"Not mad, just desperate" — Somerfield's voice thickened and his eyes became two burning holes of hatred — "as you would be, too, if you found yourself impoverished, robbed of your friends, your reputation, your honor and even the dignity of your own name. You, de Montforte, have robbed me of everything I have — everything, that is, except my ability to exact revenge, and revenge, I tell you, is exactly what I intend to have."
Andrew had moved in a slow circle so that he had his eye on Celsie and Gerald did not. Her back against the tree, he saw that she had chafed steadily away at her bonds with a rock that she must have managed to pick up, and was now in danger of freeing herself. Please, God, don't let this madman see her. Don't let her get free just yet. And if she does, please don't let her do anything foolish.
He determined to keep Somerfield's attention. "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," he scoffed, truthfully. "You speak of revenge, but I've done nothing to you. If you're so intent on sending me to my death, the least you could do is tell me my crime."
"Destroying my life, that's what!" Somerfield moved closer, viciously kicking aside a brick. His eyes were savage, tears streaked his cheeks, and his breath was tainted by fumes of alcohol. "You stole Celsie's inheritance right out from under me, you miserable blackguard. You switched the aphrodisiacs so that I am ruined forever. And now I have you right where I want you, don't I? Hand over the aphrodisiac, de Montforte. The real aphrodisiac. It won't spare your life, but maybe it will spare Celsie's."
The real aphrodisiac?
A flash of lightning split the sky. Thunder rolled overhead, shaking the ground upon which they stood, but Andrew remained unmoving, determined to stay calm, waiting for Somerfield to drop his guard. "I don't have the aphrodisiac," he said mildly. "Your cousin stole it from me."
"My cousin stole a forgery! A forgery that ruined my life, and probably hers as well!"
Andrew shrugged. "Well then, let that be a lesson to you both, that thievery will get you nowhere. And as for the aphrodisiac, well, I certainly didn't switch it. Did you ever consider, Somerfield, that it might have been unstable to begin with, and merely followed the chemical course that nature intended for it?"
Somerfield stared at him, the rain plastering his hair to his face, his cheeks streaked with what could have been tears, could have been rain, could have been both.
"Besides, even if I did have the aphrodisiac, I can assure you that it is not something I would carry around with me." He smiled patiently and, hands spread innocently before him, moved towards Gerald, whose face was twisted with hatred and bitter anguish. "Now, please, put the gun down, Gerald. You are distraught. Desperate . . ."
But as Andrew slowly reached for the pistol, still pointed at his heart, Somerfield's fragile control broke, and he seemed to explode in a fury of emotion.
"Get away from me, you bastard!"
Everything happened at once. Somerfield brought the pistol to full cock at the same moment that Andrew launched himself forward, his charge catching the earl squarely in the chest and sending him toppling backwards. The gun went flying. Both men went down in wet grass and rubble, Somerfield landing beneath Andrew but immediately twisting out from beneath him.
Celsie, just cutting through the last threads of the hemp, saw it all. Breaking free, she raised bloody wrists, tore off the gag and raced through the rain towards the two figures rolling on the ground, engaged in deadly combat.
Where was the pistol? Oh God, if she could only retrieve it —
Again lightning cracked close overhead, and rain poured down on the two combatants as they each tried to get the other in a fatal throat-hold.
"Stop it! Gerald, stop it!"
She circled them, shouting for reason, for sanity — and there, in the grass near a few wet, scattered bricks, saw the fallen pistol. Crying out, she lunged for it — too late. With an inhuman roar, Gerald threw off Andrew, shoved Celsie sprawling, and grabbing up the pistol, swung it straight into his adversary's face and fired.
"No-o-o-o!" Celsie screamed.
With hideous clarity Celsie saw Andrew's hand jerk up toward the side of his head even as his knees crumpled beneath him, the blood streaming down his face and blinding him. He fell half on his side, supporting himself with one elbow, dazed but not dead, oh thank God, not dead!
"Damn you for what you've done to me, de Montforte!" Gerald cried, hurling aside the spent pistol and grabbing one of the bricks as Andrew gazed dully up at him through streams of blood. "Damn you to the hell where you belong!"
Raising the brick high in both hands, he gave a primal roar of frenzy and began to bring it down on his adversary's bleeding head —
"Andrew!" screamed Celsie —
At that very moment, a shot rang out — and Gerald's body pitched backward, the brick dropping from his lifeless hands as he fell to the earth, shot neatly through the heart.
With a cry, Celsie spun around just as a brilliant burst of lightning exploded around them . . . lighting up the ruins, lighting up the trees . . .
