The Wild One (30 page)

"What cheek!" Lady Brookhampton declared,
staring at Juliet in offended shock.

"Yes. We colonials speak our minds."

"Perhaps, then, I too should speak
my
mind," Katharine said, with a superior little smile as she nodded
toward Charlotte. "Why, look at you, married less than a week and
already toting his brat. I dare say, Lord Gareth works fast, does
he not, Mama?"

"Juliet is not the first woman Lord Gareth
has ruined. But she just said she doesn't want to hear anything
bad
about her husband, Katharine."

Juliet smiled sweetly. "Oh, but Lord Gareth
wasn't the one who
ruined
me."

Both women looked at her.

"Charles was."

"
What?!
" The word shot from Lady
Brookhampton's mouth like a ball from a musket; beside her, her
daughter's jaw nearly fell off its hinges.

Juliet said, "You know, Charles? The one you
all think was so perfect?"
Good Lord, would you listen to me,
defending Gareth over Charles!
"He and I met in Boston in the
winter of '74. We were engaged to be married, but he died in the
fighting near Concord last year, and the legal union was never
made. I came to England seeking the Duke of Blackheath's help, as
Charles had bid me to do should anything happen to him." Juliet's
steady, dark green gaze never wavered as she faced down her
husband's detractors. "Lord Gareth is an honorable and selfless
man. He married me so that his brother's baby would bear the de
Montforte name. I think that is most noble of him. Don't you?"

Lady Brookhampton's jaw was working up and
down as she fought to find words. "Well, I ... well, yes, I suppose
it is."

Her daughter's face had gone a very
unattractive red. "You mean to say you were engaged to ...
to my
Charles?
"

