by Eva Devon
“None of you are bedding my wife,” Rob roared.
“Not bedding,” Drake corrected as he played the pianoforte as if they were discussing port, not the bedding of Harriet. “Breeding, old boy.”
Red blazed past Rob’s eyes as their words slammed down upon him.
“That’s all it is to you, isn’t it?” Drake asked dryly.
“If you see it as simply passing along your bloodlines, any one of us would suit,” Raventon said. “We’re all excellent pedigree.”
“Well, not me exactly,” Drake drawled. “Though I am an excellent specimen. Except for the hitched tongue, of c-course.”
“You’re all utter arses,” Rob said, but then. . . Drake’s words began to sink in and he had a very bad feeling that he was being an idiot.
“We just wish your wife to be happy,” Raventon said with a devilish grin, the sort of grin which made half the London female population swoon.
“She’s my wife,” Rob bit out.
“And you’re a stud apparently. We all are, if your thinking is to be believed. We are just making little identical copies of ourselves with no will.” Drake gave him a hard stare, a stare which would have eviscerated most men. “Or do you actually believe the drivel that blood will out. B-because if you do, y-you’re not the man who sought me out in a hospital tent and made me his friend.”
Rob opened his mouth to protest, but as he looked at Drake with his perfect features, his body which looked like a gift from the gods, and thought of the stutter his friend worked so hard to hide, something happened to Rob.
It was as if a fog lifted. Breeding didn’t matter. Looking at Drake, hearing him, he understood that if he was to accept the idea of breeding, then he was accepting the idea that Drake was inferior.
“Bloody hell, what have I been doing?” Rob whispered, marveling at his own obtuseness.
“You’ve been a ponce,” Royland said brightly.
“Can’t be blamed, really,” Drake said with a touch of kindness. “I did meet your father, old fellow. Still, we can’t let you keep on like this. N-now, look at me, and tell me that you won’t have a baby because b-blood will tell. Say it. To me.”
Rob swallowed, struggling suddenly to understand how he could have been so foolish, so ignorant. “I could never say it Drake because it makes no sense.”
Drake gave a nod and played a dramatic chord. “Good. Now go to Devon and make your wife a happy woman. Twice. Hell, the whole month.”
Royland folded his arms across his broad chest. “We don’t want to see you at Number 79 for weeks.”
“And when you come back to London, with a grand smile upon your face, we’ll come to the funeral,” Raventon said firmly.
“Funeral?” Rob queried.
Drake arched a brow. “Where you bury the past, Rob. Where you bury the past.”
Rob nodded then headed for the door. As he walked, he lifted his head and squared his shoulders, feeling lighter than he had in years. When he reached the foyer, Yvette stood in the doorway to her private salon, her crimson gown skimming her body and she cocked a smile at him.
“You look different, cher. Do you know what you want then?”
He stopped. “It was you.”
“Moi?” she asked with a mock gasp.
“You gave her advice,” Rob said.
“Mais oui. It seems she took it.” She raked her cat eyes up and down him then smiled. “And it looks to me as if you have decided what you want.”
“Yes, Yvette, I have.” He started for the door then stopped and glanced at the French woman who had survived so much. “Thank you.”
“Bon chance, Monsieur le duc.”
Rob gave her a small bow then turned, and with each step he took, he knew what he was going to do. And he could not wait.
Chapter 30
The coach rolled over the Devon countryside and Harriet wondered what she would find at Rob’s family estate. She recalled it as a child. It had been a splendid pile of a castle with parapets.
Given what she’d been led to believe, it might be all but falling apart now. Still, she was rather glad to have something to do and distract her mind from her heart and the sadness within.
It was good to have taken control of her destiny but it did not make her less sad that it had not all gone the way she’d hoped.
There was little she could do but keep active and hope for the best, even if it did rather feel as if there were a hole where her heart had been.
She folded her hands before her then looked out the window. Soon, she’d see the coastline and she was eager for the sea. The air was already tinged with salt and she drew it in, finding it to be quite fortifying.
As she peered out to the horizon, she caught sight of a figure and her breath caught in her throat.
For there on the hillside was a man upon a horse. But it was not any man or any horse.
