The Match of the Century

by Cathy Maxwell

  And suddenly, she was tired of the game.

  He’d been honest with her. By the stream, he had not told her anything she couldn’t have reasoned out in her heart.

  The excuses, the grudges she’d nursed against him since that ill-fated night began to lose their power.

  She, too, missed her friend.

  Tears threatened. But so did reason.

  “I don’t regret what happened that night,” she said, carefully choosing her words. “What hurt, what makes me so angry with you, is that the next day you were gone. And there was no word from you—for years. You were a part of my life, then just left. What conclusion did you wish for me to draw? Because I’ll tell you what I believe—I think you wanted to leave your mark on me. You knew you were leaving for the military, and you were so jealous of Gavin, you used me.”

  There, she said it, and quite well.

  She looked at her gloved hands. “Dear God, I’m trembling. I’ve been so angry at you. I still am. You hurt me. I felt betrayed, I just want to—” She clenched her fists up in front of her.

  And then it was gone. The anger left her. Years of pent-up resentment fell away because she’d finally spoken. “I feel better. I needed to tell you how deeply you’d hurt me. In fact, I actually feel lighter.”

  And almost dizzy. She took a deep breath, then another, and another before daring a glance at Ben to see how he’d accepted her outburst.

  To her surprise, he wasn’t angry. No, he appeared stunned, as if she had planted her fist in his face. “I didn’t want to leave, Elin.”

  “So you say. You left. You didn’t write.”

  Ben slowly sank to his knees on the ground in front of her. “Elin, you sent me away.”

  His words didn’t make sense to her. “I didn’t.”

  “Did you tell your parents what had happened?”

  Elin released her breath slowly. “My mother, yes.”

  “Why? We had promised each other that we would keep it to ourselves.”

  There was much Elin had refused to remember about that time. Now, the shame, the fear, the shock—she recalled them clearly.

  “I was upset,” she said. “You knew I was.”

  “The moment I thought I hurt you, I stopped.”

  She nodded . . . still the damage had been done. The sharp pain had brought her not only to her senses but also to the exact nature of the damage being done.

  “We were too young,” he said. “We didn’t understand the price.”

  The price, yes . . . and the guilt, the fear. She mutely shook her head.

  There was also one more sin she needed to confess. “Mother blamed you, and I let her. I couldn’t tolerate the guilt of misleading her. I didn’t want my parents disappointed in me.”

  “I know. I understand.”

  But she was only beginning to do so.

  I loved you, he’d said by the stream, almost as if it had been an accusation. As if he’d believed she’d betrayed him. Understanding dawned.

  “My mother had a hand in your leaving?”

  “Father knew what had happened. When he confronted me, I told him I loved you, that I wanted to marry you.”

  Elin’s mind reeled at the implications of those words. “My mother would never have let you.”

  “Nor was my father about to let go of the Morris fortune. He had three men escort me from the estate. I did want to tell you I was leaving, Elin. They wouldn’t let me see you.”

  There was something he wasn’t saying. She knew it because she and Ben understood each other just that well. “What did he do to you?”

  He pulled back as if not ready to share, but she came down on her knees in front of him. She reached for his hands. “Tell me,” she ordered.

  There was a beat of silence as he struggled with his sense of honor. Elin brought his hands up to her lips. “Tell me,” she whispered.

  “Father had some men take me to a clearing, away from where anyone could see what he was doing. He horsewhipped me. It wasn’t more than I deserved. And your father knew, Elin. He was there.”

  “He was? He never said and Mother always warned me not to tell him, to keep it secret.” She shook her head, angry and confused. “You did not deserve whipping. I gave myself to you. I was as much a part of that night as you.”

  “Elin, if I had a daughter and some buck did to her what I did you to, then horsewhipping would be the kindest thing I would do.”

  “Our parents made you leave.”

  “My father sent me away,” he corrected. “And in the end, Elin, it was the making of me. I thrived in the military. I was a good soldier. Since Jack disappeared, my parents had kept me tucked away. I wanted to be out in the world.”

