She danced with a stranger whom Kate introduced to her, and then with the poet, Mr. Yoeville, whose blatant admiration was balm to her wounded soul. And since Dax had not come near her in all that time, she danced again with Lord Tamar. This was the waltz and the supper dance.
If Willa had harbored any real hope of Dax and Tamar making up their quarrel over a convivial supper, she was doomed to disappointment. For one thing, Dax went into supper with the unknown beauty and sat at a completely different table where there was, inevitably, much hilarity. Willa and Tamar sat with the Grants and the Lamonts, which would have been very pleasant if only Dax had been there, too. And if Mrs. Holt had not looked across at her and laughed quite so loudly.
The evening, in fact, was becoming a bit of a nightmare when, as she returned to the ballroom, fingers closed around her wrist and pulled her into a curtained alcove.
Willa didn’t fight it. In fact, her first reaction was one of joy and relief, for only Dax would have dared treat her so.
Or so she thought until she found herself gazing up at Sir Jeremy Leigh, a smile of mischievous welcome frozen on her lips.
Leigh’s breath caught. “God you’re beautiful.”
“How dare you?” she whispered. “Have you not done enough harm?”
She reached at once for the curtain, but again he caught her wrist. “Yes, I have, and that’s why I need to apologize to you.”
She stared at him. “Write me a letter,” she said coldly, tugging her hand free just as the curtain was wrenched aside.
Dax stood in the opening, his eyes blazing. “Out,” he uttered, and Leigh, after a moment’s hesitation, perhaps wondering what Dax would do to her, obeyed.
Dax didn’t take his gaze off her throughout, merely stepped inside and closed the curtain once more. His furious eyes scorched her, but she refused to apologize again for something she hadn’t done and had no control over. If he asked, she’d tell him.
Please ask.
He didn’t. Deliberately, he advanced upon her and raised his right hand. She lifted her chin in outraged defiance, but it seemed he had no intention of striking her. Instead, his hand closed around the back of her head, careless of her elaborately dressed hair, and pulled her hard against him.
Before she could speak, his mouth covered hers and ravished. Stunned, she could only weather the storm, her fingers clutching at his back for support. But this was Dax, and inevitably, she not only melted but kissed him back with everything she felt and wanted in her heart. And she never wanted it to end.
But it did. He lifted his head, still without speaking and turned, drawing her hand over his arm. “We’re going home,” he said with an odd edge of grimness she’d never heard in him before.
“Your mother—” she began, glancing toward where she’d last seen Lady Romford with some matrons of her acquaintance.
“I’ve said our goodnights,” he replied shortly. Shielding her from the majority of the ballroom with his own large body, he strode from the room so quickly that she had to trot to keep up with him.
He waited impatiently while she changed her shoes and donned her cloak and then whisked her out of the Assembly Rooms and along the street to the hotel. It had begun to rain, which at least gave her an excuse to draw up the hood of her evening cloak while she all but ran to the hotel.
Still, he didn’t speak, leaving her time to compose what she would say when they were finally alone, only words seemed to fly away, eluding her utterly as she wondered how angry he was going to be, how open to her innocent explanations. He’d never been a bully, but she was his wife now and entirely in his power. Of course, there was nothing she wanted to change in that, but it wasn’t always comfortable to be Daxton’s wife.
Her heart raced as he barged into the sitting room, dismissing Clara and Carson with one silent jerk of his head. Clara seemed inclined to merely go into her own little bedchamber to await Willa’s summons, but Carson, with more experience of his master, seized her arm and pulled her out into the passage with him. This was even less comforting.
Impatiently, Dax threw his hat on the sofa while she took off her cloak, but before she’d even laid it down, he seized her hand once more and all but dragged her into her bedchamber.
“Dax—”
“Hush. No talking tonight,” he said huskily. “It isn’t words we need.”
That was when she realized his intentions, even before he unlaced her gown with one tug, and with two consigned it and her undergown to the floor. Alarm, anticipation, sheer excitement, all clashed within her as her underwear joined the pile on the floor and he carried her in one arm to bed.