And thirty feet away, lighting up the grim, cloaked figure of the duke of Blackheath astride a mighty black stallion, a smoking pistol still in his hand.
Chapter 31
"Ah," said Lucien, urging Armageddon forward and pulling him up just before the earl's lifeless body. He gazed contemplatively down at his handiwork. "I must confess that I've been waiting to do that ever since he tried to kill you during the duel. Not very sporting of him, was it? Should have finished the scoundrel off then, but I thought it would look bad with the locals." He swung down from the stallion and stretched out a hand to help his brother to his feet. "You'd better see to that head wound, Andrew, as well as your wife. I daresay she's fainted."
Andrew, barely able to see through a hot film of scarlet, touched his fingers to the side of his head. They came away wet with blood. He took the handkerchief Lucien offered and wiped at his face. "I guess I ought to be thanking you for saving my life yet again," he said gruffly. "This is getting to be a habit."
The duke was eyeing his head wound in concern. "Another inch or two and you would have been forever denied the chance."
Andrew shoved the handkerchief into his pocket and bent down to Celsie, whose face was as white as the sheepskin pad beneath Newton's saddle. He gathered her tenderly in his arms. "Thing is, Luce, I don't even understand why he hated me so . . . He was past the point of desperation, as though he had nothing left to live for. What had I done to bring him to such a state?"
"I am afraid it was mostly my doing," Lucien admitted, turning Somerfield's body over so that Celsie would not see his dead face when she came to her senses. "Do you remember, Andrew, the day you got married? When, just as you were leaving, you demanded that I relinquish the aphrodisiac to you?"
"Yes . . ."
"Well, I did not relinquish the aphrodisiac."
Andrew shut his eyes on a curse.
"I know you thought your laboratory was impervious to my presence, but I can assure you, I had my ways of getting in. It was really a small matter, thanks to various textbooks you had strewn about the place, to duplicate your solution such that it appeared, at least to the naked eye, to be the real thing. Unfortunately, what I created was rather . . . purging, I'm told."
Andrew bent his head into his hand.
"I know you must despise me for interfering yet again, but I simply couldn't allow you or anyone else to have it. The stuff is quite priceless, you know. Best left in my own personal safe. Of course, had I known that it would bring such trouble down upon your" — he smiled — "and Charles's heads, I would never have given you even the forgery."
"I ought to choke you with my bare hands," Andrew said, but his tone of voice implied anything but a resolve to do just that. Why should he be surprised that Lucien had tampered with fate yet again? Why should he be surprised that Lucien had masterminded what had been, in the end, yet another victory? "I ought to throttle you for what you did to force Celsie and me together. I ought
to hate you . . . "
"And do you?"
Hazel eyes met black — and for the first time in years, there was no animosity in Andrew's.
He expelled his breath on a great sigh. "No." He wiped fresh blood from his eye and gazed tenderly down at Celsie. "No. I hated you earlier, Luce, for all your interfering, but things are different now . . . now that I love her."
Now that I love her . . . love her . . . love her. . . .
Celsie heard the words through the parting veils of fog as she drifted back toward consciousness. She became aware of Andrew's warm arm just beneath her neck, the protective cradle of his embrace, the steady beat of his heart just beneath her ear.
His heart.
He was alive.
Oh, thank you God.
She swallowed hard. Now that I love her.
She dragged open her eyes. Sure enough, there he was — her lover, her husband, her friend — head tilted up as he spoke with his brother, a trickle of blood, diluted and hastened by rain, running down his face.
"Do you?" she asked.
That got his attention.
"Celsie! Celsie, dearest . . ." he cradled her close and then reared back, his worried gaze searching hers. "My God, my heart stopped in my chest when you threw yourself between me and that gun! Don't you ever — "
"Do you?" she repeated.
"Do I what?"
"Love her," Lucien supplied, helpfully.
Andrew gazed down at Celsie — and then his face seemed to undergo a miraculous transformation. In his changeable, intense eyes, green one moment, brown the next, she saw a distinct softening, a melting, the simmering heat of desire. She didn't need to hear the words, though she wanted to. She didn't need to hear the words, because they were all right there, shining brightly in his sleepy de Montforte eyes.
And then he smiled and lowering his head, kissed her, driving his mouth against hers even as the rain poured down on their heads, dripped from his hair, trickled down their cheeks. Her arm came up to encircle his neck. She sighed, deep in her throat.
At last he finally drew back, and raising her hand, brought her knuckles to his lips.
