by Gaelen Foley
“Well, coming from you,” Jordan said.
“He’s been here all the time,” Mara said. “They all have.” Jordan followed her smiling glance and saw Beauchamp leaning against a bedpost.
“You gave us quite a scare, Falconridge.”
“Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to cause a fuss.” He started to laugh, but winced.
Laughing hurt, at least at the moment.
Mara laid her hand over his bandages. “Are you all right?”
Jordan nodded grimly in answer as his team leader, Max, sauntered over to his bedside. “Good of you to come back to us, old friend.” The seriousness in his eyes belied his casual tone. “I suppose you must’ve realized we could never get on without you.”
“Well, I’ve been telling you all that for years,” he jested weakly.
“How are you feeling?” Max inquired.
“Like somebody tried to carve me up like the Christmas goose. Otherwise, right as rain.”
Mara began to cry. She turned away, covering her lips with her fingers.
Jordan took her hand again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I was only teasing.”
She nodded, avoiding his gaze as she wiped away a tear. He supposed he should not make light of it. That was just his way.
Standing near her, Max laid a comforting hand on Mara’s shoulder, but he said to Jordan, “Virgil will want to see you. We’ve all been incredibly worried.”
“I’ll go tell the old man he’s awake,” Beau said. “He did your stitches himself, you know,” he added, nodding at Jordan’s bandages.
“Did he? That Scot was always handy with a needle. But I hope he didn’t waste his favorite malt whiskey cleaning the wound.”
“Apparently, he thinks you’re worth it,” Max drawled.
As Beau headed for the doorway, Max patted Mara’s shoulder in approval. “Brave lady you’ve got here, Falconridge. Not a bad driver, either.”
“Other than nearly running over one of the dogs,” Rohan corrected sternly, though his eyes twinkled.
“He got out of the way,” Mara protested.
“And so will we.” Max sent Rohan a look.
The duke nodded. “Just let us know if you need anything, Jord. Good to have you back.”
He nodded his thanks, touched by their concern for him. The men withdrew, leaving Mara and him alone.
For a long moment, they just held hands, gazing at each other. Her face was bathed in the soft daylight that poured in through the window, but her big, dark eyes were still haunted. At length, she let out a sigh of belated relief, shook her head to herself, leaned near, and kissed his brow. “Can I get you something to drink?”
He shook his head. “How’s Thomas?”
The haunted look fled as the mention of her boy lit her eyes and made her chuckle. “He loves it here, I regret to say.”
Jordan laughed—and winced again.
“Your friends have been keeping him so entertained that I think he’s nearly forgotten all about yesterday.”
“Yesterday? How long have I been sleeping?”
She glanced over at the mantel clock. “Just about eighteen hours.”
“Blazes,” he murmured. “No wonder I’m so hungry.”
She smiled. “That’s a good sign.”
“I’m fine,” he assured her.
She raised an eyebrow.
“But then again, if I’m going to get all this lovely sympathy…”
She tilted her head with a sardonic look.
He flashed a weary smile, but his expression sobered in the next heartbeat. “How is Jack?”
“Virgil says he’ll have a long recovery, but his condition seems stable. Mrs. Busby is recovering from the shock of it all, as well.”
“Good. And now, most importantly, my darling, how are you?”
She gazed at him with tears gathering in her eyes. “I’m wonderful,” she forced out softly. “Just seeing you open your eyes and hearing you speak has already answered all my prayers.”
“I suppose we’ll have a lot to talk about.”
“Not really.” She shook her head and reached out lovingly to smooth his hair. “You don’t have anything left to explain unless you want to. I want you to know I’m not angry at you anymore about the whole Carlton House cover story, either.”
“You’re not?”
She shook her head. “Now that I know firsthand what sort of evil creatures you and your friends have dedicated your lives to fighting, I could never begrudge your doing whatever it took to accomplish your mission.” She shrugged. “I wish you’d have asked me straight out to help, but I understand why that would have been impossible.”
He lowered his gaze, moved by her words as he held her hand. “You’re a very generous woman, Mara.”
“And you, my friend, are a bona fide hero.”
He scoffed quietly and shook his head. “No. You want to see a hero, look at Rohan, look at Virgil and Max.”
“I’m sure they are, my love, but those men were a wreck from the moment they saw you wounded.” She gave him a fond smile, studying him. “Judging from what I saw, I get the feeling you’re sort of…hmm, the glue holding things together around here.”
The second she said it, Jordan knew exactly what she was talking about though no one had ever put it into words before, and besides, he was too well mannered ever to claim such a vital role.
“I’m glue?” he echoed dryly.
She nodded. “Warrington told me you’re the one who’s kept everyone sane.”
“Well, look at them,” he pointed out. “That’s not saying much.” If not for the amount of blood he’d lost, he might almost have blushed.
She smiled knowingly. “We’ve had many interesting conversations while you were in dreamworld, by the by.”
“Oh, dear. Lies, all lies.”
She giggled. “I hear you spent the past twelve years, how shall I say, pining for me?”
“Pining?” he exclaimed with a wince. “They actually told you that?”
