by Julia Quinn
“Self-preservation, pure and simple.”
“And how is this meant to save you?”
Caroline's lips curved into an enigmatic smile. “If I know this much, just think what else I could tell you.”
The Spanish woman's stare was hard and steely. “If you know too much,” she said with eerie softness, “then why shouldn't I kill you right now?”
Caroline fought for her composure. Her knees were trembling, and her hands were shaking, but she hoped Carlotta would just attribute that to the cold water swirling around her calves. She had no idea whether Blake was dead or alive, but either way, she had to remain strong. If he had—God forbid—been killed up on the hill, she was damned if she was going to let his life's work be completely destroyed by this tiny, dark-haired woman. She didn't care if she died in the process, but she wasn't going to let that list of War Office agents out of the country.
“I didn't say I know too much,” Caroline finally said. “But I might know exactly what you need.”
There was a terrifying moment of silence, and then Carlotta lifted her gun. “I'll take my chances.”
In that moment Caroline realized she'd been lying to herself. She did care if she died. She wasn't ready yet to leave this world. She didn't want to feel the pain of a gunshot wound, to know that a bullet had torn her skin and her lifeblood was seeping out into the cold waters of the English Channel.
And God help her, she couldn't die without learning of Blake's fate.
“You can't!” she yelled. “You can't kill me.”
Carlotta smiled. “Oh?”
“You're out of bullets.”
“I have another gun.”
“You'll never escape without me.”
“Is that so?”
Caroline nodded frantically, then spied something that made her so thankful she was one inch away from committing herself to a convent just to show her gratitude.
“And why, pray tell, is that?”
“Because the boat is leaving.”
Carlotta whirled around, saw Oliver's boat heading back out to open waters, and spat out a word Caroline had never before heard spoken in a female voice.
When Blake's feet hit the gravelly beach, it was all he could do not to race into the ocean and yank his wife to safety. But he'd chosen the steeper path so as not to lose the element of surprise, and he knew he had to proceed with care and caution. James landed softly next to him a moment later, and together they surveyed the scene.
Carlotta seemed to have gone positively unhinged, waving her fist and screaming curses at the receding boat, and Caroline was inching slowly backward, edging ever closer to the beach.
But just when she'd managed to go far enough so that she might possibly be able to run to safety, Carlotta whirled around and leveled her gun at Caroline's midsection.
“You're not going anywhere,” she said in a deadly voice.
“Couldn't we at least get out of the water?” Caroline replied. “I can't feel my feet any longer.”
Carlotta nodded curtly. “Move slowly. One false move and I'll shoot you dead. I swear I will.”
“I believe you,” Caroline replied, with a meaningful glance toward Davenport's body.
Slowly, without ever taking their eyes off each other, the two women moved out of the water and onto the beach.
From his hiding place behind a tree, Blake watched the entire interchange. He felt James edge closer to him, then heard his whisper in his ear.
“Wait until they get a little closer.”
“For what?” Blake asked in response.
But the marquis made no reply.
Blake watched Carlotta like a hawk, waiting for the exact right moment to shoot the gun out of her hand. There was no finer shot in all of England, and Blake was confident he could do it, but not while Caroline was blocking his way.
But then, before Blake could stop him, James stepped suddenly out into the clearing, both of his hands in the air.
“Let her go,” the marquis said in a low voice. “I'm the one you want.”
Carlotta's head swung around. “You!”
“In the flesh.”
Caroline's mouth fell open. “James?”
Carlotta's gun made an arc through the air as she changed her aim. “I have been dreaming about this day,” she hissed.
James jerked his head to signal to Caroline to move out of the way. “Is that all you've been dreaming about?” he purred.
Caroline caught her breath. James sounded positively seductive. What on earth had happened between those two? And where was Blake?
“Caroline,” James said in forceful tones. “Move aside. This is between Miss De Leon and me.”
Caroline had no idea what he was up to, but she wasn't about to leave him to the mercy of a woman who looked as if she wanted to skin him alive. “James,” she said, “maybe I—”
“MOVE!” he roared.
She did, and in less than a second a shot rang out. Carlotta howled in pain and surprise, and James charged forward, pinning her to the ground. There was a scuffle, but James outweighed the tiny Spanish woman by a good six stone, and she didn't have a chance.
Caroline ran forward to help, but before she reached them, she, too, was tackled from the side.
“Blake? Oh, Blake!” She threw herself into his arms. “I thought I would never see you again.”
He crushed her to him and held with all his might. “Caroline,” he gasped, “when I saw…When I heard…”
“I thought you were dead. Oliver said you were dead.”
Blake clutched at her, still unable to believe that she was safe. He knew he was holding her too tightly, that her tender skin would bruise from the force of it, but he couldn't let go. “Caroline,” he said hoarsely, “I have to tell you—”
“I didn't leave Seacrest Manor!” she interrupted, her words coming out in a rush of air. “I swear it. I wanted to, but I didn't because I didn't want to betray your trust. But then Oliver snatched me, and—”
“I don't care.” He shook his head, aware of the tears rolling down his cheeks but completely at the mercy of his emotions. “I don't care about that. I thought you were going to die, and…”
She whispered his name and touched his cheek, and he was undone.
“I love you, Caroline. I love you. And you were going to die, and all I could think—”
“Oh, Blake.”
He held on tight to her arms, his entire body strangely off balance. “All I could think was that I would never be able to tell you, and you would never hear me say it, and—”
Caroline placed a finger against his lips. “I love you, Blake Ravenscroft.”
“And I love you, Caroline Ravenscroft.”
“And I don't much love Carlotta De Leon,” James grunted. “So if one of you is inclined to help me, I'd like to tie her up and be done with her.”
Blake broke away from his wife with a sheepish expression on his face. “Sorry, Riverdale.”
