by Darcy Burke
Philippa spat into the dirt several times. She frantically tried to get her hands free, but her wrists were already raw and bleeding from her efforts in the coach. Tears squeezed from the corners of her eyes. To end up here, like this, after last night. Why had she left Ambrose? She loved him, and surely he felt something for her. She should have demanded he marry her. Marriage to him and whatever that brought was preferable to a life without him.
The hedgerows rustled, and Swan came running from them at full speed. Ambrose followed on his heels. Philippa surged forward. The horses stepped nervously, and Philippa steadied herself.
Swan grabbed one of the horse’s bridles. “Come any closer, and I’ll have them drag ‘er,” he warned.
Ambrose’s gaze swung to Philippa and her position tied to the wheel. Fury and anguish lined his face. “Let her go, and I’ll let you live.”
“How about ye leave now, and I’ll take the lady and go?”
Ambrose bared his teeth menacingly. “When I can no longer draw breath. And maybe not even then.”
A shadow of fear passed over Swan’s features. He tugged the bridle, and the horses stepped again.
Ambrose reached out, but didn’t move. He glanced at her, and she saw stark fear in his eyes.
She stared at him intently. “Ambrose. The horses are from Holborn.” Hopefully he would know what that meant. That as coaching horses bred by England’s finest stable they wouldn’t run. They might dance a bit, but they wouldn’t run unless truly in danger. She would’ve just blurted it out but determined any advantage she could give him would be welcome.
Realization lit Ambrose’s eyes. He pressed his lips together and then he moved. As quick as during last night’s fight. Faster even. His fist drove straight into Swan’s throat. The villain’s head snapped back, and he fell to the ground. As expected, the horses moved. Swan had landed beneath one of them, and his arms flailed as his mouth furiously opened and closed in search of air.
One of the horses stepped on his thigh and reared up in response. The coach rolled forward and Philippa’s shoulder and arm dragged along the dirt track. “Ambrose!”
Ambrose grabbed the bridle and stilled the animal. Thank God for his knowledge of horses. He leapt to her side. “Are you all right? He hit you.” His hand stroked the angry weal on her face where Swan had struck her earlier.
She nodded, her eyes swimming with tears. “But nothing else. Oh, Ambrose.” She buried her face in his neck, relief coursing through her veins so that she sagged against him.
He fumbled with the rope on her wrists and after a moment frowned. “This is impossible to untie.”
“He had a knife earlier.”
Ambrose stood. “He dropped it when I came after him.” He ran to the hedgerow and found the blade then quickly returned to saw her free from the rope. His fingers gently stroked her wrists. “Philippa.” He sounded broken, lost.
She brought her hands up to his face and smiled through her tears. “I’m fine.” She glanced toward the hedgerow. “What about the other one?”
“Unconscious on the other side of the hedgerow.”
She shivered, dropping her hands. “Is Swan dead?”
Ambrose turned his head toward Swan who was no longer moving. “I didn’t think. I reacted. He took you from me and meant to rape you.”
His eyes were wild. She felt secure and safe again, but he hadn’t yet found the ground beneath his feet.
“Ambrose, are you all right?”
“I didn’t mean to kill him. I—” He wiped his hand over his mouth and looked away from her.
She thought maybe she understood. The fear in his eyes, the dread quivering through his frame. She put her hands at the base of his throat and directed him to look at her. “It’s not like Nigel. It’s not the same at all.”
“But I’m the same. It was me. I killed him.”
“You didn’t kill Nigel. It was an accident. You have to stop blaming yourself. Please.” She leaned her head against his chest. “Just breathe with me, Ambrose. Let go of this. Let go of Nigel.”
They stood like that for several minutes. His hands loosely wrapped around her back, her arms twined about his neck. She listened to his heart beat against her cheek. It gradually slowed, and she thanked heaven for that.
Finally, his lips brushed her forehead like that long-ago night when he’d taken her home. The night she’d begun to fall in love with him.
Suddenly she couldn’t live another moment without telling him. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I love you.” She pulled back to look up at him. There were no guarantees, but he was worth waiting for. Worth fighting for. “And I know you don’t want to marry me, but I won’t have anyone else. I want you, and you’re just going to have to—”
His lips found hers and he kissed her softly, gently. “Shhh,” he breathed against her mouth. “Even before I knew that bastard had taken you, I’d decided to come for you. I can’t bear the thought of living without you. My life has been such a misery. I’d forgotten how to live, how to love. If I ever really knew how.” He looked into her eyes. “You are my life, my love, my reason for breathing. Philippa, if you don’t marry me, I’ll simply spend the rest of your life destroying your reputation until you do.”
She kissed him, laughing against his mouth. “I will.”
He slanted his mouth over hers and slipped his tongue past her lips. She kissed him back, squeezing him tightly.
He pulled back after a moment and rested his forehead against hers. “How can you be so certain about me? What if I hurt you?”
That he was finally opening his soul to her filled her heart with joy. “You won’t. You’ll learn to trust yourself as much as I do.”
He shook his head. “How did you ever find a reason to trust me? Even last night when you begged me not to fight, I did it anyway.”
“That wasn’t very fair of me. I didn’t understand. Fighting seemed a way for you to punish yourself, to banish the pain in your heart with physical pain.”
“You understood perfectly.”
