Secrets of a Scandalous Bride

by Sophia Nash

  “Why is he saying my ring belongs to Grace?” Elizabeth interrupted.

  “Don’t listen to him, my darling,” Rowland replied with a devilish smile. “This is a conversation between gentlemen about the joys of gift giving among nobs. No need to—”

  “Well, if you’re going to exclude ladies, we shall just have to see to ourselves. Rosamunde, I’ve been meaning to ask if you would like to have a very unladylike race ’round the lovely little track behind the—”

  “I’m afraid she won’t have time,” Luc ground out.

  “Really?” Rosamunde questioned, her eyes brimming with laughter. “And why is that, my love?”

  “We are setting sail.”

  A half dozen voices babbled shocked questions at the suddenly heavy-lidded, mysterious duke. He held up his hand. “I promised my bride an extended sailing trip a very long time ago. Now that everyone is settled, and old Boney’s on Elba, we’re for—”

  “Where?” Rosamunde’s aquamarine eyes lit up as she interrupted her husband in excitement.

  “Wherever your heart desires,” he answered. “As long as there are no bloody widows within a hundred miles of any port where we dock.”

  “Paris!” Rosamunde shouted with glee. “And then the West Indies. And Vienna. Perhaps—”

  Luc’s head was in his hands. “I see a lesson in navigation, and plotting a straight course will be the first order of business.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes drifted toward Ata again, and all of a sudden she realized why the dowager appeared ill at ease. Of course.

  Mr. Brown.

  He was in Scotland. And the dowager had given up all hope of his returning to her.

  A boy’s shout interrupted Elizabeth’s thoughts, and she half turned to see Michael’s son James from the orphanage hopping up and down on one foot, the two girls laughing behind him.

  Sarah jumped up before Michael could disengage his arms from around Grace. “No, stay where you are.”

  Michael chuckled. “All right, Sarah. You are the master paper boat maker after all, and I do believe James would be far happier to have your help than mine.”

  Sarah was already on her way to the children in the distance when Grace looked at Michael with such devotion in her eyes. “I shall ask Sarah to teach me before we return to Yorkshire, my love. James and Lara will surely sink a thousand ships in our pond, and then where will we be?”

  So, it was as Elizabeth had suspected. They had all been waiting for her to find happiness before they departed.

  They all loved her as she loved them. And she knew in that moment, that no matter how many miles separated them from one another, there would always be fellowship to tie them together. As she reached for Rowland’s hand, she watched Sarah, the woman she loved more so than any of these perfect friends, drift far away into the late afternoon rays of sun.

  Sarah ran lightly toward the band of laughing children in the distance. She was going to have to make another boat for the boy. She could already see that one of the three boats was half sunk.

  She was actually grateful for the distraction. She did not want to go to Cornwall. She did not want to go to her empty, unknown property in the northern Lake District either. And yet, she did not want to stay in London. She was being ridiculous and she knew it.

  She had done what she had set out to do. She had seen to Elizabeth’s future when her own life had disintegrated two years ago. And now that was done, she had not a new goal. That was the problem. She had but to set her mind to something new.

  She looked down into the smiling face of young James and saw all the promise of youth.

  “Did I do it properly, Mrs. Winters? The ends won’t come together the way you did it.” He offered a fairly well-constructed boat.

  She inspected it, moving to the shade of a nearby willow tree to kneel in the grass. He followed her, watching intently as she rearranged the ends.

  “I see now. Thank you, ma’am.” He ran off to join the two young girls at the water’s edge, and she stared at the jovial trio.

  She wished she’d had a child with Pierce. It had been impossible, of course. A string of battlefields was not the place to raise a child. And now there was no chance. She was too old, at thirty-four—and without any desire for someone to replace her husband in her heart.

  She was so weary of pretense in front of her friends. And yet she was afraid to be alone, for then she would have no reason to wear the façade of someone who was content.

  She plucked a tiny daisy from the grass, and tugged at the petals, watching them flutter in the wind to be lost to the dark water beyond. Like all her dreams.

