Be My Lover

by Cecily French

  Sir Edgar Lennox, the late Duke of Bradford’s friend and physician. Dear God, was Sir Edgar—

  “Mrs. Martin?”

  Emily’s scream escaped before she could stop it. Grabbing the dagger-shaped letter opener from the desk, she faced the young man standing just inside the open French doors. Brandishing her weapon, she cried, “I’ll scream again!”

  “I won’t hurt you!” the young man shouted. His dark eyes, huge in a gaunt face, pleaded with her. “You’re Mrs. Martin, the Duke of Bradford’s lady.”

  “He’ll be here in an instant and he’ll kill you if you hurt me!” Emily waved the letter opener again.

  “But I’ve come about his father!”

  His words nearly made Emily lower her hand. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ve not got a lot of time,” her visitor said, taking several cautious steps forward. “But I promised my ma I’d make this right. I saw who killed the duke’s father.”

  “Sit,” Emily ordered, pointing at a chair with the letter opener. “Don’t think I won’t use this on you. What’s your name?”

  “F-Freddie Cooper.” The young man took off his battered hat but remained standing.

  “Talk, Freddie Cooper,” Emily said. Where is Jocelyn? “What do you know about the old duke’s death?”

  “I was c-coming to see him that night with a special p-package.” Freddie turned his hat round and round. “It was one of them s-scary books that ladies like to read.”

  His Grace liked gothic novels. No one is sure how he came to have them in his library because he never bought them in public.

  Timmons’ words slammed into Emily’s brain. “You’re the person who brought him the books?” she gasped.

  “Yes, m-ma’am,” Freddie’s voice quavered. “His friend Mr. Roscoe would buy ’em and I’d deliver ’em so no one knew. I’d always go through the garden late at night so no one would see me.”

  “Dear God,” Emily breathed. “You were there that night? You saw what happened?”

  “Yeah. I mean, yes ma’am.” Fear made Freddie’s eyes huge. “I was right up next to the windows when I saw ’im.”

  “The duke?”

  “Him and the one who shot him.”

  Only her love for Anthony kept Emily on her feet. She stepped forward to grab the back of a chair for support. “Who was it?”

  Freddie shook his head. “Don’t know ’is name, but I got a good look at ’im.”

  “Yes?” The small word was all Emily could manage.

  “’E had gray hair and ’is face was pitted and scarred. Looked like he’d had the pox.” Horror mixed with revulsion covered Freddie’s face. “He saw me from the window. That’s why I ran away. Been runnin’ ever since.”

  Sir Edgar Lennox!

  Emily’s knees nearly gave way but she tightened her grip on the chair. “Oh Lord,” she whispered. “We need to send for a magistrate. At once.”

  “I can’t,” Freddie protested. “The killer saw me the other day! He’s looking for me!”

  “Then d-do th-this.” Teeth chattering, Emily turned to grab Sir Conrad’s papers from the desk and thrust them at Freddie. “Take these to the house next door and give them to Mister Amos Quigley. He’ll know what to do.”

  “But the killer might see me!” Freddie’s hand curled around the sheets.

  “Not if you go this way.” Emily led him to the tapestry. Pulling it aside, she opened the door. “This will lead you outside,” she explained. “Run, Freddie. I promise no harm will come to you. The duke will see to that.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll be right behind you,” she said, “I just need to leave a note for a friend who’s coming. And I need to bring Zeus. Go now!”

  “Awright,” Freddie whispered, slipping into the passage.

  Emily stumbled back to the desk to grab a pen and paper. Dear God, after all this time Anthony would have the proof he needed.

  Ink dribbled onto her dress cuff and the paper. Her grip on the pen did nothing to steady her trembling hand and the ink smeared along the side of it as she wrote out a command to Jocelyn to join her at Amos’ house. After throwing down the pen, she sealed the note and, exhausted, propped her elbows on the desk and covered her eyes.