  “But I lost you,” she said.

  He pulled his hand from hers and cupped her cheek. “You were never mine,” he reminded her sadly.

  “Yes, yes, I was.” She leaned her head into his hand, relishing the warmth of his skin next to hers. How easy it would be to press a kiss in his palm. “My heart broke when I heard you had left. Mother made it sound as if you’d known all along that you were slated for a military career. Hearing that, I grew angry. I couldn’t believe you would use me so ruthlessly.”

  “If I had planned to leave on my own, you would have been the one person who would have known. You knew all my secrets.”

  “I trusted you with mine as well. And I’m sorry, so very sorry, if I did anything that hurt you.”

  “They wanted to separate us, Elin. They were successful. We had no choice but to go our own ways, to be without each other.”

  But we are together now, she wanted to say, and yet, didn’t.

  Because she shouldn’t. She was not his—

  Elin caught herself. Ben was right. That statement had become a way of denying what existed between them. It might help to remind her of the promise her parents had made, but it did nothing to absolve her of the responsibility to her own heart.

  To what she wanted. Whom she wanted.

  And it was ironic, really, because her parents had eloped. They had defied her mother’s family and all of society. However, they had wanted to choose whom she should marry.

  He pulled his hand away and shifted as if he was ready to stand and end this moment of honesty between them.

  Elin found she couldn’t let that happen. Not until she did one thing. She reached for him, pulling his head down to her level, and kissed him.

  But just as their lips met, a shot rang through the forest.

  Chapter Ten

  From the moment he’d seen Elin at his brother’s ball, Ben had longed for a kiss whether he had admitted it to himself or not.

  She had made him angry and frustrated and had frightened him with her crew of killers, but he’d always wanted a kiss.

  And he’d always yearned for her to look at him the way she did now, as if he was the most important man in the world, as if she understood him . . . and then give him a kiss.

  And now she was.

  She’d initiated the action. She’d pulled his head down to hers. Her lips had been soft, yielding. He was transported back to his rash, seventeen-year-old self, who had done nothing but dream of being her lover.

  Brother be damned. Elin was his.

  And, of course, just as her lips were touching his¸ he heard the crack of a shot.

  Damn killers.

  Instinct took over. Ben threw her to the ground, covering her body with his. The ball whistled past his shoulder. They were still firing pistols. If they had used a musket or a rifle, either Elin or Ben would be dead.

  Ben pulled the pistol from his jacket and cocked it. “Stay down,” he ordered Elin. He scanned the forest in the direction of the shot. They had to be close. There had been some speed to the ball.

  “Where are they?” Elin whispered, and would have raised her head except Ben anticipated it and, his fingers buried in her curls, pushed her down—and then he saw movement over by a big oak. Someone was behind it, taking aim.

&nbs
p; “Move,” Ben whispered, and for once in her life, Elin did exactly as he said. The two of them scurried toward the shelter of a clump of trees, Ben making certain they didn’t travel a straight course.

  Reaching safety, Ben took hold of her. “If you can escape, do so,” he ordered.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked, but he was already gone, using the forest for shelter and himself for bait as he ran away from Elin.

  A shot came from the opposite direction from where he had anticipated. Ben dove for the ground. The bullet hit the tree. This was good. He was hoping they considered him a threat and would want to see him dead first, before they closed in on Elin.

  He scrambled for cover behind a large tree trunk. There was a movement of an arm. He aimed, hoping the gun’s sight was true, and fired.

  The man yelped his pain. Ben fell back behind his tree and reloaded. Seconds were the same as minutes in a battlefield. Ben could load ball and powder with his eyes closed. However, his shot had alerted them to where he was. There was the sound of running footfalls, then a man’s body seemed to jump out of a thicket of thorns and slammed into Ben.