The black stallion reared up and the man’s black cloak fluttered in the wind. Upon his head sat a jaunty black hat and she could not mistake his figure.
She barely dared believe her eyes or allow herself to hope. But then the figure. . . the highwayman charged down over the hill, and it was impossible to deny the black-masked fellow that she had admired for so long and whose meeting had changed the course of her life. For if she had not met the Gentleman Highwayman, she would never have married Rob. Of that she was certain.
The coachman snapped the reins but she called, “Halt!”
“But Your Grace,” the driver protested, “surely—”
“I know this rogue,” she said brightly, even as her nerves fairly hummed wondering what the Gentleman Highwayman could possibly have to say.
He rode right up to their coach and swung down in a single vault, his boots lightly hitting the thick grass. He strode forward, his eyes flashing with passion and he whipped a dramatic bow before he called, “Stand and deliver, Your Grace.”
“I do not do the bidding of thieves,” she replied.
“It is you who is the thief, Your Grace,” the highwayman replied.
The driver let out a yelp.
“Do not fear, Adams,” she soothed. “This fellow means no harm. Do you, sir?”
“No harm,” the highwayman said seriously. “Not ever again.”
“Oh?” she queried. “And how is it that I am the thief? Are you not the man of the road?”
“You have stolen my heart, Your Grace,” he replied simply. “Will you not come down and assist me? For I find, I am adrift without my heart.”
She could scarcely believe her eyes or her ears. She had not thought she’d see him for months. Or perhaps ever again. Yet here he was. Which meant only one thing. Rob had decided what he wanted. And if he was here. . . as the man of her dreams. . .
She wrenched open the door and jumped down, dismissing ladylike decorum.
“Good thief, you wish me to return your heart?” she asked, playing her part as he played his.
He shook his head, gazing down at her. “I wish you to keep it,” he said, his voice a low rumble.
“Then how may I help you?” Harry could barely breathe, fearing all this would vanish like a dream.
He lifted his gloved hand and brushed a tendril of hair from her cheek then cupped her face. “You can give me yours in turn.”
She gasped. “But—”
He shook his head. “I know what I want, Harriet.”
She gazed up at him, full of fear and hope. “Yes?”
“I want you,” he said gently. “All of you. Your mind, your heart, your hope, and your hand to be in mine until we are old and grey.”
It was so tempting to rest her cheek in his palm but she had to ask. “Have you thought about my question? Do you have an answer?”
“And if I said no?” he asked softly.
“If it was how you truly feel, and not just because of the past, then I will respect your wishes. I love you, Rob. I chose you, come what may. But I need to know this is your decision and not fear driving you.”
<
br /> “A good friend of mine has recently pointed out to me that our parents have little to do with who we turn out to be,” he replied, his gaze softening. “I do not know how I have been a fool for so long.”
“I do,” she sallied, even as her heart leapt.
“Oh?”
“You’re as stubborn as a mule.”
He laughed, a deep, rich sound. “So I am. But Harriet, my answer is that if it is our destiny to have a child, then I will love that child. And together, we will give it all the hope in the world. The past is the past and we have nothing but the future before us.”
Tears stung her eyes and she nodded, wrapping her arms about his waist.
“Your Grace!” the driver called.
And with that Rob, whipped off his mask and hat. “Just a ruse, Adams. One must keep the wife happy, don’t you know?”
Adams flushed right up to his shaggy red hair. “I see, Your Grace.”
“I’m glad,” Rob replied. “Now, will you take us up to the house?”
“Certainly, Your Grace,” Adams managed to say.
Quickly, Rob tied Sir Valiant to the back of the coach then assisted his wife into the conveyance. He swept up in beside her and placed his mask and hat on the seat opposite.
He pulled her close, gazing down into her eyes.
Harriet could barely believe the happiness that overtook her. “I love you, Rob. I think I always have.”
“And I love you, Harry, with every bit of my stubborn heart. Thank you for not giving up on me.”
“On us,” she replied softly. “On us.”
He cupped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted her head back.
Before he could kiss her, she glanced at his mask and hat. “I do think you should keep those. I find I quite like you in them.”
“Whatever you wish, my love. Whatever you wish.”
And with that, Rob sealed his happiness, their happiness, with a kiss.
The End
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Her dance card is nearly full.
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