He made love to her, just as he was, still half dressed. Nothing like the first time, this was swift and hard and glorious, and she could do nothing but surrender utterly to his every demand until, utterly overwhelmed, she fell apart under the onslaught, writhing in uncontrollable bliss.
Only then did he let her help him out of his shirt and breeches. After that, allowing neither of them much in the way of recovery time, he began it all again, this time with slow, languorous tenderness that made her want to weep. She had the leisure to concentrate on his body more than her own, to give as well as receive all the sensual pleasures of the journey before the slow, glorious climax broke over them both.
He fell asleep in her arms, a faint smile playing on his lips. And although he couldn’t see it, she answered it with her own, because she knew now that everything was going to be well after all. Amazingly, he neither doubted nor was enraged with her. Somewhere in that hectic night without words, he had been asking for reassurance. And she had given as well as received it.
She didn’t want to sleep. She wanted to savor these moments in wakefulness. But she’d been up since before the previous dawn. Inevitably, before this one, her eyes closed and she fell into a deep, untroubled sleep.
Chapter Sixteen
Dax woke the instant the outer door opened.
Tucked around Willa’s soft, sleeping body, he found it something of a wrench to ease back from her and slide out of bed. She slept on, her face quiet and contented. He allowed himself a moment to appreciate her like that, a peaceful contrast to the wild, passionate woman he’d aroused last night.
He’d have liked to stay, to wake up naturally with her and talk about all the things he couldn’t say last night. He’d just needed Willa in his arms, and though he couldn’t find the words, he’d known she needed him, too. First, though, he had to clear up this mess and keep her safe.
So, naked, he padded from her chamber and crossed the sitting room to his own bedchamber, where Carson awaited him.
“No wonder people call you insane,” his valet said. “Look at you, dressing to fight two more duels while you’re still injured from the last one.”
“I could take the sling off,” Dax said. “But I feel it makes me look more dashing. And less dangerous.”
Carson cast him a sour glance.
“There’s a letter under my pillow for her ladyship. You’ll give it to her if anything goes wrong.”
“’Course I will,” Carson muttered, hooking the coat over his still injured shoulder. “Just pay attention to what you’re doing and don’t die on us. Where else would I get a job where I get to hit the master?”
Dax scowled at him. “When did you last have to hit me?” he demanded.
“Few weeks ago,” Carson admitted. “Mind you, her ladyship might say I should be hitting you now.”
Dax grunted and picked up his hat and his pistol case. He hoped she would understand.
*
Leigh was already at the Cove with a lantern when Dax made his way down to the beach alone. Which was good. It meant the whole thing should be over quickly before Tamar made his appearance. Unless he was completely wrong about his old friend and the culprit had been Tamar all along. Dax couldn’t believe that. For one thing, Tamar had no motive that he could think of—unless the impoverished marquis had set his sights on Willa. Who would, thanks to Daxton�
��s efforts last night, be an independently wealthy woman if he died today.
Dax was aware that if he could choose a culprit trying to kill him, it would be Leigh. The man had dared to put Willa in danger, had intended worse, and Dax was eager for an excuse to kill him. There was also the less important and yet nagging knowledge that Leigh had shared no part of his childhood. For some reason, that made his guilt much more desirable than either of the other two alternatives.
And Leigh had, Dax realized, someone with him. Hairs prickled on the back of Daxton’s neck. His fingers curled around the small pistol he’d hidden in his sling, and he kept walking steadily.
“We agreed no seconds,” Dax pointed out.
The third man turned to face him with a glare of disapproval, and in spite of himself, Dax let out a crack of laughter.
“I brought the doctor,” Leigh said abruptly. “Hope you don’t mind. He is a gentleman after all, as well as possessing those professional skills we might need.”
“Actually, he promised to shoot me himself,” Dax said.
“Next time, my lord,” Dr. Lampton promised.