  “Oh dear Lord,” she prayed. “Sir Edgar Lennox.”

  “At your service, Mrs. Martin.” The French doors clicked to a close.

  Fear spiraling down her spine, Emily sprang to her feet and grabbed the letter opener again as she turned to face her unwelcome guest.

  “Drop it.” The revolver Sir Edgar clutched forced her into obedience and the letter opener hit the carpet.

  Dear Lord, why didn’t I lock the French doors?

  “Sir Edgar,” Emily said, somehow keeping the wobble from her voice.

  “Let’s make this simple, Mrs. Martin,” he said coldly, coming to stand before her. “Open the cage and get out the proof. I know it’s there. The Mystery of Blackwood Hall proved to be valuable reading after all. I must thank you for your recommendation.”

  Emily lifted her chin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t lie to me,” Lennox snarled. “There’s proof of the investment scheme in the bird cage, isn’t there? You know it too. Blackwood Hall is on the table. Have you only just read it?”

  “Anthony will be here any minute,” Emily said, her ears straining to hear his beloved footsteps in hall.

  “With the past few day’s rain?” Lennox shook his head. “I doubt it. The mud on the roads would slow even the fastest horse. I really must remember to thank Timmons for opening the library drapes at Anthony’s old house. One glance inside saved me from needing to break in and search that damn birdcage. Now you can do it for me.”

  “Why?” Emily whispered. “Why did you kill Anthony’s father? You were his friend.”

  Hate burned in Lennox’s eyes as he walked toward her and stopped, his back to the tapestry covering the passage. “Conrad learned my investment scheme had failed and he was going to expose me,” he said. “The scandal would have prevented my daughter’s marriage and broken her heart. I couldn’t let Conrad do that.”

  “But how did you—”

  “Manage to kill him?” Lennox snorted his disdain. “Conrad injured his right arm while fencing, spraining it badly. I’m the one who was treating him for it. It was simple enough to overpower him and use his own gun on him—the one he had loaned me to see if I wanted to purchase one like it. No one knew this, of course. All I had to do was sneak through the back garden, open the door to his study and shoot him. And since I was expected, my ‘sudden’ arrival right after I shot him surprised no one. And once I have the papers, the certainty of Conrad’s suicide will continue.”

  Despite her fear, disgust set Emily’s stomach churning. “You are beyond contempt.”

  “Yes,” Lennox agreed, aiming his gun at her heart. “But I usually get what I want.”

  “You wouldn’t dare shoot me,” she challenged.

  His satisfied smirk sent a fresh wave of terror over her skin as madness glittered in his eyes. “Oh, I brought poison,” he said. “What with Anthony leaving you to marry Miss Stanhope, everyone will think despair drove you to it. And no one will be the wiser. I’ll just pour it in your tea, you’ll drink it and die. I’ll pronounce it a suicide, just the way I did for Conrad.”

  “No one who knows me will believe that,” Emily said.

  Behind Lennox, the tapestry fluttered and the tip of a hunting rifle edged around it. Hardly daring to breathe, Emily forced her gaze away to fix back on Lennox, praying he hadn’t seen her spy the rifle’s movement.

  Lennox’s short bark of laughter only added to Emily’s fear. “Of course they will. Even the greatest fool in the ton knows you love Anthony Dyson. Don’t you?”

  “With all my heart,” Emily said, courage raising her voice. “I love him with all my heart and soul. And soon everyone will know you killed Anthony’s father.” The rifle’s
barrel lowered and stopped, pointing directly at Lennox’s back. Emily began a mental countdown. Five…four…three…two…one! Shoot him now, Anthony. Please!

  “My dear Mrs. Martin, I think not.” Lennox leveled his weapon at her. “I’ll get away with both of your murders. Get the documents.”