"Ah, yes. I love you, Celsie. I love you more than half. I love you more than whole." And then he repeated the words he had left for her just hours ago; beautiful, affirming words that were the open door to their own glorious future.
"I love you with everything I am."
Celsie touched his wet, bloodstained face. "I love you too, Andrew. I love you so much that my heart can no longer contain it. And now, my dearest love, take me home. Take me home, and show me just how much you love me."
Andrew needed no urging. Grinning, he scooped her up in his arms, cradled her close so she would not see the corpse of her stepbrother, and gently hoisted her up into Newton's wet saddle. He pulled himself up behind her, his arms forming a protective cage around her body as he turned the horse for home. A moment later, he was cantering away, leaving Lucien, forgotten, behind.
The duke watched them go.
And then he mounted Armageddon, retrieved Gerald's frightened horse, and walking slowly, headed back toward Rosebriar as the rain began to fall off and cracks in the clouds revealed jagged chunks of blue.
Lucien smiled, congratulating himself once again on a job well done.
It was going to be a lovely day.
Epilogue
The duke of Blackheath arrived back in Ravenscombe late the following evening.
The miles had passed quickly beneath Armageddon's swift hooves, but Lucien had still had plenty of time to contemplate and savor his most recent triumph. And a triumph, it was. Another sibling, perhaps the most difficult of the lot, happy and set for life. Another new sister-in-law, madly in love with one of his brothers. Even now, he couldn't help but smile as he remembered the exchange of farewells early this morning. How strange it had felt when Celsie had actually embraced him for the first time, her eyes full of gratitude. How bizarre it had felt not to be at odds with Andrew, who had warmly shaken his hand. And how empty he was feeling now, knowing that there was only one sibling left to settle before his vow to his parents was finally fulfilled.
Nerissa.
She would not be the challenge her brothers had been. She was already in love with Perry, and surely would only need the smallest . . . push, to send her in the right direction.
No, Nerissa would be no trouble at all.
He was feeling quite proud of himself as he finally rode through the gatehouse of Blackheath, swung down from Armageddon, and handed the horse into the care of a groom, who came out of the darkness carrying a lantern. "Welcome back, Your Grace," he said, bowing, and turning the horse, led him back to the stables.
Lucien watched them go; then he headed toward the castle, looking forward to a change of clothes, a hot meal, and a long soak in the bath.
Servants ran to open the great doors for him. Servants ran to take his hat, his coat, and his gloves. Servants ran to prepare his meal.
Ah, it was good to be home.
The lord of Blackheath strode down the dark, dimly lit corridors, his footsteps echoing against the ancient walls that surrounded him. It was a windy night, and as he climbed the spiralling stone stairs that led to his apartments high in the tower, he could hear the gusts howling around the great turret, evoking memories he wished he could forget.
He pushed open his door.
Stepped inside.
And stopped dead in his tracks.
There, bathed in the light of a single bedside candle and sitting cross-legged on his bed, was a woman. A woman with slanting green eyes, vibrant red hair, and a smile that oozed malevolence.
Eva de la Mouriére.
"Ah, Your Grace. I have been waiting for you. You see, I found a little bottle in your safe there, and since I really cannot afford another error, you — like it or not — are going to sample it prior to my departure."
She held a gun in one hand, pointed straight at his heart.
And in the other . . .
The aphrodisiac.
Lucien looked into her angry, glittering eyes for a long moment, his expression giving nothing away. And then, his lips curving in a dark smile, he moved across the room.
Moved silently toward the bed.
And began slipping off his waistcoat, even as the door swung shut behind him.
###
-- the end --
LOOK FOR DANELLE HARMON'S THE WICKED ONE coming soon!
About the Author:
Multi-award winning and critically acclaimed author Danelle Harmon is the author of ten books, previously published in print and distributed in many languages worldwide. Though a Massachusetts native, she has lived in England and is married to an Englishman; she and her husband make their home in Massachusetts with their daughter Emma and numerous animals including four dogs, an Egyptian Arabian horse, and numerous pet chickens. Danelle welcomes email from her readers and can be reached at [email protected] or through any of the means listed below:
Connect with me online!
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Discover other titles in the de Montforte Brothers Series by Danelle Harmon at
Danelle Harmon at Amazon
THE WILD ONE
THE BELOVED ONE
THE WICKED ONE
And coming soon:
PIRATE IN MY ARMS
CAPTAIN OF MY HEART
MASTER OF MY DREAMS
MY LADY PIRATE
TAKEN BY STORM
WICKED AT HEART
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