Damn it, whatever damage the bullet had done, he intended to cheat death. Twice now he’d parted from Lydia without expectation of a reunion. He couldn’t leave her again.
“I suspect I’ll live.” He grunted as he positioned himself more conveniently and inadvertently jostled his wounded arm.
Hell’s bells.
He bit down hard and stifled the urge to curse like a sailor. Good Lord, he hoped he lived. Suddenly the future offered a thousand glowing opportunities. Turning up his toes at this stage would be such a blasted letdown. For a man who was bleeding like a damned cataract, he felt ridiculously happy.
“Let me be the judge of that, sir,” the doctor said repressively.
Simon’s momentary satisfaction shifted to vermilion agony as the sawbones ripped away his shirtsleeve. Blackness edged his vision and every muscle contracted in protest.
“Oh…” He heard Lydia’s horrified gasp from above and turned his head into her bosom. She clutched him to her as if she never wanted to leave him again. He had no argument with that. He just wished he could get rid of this bloody menagerie of onlookers so he could tell her so.
“Is it that bad?” he asked unsteadily after drawing a breath laden with her scent. She smelled warm and sensual, as she had when he’d so reluctantly left her this morning in his bed.
“There’s… there’s an awful lot of blood.” Her voice was thin. She didn’t sound at all like the virago who had told Berwick to be quiet.
“The bullet appears to have merely nicked you, Mr. Metcalf. You’ve been exceedingly lucky. I need to clean the wound and dress it with basilicum powder before binding. Then I recommend several days of bed rest. Shall I commence?”
“By all means, doctor.” Simon’s answer was muffled against Lydia’s soft breast. Beneath his cheek, the silk was cool and slippery. Even if Berwick’s bullet had found its target, Simon had a fancy he’d come back to life as long as Lydia kept him close.
“Don’t hurt him,” Lydia said, her arms tightening protectively.
“It is not my habit to cause my patients undue suffering, madam,” the doctor said on a snap. Simon raised his head to watch the doctor reach into his bag for a cloth and alcohol.
“Lady Lydia, I cannot approve your actions,” Berwick said, looming over her. “Your behavior, both last night and this morning, reveals a lamentable lack of decorum.”
“This is neither time nor place for this discussion,” Cam said in his ducal voice, but for once, nobody heeded him. Simon beat back the giddiness and reluctantly straightened far enough away from Lydia to present his arm for treatment.
As the doctor fussed, Simon watched Lydia. And watched Grenville for any signs of last night’s dangerous temper. If the blackguard raised a hand to her, murder might yet be done in this isolated field.
“Grenville, I’ve done you so many wrongs, I hardly know where to start,” Lydia said in a rusty voice, staring up at the baronet.
Good God, she couldn’t mean to apologize to the villain, could she? “Lydia, you can’t marry this man, not now,” Simon said emphatically.
His pride revolted at facing his enemy struck low and clinging to a woman. Jerkily, he struggled to stand, although the sudden movement sliced through him like a saber.
“Mr. Metcalf, if you please.” The doctor tugged him back onto the damp ground with a jolt that made his pain spike. Then more pain as the fellow plastered the wound with a wet rag covered in what felt like boiling acid. “And, madam, I would have better access to my patient if you would shift away.”
“Lydia, don’t go,” Simon demanded, ignoring the doctor. He could wait no longer. Privacy could go to Hades. He caught her hand as she moved to obey the doctor’s command. “Do you intend to marry this blackguard?”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” Berwick huffed, looming over them like a peevish mountain.
“Simon, can we wait until we’re alone?” Lydia asked nervously, glancing at their audience; Cam, the doctor, and the fuming Sir Grenville.
“Damn it, Lydia, we need to sort this out now.”
She snatched away from his hold, although she didn’t leave him. “Well, as you insist upon making our confidential business public, I’ll tell you that of course I’m not going to marry him.” Her color rising, she twisted to meet Simon’s stare. Her fists closed in her lap as if she wanted to punch someone. “And you know why.”
“Mr. Metcalf!”