“I hope not,” Dax said fervently, since his next time was likely to be in about an hour. “Shall we?” he said, setting down his dueling pistol case and opening it. “One of these, Leigh, or do you prefer your own?”
“I brought my own, but yours are prettier. Are they well matched?”
“I’ve always found them so,” Dax replied. “Help yourself. They’re loaded already, though, so take care.”
Dr. Lampton swore at this amiable interchange, but Leigh seemed to see nothing wrong with it, carefully lifting one of the pistols and turning his back on Dax. Dax took the other, straightened and turned to face the shore, scanning it as he had the morning of his duel with Shelby. Now, of course, he knew where to look, but he saw no sign of any movement at all.
“One,” Dax began, pacing away from Leigh, his eyes constantly searching the shore for any sign of movement. But even the birds were still. “Twenty,” he said finally, and with huge reluctance, turned to face his enemy, stretching out his pistol arm and taking aim.
Leigh stood opposite, pointing his pistol deliberately into the air. And then suddenly, Leigh’s face changed. “Get down, Dax!” he yelled, hurling the pistol away and rushing at Dax in almost the same moment.
The crack of the gunshot exploded before Leigh had finished speaking, before his thrown pistol hit the ground. But Dax was already flat on the sand, hitting it on Leigh’s first word. The woosh of his stomach came from excitement, from plain fear, not from injury…he hoped.
Leaping to his feet, just as Leigh got to him, he demanded, “Are you hit?” even as he swung around to see three men wrestling on the shore line, more or less where Dax had expected the trouble to be. One man went down under the other two. Dax could only pray, grimly, that it was the right way around, for he couldn’t see who was who.
“I’m fine,” Leigh said shakily. “What the devil is going on?”
“Let’s go and see,” Dax suggested, running up the sand.
The instantly recognizable figure of Carson stood up among the bushes, his thumb pointing upward.
“Got him,” he said laconically as Dax scrambled up the rocks, Leigh and Dr. Lampton at his heels.
“Got who?” Leigh demanded.
Dax reached the top and gazed down at Daniel Doone, who sat with some satisfaction on the back of another man who, when he angrily wrenched his head up, looked vaguely familiar.
“This is Jem Brown,” Dan said. “The bastard who abducted my Clara.”
“And shot his lordship,” Carson growled. “During his last duel.”
“With Shelby,” Lampton said slowly. “So that was you who shot him? What the devil for?”
“Money, I expect.” Dax said, crouching down to search the culprit’s pockets. “I’m pretty sure it was he tried to knife me the other week, too. Did you try to shoot me over by Haven Hall, as well?”
“You’re a lucky bastard,” Jem snarled bitterly.
“Either that or you’re a shockingly poor assassin.” Dax pulled a purse from Jem’s coat pocket and held it up to the rising sunlight. It felt a little lighter than the last time he’d held it, but it was instantly recognizable. “Which I suspect is more likely. I wonder who would have hired someone as incompetent as you?”
“Shelby,” Lord Tamar’s voice said, causing Dax to swing around.
The marquis had appeared silently on the ridge of the cliff, carrying something large and wrapped in canvas over his shoulder. Beside him, her eyes wide with fear, stood Willa.
For an instant, Dax was completely thrown. She looked so sweet and vulnerable and cold, her cloak clutched around herself with trembling fingers as she stared at him. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her tight forever. He wanted to send her back to the hotel immediately, only he knew she wouldn’t go. She’d followed him.
If she’d been any earlier, she’d have been in acute danger and it would all have been Daxton’s fault. If anything happened to her…ever… His throat closed up with sudden, rushing realization.
Which he couldn’t reveal, not here.
“God damn it, Rags!” Dax exploded. “You brought my wife to a duel?”
“Of course I didn’t bring her,” Tamar retorted. “I’ve been chasing her along the road for the last ten minutes!”