  Crashing to the ground, Ben caught a glimpse of a hand holding a knife coming down on him. He grabbed the man’s wrist and found himself staring into Darby’s ugly face. The man’s breath was hot and foul. For that reason alone, Ben wasn’t going to let him win. He’d not let vermin hurt Elin. Outrage gave him the strength of a hundred men.

  He prayed Elin was taking advantage of this opportunity and bolting for safety.

  However, she’d better not go far, he thought inanely. She also owed him a kiss.

  The horse pistol was still in his hand. Using brute force, Ben held Darby’s knife at bay while he lifted his other arm and brought the pistol down on the bastard’s back as if it were a knife. He must have hit the right point because Darby jerked in pain.

  Ben used his body as leverage to toss the villain onto his back. Darby hit the tree, but Ben was on him, holding him down and using the pistol to club him into submission with all the force in his arm, while twisting—a hand grabbed his hair and yanked him off balance.

  Ben struck out with his elbow, hitting this new attacker in the jaw as he swung around, but this man was quick. He jumped on Ben, his pistol at the ready—

  A shot rang out.

  Elin had fired her pistol.

  The man released his hold with a cry and tried to reach around his back. He stumbled, then, with the help of kick from Ben, fell flat on his face.

  Ben spun around for Darby, but the man wasn’t interested in Ben. No, he went for Elin, knife in hand, and Ben remembered her saying Darby had killed the footman with a knife. He’d thrown it and hit the man in the neck. Darby was that skilled.

  Elin screamed and threw the gun, which was probably not her wisest course, but Ben understood.

  However, he had this. He and Darby were now one-on-one.

  Thankful that Elin was taking his advice and running, Ben pulled his knife from his boot and, with a flying leap, tackled Darby before he could stop her.

  The two of them hit the ground hard. Darby managed to recover first and threw Ben off him.

  However, as a penniless ensign, Ben had learned to fight. It had been a good way to earn money. He’d picked up a lesson or two from the ranks. He now used all his knowledge.

  Shoving the heel of his hand upward, he broke Darby’s nose. It made a sickening crunch.

  Darby almost dropped the knife in his pain. Ben helped him finish the process by grabbing his wrist and forcing the blade toward him. “Who hired you?” he demanded. “Who is paying you to kill her—?”

  The bastard struck Ben with his fist. He had a meaty hand and used it well. But this was life and death, and Ben kept his hold of the knife, burying it in Darby’s thigh.

  The man’s shriek of pain was a frightening sound. So, for all his size and foul nature, the man was soft.

  Ben gave the knife a twist, and Darby scrambled as quickly as he could off his body. He stood, his nose bleeding as he stared down at the knife in his thigh—and both he and Ben knew that Darby was in trouble.

  By chance, Ben had hit his artery. If Darby pulled the knife out, his blood would flow right out of his body.

  For a moment, Darby acted confused. He took a step toward Elin, who’d had the foresight to fetch her weapon. She held it, ready to fire although Ben doubted the gun was loaded. She was reacting now, her eyes wide and her gloveless hands shaking.

  And then Darby stumbled backward.

  “Give it up, man,” Ben said, rising to one knee. “Tell us who hired you.”

  But there would be no remorse in Darby. Nor would he cry quarter. Instead, he tried to save himself. His pursuit of Elin forgotten, he held the knife in his leg and ran as fast as he could manage for the horses tied a hundred feet away.

  The animals were prancing. They could smell the blood. One of them broke the branch holding the reins, and they both took off at a gallop, leather flying.

  Darby was trapped.

  Ben charged him, marveling that the man could still move as fast as he did. He tackled him to the ground. Grabbing his coat, Ben gave him a shake. “Who sent you?”

  The answer was deep, guttural laughter, the sound the devil must make in hell.

  Darby pulled the knife from his leg, sealing his fate.

  Fury consumed Ben. He could not let the man die without an answer. “Who sent you?”

  However, the light was already fading from Darby’s eyes. He sneered, an expression frozen on his face as he died.