Simon realized he’d started to rise again when the doctor growled at him. He subsided, but didn’t shift his attention from Lydia’s troubled expression. He loathed the scouring shame he read in her eyes. Between them, those wretches Berwick and the late duke had scarred his girl’s spirit. Heaven grant him time and care to heal all her wounds.
“I do indeed know why.” Simon pitched his voice so that everyone standing around him would hear. He disregarded the doctor who still fiddled with the wound. “You’re not going to marry Berwick because you love me, just as I love you. You’re not going to marry him because you’re going to marry me.”
Over her shoulder he caught a flash of satisfaction on Cam’s aristocratic features while anger darkened Berwick’s broad face. Then Simon’s attention focused on Lydia. This matter was purely between him and the woman he loved. Devil take the rest of the world.
Her face pale, she drew back to sit on her heels, burying her hands in her crushed and stained skirts. Her amber eyes were dazed. “M-marry?”
“Yes, of course, marry. What on earth did you think I intended?” He stretched out his uninjured arm to catch her hand in his once more.
She still looked as though someone had hit her with a hammer. What the deuce was wrong with the girl? He was the one lightheaded from loss of blood. Surely she must have known he sought marriage, if not when she first saw him again, then definitely last night. At Simon’s side, the doctor’s busy hands had fallen still as he hung on every word.
“Lydia, you are committed to me!” Grenville puffed up like an angry adder and stepped closer, as if intending to haul her to her feet and back to Town. “I refuse to release you from your obligations.”
Hauteur settled on Lydia’s features as she regarded her former betrothed. Briefly, in spite of differences in coloring, she looked exactly like her autocratic brother.
“I am not your possession, sir,” she said coldly. “You don’t own me like you would a horse or a hound. My heart and my hand are mine to dispose of as I wish. And you, Sir Grenville, are no longer my choice.”
Berwick staggered back as though she’d shoved him. The bluster fled his manner just like air escaping a bellows. Simon found it in him to experience a twinge of sympathy for the fellow. “You don’t mean that. We were set to become the most brilliant couple in London. Together, there was nothing we couldn’t accomplish. You’re throwing away a glittering future for the sake of a pair of blue eyes, madam. I hadn’t thought you so foolish.”
Simon saw Berwick glance at Cam and realized that at least part of Lydia’s appeal for the ambitious baronet lay in her closeness to the influential Duke of Sedgemoor. The brief flash of pity evaporated. She’d always deserved better than this self-serving cur.
“Perhaps.” The ice melted from Lydia’s voice. Her grip on Simon’s hand firmed as if she drew strength from him. “I can’t marry you, Grenville. Not when I love someone else. Surely you don’t want a wife who pines for another man.”
Temper flared in Berwick’s eyes and he lunged in Lydia’s direction. “You have treated me ill, madam. I should expect no better from a woman whose mother’s name is a byword for harlotry.”
“Dear heavens…” Lydia whispered, ripping her hand from Simon’s and scrambling out of reach. Her cheeks were ashen.
Simon at last made it to his feet, breaking free of the doctor. Striving to stay upright, he sucked in a shuddering breath and glowered at Grenville. Nobody spoke like that to the woman he loved. “Watch your tongue, sir. I still have a bullet in my gun and the right, by God, to use it.”
“Any insult to my sister is an insult to me.” Cam’s tone was frigid enough to strike chips of ice from the air. “I find myself delighted that you won’t be joining my family after all, Sir Grenville.”
Berwick scowled at the three of them, then with a curse, flung the exquisite little gun to the ground so hard that it bounced on the wet grass. “Be damned to you, sir. Whatever your exalted name, in reality, you have no idea who your father is. And as far as your lightskirt sister goes—”
“That’s enough, Sir Grenville,” Cam said in a voice that made even Simon shiver. He suddenly seemed impossibly tall and threatening. “It’s time for you to return to Town.”
Berwick exhaled in disgust, but for all his belligerence, his answer emerged defeated. “Aye, I’ll return to Town and bless the day I broke with the mongrel Rothermeres.”