“I woke up and you’d gone,” Willa said unsteadily. “I knew—” She broke off to point at Jem, now pulled onto his front although Dan still sat on him. “That’s him! The man I kept seeing. I’m sure he’s been watching us.”
“Jem Brown,” Dan said again.
Willa frowned. “Clara’s Jem? Then he’s nothing to do with Dax? Where did Ralph’s purse come from, then?”
“Because he’s everything to do with me. Shelby hired him.”
Willa regarded the fallen man without favor. “Is it sensible of him to repeat his failure of last time?”
“Not very,” Tamar agreed. “But then again, he never knew we were onto him. We never revealed who really shot Dax, and Shelby’s been telling everyone it was him.”
“I think we need to go and see Shelby,” Dax said grimly. “Right after our duel. What have you got there, Rags? A blunderbuss?”
“No.” Tamar bent and deposited his bundle on the grass, unwrapping it to reveal two simply carved wooden swords.
Daxton’s lips twitched as he raised his gaze from them to Tamar’s face.
“My choice of weapons,” Tamar reminded him.
“True. Are they blunt?”
“Of course they are. I don’t want to kill you, Dax, and I’ve nothing to apologize for. Your wife is lovely, far lovelier than you deserve, but I’d never touch her. For one thing, she’d never let me. And for another, she’s yours. And if you can’t see that, you’ll probably die of stupidity.”
“Nice speech, Tamar,” Leigh said admiringly.
“I thought so.”
Dax picked up one of the swords. “So did I. Except the bit about stupidity. You shall answer for that right now. To the beach!” Pointing the wooden sword ahead of him, he began to charge along the ridge of the cliff to the path. He didn’t bother to glance back. He knew that Tamar would grab the other sword and follow him, grinning, and that Leigh and Lampton and Willa would come to see the fun.
While Carson and Dan would guard the prisoner.
*
To Willa, it was reminiscent of childhood, everyone trooping after Dax, gleeful for the next piece of fun. Perhaps it had something to do with relief at the capture of Jem, or the release of tension between Dax and Tamar, but the whole duel with wooden swords was hilarious.
Dax and Tamar leapt around, almost like ballet dancers, having at each other, spinning, bounding, rolling, and dodging, screaming with dramatic pain when a blunt blade touched them, and shouting with triumph when they scored a hit. Each of them died several times, according to Lampton’s pronouncements, only to leap up and begin again. By th
e end, they were chasing each other over the rocks, and a small group of townspeople had gathered to watch.
Beside Willa, Leigh was in stitches. Somehow, she hadn’t expected the morning’s adventure to end quite like this, and the laughter seemed to be bubbling inside and out as she finally walked up the path to join Dax and Tamar who had declared a temporary truce, much to the disappointment of the towns people.
Carson and Dan joined them, dragging Jem between them.
“So, where now?” Tamar inquired. “The magistrate?”
Dax didn’t even think about it. “Shelby.” He glanced around Tamar, Leigh, Lampton, Willa, and the prisoner’s escort. “But you don’t all need to come.”
“Yes, we do,” Lampton said at once. “I want to know how this all ends, having patched you both up.”
“Please yourself,” Dax said, offering his arm to Willa. “Lady Daxton.”
“Lord Daxton,” she said gravely, although she still wanted to laugh.
They trooped back along the road and into the hotel.
“Oh dear,” Dax said, spotting Lady Romford at almost exactly the same moment Willa did. But he didn’t stop, merely pointed his wooden sword toward the stairs and kept walking.
“Daxton!” his mother called, hurrying after them all. “These stupid people have been denying you and Willa!”
“Well, we were out and now we’re back. Clara will let you into our rooms, and we’ll join you in a few minutes.”
But of course, there was no way that would happen. Lady Romford followed them up the next flight of stairs, too, to the door Willa knew to be to be Ralph’s. It was directly across the passage from Lady Shelby and Elvira.
Daxton’s sharp knock was answered by his alarmed-looking valet who, on catching sight of Dax, merely pointed across the hall to Lady Shelby’s rooms.
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