“Why you started.” She’d thought an awful lot about this during her nightmare carriage ride. Of all the things she would say to him if she ever had the chance. “But after watching you last night, I saw that fighting helped you heal. It was something for you to hold on to. Something that didn’t judge, something that wouldn’t hurt you beyond the physical.”
He held her tight. “You’re an amazing woman.”
She snuggled against his chest. “Just someone who loves you.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “What are you going to do about the man behind the hedgerow?”
“I’ll tie him up. Then we’ll take Orpheus back to town and send someone to clean up.” He flicked a glance at Swan and froze.
Philippa turned. Swan’s leg twitched. Ambrose rushed to the downed man and knelt beside him. Philippa followed.
Ambrose touched Swan’s neck for a moment then looked up at her. “He’s alive.”
Philippa felt a surge of relief. Not because Swan hadn’t died, but because now Ambrose didn’t have to live with knowing he’d killed him. A man could only bear so much.
Ambrose fetched the rope and dragged Swan to a tree at the side of the road. Then he went and hefted Brewer to the same tree. When he had them both in sitting positions, he tied them to the trunk. While he worked, Philippa led the horses and coach a short distance to a shaded spot on the opposite side of the road.
Ambrose came to stand beside her. “Now, we can go.”
She took his hand and they walked toward Orpheus. “Thank you for saving me,” she said. “Again.”
He smiled down at her with love shining in his gaze. “It was you who saved me.”
Epilogue
ONE month later, Ambrose rode into Gerrans, his wife at his side. They dismounted in the churchyard and left their mounts to graze. In one hand, she clutched a bouquet of roses from Beckwith’s gardens. With the other, she twined her fingers through Ambrose’s.
&
nbsp; He smiled down at her, still marveling almost constantly at how she’d changed his life. How she’d changed him.
They’d visited Nigel’s grave a few times. She always brought him flowers and always spoke to him as if they’d been acquainted. She settled the roses next to his headstone. “Good afternoon, Nigel. ‘Tis a beautiful day. We finished the new gate yesterday. Now Beckwith has a fine entrance to the keep and stables.”
Ambrose imagined his brother admiring the work, even though he couldn’t have helped build it. Strangely, he was able to see Nigel’s face more clearly now, but maybe that was because Philippa had insisted upon hanging the portrait of them as children in Ambrose’s study.
With her at his side, forgiveness for his sins was coming, at last. He still had dark moments, but she guided him through them with love and care. He’d never deserve her, but he’d spend his life trying.
Just as he’d pledged to shepherd Beckwith to its fullest potential. For Nigel.
She turned to him. “Ready?”
He nodded, and they turned from the grave and walked back to their horses.
She curled her hand around his forearm. “I meant to ask you about Hopkins’s letter last night, but you quite distracted me.” She narrowed her gaze seductively, clearly recalling their post-dinner activities in the solar when he’d made love to her on the settee facing the gardens at sunset.
And now he was the one distracted. “Pardon?”
“The letter you received yesterday from Hopkins?”
He dragged his thoughts from disrobing her. Such inappropriate meditations in a churchyard. “Ah, yes. All is well at the Black Horse.” Hopkins had taken over the club and Ackley’s training.
They reached their horses and walked them out to the High Street.
“Do you miss it?” she asked.
Shockingly, he didn’t. “No.” After rescuing her from Swan, Ambrose hadn’t once had the urge to fight. He leaned over to her and brushed his lips against hers. “All of my physical urges are currently being met, and I don’t anticipate that changing any time soon.”
She arched a brow. “‘Any time soon?’”
“Ever,” he clarified. He’d never get enough of her. With that in mind, he said, “There’s a little cove not too far past Portscatho. We could go down and watch the sea. Among other things.” He trailed his lips along her jaw.
“You want to do that on the beach? With all that sand?” She wrinkled her perfect nose. “That sounds frightfully uncomfortable.”
He snagged her earlobe between his teeth. “Actually, there’s a rock. I thought I might sit you on the edge—“
“You’re not trying to seduce me in public again, are you?”
He raised his head. “Sweetheart, that’s what scoundrels do. But make no mistake—you seduce me with every look, every touch, every breath. And I humbly beg you to never stop.”
She sighed in mock exasperation. “All right, if I must.” She traced her finger along his crooked nose. Her eyes shone with adoration. “I love you so, Ambrose.”
“I love you.”
She grasped his lapels. “Don’t ever stop.”
Just before his lips met hers, he whispered, “Never.”
Coming Winter 2013
NEVER LOVE A SCOUNDREL
Lord Lockwood and Lady Lydia Prewitt’s story.
and
SCOUNDREL EVER AFTER
Jagger and Miss Audrey Cheswick’s story.
About the Author
Darcy Burke wrote her first book at age 11, a happily ever after about a swan addicted to magic and the female swan who loved him, with exceedingly poor illustrations. An RWA Golden Heart® Finalist, Darcy loves all things British (except tomatoes for breakfast, or any other time of day, actually) and happy ever afters.
A native Oregonian, Darcy lives on the edge of wine country with her devoted husband, their two great kids, and three cats. In her “spare” time Darcy is a serial volunteer enrolled in a 12-step program where one learns to say “no,” but she keeps having to start over. She’s also a fair-weather runner, and her happy places are Disneyland and Labor Day weekend at the Gorge. Visit Darcy online at http://www.darcy-burke.com, follow her on Twitter at http://twitter.com/darcyburke, or like her Facebook page, facebook.com/darcyburkefans.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Epilogue
Coming Winter 2013
About the Author