He turned on his heel and stalked toward his carriage. His second had waited far enough away to miss the details of the conversation, but he must have seen his associate receive his marching orders. After a dismayed look at Cam, he scurried after Berwick.
“Good riddance,” Cam said softly.
Simon lurched around to curl his good arm around Lydia’s shoulders, despite the doctor’s protests at the movement. “He isn’t worth the dirt beneath your feet, beloved.”
“And he’ll find himself without a seat after the next election if I have any say,” Cam said harshly. “Sir Grenville Berwick has risen as high as he’s going to.”
“I jilted him. You can’t blame him for being angry,” Lydia said in a subdued voice.
“I can blame him for forgetting that he’s at least nominally a gentleman,” Cam retorted. He turned to the doctor. “Dr. West, you are welcome to share my carriage back to Town if you have no wish to travel with Sir Grenville.”
The doctor bowed. “Thank you, Your Grace. I still have to tend to my patient.”
“Leave your infernal meddling,” Simon insisted. “You can wait five minutes.”
The doctor cast him an offended glare before he stepped back with obvious reluctance. He clearly relished sharing in the dramatic events surrounding Lady Lydia Rothermere’s broken engagement. The story wouldn’t suffer in the retelling either, Simon knew, wishing the nosy sawbones to Hell.
When they had at least the illusion of privacy, Cam leveled a frown upon his sister. “Now, my girl, I want some answers. How in Lucifer’s name did you manage to find us this morning?”
Lydia glanced down and mumbled, “Last night, after the ball, I talked to Jenkins about what you’d planned. He always knows everything.” She paused, then met her brother’s gaze defiantly. Simon’s heart leaped with admiration and gratitude that such a spirited woman loved him. Her voice firmed. “I couldn’t let Simon die. Not when the mess we’d got ourselves into was mostly my fault.”
Cam released a short laugh, amused despite himself, Simon could tell. “I should have guessed you’d twist Jenkins around your little finger. He could never resist your wiles, not since you were a lass. But I’ll wager that it won’t be just Jenkins who ends up learning of today’s events. Word will spread about your scandalous interference. The old tabbies will have a field day.”
“Let them talk.” She paused and her voice lowered as she stared directly at her brother. “I’m so sorry, Cam. I know how hard you’ve worked to restore the family name. But you must have known you risked gossip when you invited Simon home.”
He shrugged with seeming lack of concern and smiled at his sister. “I couldn’t bear to see you marrying without love. I knew you didn’t love Berwick. I hoped… I thought you still loved Simon.”
“Heaven help us, you’re a romantic,” Simon said drily, although this was no revelation. Cam and Lydia had learned early to hide their passionate natures beneath an appearance of control, but Simon knew both of them too well to imagine the coolness was more than skin-deep. “If word gets out, you won’t be able to move for ladies swooning at your feet.”
“I’m sure you’ll keep my dastardly secret.” Cam stepped back. “Now I assume that you two have things to say to each other.”
“With your permission, old man, I’d like to propose.” Lydia turned to him with a soft smile that made his heart race. “Heaven knows I’m not good enough for your sister, but I love her, I’ve always loved her. I swear I’ll do everything in my power to make her happy.”
Cam nodded. “You have my blessing and I hope soon my heartiest congratulations.”
“Let me rig a sling for your arm first, Mr. Metcalf,” the doctor said, barging between them. “I’m sure your matrimonial intrigues can wait.”
“And I’m sure they can’t,” Simon said. “I’ve waited ten long, lonely years to claim this lady. I’ll wait not one minute more.”
“Hmph.” The doctor’s snort indicated what he thought of that sentimental nonsense.
With ill grace, Simon stood restlessly while Dr. West completed his work. Lydia remained on Simon’s good side to prop him up as Cam wandered across to the carriages. In the distance, Berwick’s gig rattled away from the field with a speed that indicated high dudgeon.
