Mr. Blackwell slowly leaned against the side of the carriage, his eyes fixed.
And then he just stayed there.
Messalina sobbed in a breath.
Gideon turned to her. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, of course…” Her voice faded as she looked at him.
There was a hole in the shoulder of his coat, and something wet gleamed on the black cloth.
She touched it with her fingertips.
Her hand came away stained red with blood.
The carriage door was flung open. Julian of all people stood there, panting. “Are you all right, Messalina? Hawthorne?”
Gideon nodded, completely calm. “Fine. If you’ll just—”
“No,” Messalina said. “He’s been shot.”
Julian looked mildly interested. “Yes?”
Gideon grimaced. “It’s just a—”
“Don’t you dare say it’s just a flesh wound,” Messalina said furiously. She turned to her brother. “Get this carriage back to the house and send for a doctor.”
Jules actually blinked. “Very well.”
He turned to shout at someone outside.
Reggie’s head appeared in the doorway.
“Reg,” Gideon said. “Clear the carriage, please.”
Messalina held back a scream as Gideon’s men removed Mr. Blackwell and his bully boy.
Gideon watched her warily.
Messalina found her handkerchief—a pitifully small scrap of lawn—and pressed it to his shoulder.
He grunted, and her handkerchief turned red.
“If you die, I shall never forgive you,” she said fiercely.
His expression was odd. “I thought you’d never forgive me anyway.”
“Well, I won’t,” she said nonsensically.
“I love you,” he said.
She peered at her pitiful bandage. “I know.”
“I do love you,” he said as if he hadn’t heard her. “I know you won’t believe me, but I do. I do.”
“Hush,” she said. Tears were gathering in her eyes. “I believe you.”
“Messalina.” He gently took her hand and drew it away from his shoulder. “The wound isn’t so very bad. Listen. I love you and if you want to leave me”—his gruff voice broke—“go away to some foreign land, I don’t know if I’ll survive, but I’ll help you go. I want you to be happy.”
“Gideon…” Her eyes were filled with tears.
“But,” he said softly, “if you have any pity at all for me, stay. Please stay with me, Messalina.”
She choked and just refrained from hitting him. “Of course I’m staying, you awful man! I love you. I love you. I love—”
But her words were cut off as he gathered her in his arms and kissed her.
Epilogue
Bet sat in the thyme-covered clearing all the night long, waiting for her fox husband to return. In the morning she was still alone, and she stared into the trees, remembering what he’d told her: never ever to enter the wood.
Bet stood and briskly brushed off her skirts. Then she walked into the wood.
Now the wood was dark and eerie and Bet was afraid. But she remembered the red-haired man and the fox as well, and she bravely ventured on.
By and by she came to a squirrel busily running about gathering walnuts. “Dear me, dear me, how my feet do ache,” muttered the squirrel to herself as she worked. “If only I had a pair of shoes!”
Without a thought Bet took her red shoes off her feet. “Pardon me, Mistress Squirrel, but you may have my shoes if you wish.”
“Oh!” said the squirrel, seizing the red shoes eagerly, “how very kind you are.” She put on the shoes at once, and though her squirrel feet were much smaller than Bet’s own feet, the red shoes fit the squirrel perfectly.
“Thank you!” cried the squirrel. “Is there any favor I might do you in return for such a fine gift?”
“I’m looking for my husband, a fae fox. Have you seen him?”
“Indeed I have,” said the squirrel. “The fox is well known hereabouts—though not always liked, for he has a sly nature. You should ask the bear where your husband has gone. But be careful. Mistress Bear has a temper and quite long claws.” And the squirrel pointed the way.
Bet thanked Mistress Squirrel and continued on her search. But without her shoes her feet soon became sore, and she started limping. She wanted to rest but she remembered her fox husband and continued.
Mistress Bear was sitting discontentedly on a log, and when she saw Bet, she growled, a low, ominous sound. “Why do you disturb me, mortal? This is my natal day and no one has given me a present. Flee from me or I shall rip your limbs from you!”
“I wanted to wish you a happy natal day,” Bet said hurriedly. “And I’ve a present for you—this dress.”
So saying, Bet drew off her blue dress and gave it to the bear.
Mistress Bear put on the dress at once and twirled happily, for of course the dress fit her perfectly. “Oh, thank you, mortal, for my gift. May I ask why you are tramping through the wood without any shoes?”
“I’m searching for my husband, the fox,” said Bet. “Mistress Squirrel said you might have word of him.”
Mistress Bear snorted. “Long have I told the fox that his tricky ways would someday land him in trouble, and I was quite right. The Wolf holds your husband captive and threatens to kill him ere long. He lives not far from here.” The bear pointed the way.
“Thank you!” cried Bet.
She wore only her thin chemise now, and soon she was shivering, wrapping her arms around herself. How nice a fire would be! But Bet remembered the fox’s face and continued. Miles and miles she walked until at last she came to a clearing in the wood.
There stood a small, neat cottage made of stone. An enormous wolf paced back and forth in the clearing, and in front of the cottage was an iron cage.
The fox was inside.