  She refocused her eyes beyond the water’s opposite bank.

  In the distance, something glinted. It was like a burst of sunlight reflected from a looking glass. Her eyes searched past the statuary and the ancient stone urns on pedestals. And suddenly…

  She realized she had fallen asleep beneath the willow tree and was dreaming. For he was there, just as he always was in her dreams.

  Pierce…

  He was leaning against a pedestal below a verdigris angel, who pointed toward the heavens. And he was staring at her with all the love and longing she felt in her heart.

  She was afraid to move. Afraid that if she did, she would wake up as she always did. But then he shifted away from the statue, and something was very wrong with the image.

  His arm.

  His right sleeve was pinned to his shoulder, and in his left hand there was a silver-handled cane that glinted again in the sunlight.

  Her breath caught. In that moment, she knew. She was not dreaming.

  Dear God…it was impossible. She was going mad—imagining him. Surely, it was someone who simply looked like Pierce. Oh, but she had to go to see…and she could not move quickly enough.

  She could not make her body work properly at all. She tried to stand, but her legs tangled in her gown and she half fell. She couldn’t see because of the tears. And she couldn’t speak for it felt like someone had squeezed all the air from her chest.

  She had to get to him before he disappeared. She frantically brushed at her eyes and regained her footing.

  And finally she was running, and this apparition had his one arm held wide for her, his cane now lying in the grass.

  She was in his embrace. She could finally breathe. His scent reached the chambers of her mind, and she knew it was he. And suddenly, for the first time in two years, she felt whole. She hadn’t even realized a part of her had been absent—until this moment.

  “Sarah…” His beloved, deep voice caressed her. “My dove.”

  She nuzzled deeper against his shirt linen, her arms gripping his back. “Oh God. It is you. Tell me…oh, talk to me.” Her voice sounded strangled to her own ears.

  He gripped her more firmly to him. “I’m here.”

  She tried to speak properly, without any success. “You were…where were you—oh, you’ve been hurt.”

  She shivered as his hand rubbed the base of her neck. He kissed the top of her head. “Sarah,” he whispered hoarsely, “it doesn’t matter. There’s just one thing. Have I lost you—lost your heart? You must tell me straightaway. You must tell me the truth of it.”

  “Lost my heart? I don’t understand,” she said, trying to decipher the pained, exhausted look in his eyes. “What are you saying? Oh, Pierce, don’t be ri—” And then she burst into tears, unable to form another word. But she gripped him to her all the harder.

  “Just nod,” he begged, his voice almost gone, “if I’m not too late. If you still love—”

  “Of course I love you—will always…” She stopped. She lifted her head and roughly brushed the tears from her eyes. “Why, I’ve the most constant, stubborn heart of anyone—”

  His lips stopped the flow of words coming from her. He was kissing her the way he had always loved her—the way a man was supposed to kiss a woman. Oh, who was she to explain it? She’d only and ever had his lips on her own. Had only and ever wanted to
be in his warm embrace.

  He kissed her until her throat ached with emotion, and then he leaned his brow against hers. “I wouldn’t have blamed you, you know. I know you thought me dead. And I very nearly was. But…I spied Lord Wymith with you—even after I arranged the letters to be delivered.”

  She pulled away to stare at his exhausted expression. His face was thinner now, but more dear to her than ever before. “Letters? I don’t understand. Why didn’t you just come to me directly?”

  “I paid handsomely to have notes secreted to you when I finally found you.” There was such hope mixed with sadness in his voice.

  She shook her head. “Pierce…there were no letters. What are you talking about?”

  “I could not risk approaching Helston House. Too many of Pymm’s men were on guard there. And I couldn’t hazard telling you where I was, or why I could not come to you, lest one of the notes was intercepted. But I wanted you to know I was alive.”

