He exited the library and began looking for Penelope. He first searched all her favorite spots in the cottage but one by one found them unoccupied. It wasn’t until he found their bedchamber empty that he began to worry and started calling her name. Another few minutes of calling and searching revealed that she wasn’t in the house at all.
Damn it, how long had she been gone? It hadn’t occurred to him she’d leave the cottage without telling him—she’d never done so before. Panic cramped his entire body. Bloody hell. Was it possible … had she left him? No, surely not. She must be in the garden. Or the barn where Apollo was stalled. Yet if she’d been in either place surely she would have returned to the house immediately upon hearing the thunder.
He strode to the foyer and jerked open the front door. Fat raindrops pelted him, falling from a slate gray sky. He ran to the rear of the cottage, calling her name. The sky seemed to open, dropping a veritable sheet of water that quickly soaked him through to his skin. After a quick search of the garden revealed she wasn’t there, he dashed toward the barn. A flash of lightning illuminated the gloom, followed by a deafening crack of thunder. He burst inside the barn, shouting her name, but was greeted only with a soft nicker from Apollo.
Alec quickly saddled the gelding, then headed toward the path leading into the thick woods that eventually ended at the edge of the village. Penelope loved walking there and his best guess was that’s what she’d done. He hoped she was currently dry and safe inside one of the village establishments rather than caught outside in this storm, but he knew either way she’d be frightened.
As if to confirm the thought, another blaze of lightning streaked across the sky. Thunder boomed, and it required all Alec’s strength and agility to keep Apollo from rearing in fright.
After regaining control of the horse, they raced along the path. Alec’s unease and worry and fear for Penelope increased with each passing second. They rounded a sharp curve and he pulled up when a wet, bedraggled Penelope came into view. She clutched her drenched shawl around her hunched shoulders, her face downcast as she concentrated on the wet, uneven ground.
Relief walloped him. He shouted her name and she looked up, squinting through the sheet of rain. He pressed his heels to Apollo’s flanks, and they started forward, his entire being focused on reaching her, getting her home and dry. They were nearly upon her when lightning rent the sky. Blinding light lit the woods, followed by a clap of thunder that made his ears ring. A deafening crack sounded, splitting a tree directly in front of him. He saw the heavy branch swinging toward him a split second before it connected with his head. White-hot pain jolted through him and he felt himself falling. More jarring pain as he crashed to the ground, knocking the air from his lungs. Blackness swallowed him and he felt no more.
Chapter Twelve
Alec, wake up … dear God, please wake up!”
Kneeling next to him, heedless of the rocks digging into her knees, Penelope frantically patted his pale cheek, her gaze alternating between his closed eyes and the terrifying bruise blooming on his temple. Rain cascaded over them and she prayed the wetness would help revive him.
“Alec, please … you must open your eyes.” She brushed his wet hair from his forehead and continued to lightly tap his face. Her gaze flicked to the branch that had felled him and her stomach turned over. Dear God, she’d never forget the horrifying crack of it smacking against him. The dreadful sight of him falling. Hitting the ground. Then lying so still. So very frighteningly still. Her fault. All her fault. He had to be all right. Had to be.
Just then he groaned, the sound piercing relief into her frantically beating heart. She grabbed his hand and lifted it to her mouth. Pressed her lips against his wet fingers. “Alec … can you hear me? Please open your eyes.”
Another moan, and then his eyelids slowly blinked open. Unfocused dark blue eyes looked up at her, the most welcome sight she’d ever seen. “I’m right here, Alec. Can you hear me? Please say something.”
His eyes drifted closed again. “Hurt.”
She swallowed the panic threatening to overwhelm her and gently ran her hands over him, praying no bones were broken. “I know. Where does it hurt?”
“Not me. You.” He opened his eyes and this time they focused on her much more clearly. “Are you hurt?”
Her heart stumbled. Dear God, he was delirious. “I’m fine. I am not the one who was just knocked senseless.”