  A rush of blue and gold burst across the room and Zeus struck the side of Sir Edgar’s face, claws extended. Lennox screamed and dropped his gun as the tapestry swept back to reveal Anthony. Dear beloved Anthony charging toward her, rifle in hand. He shoved the gun into Lennox’s back, knocking him to the floor. An angry Zeus continued his assault on Lennox as Amos Quigley and Freddie stormed into the room from the passage.

  “Zeus, come!” Emily shouted, praying he would somehow understand.

  Incredibly, the macaw relented and flew to perch on Emily’s outstretched arm. “Good boy,” she said, choking on her tears as she put him back in his cage and closed the door. “Good boy.”

  “You bastard,” Anthony roared, rolling Lennox over with his foot to shove the gun into his chest. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t shoot you right now!”

  “My face!” Lennox moaned, covering it with his hands. Blood poured through his fingers. “My face!”

  “Because shooting him isn’t nearly punishment enough,” Amos said grimly. “We’re going to make him suffer through a scandal that will make the one he caused your family look like a child’s tea party.” He lifted the moaning Lennox to his feet and shook him. “Freddie, get his gun.”

  Nodding, Freddie picked up the revolver and pointed it at the physician. “You’re a piece of filth for killing the old duke,” he spat. “He never hurt you or nobody.”

  “Anthony, let Lennox suffer what you suffered,” Emily implored. “Put down your gun.”

  “She’s right, Anthony,” Amos agreed. “Let the world see what a scoundrel Edgar Lennox truly is.”

  Anthony turned to look at this incredible woman, the woman he loved, and all doubts fell away. He propped the rifle against a chair and met her approach with open arms. He gathered her to his chest and she promptly burst into tears.

  “Shhh…my love,” he whispered. “Emily. My Emily.”

  “He killed your father,” she sobbed. “I heard him say so.”

  “I know, my love. You sent the papers, remember?”

  Her choking laughter stopped her tears. “I did, didn’t I? With Freddie’s help.”

  Unwilling to let her go even for a second, Anthony held out his hand to the youth. “Thank you,” he rasped, fearful his own tears of gratitude would spill down his face. “You have my sacred promise. You’ll come to no harm because of your bravery.”

  “I promised my ma I would make it right,” Freddie said simply, keeping the revolver pointed at Lennox. “Guess the Lord meant for me to come here ’cause she’s been getting better since I told her I’d make it right.”

  “Don’t forget Zeus,” Emily added. “He helped save the day as much as anyone.”

  “Thank you, Zeus!” Anthony bowed his head to the macaw. “You, as well, have my undying gratitude. I’m going to double Timmons’ salary for bringing you to live with Emily.”

  “Pretty boy!” Zeus called. “Zeus is a pretty boy!”

  They all laughed and the door to the study opened. A grim-faced Brandon Hightower and Greg Keller entered. Greg carried a length of rope and Brandon displayed his own revolver. “Is everything in hand?” he asked.

  “I think so,” Anthony said. “Get this filth, as Freddie rightly calls it, out of Emily’s house and take it to one of your magistrate brothers, Brandon.”

  “Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” Brandon said. “Tie him up, Greg. As tightly as you can.”

  “How nice that almost all the Rogues are in on this,” Greg quipped, going about his task. “Phillip is going to be wild with jealousy at having missed this bit of fun.”

  A sniveling and bound Lennox was soon led away and Amos looked at Freddie. “We’ll need you to come with us to give a statement,” he said.

  “Amos, I insist you hire Freddie to work for you,” Anthony said, and Emily, still in his arms, nodded in agreement.

  Amos smiled broadly. “I think something can be arranged,” he said. “Come, Freddie. I think we need to leave these two alone.”

  “Yes sir, Mr. Quigley.” Grinning, Freddie bowed. “Good evening, Your Grace. Good evening, Mrs. Martin.”

  He followed Amos from the room and, as he shut the door behind him, Anthony took Emily more fully in his arms. “You are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met,” he whispered. “I love you. Do you understand? I love you, Emily.”

