by Jaimey Grant
“Except me, Hart,” she murmured, her voice almost lost in her sigh. “I do take you at your word and you made it all too clear that you chose me because I needed help.”
She bit her lip, lost in thought. Derringer waited, curious despite himself, wondering at the odd sensation that prompted him to assure her that he’d never stray. How could he promise such a thing? He didn’t trust himself and could hardly believe she would.
Her lips parted, his gaze settling there, suddenly wanting nothing more than to end the conversation with seduction, make her forget for a time. Make him forget. Forget that someone wanted him dead, forget her life was very likely in danger because of him, forget he wanted more from this marriage than he felt he could offer, forget that she deserved better than him.
“Fidelity is not a whim.”
So unexpected were her words that he looked at her blankly for a moment before changing the subject entirely. “Your family has gone, by the by. They departed earlier this morning.”
His wife struggled up to glance at the clock over his shoulder. “Oh, good Lord, it’s gone ten o’clock already! Why didn’t Liza wake me?”
“Perhaps because I threatened her with dire retribution should she dare.”
“Oh, Hart, you didn’t! That poor girl is probably scared half out of her mind.”
“You really do have a low opinion of me, my love.”
“How could I not?”
“Good point. I concede defeat.”
He sat on the bed regarding his bride steadily. She grew uncomfortable and started to fidget.
“What is it?” she asked, her eyes narrowing. “You look at me as though pondering something.”
He shook his head a little as if coming out of a trance. He looked down and fingered the locket that he still held. Raising his gaze and the necklace, he extended his arm, dangling it before her again. “You have not thanked me, Merri,” he murmured.
She tried to take the bauble but her husband drew it back. “Thank you, Hart,” she said, wariness trembling on each word.
“That’s not the kind of thank you I had in mind, wife.”
Her face paled a bit, then flushed bright pink. “You can’t possibly mean… no, I refuse to believe you would expect…” She shook her head at her own words. “Of course you could. You are the Duke of Derringer, after all.”
His reply was an impish grin.
“What do you expect of me, Hart?” she whispered sadly. “Forget all that’s been said and done between us and behave as though everything is well? Take you into my arms and body without a thought for the fact that you’d as soon see the last of me? How can you possibly expect so much of me for a simple locket, even one as important to me as the one you hold?”
Traitorously, her body was more than willing to give in to his seduction—and he hadn’t even touched her yet. But memories of his lovemaking were enough to make her heart beat harder and her skin tingle.
Her husband sensed her contradictory emotions. She could see it in the glitter in his eyes and the way he hesitated before touching her cheek with one long finger. Her eyes closed against her will and she breathed a little sigh.
“It would be so easy, Merri, to just let go. Why do you resist what you want so desperately?”
Her eyes snapped open. “Why do you?” she countered.
Derringer sat back, eyes roaming her features intently. “If I were to seduce you now, would you still walk out of my life forever?”
She had no answer for him because she honestly didn’t know. She looked away, staring down at her hands. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “Making love will not solve our problems. It may suspend them for a time but they will creep up, probably worse than before. But…”
When she didn’t continue, he prompted, “But…”
She met his eyes, her own filled with frustrated, hurt, and angry tears. “But… I find it nearly impossible to consider leaving now. If we were to… make love, I would probably never be able to leave your side, despite any problems that arise.” Her shoulders lifted in a tiny shrug, a defeated little movement that said far more than her words.
The ruthless side of Derringer urged him to seduce her. But something she wasn’t saying held him back. He suspected that while she wouldn’t leave him, she may never forgive him for using her lack of control to gain his own ends.
Dropping her precious necklace in her lap, he rose to his feet and walked to the door. “I will await you in the stables if you would care to join me for a ride.”
The ruthless side of him growled in unreasoning anger at his ready capitulation.
A half-hour later, Derringer paced back and forth before Odin’s Offspring. The horse nickered every time the duke paused beside him but Derringer was too lost in dark thoughts to notice.
While he wanted to ruminate about his wife and her words to him, he forced his mind to contemplate somewhat weightier matters instead.
He wondered how the letter written by his mother was connected with the attacks on his life and why. His fortune was immense, true, but if someone thought with the title came power, they were in for a rude awakening should they succeed and actually acquire it. Most of his “power” was in rumor, the stuff of legends and myths rather than hard fact.
Martin would inherit should Derringer perish. But according to that damned paper, it was…
“Hart, I am here now. I am sorry it took so long.”
Derringer looked his wife over critically. Her rust-colored habit complemented her hair and complexion, while the little shako on her head sat at a rakish angle completely at odds with her somber expression.
She approached him and he braced himself for her reaction. A part of him expected violence but her demeanor did not suggest she was ready to murder him. As usual, her features were impossible to read.
His shock was complete when she grasped his coat and pulled, bringing his body down to an uncomfortable angle, more of a level with her. He cocked his head to one side inquiringly but she firmly took his face in her hands.