  “I still don’t understand. Why—”

  “Because of Pymm, my darling.” His darkly shadowed eyes searched hers, and he finally continued. “He murdered Elizabeth’s father. I came upon him in the act—hidden behind the old castle in Badajoz—and then he tried to kill me when he turned and saw that I’d witnessed the act. He very nearly succeeded. But he made one mistake.”

  Sarah could barely speak. “Mistake?”

  “He tossed me into the River Guadiana, thinking I was dead. I floated to the shore. I remember almost nothing of it. A Spanish goatherd and his wife were responsible for saving my life—if not my arm. And my leg…well, it is unfortunate that it was not well set.”

  She swallowed back bile. “Oh, Pierce…I shouldn’t have left without looking for you. But I couldn’t allow Elizabeth to leave all alone.”

  “No. You were right to go away. Pymm told me he would kill anyone who stood in his way. Said he would kill you…I just could not risk showing my face in town until I could form a plan that would not put you in harm’s way.”

  She reached to touch his cheek, to reassure herself that he was truly standing there before her and would not suddenly disappear.

  “I’m sorry it took me so long, my darling. I can’t tell you how much I worried—was desperate to find you and Elizabeth. I’m so grateful you found protection and comfort with the dowager duchess and her friends. I learned you went to Cornwall and Yorkshire during the last year—before London?”

  She nodded.

  “Two weeks ago I was on the point of desperation. I secretly followed you to Windsor and prayed I would catch you alone. But you were always with your friends or with that man—Wymith.” His face darkened. “I left another letter for you in the Helston carriage. Did you not re—”

  “Pierce, I never received any…Oh my God,” she stopped.

  “What is it?”

  “The note…notes. Elizabeth received many letters. We all assumed they were from Pymm. They had but a single initial—P. The handwriting—”

  “Is nearly illegible using this hand, I’m sorry to say,” he interrupted with a sigh. “But Sarah, what of Wymith? Are you engaged, as the columns hinted?”

  She smiled slowly and shook her head. “No. Not at all. I refused him.”

  He closed his eyes and exhaled like a man who has won a reprieve from the gallows. He reopened his eyes.

  “That is what happens when someone loves another so intractably, you see,” she murmured, stroking his face. “But why did you not come to me after the events at Carlton House? Surely—”

  “I was in Cambridge.”

  “Cambridge? Why on earth would you go there?”

  “I was desperate—short on funds and hope. I’d gone to search out General Worth, who retired there. You remember, I served under him at the start of the war? His going to Portman Square would not have aroused suspicion. I asked him to warn you, put a stop to Elizabeth’s marriage, and to form a plan to bring Pymm to justice. But as we were returning to London, we saw a newspaper relating the events at Carlton House, and so I rushed back—rode straight through last night to see you.”

  She suddenly felt dizzy.

  “Where is Pymm now? The newspaper was many days old.”

  “I don’t know,” Sarah whispered. “I assume at the Pulteney still. I know he’s been called to address the House of Lords. I don’t know which day. The Prince Regent is put out with him, and several people—my new friends, the Duke of Helston and others—are calling for further investigation and punishment.”

  “Sarah, after I see you to a safe place and speak to your friends, I must go to the war office without delay. I will not rest until Pymm is held accountable for what he has done. I would have killed him myself if my sharpshooting skills were not so impaired now. I was on the point of it at Windsor, when I was so close to him in the flesh…”

  Her beloved husband’s gaze drifted over her shoulder and Sarah half twisted in his arms to see what had caught his attention. Elizabeth stood, wide-eyed in shock, not thirty feet away. A moment later, she crumpled to the ground.

  A shout echoed, and Sarah spied her friends of the last grief-filled years coming toward them—some running, some walking. Even Georgiana, still weak from childbirth, was aided by her husband.

  Rowland Manning was the first to reach Elizabeth, his usual nonchalant countenance wiped clean. Fear shone from him as he hurtled himself down alongside her.

  Her eyes were already opening, and she struggled to speak.

  “Stay still,” Rowland insisted. “You hit your head.”

  “No,” Elizabeth mumbled. “Where is he?”

  “Who?”

