman before, and he’s never met one as mysterious and bewitching as Lucy. He hasn’t come looking for redemption, but Lucy is a woman who could reach in and touch his closely guarded heart…
&n
bsp; His eyes were soft and his lips slightly parted.
He stroked her cheek with his thumb as his fingers slipped behind her head, drawing her toward him. He was going to kiss her. And she intended to let him.
Roger’s mouth sought hers. Lucy tilted her head until it was within reach. His kiss was eager, his lips hungry for hers. The scent of him flooded her limbs, the taste of him made her grow weak. She gave herself over to the pleasure, allowing him to guide her in pace and pressure until her head spun.
Roger broke away first. He held her gaze in a moment of stillness, the world containing only them.
“After I won, I started thinking about my future, and yours. You don’t have to live the way you do. There is another way.”
He pushed a lock of hair behind Lucy’s ear in a gesture that was at once intimate yet proprietary. He smiled.
“I want you to become my mistress.”
Author Note
We first met Roger in The Blacksmith’s Wife, which ended with the disreputable knight heading to York for one last tournament then planning to go abroad, determined to make his fortune after realizing too late the value of the woman he had spurned. His story was going to end there but readers kept telling me that they wanted to know what happened to him. I, too, became curious to see how the knight who had jousting groupies (to use a slightly anachronistic term) dropping at his feet coped when he didn’t have his flashy armor, fine horse and noble connections to tempt them.
Brewing was a female task, with many women making a living as alewives selling from their houses. When I wrote my undergraduate dissertation on “The Changing Role of Inns and Ale Houses in English Rural Society,” I never suspected I would get to use the information for writing a book.