Pistols at Dawn

by Andrea Pickens

  "Of course. Whatever you wish, Eliza. These have been terribly trying times for you." Ned shot a dark look at the earl. "I am not pressing you for an answer now. All I ask is that you will consider my proposal."

  She nodded, not having the heart to tell him her answer would be the same whether she thought on it for a day or a decade.

  Marcus stepped aside to let the farmer pass. He lingered, his hooded gaze not quite meeting hers. She couldn't help but notice the smudge of shadows beneath his eyes, as if he, too, had passed a night plagued by bad dreams.

  Making herself look away, Eliza moved to the side table and began to sort through a stack of pamphlets. After several ticks of the mantel clock, she heard him retreat into the corridor and quit the cottage.

  Tears prickled against her lids, but she blinked them away.

  It was time to turn the page, she reminded herself as she moved on to the stack of books beside the pamphlets. And leave her girlish longings in the past.

  * * *

  An hour later, after numbly moving her work materials from one spot to another with no awareness of what she was doing, Eliza gave up trying to concentrate on agricultural treatises and accounting ledgers. Making her way to the kitchen, she took up a willow basket hanging on a peg by the back door and headed out to the herb garden.

  Camomile, thyme, rosemary—as she gathered a handful of cuttings, the soothing fragrances help calm her unsettled spirits. Moving on to another section of greenery, she paused to finger a delicate plant—

  "Arnica for healing bruises."

  Eliza spun around. "I—I am surprised you have learned something of medicine, sir."

  "I have learned a great deal about a variety of subjects over the last few weeks," replied Marcus.

  Eliza didn't reply, but broke off a twig of juniper. The tangy pine scent filled her lungs. It was, she knew, reputed to lift the spirits.

  So why was it was only making her feel more blue-deviled?

  It might have something to do with the earl's closeness, she admitted, and his own subtle male essence.

  "Don't," he murmured, stepping closer.

  Confused, she looked up from crushing the needles between her fingers.

  "Don't marry him."

  "W-why shouldn't I?" she whispered.

  "Because you won't be happy," he answered.

  That he was echoing her own feelings made her feel even more miserable.

  "What you really mean is, he won't be happy with me." Eliza scraped a sleeve across her eyes. "You are right. Who would want to marry an aging, opinionated shrew?"

  His mouth gave an odd little twist. "Me."

  For an instant she thought the mockingbird's twitter was playing a teasing game with her. But the rippling in his amber eyes made the breath catch in her throat.

  "I... I am not sure you have thought this out clearly," she croaked. "When you add up all the differences between us—"

  Marcus placed a finger to her lips, silencing her stammering. "I have become very good at a mathematics," he murmured. "For I've had a most excellent teacher."

  His touch lit a spark of hope in her chest.

  "Yes, we have our differences and our flaws. But when you add up the things that really matter—friendship, trust..." He swallowed hard, "...and most of all, love, the answer seems very clear. We are good for each other, Eliza."

  At that moment, even a croak seemed beyond her power. Her throat was too tight.

  "I love you," said Marcus. "I love your strength, your intelligence your compassion, your courage." His expression turned oddly vulnerable. "Dare I hope you could learn to love a reformed rascal? For I am reformed, thanks to your help, and will do my best to always be worthy of your regard."

  Eliza placed her palm against his stubbled cheek, reveling in the warmth that suffused her skin. "Your worth is beyond words, Marcus. You are strong, honorable, kind, humble—"

  "I thought you considered me arrogant," he murmured.

  "Well, yes, you are at times. But I've come to find that rather endearing." Eliza slid her arms around his shoulders and hugged him tightly. "Surely you must know that I've loved for an age."

  "My arithmetic is sharp, but apparently I don't read hearts very well."

  "We shall both work on that skill," she replied.

  "Together, I hope," he said.

  "Together," she agreed as his lips found hers.

  "I trust that is a, 'yes' to my marriage proposal," whispered Marcus when finally he broke off the kiss.

  "You haven't made one yet," said Eliza.

  "Let me think of a suitably flowery one." He took his time in kissing her again. "Will you marry me?"

  Eliza smiled. "On one condition."

  His brows rose.

  "I continue to have a role in managing the estate."

  Amusement danced his eyes. "You drive a hard bargain."

  "That's why you hired me," she responded. "So, do we have a deal?"

  "Yes—if you will seal it with a kiss."

  "Mmmm," Eliza gave a last little nibble to his lower lip, then eased back from his embrace. "I have to teach you to be a tougher negotiator."

  "I am always open to learning new things from you, my love."

  "And I from you," said Eliza, hugging him close.

  "I think we shall make a perfect partnership." He paused. "No more pistols at dawn. The next time you are angry with me, we may discuss the matter over breakfast."

  "No more pistols at dawn," agreed Eliza. "The coming days will be much too filled with sunlight to darken them with gunpowder."

  Marcus drew her into a long, leisurely embrace before expelling a sigh. "Lovely as it is to linger here, we should probably return to the Manor and announce our news to the other betrothed couple."