  “Colonel Winters,” she said, disoriented. They followed her gaze, disbelief registering in every face.

  Pierce knelt beside her and took up her hand. “Elizabeth…”

  “You’re not…what…My father? Is he here too?” Elizabeth’s questions drifted to a stop.

  Everyone understood the bleak expression on the face of the man who had been Elizabeth’s father’s closest friend. Sarah’s heart broke as comprehension dawned on Elizabeth’s face.

  “I’m so sorry, my dear. I could not save him from Pymm’s blade. I was too late…”

  Chapter 20

  Dawn had always been Elizabeth Ashburton’s favorite time of day. It was the hour that held the most promise. By noon, half of the things she had meant to accomplish were usually still undone—especially now that she was married. Her eyes still shut, slumber wandered slowly out of her grasp, and she wondered why she did not want to open her eyes. And then with a blink, she remembered.

  Her father was dead.

  Not that she had ever doubted it. It was just that she had left Portugal with Sarah in such haste that she had not seen his body—had not given him the burial required for true peace of mind. Until now, she had not realized that she had held onto the slimmest thread of hope.

  For a full half minute yesterday, that fondest wish had bloomed. And then been snipped from the vine. She refused to think about it. She could at least be forever grateful Colonel Winters had been spared.

  And Sarah’s heart returned. Her friend’s eyes had not left her husband’s for a moment all afternoon.

  Elizabeth inhaled to harness her emotions. She had so much she was determined to do today. Nothing would stop her from seeing to the little details she had secretly planned. She refused to understand it was a reaction to yesterday’s events. She would not grieve for her father today. She’d grieved for two years and she would make this day for Rowland alone.

  Exhaling quietly, she eased to the edge of their immense, white-netted bed with the care of a feline. It was more difficult than she thought. Rowland seemed to sleep with one eye open at all times. Twice his breath caught, and he stiffened, and twice she became motionless, waiting for him to resume the slow, even breathing that was his signature in deep sleep.

  Then, just as her toe touched the floor, she felt his hand grip her wrist. He pulled her on top of him.

  “A
nd just where do you think you’re going?” he said, his voice gravelly.

  She sighed. “Why am I forever being asked that?”

  “Because you are never where you should be,” he growled.

  “Really? And where is that?”

  “Come a little closer, my lamb, and I shall tell you precisely. And how I plan to keep you here.”

  “Well, perhaps I have plans of my own.”

  “Is that so?” He drawled his seductive words.

  “Yes.” She would not tell him. “But they are not your affair.”

  “Everything about you is my affair.” There was something more than amusement in his voice. Something she could not pinpoint.

  His hand was stroking the sensitive spot at the base of her back. The one that made her shiver.

  “Come here,” he said softly, sliding his fingers beyond her spine.

  She smiled. It had been the way of it all night. He could not seem to get enough of her. And as she found it impossible to resist the unspoken promises in his caress, she did exactly as he asked. Once again her well-laid plans were going to wrack and ruin. And yet, when he held her like this, with his granitelike torso pinning her to the bed and his heavy sex pulsing against her hip, she didn’t care. And when he whispered the sorts of things he would do to her, all her ordered ideas became nothing more than scattered good intentions—even if it was his birthday…and even if she had a celebration to arrange.

  His hot breath fanned over her breast as he delivered the first of his many wicked promises. Like a match to tinder, their passion for each other ignited. She splayed her fingers over the hard planes of his immense shoulders and his body shifted over hers. As she reached down past the hard, rippled surface of his abdomen to caress his thick shaft, he groaned, and softly cursed his great need for her.

  Each time they came together, she felt as though they were binding themselves ever closer, and yet, to Elizabeth, it also seemed as though Rowland always withheld a sliver of his soul.

  His lovemaking now took on a desperate tenor in the darkness, and she wished she could see his face more clearly. He was relentless, drawing out her pleasure, again and again, with his fingers and his mouth, until she was faint with exhaustion. Then and only then did he guide the large blunt end of his erection against her intimate flesh.