He made a move to sit up, sucked in a quick breath, and his eyes slammed shut. “Bloody hell.”
“Stay still,” she ordered, gently pressing a hand to his chest. “I want to determine if anything is broken. Tell me if anything I do hurts.”
She ran her hands over him, gently testing the movement of his arms and legs. “Nothing appears broken,” she reported with relief, once again taking his hand. “Nor are you bleeding anywhere, although you’re sporting an egg-sized lump on your temple. How does your head feel?”
“Like a battalion of bloody demons are banging on it with hammers.” He opened his eyes and scanned her face. “You’re all wet.”
“It’s been raining. So are you.”
“I don’t mind. You don’t like storms.”
“It’s almost over. The rain has nearly stopped.”
Once again he tried to sit up, and this time, with her assistance, he succeeded. He sat immobile for a moment, with his eyes closed, taking several deep breaths, then slowly nodded. “Better.” He opened his eyes and her heart turned over with relief that their blue depths were now perfectly clear. And seemed to bore into her soul.
“I tried to find you. You were gone.” He reached out a hand she noted wasn’t completely steady and brushed his fingers across her cheek. His throat moved with a hard swallow. “I have to know. Did you leave me?”
There was no mistaking the anguish in that quiet question and Penelope mentally flogged herself for causing him both injury and distress. “No. I merely walked to the village. I was on my way home when the storm broke.” She pressed his hand to her face, then turned to kiss his palm. “I’m so sorry you were hurt. And so relieved you’re all right.” She turned back to him. “I did a great deal of thinking during my walk, and realized many things … things I’d planned to tell you as soon as I returned to the house, but regardless of the fact that we’re both wet and sitting in the mud, I cannot wait another second. I love you, Alec.”
He went perfectly still. “Are you only saying that because you feel a sense of responsibility over the lump on my head?”
Penelope’s cheeks heated. “Based on what happened this morning I cannot blame you for thinking so, but no. I didn’t only just realize I love you—I’ve known for weeks. It’s one of the things I’d planned to tell you in the library this morning. During my walk I realized that it doesn’t matter why you married me nor does it matter if you’re in love with me. What matters is that you’ve been incredibly kind to me. I know you care, and that’s enough. I should have told you this morning how grateful I am to you for your kindness toward me. The reason I didn’t stemmed from my disappointment of feeling like an obligation. I suppose I always dreamed of romance … and well, as you know, hope springs eternal. But I am truly grateful.”
“I don’t want your gratitude. I want your love.”
“You have that. All of it. Always.”
“And I want you to accept mine. I don’t simply care for you, Penelope. I meant every word I said to you in the library. I love you. Perhaps this will show you how much.” He reached into his waistcoat pocket, withdrew several folded pieces of vellum and held them out to her.
“What is this?” she asked, taking the damp papers.
“Open them.”
She carefully unfolded the sheets and looked at the top one. “These are room plans,” she whispered, her heartbeat giving a hard kick. Her gaze lingered on the words he’d written across the bottom of the drawing. “For an art studio.”
“Yes. Do you like it?”
“I … it’s perfect.”
She touched her finger to the date written in the corner: July 1, 1816. “Why that date? Today is June eighteenth.”
“I’m planning that construction will begin on July first.”
Tears swam into Penelope’s eyes. Dear God, what a fool she’d been. She’d allowed her hurt to blind her to what was so clearly obvious. Alec loved her. It was there, in his eyes. And in this beautiful gesture. “Alec, I … I don’t know what to say.”
He brushed a damp curl from her cheek. “Does it please you?”
“More than I can say.”
“Then I hope the rest of it pleases you as well.”
He nodded toward the papers she held and she realized she’d only looked at the top sheet. She slipped it behind the bottom one and stared. At a copy of the wish list she kept in her sketch pad, written in Alec’s precise, neat hand. Each wish was numbered—all fifty-three of them, and next to each was a date.