"Was he
your
Charles?" Juliet smiled
sweetly and got to her feet. "I'm sorry. He didn't mention it. I
thought he was mine. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have things to
do. Good day."

~~~~

The Duke of Blackheath, his two gundogs
trotting at his side, his walking stick parting the brambles and
nettles before him, was just heading home after a long walk over
the downs when he heard hoofbeats pounding toward him from the
direction of the castle. He raised his head and frowned, calling
the dogs to heel. His rambles were part of his morning ritual, and
everyone at Blackheath knew he was not to be disturbed except for
one thing.

A message from London.

The rider came galloping up on his cob, bits
of chalk flying from the steed's heavy hooves. It was one of the
servants, flushed and breathless. He pulled the horse up sharply,
dismounting before the animal had even come to a halt.

"Your Grace! A message for you — from
London!"

The duke cradled his walking stick in the
crook of his elbow — actually no ordinary walking stick, but a
deadly rapier concealed inside that knobbly length of wood — and
calmly took the note. He broke the seal and began to read:

My dear Duke,

I regret to inform you that I have lost the
trail of your brother Lord Gareth, who was, along with his wife and
child, evicted from Mrs. Bottomley's late Monday night after a
disturbance in which several of her clients were injured at his
hand. I have already spoken to the other members of the Den, all of
whom confess ignorance and worry as regards his whereabouts, and am
shortly on my way to call on his new wife, who is staying at de
Montforte House until such time as his lordship returns for her.
The usual haunts have not yielded any sign of your brother, and at
this late hour, I am beginning to fear the worst. I implore you to
come to London with utmost expediency to assist me in my
search.

C.

Lucien's face went black with fury. "By God
and the devil, what will it be next? Am I to hire an infernal nanny
for him at the age of three and twenty?!"

"Your Grace?"

He crumpled the note in his fist, his eyes
blazing with such wrath that the servant took an involuntary step
backward.

"Ride ahead, Wilson, and inform the stables
that Armageddon is to be saddled at once. I leave for London
immediately."

Chapter 24

The de Montforte footman who answered the
urgent knock at nine past the hour the following morning didn't
recognize the man who stood just outside.

"I
am
sorry," the servant said,
already closing the door on the tall fellow dressed in a humble
suit of green broadcloth, "but her ladyship is not receiving
callers."

"Oh, I think she'll receive me —" he smiled
— "I am her husband."

The footman's mouth dropped open as he
recognized the figure standing just outside. "Lord Gareth!" He
choked out a sputtered apology. "Why, the whole household has been
worried sick about you; they thought —"

"Yes, I can imagine what they thought,"
Gareth quipped, grinning ruefully. "But as you can see, I have not
abandoned my wife and daughter after all. Please summon my wife,
would you, Johnson?"

The footman bowed and hurried off. He had
always liked Lord Gareth and didn't believe all the wicked tales
making the rounds about him "abandoning his wife."

A moment later, Juliet herself was hurrying
down the stairs in a flurry of skirts.

"Gareth?"

She came up short, pausing at the foot of
the stairs, hesitant, uncertain, unsure. He stepped over the
threshold, his hat in his hand, a little smile on his face that
only hinted at how his heart had leaped at sight of her, and
everything inside him had begun to sing. For two days he had
anticipated this moment, alternately mad to see her again — and
dreading the reception he was sure he would get. He had, after all,
had a row with her, dumped her here, then disappeared for three
days.

"Hello, Juliet," he said, with boyish
sheepishness.

She leaned against the balustrade and eyed
him with a mixture of wariness and relief. "Hello, Gareth."

And then both chorused: "I'm sorry."

They rushed toward each other, she flinging
herself into his arms and he lifting her high to swing her once,
twice around, her skirts flying up over her legs, her shining face
just inches from his own. He set her down and was kissing her
before she even found her balance, his mouth hungrily meeting hers,
seeking forgiveness, seeking proof that she still cared. She
responded with all the passion with which she had missed him,
worried about him, and — despite herself — wondered about him.

"Ah, dearest," he murmured, setting her back
on her feet so that he could gaze down into her face, alight with
joy and relief. In that moment he realized she'd been just as
worried about
his
reception as he'd been about hers. "I am
sorry for going off and leaving as I did; can you possibly forgive
me for not sending word back to you?"

"Only if you can forgive
me
for
losing the money."

"That was my fault, not yours."

"No it wasn't, it was mine —"

"Shhh." Smiling, he leaned down and stopped
her protest with another kiss that left them both reeling.

She put her arms around him and hugged him.
"Oh, I am so glad you're back, Gareth. I was worried sick about
you!"

"I don't feel as if I deserve your worry,
Juliet." He swallowed, hard, all but undone by the magnitude of her
forgiveness. "After all, Charles would never have —"

"Stop it. I don't want to speak of Charles.
I'm positively sick of the way everyone keeps comparing you to him.
I just want to stand here for a moment with
you
, the man I
married."

Gareth's brows shot straight up. Shocked
into speechlessness, awash in a sudden, all-enveloping pleasure at
her words, he held her for a long, happy moment, pressing his cheek