  Ben released his hold. Darby’s body dropped to ground. “The bloody bastard.”

  He rose and stepped away from the body before he unleashed his anger on it. He heard steps.

  Elin. Precious, precious Elin.

  She had both her hands still clasped around the small pistol. Her eyes were wide with concern. “Is he dead?”

  “Bled to death.”

  “From the knife in his thigh? So quickly?”

  Her voice had tightened. He heard her panic. “Elin, don’t think on it. It was us or them.”

  “But I shot one. I shot him.” She dropped the gun and sank to the ground.

  Ben rushed to her side. He knelt. “Elin, you saved my life. If you hadn’t fired, it would have been the end of me.”

  “But it was too easy,” she whispered. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand at all.”

  “Understand what?”

  “What is the meaning of all this?” Her arms moved to encompass the forest before she crossed them to hug herself tightly. “Of life? It doesn’t make sense to me. We just die? One moment a person is here, and in the next gone?” She acted as if she wished to curl up into a ball, as if she could hide.

  But Ben understood. He took her arms, forced her to rise. He didn’t release his hold on her.

  He’d heard this question many a time during battle. He’d lost friends, good ones, to Death. There had been incidents where he’d been standing right next to the man who died, and there was no reason why the bullet had claimed that man and not him.

  “It is too much.” She pressed her forehead against his chest. “I thought Mother’s death was senseless. This is worse. First, servants that I’ve known most of my life, murdered for no reason. They were all good people, Ben.”

  “The men who murdered them are now answering to their Maker.”

  “Yes,” she agreed quietly. “The same Maker who took my mother when she was far too young and let Darby and the others take the lives of innocent people. It doesn’t make sense to me, Ben. It doesn’t.”

  “And I have no answer for you.” He framed her face with his hands and tilted it up to him. Her dark eyes were shiny with unshed tears. She tried to avoid his gaze, but he’d not have it.

  “No one can be brave all the time, Elin. You are stronger than most. And if men of God, philosophers, and poets have attempted to make sense of Death and failed, I don’t know that we will. But I do know th
is, our purpose is to live the very best life we can while we are here.”

  “How does one do that when it all seems useless?”

  A tear had escaped, and he wiped from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. She was so precious to him. So perfect and precious.

  “By making it matter,” he answered. “And by believing that in this journey called life, we are moving in the direction we should.”

  “Is that enough?”

  He looked down into her eyes and realized it wasn’t. There was more. There had to be more, and he knew he was in the presence of it.

  “And we can love,” he said.

  “But love hurts when Death takes someone dear to us. It’s painful. It would be better to have never cared for anyone.” She had stopped trembling. Her spirit was returning.

  “Ah, to never care, Elin? Would that be better? What would life be like if we were forced to hold ourselves apart so that we could never care? Never love? What meaning would there be to living? We’d be no different than Darby and his ilk, men who sell their souls for murder.”

  Elin’s lips parted in thoughtful surprise. She pulled back, and he let her go. “I was doing that,” she confessed. “For the past year and more, I’ve been holding myself apart. I felt empty.”

  “Where was your father?” Ben knew that Fyclan doted on his daughter.

  “He’s been in London. Perhaps feeling the same.” Her gaze dropped to her lap, where she still held his hands. “We haven’t seen very much of each other. Mother was his life. His heart is broken.”

  “He has you.”

  Her lips grew rueful. “First and foremost, my parents’ love was for each other. And, he prefers London, where he is important. He likes rubbing shoulders with people who listen to him. I don’t enjoy London.”

  “What are you going to do when you are a duchess?”

  “Do what is expected . . . I suppose.”

  Ben hated the thought of his wild Elin tamed by society and her docile acceptance of it.

  Perhaps life was meaningless.

  “You are right,” he murmured.

  “About what?” she asked.

  “Your marriage to my brother does make a good boundary.”

  “I didn’t realize we were discussing my marriage.” She sounded annoyed.