With a secret smile playing about her full lips, she whispered, “Thank you for my locket, my love.” And she pressed her lips to his in full view of every stablehand and outdoor servant the duke employed.
And Derringer, being Derringer, picked his wife up off the ground and turned her chaste salute into something far more intimate.
They were both breathless when he set her down, amidst the cheering of their outdoor staff. Her rueful smile was endearing and he couldn’t stop a wicked grin from tilting his own lips upward.
“We could go back to bed,” he suggested, only half in jest.
“We could,” she agreed. “But I was so looking forward to riding with you.”
The duke released a short bark of laughter, laced with genuine mirth. “Isn’t that what I was just suggesting?”
Her brow furrowed in confusion. The look of supreme innocence she gave him made his lips twitch.
Determinedly suppressing the urge to tease her some more, he shook his head slightly, saying, “Never mind, lovely Merri, never mind. We’ll ride.” Unable to resist, he added in an undertone, “Now and later.”
It was another twenty minutes before they were actually ready. Leandra had realized she’d forgotten her gloves and rushed back inside to fetch them instead of sending a servant—what the bloody hell were they there for if not to serve?—and she was only just then returning.
And she seemed to positively exude excitement.
“And what, may I ask, has you in such a mood?” he asked testily, the extra wait having worn his patience to the breaking point.
Leandra smiled brightly. “The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and for the moment, all is right with the world.”
The duke grunted in reply, glaring at the grinning stable boy who held the reins of two saddled horses. “Give me those, you cheeky brat,” he commanded. The boy laughed and handed over the reins of the horse Derringer preferred to ride when Satan was not available.
Derringer watched this impassively. “Are you ready?” he asked.
In answer, his wife smiled and kicked her horse into a gallop, heading for her favorite place, the rocky cliff overlooking the sea. Derringer followed suit after a rebellious snort from Odin.
Leandra had barely a head start on her husband but Lady proved her mettle by outdistancing the other mount within a few minutes. As soon as she reached the cliffside, she pulled up to wait for her husband. He soon joined her, scowling at her in annoyance.
“Just what the devil possessed you to ride like that?” he demanded.
Leandra laughed, the wind ruffling her hair where it escaped her pins. “Have you never wanted to fly, my lord? To spread your wings and soar like an eagle?” She gazed at him, awaiting his reply.
Derringer stared at her in amazement. How could she be sad one moment, happy the next, and then return to her usual calm serenity?
“I have not, madam.”
Leandra gave him an unreadable look. “And what has you in such a pucker, Lord Derringer?” she asked.
“The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and for the moment, all is right with the world,” he mocked.
“Hart, if you wish to behave like a child, please do so when you are not around me.” And so saying, his darling bride spun Lady around and headed back to the castle.
The duke watched her go, half-amused, half-annoyed. She really did look magnificent on horseback, he thought in surprise. But then, to him, she looked magnificent all the time.
A sound caught his attention. Derringer turned his head and gazed out to sea. He didn’t like what he saw.
28
Gabriel sat alone pondering what he had learned from the late duchess’s written confession. He wondered what the duke would do about it and how long it would take him to determine what it all meant.
Gabriel already knew. As soon as he had seen that note, he had known. Everything became suddenly clear. Why Derringer was being attacked nearly every time he set foot from the house; why he, Gabriel, had been under similar attacks nearly all his life. There was only one other person he knew of that was privy to this sensitive information.
As Gabriel was setting off to pay Lady St. Clair a visit, Derringer was asking Leandra what she knew of her brother’s recent activities.
“As I have already told you, Hart, I know nothing. Lee has never confided in me and his wife certainly has no use for me. I don’t know why you should think I would know anything about it.”
“I merely wonder if perhaps you could give me an idea as to why he may be skulking around my yacht.”
“He’s what?”
“I saw him down at the bay just now, skulking around my boat.”
“Perhaps he is merely admiring it?”
Derringer shot her a look of reproach. “He’s not even supposed to be on my land, Merri. They all left this very morning, remember?”
Leandra shrugged. “I do not know how you think I can help you, Hart. Lee was always skulking about when he thought no one was looking; I’m not surprised he still does that. I doubt he’s up to any good. Do you think he’s dangerous?”
“Yes,” he replied. “He associates with Fraser D’Arcy. He’s dangerous.”
Leandra stared at her husband. He appeared very worried about her brother and she wondered if he thought Harwood had something to do with the attack. She voiced this thought.
“He may, although I can’t imagine why. Excessive hate seems far too outlandish for reality and I can’t recall ever having so much as met your brother before this. D’Arcy and I, however, are in the way of being old… acquaintances,” he concluded darkly.
Leandra, who had entered the house a bare ten minutes before her husband and gone straight to her sitting room, sat down in her favorite chair with a bump. “He means to kill you then? Have I no say in this, think you?”