The wolf snarled when he saw Bet. “Who are you, and why have you trespassed on my land?”
Bet dipped a shivering curtsy. “I am Bet, Sir Wolf, and I have come for my husband the fox.”
“This rogue?” the wolf sneered, waving at the fox trapped in the iron cage. “You’ve come in vain, then, for though you’ve found him, you’ll not have him long. The fox has been my enemy for years, playing tricks and mocking me. I shall cut off his head with an iron knife once the sun sets.”
Bet fell to her knees. “Please, Sir Wolf, stay your hand and show mercy to my husband.”
“Why should I?” growled the wolf.
“Because I love him,” Bet said.
“You love a creature like that?” demanded the wolf as he pointed at the fox. “But he’s sly and secretive and thinks too much of himself!”
Bet smiled despite her shivers and her aching feet. “Love is a wild thing—it goes where it will.”
“Humph,” said the wolf. “Well, I don’t know if I can let him go, no matter your pretty plea. He whispered in my wife’s ear, simply for mischief’s sake, and told her that if I truly loved her I’d give her the gold I was hiding.” He threw up his arms. “I don’t have any hidden gold!”
“That is easily mended.” Bet took her gold earrings from her ears and handed them to the wolf. “Give these to your wife and tell her that you had merely hidden them so as to surprise her.”
The wolf brightened. “You are as clever as your husband, but kinder. For your sake I will let him go.”
He waved his hand, and suddenly the iron cage was gone and the fox stood before Bet.
The fox took her hand and ran with her into the wood. They had only gone a little way before he stopped and turned into the redheaded man.
Then he frowned at her. “I told you never ever to go into the wood.”
Bet nodded. “Indeed you did.”
He looked at her chemise. “You’ve given away your blue dress.”
“Yes, I have.”
He frowned at her bleeding feet. “And your red shoes as well.”
She smiled and kissed him. “You are most observant.”
He sighed. “Not at all, for I never knew how much I loved you.”
“Didn’t you, Husband?” Bet laughed.
“I fear you are much wiser than me, my Bet.” He shook his head and bent to her to whisper in her ear. “And my name is Tom.”
—From Bet and the Fox
One month later
Messalina looked around the crowded ballroom. People were squashed together in their colorful best, the punch was perilously close to running out, and if she wasn’t mistaken, a married viscountess had just disappeared into the garden with a baronet.
In other words, her ball was a smashing success.
“Did you see Lady Hadley-Fields go out into the garden with Sir Simpson?” Lucretia muttered beside her.
“I think everyone saw it,” Messalina returned in a near whisper.
“Well, hopefully not Lord Hadley-Fields,” Lucretia replied. She took a sip of her punch. “I believe Quintus sneaked out while you were in conversation with Lord Chester.”
Messalina sighed. She’d been discussing funding a small boys’ grammar school in St Giles with Lord Chester, who owned suitable property. She wanted Sam to start as soon as possible so he could realize his dream of being a schoolmaster. It was just like Quintus to duck out when her back was turned.
“At least Julian is still here.” She nodded toward the far wall, where their brother leaned against a pillar, ignoring the ladies whispering nearby.
She scanned the ballroom again. Where—?
“Messalina!” Freya called, struggling through the crowd with Elspeth behind her. “Have you really bought a library?”
“Yes.” Messalina laughed. “My library is still mostly in packing crates, though.”
Freya smiled. “I thought Elspeth might help you sort and catalogue the books.”
“Thank you,” Messalina said with real appreciation. “I’d much rather have my library on shelves so I can enjoy the books.”
“Mmm,” Elspeth murmured, and then cocked her head. “Is that man putting dust up his nose on purpose?”
Freya coughed. “It’s snuff. I told you about tobacco before.”
Elspeth looked perplexed. “But you said tobacco was burned.”
Freya rolled her eyes and muttered to Messalina, “She spent nearly her whole life in the Wise Women’s compound. She still finds the oddest things curious.” She turned to her sister. “Come. I’ll show you the buffet. Just wait until you’ve seen a jelly.”
Lucretia perked up. “Oh, I’ll come with you.”
They disappeared into the crush, and Messalina began slowly making her way to the garden doors, stopped every step or two by her guests.
Finally she found the doors and slipped out. The night was clear, the moon a crescent hanging high above the city. She tipped her head back, trying to see the stars, but the light from the ballroom interfered.
Messalina walked farther into the garden until she could see each star winking at her in the blackness.
Firm hands closed around her shoulders, and Gideon whispered in her ear, “I thought you’d never leave that ballroom.”
She turned in his arms to face him. The garden might be too dark to see clearly, but she knew he wore one of the suits she’d picked out for him, the dark gray that had just a hint of violet. The suit fitted his wide shoulders perfectly, and she loved the embroidered waistcoat—not least because Gideon wore it for her.
She placed her palms on his chest. “Were you looking for me, Mr. Hawthorne?”
“I was, Mrs. Hawthorne.” He bent so close his lips brushed against hers as he said, “I always will.”
He kissed her and she opened for him, a thrill going through her at his touch. She had a feeling she’d still have that same thrill decades in the future.