  “Anthony, I need to tell you something.”

  “No, listen to me,” he ordered, adopting his most aristocratic tone. “I’m a duke and used to being obeyed. So listen and no interruptions.”

  Her raised eyebrows and feigned pout could not hide the delighted sparkle in her eyes. “Indeed? Say on, my lord.”

  He dropped all attempts at pretense and raised her chin with his fingers. “Will you marry me?”

  Her mouth fell open. “But Anthony—”

  He put a finger across her lips. “I know what you’re going to say. What about my title? To hell with the title. I’d say to hell with Miss Stanhope, but she’s a nice girl and a lady and no one ever talks that way about a lady. Besides, one of her six brothers might shoot me if they heard me say so.”

  “But—”

  “I know what else you’re going to say. What about all those sons and heirs I’ve always said I’ve wanted. I’ve got a second cousin in Norfolk—at least I think it’s Norfolk—with sons. They can have the title and bless them. It’s you I want to spend my life with, only you. I don’t care if the title goes to them and I don’t care if ever have an heir. You’ve restored my family’s honor, dearest and most precious Emily. I love you and want to spend my life with you, heirs or not.”

  “Well,” Emily gulped. “If you’re willing to wait just another month for me to be sure, you might get your wish after all. But you mustn’t be disappointed if our first child is a girl.”

  This time it was his mouth that fell open. “Emily,” he whispered. “Are you saying you’re—”

  “I think one more month to be sure,” she repeated, putting his hands on her stomach. “My monthly courses have always started around the same time since I was twelve. Give or take a few days, the thirteenth of each month all these years without fail. And now it’s been twice since time for them to come and there’s been nothing.”

  “And people think thirteen is an unlucky number.” Anthony sighed, resting his chin on her head. “But I’m going to marry you either way, child or no child, as soon as we can get a special license. Aunt Dorcas will be furious at not being able to plan a grand wedding, but I refuse to wait. I’m a duke, you see, and always want my way.”

  “I love you, Anthony.” She hugged him. “I truly do.”

  He kissed her gently at first but then became more demanding, and she gave hers back freely until a squawk interrupted them.

  “Attaboy!” Zeus declared, flapping his wings. “Attaboy!”

  They laughed again. “I think,” Anthony gasped, “we better continue this upstairs.”

  “Jocelyn will be here any minute,” Emily warned him. “And like Phillip, she’ll be wild at missing all the excitement.”

  “There’s a way to take care of that.” Anthony walked to her desk and quickly put pen to paper. “This should do the trick.”

  He held it up the printed command Making Love. Do Not Disturb. “What do you think?”

  “That should do the trick,” his future duchess agreed.

  “I’ll just put it on the front door.”

  She followed him into the foyer and when he had finished securing the note, she cocked her head. “Race you up the stairs!”

  “Race up the stairs? Are you mad? You might be carrying my child!”

  And she laughed again as he carried the woman he lo
ved and would soon marry up the stairs to her room—their room—now and into the future.

  About Cecily French

  Raised in the Southeastern United States, Cecily French grew up loving books, classical music and the theater. When not writing sensuous and erotic romance, she enjoys reading, going to the gym, taking care of her devoted canine companions and wishing she could afford to hire a gardener. She currently resides in Tennessee, where she works as a therapist.

  Cecily welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

  Tell Us What You Think

  We appreciate hearing reader opinions about our books. You can email the author directly or you can email us at Service@ellorascave.com (when contacting Customer Service, be sure to state the book title and author).

  Also by Cecily French

  Back in Your Arms

  Temporary Mistress

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing

  www.ellorascave.com

  Be My Lover

  ISBN 9781419940934

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Be My Lover Copyright © 2012 Cecily French

  Edited by Violet Hughes

  Cover design by Dar Albert

  Photos: Fotolia.com

  Electronic book publication October 2012

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.