  "Somehow, I don't think they are going to be surprised. I think they recognized our true feelings long before we did." Eliza smiled. "In her own quiet way, Meredith gave me quite a scold last night."

  "And Lucien rang a peal over my head this morning," admitted Marcus.

  "That's because he loves you, and wishes to see you happy."

  "Love," he mused, his gaze following the lazy spin of a rose petal caught in the gentle breeze. "Love can take the most unpredictable turns and come upon you when you least expect it."

  Eliza twined her fingers with his and brushed a kiss to the back of his hand. "Unexpected love may be the sweetest of all. Just think of all the heartfelt bonds that now weave us all together—Lucien, Meredith, you, me."

  "What I think," said Marcus as he encircled her in his arms, "is that the Black Cat has been transformed by love into the luckiest man alive."

  The End

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  Code of Honor

  The Intrepid Heroines Series

  Book One

  by

  Andrea Pickens

  Award-winning Author

  "May I have the pleasure of a dance, Miss Chilton?" asked Branford. The musicians were striking up a waltz. "Perhaps this one, if you are not taken." He had already noticed that the dance card dangling from her wrist was all but empty.

  Alex seemed to hesitate for a moment, then rose slowly and placed her hand on his arm.

  Ashton was right, he noted. She was no raving beauty. Her hair was merely brown, not a striking blonde or glossy raven, and her mouth was a touch too wide, though obviously expressive. She was also too tall and her curves were not rounded enough for the tastes of most gentlemen.

  But her eyes...

  Her eyes were an unusual hazel color flecked with green, and they had a depth that was intriguing, hinting at hidden facets not readily discernab
le on the surface.

  However, observed Branford, if her aunt hoped to marry her off she had better employ another modiste. The dress was a disaster. The insipid mauve color clashed with her lovely eyes, and the cut made her look gawky and ill proportioned. Girlish ruffles and bows were in overabundance, and the effect was more appropriate for a female of twelve rather than twenty-four.

  Branford, whose taste was acknowledged to be impeccable, nearly winced as he turned to face her full on.

  However, she danced much better than he expected, moving with a lithe grace and matching his steps effortlessly. As he was deciding to forgo the usual compliments on her dress in favor of another less egregious social lie, she spoke first.

  "As a matter of fact, I have been wanting to meet you, milord."

  Branford closed his eyes for an instant. Now would come the usual outrageous compliments or silly simperings that every unmarried girl felt obliged to offer up to a rich, titled bachelor. He had forgotten how much he loathed all of this. How the devil had he allowed himself to be drawn into such a stupid, senseless bet? Ashton was right on another thing—he had been drinking too much of late.

  Despite such thoughts, he replied in a neutral tone. "Is that so? And why is that, Miss Chilton?"

  "Because in the paper you sent to the Botanical Society on the gardens at Riverton, you are mistaken in thinking that the purple flowers are Petrea volubilis," answered Alex. "They do not grow in this climate. They are no doubt Clytostoma callistegiodes, which look very similar. Of course it is a reasonable error for someone who is ignorant of botany to make."

  It was not exactly what he expected to hear. He nearly trod on her foot. "What?"

  "The flowers in the south garden," she explained a touch impatiently. "I take it you are the only Earl of Branford in England."

  Branford stared at her, speechless.

  "Mr. Simpson was too afraid to correct you, but I said that was utter nonsense—any sensible person would want to know of his error." Alex paused and regarded his stony face. "Oh dear," she sighed, half to herself. "I had looked forward to talking about the gardens with you, but it appears that, like most gentlemen, you disapprove of ladies who wish to have an intelligent conversation."

  Branford quickly recovered his wits. "No, Miss Chilton," he answered dryly. "Actually, on that topic I have formed no opinion, since I have little experience in making intelligent conversation with a lady."

  There was a pause. Alex smiled. "Touché, my lord."

  In spite of himself Branford found himself smiling back. The girl had wit as well as backbone.

  "You do not look half so dragon-like when you smile, you know," she said after a moment's pause. "Or do you prefer to frighten people with that black scowl?"

  Branford unconsciously drew his dark brows together.

  "There, you see," murmured Alex. "You are doing it again. It is quite intimidating, you know."

  "And you, Miss Chilton. Are you always so outrageous? Or are you just hoping I will take you back to your chair so you can resume your own private thoughts and not have to be bothered with having to do the polite thing." He watched a wave of surprise wash over her face. "You are not the only one capable of observing people," he added softly.

  Her eyes met his for a moment, the green flecks alight with some emotion, before she dropped her gaze in some confusion.

  "Now, about my gardens. What would you like to know...?"

  The music was drawing to an end and the surrounding couples were beginning to leave the floor. Branford found himself irritated that the dance was over so quickly. "It appears we will have to wait for another waltz. Shall we say the one after the supper break?"

  "If you wish, milord." Alex had composed herself and answered evenly, her chin thrust up slightly as if to say that she, at least, was not in the least bit intimidated by him.