“Do you deny it, sir?”
“No,” he muttered, trying to scowl, but he knew his eyes were sparkling as much as her own.
“According to Max, you could never seem to decide if you loved or hated me. Interestingly, though, the marquess claims there was never any question in his mind on the matter.”
“Yes, well, Max always thinks he knows everything,” Jordan attempted to jest, but Mara’s gaze turned wistful.
“I’m glad I got to see how close you all are,” she said as she caressed his hand. “How much you rely on each other. It relieves my mind to know you were not totally alone while we were apart. Now I understand what a sacrifice you were making, leaving me. Max said you were actually considering quitting the Order for me before you had barely got started.”
“It’s true.”
“You had just completed years of training. And you were willing to give that up for me.”
He nodded. “But I could not abandon them.”
“Of course not. How could you? You’re the glue, and you knew it—and Virgil knew it, too. That’s why he put so much pressure on you to leave me behind.”
“You talked to Virgil?”
She lowered her gaze with a pensive nod. “We were both here through the night watching over you. He certainly looks on you, on all of you, like his own sons, and for that reason, I don’t think he intended to deprive you of any happiness by advising you against me. He just wasn’t convinced that what you and I had found together was real. He thought you were infatuated with, as he put it, a dark-eyed coquette. Would you believe he apologized to me?”
“Did he?” Jordan asked in amazement.
She nodded. “He admitted last night that when you came to him saying that you intended to ask for my hand, he told you to cool your heels and did a little spy work checking up on me.” She smiled wanly, gazing down at their joined hands. “To no one’s surprise, including my own, he quickly concluded that I was too impetuous and flighty to be
trusted with the secrets you all had to keep.”
Jordan shook his head in quiet anger at himself. “I should have fought harder for you. I should not have accepted his word as final—”
“It’s all right,” she soothed. “I didn’t mean to dredge up the past. The future is what matters now. But I am willing to take responsibility for being a little rebel in those days.”
“You had your reasons. Besides, I knew full well that your coquetry was only a façade.”
“All I know is that I’m happy to have it confirmed that it was not a lack of feeling for me that pulled you away but your sense of duty to the Order and your loyalty to these ‘brothers’ of yours.”
He shook his head. “Clearly, we misjudged you. Virgil and I both underestimated you, because yesterday, I saw with my own eyes what fierce mettle you are made of when those you love are threatened. Most impressive, my lady. There’s no further question we could’ve trusted you with the Order’s secrets.”
“Yes, but if I had not married Pierson, I would not have Thomas,” she replied. Her gaze sobered as she stared at him. “Thank you for saving my son’s life.”
“Thank you for giving me another chance,” he murmured. “Mara?”
“Yes, my love?”
Jordan held both of her delicate hands in his own. “Nothing must be allowed ever to separate us again. I don’t want to lose this chance. Whatever happens, wherever we go from here, promise me we’re together from now on. I love you, Mara,” he whispered. “I always have, and I always will.”
“Jordan,” she breathed, as he pulled her into his arms. She pressed a reverent kiss to his cheek and held him in her embrace.
Surely he had not survived the fight, but died, he thought, for this felt too much like heaven.
“I love you, too, my sweet man, so much,” she choked out. “You’ve always held my heart.”
His own was already overflowing, but he struggled to maintain a manly composure. “Does that mean you’re finally willing to give up your freedom and marry me, you stubborn girl?”
She laughed through her joyous tears. “Yes, actually it does. And soon, or there could be gossip about the date on your heir’s birth certificate.”
He pulled back suddenly, his hands on her shoulders, and stared into her face. “My—my heir?” She smiled slowly until his eyes widened with amazed elation. “You mean—?”
“I’m late. Well, don’t look so surprised!” She nodded, laughing, as he threw his arms around her. Then he claimed her mouth in a jubilant kiss.
As Beau made his way down to the Pit, the Order’s subterranean lair carved into the limestone beneath the three-hundred-year-old Dante House, he savored the relief of seeing Falconridge rejoin the land of the living.
He had a deep respect for the earl’s quiet strength, but even more than that, seeing Rotherstone’s triad reunited had made Beau wonder for the millionth time that week about his own teammates.
Where the hell are they?
He thrust his gnawing worry aside, telling himself they’d be fine. Something had probably just come up. He was simply going to have to be patient, he told himself as he stalked across the torchlit chamber, but took care not to step on the ancient mosaic of the Archangel Michael set in a medallion on the floor of the main gathering chamber.
A lantern on the table flickered its reddish light on the white Maltese cross of the Order that hung against the dark, cavelike rock of their underground headquarters.
Beau crossed to the section of the Pit where he was fairly sure he would find Virgil—outside the holding cell where they were keeping Niall.
The old Highlander could scarcely seem to go two hours without looking in on the younger copy of himself, still safely contained behind the bars.
Nephew, indeed.
Beau could hear their terse exchange as he approached the rounded hollow of the holding-cell area. He shook his head to himself. Kin or not, surely their handler did not think Niall could be trusted in any way?
Was he the only one who could see the younger Banks would just as soon cut any of their throats, including Virgil’s, if that was what it took for him to escape?