“What would you say, my beauty? ‘No, you may not kill my husband, if you please.’ He would laugh before running you through for getting in his way, Merri. The man has no conscience.”
“Funny, I seem to recall the same being said of you, my lord duke.”
Derringer sat in the chair opposite, leaning back with a crafty smile on his face. “Oh no, my merry dove, I have a conscience. I sometimes choose not to use it.”
“Could that not be considered worse?”
He cocked one black brow. “How so, my sweet?”
“You can control where and when to employ that part of your mind that determines right and wrong. D’Arcy, on the other hand, cannot. He simply does not have one. Which, Lord Derringer, is worse?”
“Should I vote in my own favor or vote for the man that tortured a child once just to hear her scream?” he retorted brutally.
Leandra snapped her mouth shut, biting her lip to restrain her horror. That such a monster was allowed to remain free was sickening.
“He will be taken care of, Merri,” Derringer soothed. He should not have said what he did but she had a way of bringing out the beast in him.
Her eyes snapped. “Why has he not already been ‘taken care of’?”
“I have not yet had the means to do so, my bloodthirsty siren.”
“I mean, why has he remained free? Why has he not gone before a magistrate?”
“The child was a low class orphan, love. She had no more rights than a mongrel dog.” His voice held traces of bitterness. “Such is the way of the world. One man, no matter how many vermin he rids the earth of, cannot change a damn thing.”
Leandra fell silent, watching her husband carefully. He watched her as well and she was unsure what changed but she suddenly felt breathless and excited. To distract her wayward thoughts, she looked away and studied her shoes as if she’d never noticed them before.
Derringer nearly laughed at his wife’s expression. He did smile when she looked at her shoes. “Would you care to know how my investigation is going?”
She snapped up the offered distraction. “What investigation?”
“Into the recovery of your father’s will, of course.”
“You have found it?” she asked in disbelief.
“Merri, Merri. Your lack of faith wounds me to the quick, my love.”
Leandra scowled. “I apologize. Have you found it?”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were anxious to discover how rich you are.” His tone was deceptively mild.
“Perhaps I am,” she retorted. “Perhaps I am anxious to end this farce of a marriage and get on with my life.”
Why, oh, why had she said that? Leandra saw the darkening of her husband’s face and knew she was not going to get away with such a statement. She wondered what imp had prompted her to say it, arousing Derringer’s anger. She was very much afraid it was not only his anger that was aroused, however.
“Farce, Merri? How so?” he asked in that silky, infinitely dangerous tone.
Leandra stood and backed toward the exit, the one door leading to freedom. “Did I say farce, Hart? I don’t know what I was saying. I must have been thinking of… something else.”
He followed her to the door, matching every step she took, stalking her like a panther. She shivered when she made it to the door, reaching for the handle behind her. She turned it and practically fell into the corridor. She swung about, prepared to run for safety but her arm was lodged in something like steel. She turned her head, gazing up into the mocking eyes of her husband.
“Going somewhere, Merri?” he inquired as though asking about the weather.
“I have to check with Mrs. Stark about something,” she fabricated with impressive speed.
“Indeed? Well,” he said, drawing her resolutely back into the room, “Mrs. Stark will just have to wait. And damn the
consequences.”
Gabriel wandered around the chilly countryside, pondering what he had learned, which was precious little. His mother had, of course, known about the late duchess’s revelation. She disclaimed knowing anything, however, about Derringer’s near-death experiences and seemed completely shocked that Gabriel may be going through the same.
There had been something in her manner, however, a furtiveness, a suspicious look in her eye that had caused him considerable alarm.
It was near Leandra’s cliffside that Gabriel bumped into the Earl of Harwood. Literally.
“The devil, man! Watch where you are going!” snapped the earl. Then he realized who it was and Gabriel was curious to note how the man’s complexion paled.
“Lord Harwood, I did not expect to see you out here,” responded Gabriel amiably.
“I was merely getting a view of the countryside hereabouts,” Harwood replied quickly. So quickly, in fact, that Gabriel knew he was lying. What did this man have to do with the attacks on Derringer? Instinct told Gabriel that Harwood was a key element in all this, though he couldn’t, for the life of him, determine how or why.
“Indeed?” Gabriel looked around. “There is not much to see here unless you are waiting for a boat to come in.”
Harwood shook his head emphatically, his cherubic countenance turning a dusky shade of red. “I have no reason to be doing that, have I?” he said with a smile.
“Then why are you here?” Gabriel stood looking down on the shorter man, his face as dangerous as Derringer’s and uncanny in its resemblance to that man.
Harwood stuttered something unintelligible and hurriedly took his leave.
Gabriel watched him scurry away and frowned. The man had been skulking about for a reason. What was it?
As he turned to walk away, a man stepped out from behind a tree nearby. Gabriel never saw him. He was struck down with a stout cudgel and hefted over a stouter shoulder.