  "Good." He delivered back to her aunt and it was only as he was walking away that he realized he had utterly forgotten the reason he had asked her to dance in the first place. He cursed under his breath. Now how had he been distracted? His purpose was to confirm the girl's availability and figure out a plan of seduction—and what had he done but begin a conversation on botany! Well, he had another dance. He would guide the conversation as he wished the next time around.

  Code of Honor

  The Intrepid Heroines Series

  Book One

  by

  Andrea Pickens

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  THE BANISHED BRIDE

  Awards & Accolades

  Best Regency of the Year Nominee, 2000

  "...lush romance mixed with great humor and a touch of human frailty"

  ~RT magazine

  Clouds obscured all but the brightest stars and a dampness in the air hinted at an approaching rain. Still, the cool breeze felt good against her cheeks, chasing away the last vestiges of her overheated imagination. Aurora stood very still and tilted her head back, listening to the faint rushing of water over the granite rocks, punctuated by the low hoot of an owl.

  "I would have thought you would have welcomed the opportunity for uninterrupted sleep."

  She whirled around at the sound of the soft voice.

  "What about you, sir?" she countered.

  Alex stepped from the side of the cottage. "Perhaps a bit later."

  "You think it necessary to stand guard?"

  "I think it prudent." He came to stand by her side, close enough that she could breathe in the faint scent of bay rum, smoke and peated malt, with an earthy undertone that was distinctly male.

  Her fingers tugged at the corners of her wrap. "Now why is it that 'prudent' is hardly the adjective that comes to mind when I think of you, sir?"

  In answer, a low chuckle rumbled somewhere deep in his throat. "Dare I inquire as to the other possibilities?" he asked. "Aside from 'bumbling', 'odious', and 'insufferable'. I may have missed a few of the other ones you muttered under your breath."

  Not a one! Grateful that the darkness covered the embarrassed twist of her features, Aurora searched for some appropriately pithy reply.

  As if sensing her exact feelings, he chuckled again. "Don't worry. I've been called far worse things over the years." His hands clasped behind his back and his gaze strayed to the dark tangle of trees beyond the field. "And no doubt deserved them."

  "Well, you are remarkably honest, and forthright," she murmured. "Hardly adjectives that come to mind when speaking of men in general."

  In the pale wash of moonlight, Aurora could see his lips twitch in amusement, then settle into a more pensive expression. "I suppose you have seen enough of our foibles to speak with some authority. Still, I'm sorry you have come to hold such a low opinion of us."

  "It's hardly your fault," she murmured.

  "It's my fault that you were dragged into this dangerous affair. By now you could be safely home rather than stuck here in the wilds with a total stranger—two total strangers."

  A strange shiver ran down her spine. Somehow the prospect of home seemed rather more empty than it did several days ago. Before she could make a reply, his jacket came around her shoulders.

  "Sir!" she protested. "You've sacrificed quite enough of your garments for my comfort today."

  "But not nearly enough for mine." His eyes were twinkling just like the stars. "That is, not counting the brief interlude after my bath."

  "You are incorrigible, sir! Do you flirt so shamelessly with anybody who wears a skirt?"

  He took a mome
nt to stare up at the heavens. "No."

  It was not the answer she expected. The teasing tone was gone, replaced by an deeper note that rung of melancholy or perhaps regret. Her head started to jerk around, only to find itself drawn down against his shoulder. She could feel the heat of him through the rumpled linen, and hear the steady beat of his heart. A good deal more steady than her own at the moment. Such intimate contact should have drawn a sharp rebuke, but for some reason, the protest died on her lips and she made no attempt to pull away.

  "Do you see Orion?" he asked abruptly, pointing up at the stars. "According to Greek mythology, he was a hunter, pursued by the Goddess Diana. When she accidentally killed him, she begged the Gods to immortalize him in the night sky." He paused." If you follow the line of his belt, it leads you to the North Star. There. Do you see it?"

  She nodded.

  "No matter where you are in the world, you can always find your way by using the constellations."

  "A sad story." She shifted so that cheek rested against the base of his neck. "What is it that you are hunting, Alex? And are you often lost?"

  There was a flash of vulnerability in his eyes. "More times than I care to admit."

  Aurora watched as the clouds scudded across the night sky, changing the pattern of winking lights with every passing second. "It is not always easy to discern the right path." The crescent moon was visible for an instant, only to disappear just as quickly. "The life of a soldier must not be an easy one. Why, many times, the choice is not yours to make."

  The wry smile was back on his lips. "Perhaps that makes it the easiest life of all." His hand sought hers, enveloping it in his warmth. "And what of you, Aurora Sprague? Do you march along with steadfast steps, undaunted by any obstacle that may arise in your path, until you have arrived at your chosen destination?"

  She wasn't sure how long they stood there in conversation. Like the clouds above, each of them revealed only random glimpses of their past lives. The words were cautious, guarded, intent on keeping many things well hidden, but by the time the first rain drop fell, they were no longer mere strangers.