“I’ve had the list since the night of our first kiss,” he said.
“In the gallery. I dropped my sketch pad.”
“Yes. I copied down your list before returning the pad. It is my intention to make certain every one of those wishes comes true by the date I’ve noted.”
She noted the date beside “Get a Hugo” was only a few weeks away. This time there was no stopping the tears that rushed into Penelope’s eyes. “Alec, this is too much.”
“No. It’s not nearly enough.” He framed her face in his hands and all the love and desire she’d ever dreamed of seeing glowed in his eyes. “I want to do this because I love you. Do you believe me?”
“Yes. God, yes. I’m so sorry I ever doubted you. The fact that you love me … that alone fulfills every wish I’ve ever had. And I love you, too. So much.” She leaned forward and touched her lips to his. “So very much.”
“Thank God.” He tugged her onto his lap, pulled off her soggy bonnet and kissed her until her head spun. When he lifted his head, she said, “There’s one small problem with wish number twenty-three.”
“Oh?” He took the list from her and frowned. “You don’t wish to travel to the Continent next spring?”
“It might be too soon.”
“Too soon?”
“After the baby is born.”
She felt him go perfectly still. “Baby?”
She nodded. “While I was in the village I visited Doctor Williams. He confirmed I’m with child.”
A slow smile creased Alec’s face, stealing her breath with its beauty. His arms tightened around her and he gently kissed her. “Have I told you how much I love you?”
“Yes. But I’d certainly not be averse to hearing it again.”
“I love you.” He rested his hand against her abdomen and splayed his fingers. “Thank you.”
Emotion clogged her throat. “I hope it’s a boy.”
“I don’t care. Boy, girl, it doesn’t matter. I will humbly accept and adore any child you give me.” He dropped a quick kiss on her lips. “And now it’s time to get you home and out of these wet clothes.”
She raked her fingers through his wet, silky hair. “I thought you’d never ask.”
A strangled laugh escaped him. “That’s not what I meant. Although now that you mention it …” He nuzzled her neck, shooting tingles of pleasure down her spine.
“You did promise we’d make love every day. Several times. At least.”
“Then we’d best get home, Mrs. Trentwell. We’re behind schedule.”
They rose and with Alec holding Apollo’s reins, they walked arm in arm back to their cottage, where every wish Penelope had ever hoped for had come true.
Epilogue
April 1817
I believe I’m going to start charging you a fee for my modeling services, Penelope.”
Penelope looked over the top of her easel in her new art studio at her very naked, very aroused husband. “Oh?”
“Yes. Whoever heard of a painting taking an entire year to complete? At this rate you won’t be finished until Colin and Andrew are grown men.”
She inwardly smiled at the mention of their twin sons, currently napping, then pursed her lips and shot his erection a pointed look. “Perhaps. Yet if that is a complaint, it is somehow not ringing true.” She heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Very well, sir. What is your price?”
“You. Now.”
She cocked a brow. “I see. A flesh payment. You realize that’s an outrageous sum.”
Eyes glittering with unmistakable intent, he abandoned his position and slowly approached her. Her breath caught at the sheer beauty of him and a heated shiver rippled through her in anticipation of his touch.
When he reached her, he simply scooped her up in his arms and without missing so much as a step headed toward their bedchamber.
“Your portrait isn’t finished, Alec,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning in to lightly graze his neck with her teeth.
“My darling Penelope, that is hardly news. I still expect you to pay your debt.”
“Very well. I shall endeavor to meet your exorbitant price.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. And as you know …”
She smiled into his beautiful eyes, and in unison they said, “Hope springs eternal.”
Fate Strikes a Bargain
CANDICE HERN
Chapter One
London
April 1816
It is a good hiding place, is it not?”
Nathaniel Beckwith gave a start at the soft voice, and turned to find a young woman seated on the other side of the potted tree he stood behind—the lush orange tree with dark leaves that allowed him to see the ballroom below without himself being seen. Or so he had hoped.