Caroline followed and watched as the Spanish spy was bound and gagged. “How do you mean to get her up the hill?”
“Oh, bloody hell,” James muttered. “I certainly don't want to carry her.”
Blake sighed. “I suppose we could send out a boat tomorrow.”
“Oh!” Caroline exclaimed. “That reminds me! I nearly forgot. I saw the people on Oliver's boat before they sailed off. It was Miles Dudley, just as we thought. I didn't recognize the other man, but I'm certain if you apprehend Mr. Dudley, he will lead you to him.”
At that moment, Chartwell skidded down the hill. “What happened?” he asked.
“I'm surprised you didn't see it all from the safety of the cliff,” Blake said bitterly.
But James's face lit up. “No, no, Ravenscroft, don't scold the lad. He's just in time.”
Chartwell looked suspicious. “Just in time for what?”
“Why, to guard Miss De Leon. We'll send out a boat to fetch the both of you in the morning. And while you're at it, you can pull those two bodies
out of the water.”
Chartwell just nodded, knowing he had no choice.
Blake looked up the hill. “Damn, I'm tired.”
“Oh, we don't need to go up the path,” Caroline said, pointing east. “If you don't mind walking a half mile or so down the beach, the cliff disappears, and it's a relatively flat walk to the road.”
“I'll take the path,” James said.
“Are you certain?” she asked with a frown. “You must be terribly weary.”
“Someone has to fetch the horses. You two go ahead. I'll meet you on the road.” And before either of the Ravenscrofts could argue, James had taken his leave and was scrambling up the steep path.
Blake smiled and tugged on Caroline's hand. “Riverdale is a very smart man.”
“Oh, really?” She tripped along behind him, leaving Chartwell to guard the prisoner. “And what prompted you to make that observation at this time?”
“I have a feeling he would be a bit uncomfortable accompanying us.”
“Oh? Why?”
Blake offered her his most earnest expression. “Well, as you know, there are certain aspects of marriage that require privacy.”
“I see,” she said gravely.
“I might have to kiss you once or twice on the way back.”
“Only twice?”
“Possibly three times.”
She pretended to think about that. “I don't think three times will be nearly enough.”
“Four?”
She laughed, shook her head, and ran down the beach.
“Five?” he offered, his long strides easily keeping up with her. “Six. I can promise six, and I'll try for seven…”
“Eight!” she yelled. “But only if you catch me.”
He broke into a run and tackled her to the ground. “Caught you!”
She swallowed, and her eyes filled with sentimental tears. “Yes, you did. It's rather funny, actually.”
Blake touched her cheek, smiling down at her with all the love in the world. “What?”
“Oliver set out to catch an heiress, you set out to catch a spy. And in the end…” Her words trailed off, and her voice choked with emotion.
“In the end?”
“In the end, I caught you.”
He kissed her once, lightly. “You certainly did, my love. You certainly did.”
Selections from the Personal Dictionary of Caroline Ravenscroft
July 1815
non-par-eil (noun). A person or thing having no equal; something unique.
A year of marriage and still I think my husband a nonpareil!
November 1815
e-da-cious (adjective). Devoted to eating, voracious.
I am quite hungry now that I am carrying a child, but still I am not as edacious as I was those days while trapped in Blake's washing room.
May 1816
trea-tise (noun). A book or writing which treats some particular subject.
Blake finds so much in our two-day-old son to boast over; I anticipate a treatise on the topic of David's intellect and charm any day now.
January 1818
col-la-tion (noun). A light meal or repast.
This confinement is nothing like the last; it is a blessed day when I can even manage to partake of a cold collation.
August 1824
cur-sive (adjective). Of writing; written with a running hand, so that the characters are rapidly formed without raising the pen, and in consequence, have their angles rounded and separate strokes formed, and at length become slanted.
Today I tried to instruct Trent in the art of cursive writing, but Blake intervened, stating (rather impertinently, in my opinion) that I have the handwriting of a chicken.
June 1826
prog-e-ny (noun). Descent, family, offspring. Our progeny insist that the holes dotting the wall around Blake's dartboard were made by a wild bird somehow trapped in the house, but I find this explanation implausible.
February 1827
eu-pho-ni-ous (adjective). Pleasing to the ear.
We have named her Cassandra in honor of my mother, but we both agree that the name has a most euphonious ring to it.
June 1827
be-a-ti-fic (adjective). Making blessed, imparting supreme happiness.
Perhaps I am a foolish and sentimental woman, but sometimes I pause to look around at all that is so precious to me—Blake, David, Trent, Cassandra—and I am so overcome with joy I must wear a beatific smile on my face for days. Life, I think—I know!—is good, so very, very good.
About the Author
Julia Quinn started writing her first book one month after finishing college and has been tapping away at her keyboard ever since. The New York Times bestselling author of thirteen novels for Avon Books, she is a graduate of Harvard and Radcliffe Colleges and lives with her family in the Pacific Northwest. Please visit her on the web at www.juliaquinn.com.
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Avon Books by Julia Quinn
Brighter Than the Sun
Dancing At Midnight
Everything and the Moon
How to Marry a Marquis
Minx
Splendid
To Catch an Heiress
The Bridgerton Series
The Duke and I
The Viscount Who Loved Me
An Offer from A Gentleman
Romancing Mr. Bridgerton
To Sir Phillip, With Love
When He Was Wicked
Anthologies
The Further Observations of Lady Whistledown
(with Suzanne Enoch, Karen Hawkins, and Mia Ryan)
Where's My Hero
(with Lisa Kleypas and Kinley MacGregor)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
TO CATCH AN HEIRESS. Copyright © 1998 by Julie Cotler Pottinger. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
ePub edition June 2004 ISBN 9780061754159
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