against her soft hair, loving the feel of her body against his, the
delicate bones of her shoulders beneath his hands.
I just want
to stand here for a moment with
you,
the man I married.
Could he read into those words what he wanted to read into them?
Had she finally put his all-too-perfect brother aside, in favor of
him?

If so, he was truly blessed, the happiest
man in England. And as he stood there holding her, he got a
tantalizing whiff of her soap, felt her breasts pushing against
him, her hand roving down his back. Oh, he couldn't wait to
continue what they'd started on their wedding night!

"So, aren't you even going to ask me where
I've been?" he finally asked, holding her at arm's length and
grinning down at her. He pulled down his lower eyelid to expose his
eyeball and shoved his face playfully into hers until a burst of
laughter escaped her. "Don't you want to look into my eyes and see
how bloodshot they are from two nights of steady debauchery?"

"Oh, do stop teasing me so!" she cried,
smacking him lightly. "I have more faith in you than that."

Her words warmed him in a way that strong
spirits never could. "Do you? I must confess, it's a very humbling
feeling, to find that someone in this world has faith in me after
all."

"You've never given me any reason
not
to have faith in you. Though I should tell you that every harridan
in London — culminating with Perry's mother and sister, both of
whom I finally threw out — came here to speak ill of you." She
grinned. "But I didn't believe them, of course."

"You threw them out?
Perry's mother and
sister
?!"

"Well, yes. They were ripping you to
shreds."

He threw back his head in laughter. "Oh,
what a plucky woman you are, my brave little colonial!" He sobered
then, suddenly worried. "I probably shouldn't ask what they said
about me, though curiosity begs that I do."

"Oh, just that you've ruined every woman in
England, and you're having an affair with Lord Pemberly's
wife."

He guffawed. "Lord Pemberly's
wife
?
His mistress, maybe, and
that
ended three months ago! What
rubbish!"

"Yes, I rather suspected as much."

"Oh, Juliet. How can I ever thank you for
believing in me?"

Her eyes warmed; she reached up and ran her
soft, dainty hand over his jaw, then removed it and put it behind
her back, gazing up at him with a coy shyness. Her cheeks flared
pink, and he knew she was thinking about their aborted wedding
night lovemaking. "I can think of a way."

"Dear God, why didn't I come back two nights
ago!"

"I don't know. But I
do
know that my
trust in you must be rewarded," she said playfully. "I'm certain
that you haven't spent the last few days with another woman, and I
can tell just by looking at you that you haven't spent them
carousing, either; your face is clean-shaven, your eyes are too
clear and bright, and you have this ... this rather humble set of
new clothes. What have you done, Gareth?"

He grasped her upper arms. "I had a dream,
Juliet. Actually, it was more like a vision than a dream. I —" He
abruptly decided not to tell her that Charles had been his mentor
in the dream; she would make him tell her everything about Charles,
neglecting the message of the dream in favor of Charles's presence
in it. Jealousy rose within him at the very thought; he'd had a
tantalizing taste of this woman's passion, rather liked the idea
that she had actually worried about him these past two days, and
was not inclined to share his wife —
his
wife — with his
dear departed brother. "I dare say there was a message in the
dream," he continued. "It scared me. In it, I saw what I've been,
realized what I would become if I continued on the path I was on. I
saw that I was well on my way to losing you and ... well, I know we
don't really know each other just yet, but I
am
growing
rather fond of you, you know? So I sold my expensive clothes, sold
my jewels, and" — a brief shadow of pain crossed his face — "I sold
Crusader."

"Oh, Gareth. you didn't! I know how much he
meant to you —"

He shrugged, as though selling off his
beloved horse had been as easy as pawning his jewels. "You and
Charlotte mean more. And we needed the money so we could have a
place to live, food in our bellies."

Juliet frowned. She hated to destroy his
newfound confidence, but she had the sneaking suspicion that he had
not thought things through beforehand. "Er, Gareth ... that was
very noble of you, but what will we do when the money runs
out?"

He shrugged, looked down, and kicked at the
edge of the carpet, obviously embarrassed. "I ... well, I've found
work. I think we shall be all right. I mean, we won't live in the
lap of luxury, but —"

"Work?"

"Yes. I know you're probably wondering where
I've been the past few days. Well, I swallowed my pride and went to
see that fellow Snelling up in Abingdon; you know, the one who
followed us the other night and offered me a job. I wanted to talk
to him and see just what it was he wanted me to do before bringing
you and Charlotte all the way back to Berkshire."

"You mean you've been up in Abingdon the
past two days, trying to work out a way to support us?"

"I have indeed." He grinned. "Proud of
me?"

"Well, yes, but — just what is it he wants
you to do?"

He shrugged. "Oh, nothing really ... just a
little fighting, 'tis all."

"Gareth, I don't like the sound of
this."

"Everything will be just fine, Juliet. I can
take care of myself."

"You were furious with him when he made that
offer the other night. You were insulted and ready to kill him. And
now you tell me that everything's just fine?"

He reached out and grasped her by the
shoulders. "Juliet, we need the money."

"I thought gentlemen didn't engage in
swordplay for money."