After the doctor ended his ministrations and trotted across to where Cam waited under the trees with his curricle, Simon forced himself to straighten. Be damned if he was going to propose marriage hunched over like a blasted gargoyle, although he couldn’t help his hand spasming on Lydia’s arm as fresh pain struck. With every minute, his arm worsened. Thank God it was only a flesh wound. If he hadn’t turned so abruptly at Lydia’s arrival, he had a nasty suspicion he’d now be lying dead on the frosty grass. He lost count of the number of ways in which she’d saved his life.
At last they were free of eavesdroppers. About time. He burned to settle everything with his beloved.
“My love,” he said huskily, making himself release her. He prayed he didn’t overbalance and end up flat on his arse. Fine proof of his potential as a husband that would give. “I refuse to ask you to marry me while I hang off you like damned ivy.”
Displeasure shadowed her face. “I’ve had quite enough of your ludicrous masculine pride. I’d think you’ve had enough of it, too. What on earth made you come out here to fight Grenville? You’d unequivocally won any contest you waged against him. After what happened between us last night, you must have realized I’d given him up for good.”
Simon knew that she’d never understand the peculiarly male imperative that had made him keep his appointment with Berwick this morning. “I couldn’t play the coward. I don’t want our children tarred with the tale that their father turned and ran like a rabbit from a challenge. It’s a matter of honor.”
“Honor!” She spat the word like a curse, stiffening with anger that he knew stemmed largely from her reaction to crushing fear. “What if he’d killed you? He meant to, you know.”
“But he didn’t.” Only gradually was it dawning on him that the rest of his life stretched ahead. A life he intended to devote to Lydia. “My darling, let’s not quarrel. Not now. Not when after all this time, we’ve found each other. I know I should go on my knees, but if I promise never to fight another duel, will you have me, sweetheart?”
Furious tears glistened in her amber eyes. “I don’t know if I should. You’ve been so reckless and stupid. You’ll just find more trouble to tumble into.”
“Probably.” He smiled tenderly down at her and raised his left hand to brush moisture from her fluttering eyelashes. “I need a good woman to keep me in line.”
Abruptly her anger seeped away. She blushed and caught his hand in a shaky hold. “I’m not that good.”
He laughed softly. His arm might ache like every imp in Hades poked it with a red-hot trident, but hard-won joy soared above physical discomfort. “That suits me, my love. You can be a paragon in public and my wild, passionate Lydia in private.”
Her lips curved into an uncertain smile. She stared up at his face as if
searching for answers to eternal questions. “Cam’s right about the awful scandal, you know.”
He shrugged, then winced. He really shouldn’t move both shoulders just yet. “I can live with scandal. I can’t live without you.”
Happiness shone in her eyes and she lifted his hand to brush a quick kiss across the knuckles. Call him a lovestruck fool, but the gesture felt like an act of homage. The tension in his gut eased. Even after she’d given herself to him, part of him had remained convinced that a woman as exceptional as Lydia would never agree to his proposal.
“When you came back, you never said you wanted to marry me.”
“I’ve said it now. Several times.” Simon swallowed, all impulse to humor leaching away under fierce emotion as he released her. His voice emerged calm and deliberate. The next words he spoke would be the most important in his life. “Lydia, my first and only love, the woman I will cherish all my days, will you marry me?”
“I love you, Simon.” In spite of her widening smile, a tear overflowed and trickled down her cheek. In the strengthening light, her beauty was so vivid, he was dazzled.
“And I love you,” he said gravely. “Is that a yes?”
She inhaled on a husky sob and reached for him with desperate urgency. “Yes.”
“Oh, my darling,” he choked out. Heedless of his wound, he swept Lydia into his arms and kissed her with the promise of forever.
About the Author
Always a voracious reader, ANNA CAMPBELL decided when she was a child that she wanted to be a writer. Once she discovered the wonderful world of romance novels, she knew exactly what she wanted to write. Anna has won numerous awards for her historical romances including Romantic Times Reviewers Choice, the Booksellers Best, the Golden Quill (three times), the Heart of Excellence, the Aspen Gold (twice) and the Australian Romance Readers Association’s most popular historical romance (five times). Her books have twice been nominated for Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA Award and three times for Australia’s Romantic Book of the Year.
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