She stopped thinking, though, as he drew his teeth down her neck, scraping gently.
A giggle sounded nearby.
Gideon straightened and glared at the bushes in disgust. “I should be able to make love to my wife in my own garden.”
Messalina linked her arm with his. “Yes, but not during a ball.” She pulled him toward the house and the lights. “I saw you talking with Lord Rookewoode.”
He grunted, his good humor not quite restored. “That man says the most frivolous things.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder. “And yet he’s smart enough to invest in your business.”
“Yes, he is,” Gideon replied, sounding satisfied. He darted a look at her. “Don’t worry. I haven’t been talking business at a social event.”
“Good,” she murmured, pulling him to a stop just before they entered the pool of light from the ballroom. She stood on tiptoe and kissed him again.
He grasped her arms, deepening the kiss, before he murmured against her lips, “What is that for?”
She pulled back. “Because I love you.”
She saw the faint puzzlement in his eyes. He was still getting used to hearing the words—and returning them.
“I love you as well,” he said as he touched her cheek. “I don’t know how I lived before you, my world was so dark and empty. You give me joy.”
Oh, but he was improving.
Smiling, Messalina linked arms with Gideon again and led him into the light.
Don’t miss Elizabeth Hoyt’s next book in
the breathtaking Greycourt series!
No Ordinary Duchess
Available Late 2021
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Elizabeth Hoyt is the New York Times bestselling author of twenty-six lush historical romances, including the Maiden Lane series. Publishers Weekly has called her writing “mesmerizing,” and in 2018 she received the RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award for Historical Romance. She also pens deliciously fun contemporary romances under the name Julia Harper. Elizabeth lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota, with three untrained dogs, a garden in constant need of weeding, and the long-suffering Mr. Hoyt.
The winters in Minnesota have been known to be long and cold, and Elizabeth is always thrilled to receive reader mail. You can write to her at PO Box 19495, Minneapolis, MN 55419 or email her at [email protected].
You can learn more at:
ElizabethHoyt.com
Twitter @ElizabethHoyt
Facebook.com/ElizabethHoytBooks
Other Titles by Elizabeth Hoyt
The Raven Prince
The Leopard Prince
The Serpent Prince
The Ice Princess (novella)
To Taste Temptation
To Seduce a Sinner
To Beguile a Beast
To Desire a Devil
Wicked Intentions
Notorious Pleasures
Scandalous Desires
Thief of Shadows
Lord of Darkness
Duke of Midnight
Darling Beast
Dearest Rogue
Sweetest Scoundrel
Duke of Sin
Once Upon a Moonlit Night (novella)
Duke of Pleasure
Once Upon a Maiden Lane (novella)
Once Upon a Christmas Eve (novella)
Duke of Desire
Not the Duke’s Darling
PRAISE FOR
ELIZABETH HOYT
“Hoyt’s writing is almost too good to be true.”
—Lisa Kleypas, New York Times bestselling author
“There’s an enchantment to Hoyt’s stories that makes you believe in the magic of love.”
—RT Book Reviews
“When it comes to incorporating a generous measure of dangerous intrigue and lush sensuality into a truly swoonworthy love story, Hoyt is unrivaled.”
―Booklist (Starred Review)
THE GREYCOURT SERIES
Not the Duke’s Darling
“Hoyt…marries her irresistibly witty writing style with an intrigue-steeped plot that is generously spiced with lively banter and lush sensuality.”
—Booklist
THE MAIDEN LANE SERIES
Duke of Desire
“Passages of intrigue are charged with palpable suspense and danger, while the steamier bits crackle and singe.”
—Entertainment Weekly
“4½ stars! Top Pick! Readers will be transfixed by this poignant tale of revenge and redemption.”
—RT Book Reviews
Duke of Pleasure
“Hoyt once again successfully deploys her irresistible literary triumvirate of marvelously engaging characters, boldly sensual love scenes, and elegant writing brightened with just the right dash of dry wit.”
—Booklist
“4½ stars! Top Pick! Always unique, wonderfully romantic and highly sensual, Hoyt’s stories take readers’ breath away.”
—RT Book Reviews
Duke of Sin
“A complete triumph.”
—Booklist (Starred Review)
“4½ stars! Top Pick! Hoyt delivers a unique read on many levels: a love story, a tale of redemption, and a plot teeming with emotional depth that takes readers’ breaths away. Kudos to a master storyteller!”
—RT Book Reviews
Sweetest Scoundrel
“4½ stars! Just as enchanting as fans could desire.…It is a story that takes your breath away and leaves you uplifted. Hoyt does it again!”
—RT Book Reviews
Dearest Rogue
“[This] superbly executed historical romance is proof positive that this RITA Award–nominated author continues to write with undiminished force and flair.”
―Booklist (Starred Review)
“Scintillating romance.”
—Publishers Weekly
Darling Beast
“Hoyt’s exquisitely nuanced characters, vividly detailed setting, and seemingly effortless and elegant writing provide the splendid material from which she fashions yet another ravishingly romantic love story.”
When a Rogue Meets His Match Page 31