“What makes you think I am hiding?” He stepped away from the plant and straightened his coat with an air of nonchalance.
“Standing behind a tree was the first clue.”
Nat heard the smile in the woman’s voice and stopped fussing with his coat to look at her. The small balcony alcove was bathed in shadow, with only the diffused light from the chandeliers in the room below and one single candle sconce on the wall behind, but he could see her clearly enough. She was young, but no fresh-faced schoolgirl. Probably no more than two-and-twenty at best guess. Dark hair. Brownish, with flashes of auburn picked out by the candlelight. It was pulled away from her face in a simple arrangement twisted and pinned at the back of her head, with a few flowers woven in. She did not have the ubiquitous girlish curls spiraling down from her forehead and at the nape of her neck. Neither did she sport one of those elaborate styles he saw on other women, the ones made up of jeweled combs or braided fabric or strands of pearls or diamond ornaments tucked among complicated plaits and coils. The only jewelry she wore was a simple heart-shaped locket on a gold chain.
Was she a poor relation who could not afford fripperies? Or did she simply not care about the latest fashions?
His other first impressions were of large dark-colored eyes, lovely arched brows, a bow-shaped mouth with the upper lip slightly fuller than the lower, a longish nose, a well-defined jaw and slender neck. She wore a pink lace-trimmed dress that gave no hint of what curves might be underneath.
She seemed a pretty enough girl. Not beautiful, but nice-looking. Considering his current objective, he decided she was worth a closer look.
He stepped around the tree and stood beside the little bench where she sat. “Perhaps I was merely studying the tree. I ask you: who puts a full-sized orange tree inside the house? An army of servants must have been employed to haul the deuced thing up from a conservatory. I have spent time in Spain and Portugal, where orange groves are plentiful. I’ve never seen one indoors. I was intrigued.”
She shook her head and smiled. “No, you were hiding. You clearly used the foliage to shield yourself as you peered through it. Plus, you have that look.”
“What look?”
“The one that says you are reluctant to enter the ballroom. I know the look well. I wear it often myself. I am hidi
ng, too, you see.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Are you indeed? From whom?”
“My mother. What about you? Who are you hiding from?”
“No one. I told you, I am not hiding. I am merely doing a bit of reconnaissance, getting a lay of the land before joining the fray.”
“Ah. I will hazard a guess that you are a military man, sir.”
“I was until this morning.” He’d sold out today, given up his commission and the life he’d loved for so many years. “Captain Nathaniel Beckwith, retired, at your service, ma’am.” He sketched a bow and she nodded in acknowledgement. “I beg your pardon. I am not supposed to introduce myself, am I? I keep forgetting all the rules.” Ignoring them, more like. He did not mind rules. He’d lived by them for years in the army. But there, it was to instill discipline, which was essential to an effective fighting force. Here, in a ballroom? Rules just seemed so much foolishness.
“It is quite all right, sir, I shall not chastise you for impertinence as I was the one to speak first. And as we appear to be kindred spirits in hiding, it seems right that we introduce ourselves. I am Miss Reynolds. Philippa Reynolds. If anyone should ask, we will invent someone who made the introductions. An elderly dowager, I think. Yes, the dowager Lady Kumquat, who sadly fell into a fit of the vapors and had to leave, the poor dear.”
“Lady Kumquat, eh?” It was an effort not to smile. “I am indebted to the phantom dowager for the introduction, Miss Reynolds. Now that we are acquainted, tell me why you are hiding from your mother.”
She shook her head. “It’s a dull tale, Captain. I’d much rather hear why you are hiding. Is it because you feel awkward and unnatural not to be in uniform?”
“Something like that, though I have not worn my uniform in almost a year.”
“A year? But you only sold your commission today.”
“I have been rusticating on half-pay since the wars ended.”
“Ah. And what prompted you to sell out now, if I may ask?”
“Family obligations. I am to be married, you see.”
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