Virgil was leaning his hips on a tall stool across from Niall’s cell when Beau stepped into the doorway.
“Sir?”
The older Highlander glanced over in question, his frustration with his “nephew” visible in his fiery eyes.
“He’s awake,” Beau informed him.
Virgil’s posture lifted at once. He pushed away from the stool and left the holding-cell anteroom.
Meanwhile, Niall sent Beau an evil look, which Beau returned to him in silent warning.
Don’t even think about it.
Virgil turned to Beau as he joined him. “How’s he doing?” he asked gruffly.
“Better than expected. I think he had the proper motivation inspiring him to live.”
Virgil almost smiled, then his eyes narrowed in question. “Have you made any progress on figuring out where that list came from or this key that Lady Pierson reported Bloodwell giving her?”
“The key—still no idea. The list—I might have, if Falconridge hadn’t bled all over it. Unfortunately, it was in his breast pocket when he was stabbed. I’m afraid it’ll be hard to trace beyond what the Regent’s secretary already told us.”
“Right. Just that it came from the Home Office. But we still don’t know from which department, or by whose hand.” Virgil shook his head. “It doesn’t add up.”
“Sir, is it possible we might actually have a traitor somewhere inside the Order?” Beau whispered.
“Hard to say. But who else besides one of our own could have known all these agents’ identities? This could either be sabotage—or possibly, just somebody’s stupid mistake, sending this to the Regent with the best of intentions. Either way, we need to know the truth. What’s the matter?” Virgil demanded, noting his scowl.
Beau shook his head, exasperated. “What baffles me is how the royal buffoon could’ve failed to grasp the danger of even keeping that piece of paper in his desk!”
“Lord Beauchamp,” the Highlander chided with a frown that reproached him only mildly for criticizing their sovereign.
“Sir, you know it’s true. How could he be so careless not to realize the peril he was putting us in by keeping this information so poorly secured? I know he likes to play at war and pretend he was actually there at Waterloo, but damn it, we dedicate our all to protect this man, and in turn, he’s playing roulette with our bloody lives!”
“Believe me, I mean to talk to him personally about it,” Virgil replied, though Beau had expected a scolding.
“Really? You have an audience with the Regent?” A smile spread over his face. “Please, can I come with you? I won’t even say anything, I’ll just sit there—”
“That will do, Sebastian,” Virgil said wryly.
Beau scowled again. He hated being called by his first name.
“Give all your attention to that list, at least for now, while you’re waiting for your team to get home.”
“Yes, sir.”
Virgil started to walk away, but paused, and glanced back at him. “Don’t worry, lad,” he offered in a low tone. “Your mates will make it back all right.”
Beau gave him a rueful smile of gratitude. “Yes, sir.”
Mara was holding Jordan’s hand, and they were gazing at each other when Virgil cleared his throat from the open doorway.
They both looked over.
Jordan laughed, and Mara smiled as the big, weathered warrior came in with a fond lopsided grin to find his patient awake again.
Jordan dutifully answered Virgil’s few gruff questions about his injuries and his overall condition. Then he told the Highlander their momentous news—wedding bells, a child on the way. “I wanted you to be the first to know,” he said.
Virgil congratulated them with surprising warmth, even embracing Mara in fatherly fashion.
“Thank you,” she was saying, ac
cepting his well-wishes, when all of a sudden, little Thomas came barreling into the room in a state of giggling hilarity.
“Come back here, you wee rapscallion!” they could hear Rohan booming from the corridor. “Oh, where’s he gone? Dogs, have you seen Thomas?”
Thomas squealed with glee at hearing Rohan ask the dogs this question.
“I hide!” he exclaimed, climbing in between Jordan and Mara, who had sat down again on the edge of the bed.
“Easy!” She restrained her son from jostling their wounded hero overmuch, but Jordan was just as pleased to see the boy as Thomas was to duck into hiding behind the man who would become a second father to him in the years ahead.
“Has anyone seen Thomas?” Rohan asked idly, appearing in the doorway.
A small giggle came from under the edge of the sheet.
“No Thomas in here,” Jordan replied.
Mara poked the outline of a chubby belly. “Shh! He’s going to see you,” she whispered.
“You can’t find me!”
“I wonder where he went. Guess I’d better keep looking,” the duke drawled with a knowing smile at Mara. “Come on, dogs. Let’s see if we can find him…”
When Rohan had gone with the pack of dogs following him, Thomas popped out from under the sheet, his hair sticking out in all directions, his newest teeth gleaming as he grinned.
Virgil chuckled at his antics, pressing the button of Thomas’s little nose with his fingertip. “Reckon I’ll leave you three in peace.”
When he had gone, Mara scooped her son onto her lap. “I have something very special to tell you, Thomas—”
But he was not in the mood to stay on Mama’s lap. He crawled over to Jordan, knelt before him, and stared somberly into his eyes.
“You still sick?” he asked in concern.
“Oh, I’m getting better,” Jordan answered as his heart clenched. “Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
Mara and he exchanged a glance over the boy’s head, but Thomas was already on to the next subject.
