Then all hell broke loose.
Garrett stumbled back under the weight of Ned’s body shoved into his.
Alex’s screams rent the air, piercing Garrett’s heart.
Shoving Ned aside, Garrett regained his balance and bolted into the foyer, only to stop short at the sight greeting him.
Once again, Arthur held Alex captive.
His arm encircled her neck, cutting off her scream, the other cinched around her waist. Arthur yanked her tightly to him, a feral gleam in his eyes. “Stay back!” he barked.
It wasn’t the directive, but the flash of the silver knife pressed to Alex’s throat that stilled Garrett’s hand and chilled his blood.
Christ. She must have been waiting with Brandon in the foyer. He held up his hands, giving a warning shake of his head to Brandon, who advanced on Arthur. “It’s all right. No one needs to get hurt here. Not you, not Alex. Put the knife down and let her go. It’s over.”
He kept his voice level as he had when confronting the distraught boys under his command. His heart twisted at the sight of Alex’s pale features.
“It’s not over; you’re still alive!”
Garrett’s hand shot up to stop another movement from Ned, but he kept his eyes locked on Arthur. “And so are you. For Kit’s sake, I didn’t kill you as I wished to.”
Ned lifted the revolver and pointed it at Arthur. “Just tell me when.”
Christ, two madmen. “Put down the gun, Ned. We’re still talking. Arthur mentioned his plans to replenish his family fortunes.” He circled back to his stepfather’s enigmatic comment as he followed Arthur, who edged toward the front door, dragging Alex with him. “With my death, Will gains my fortunes, not you, the title going to a distant cousin. How does that replenish the Brown coffers?”
“Because I finally have my boys! Boys who carry the Brown family blood. Boys of my ancestry. You weren’t mine! You were never mine!”
“I could have been, but for the first time in my life, I thank God you thought otherwise.”
Arthur stared at him, the knife’s blade pressing into Alex’s neck. She cried out, her fingers digging into his arm to pry it free, her eyes riveted on Garrett.
Her cry sliced through Garrett and every muscle in his body tightened, desperate to act. He looked at Alex, fighting to convey a reassuring calm. Some of the terror left her eyes, but her face remained deathly pale. For that alone, he could kill Arthur.
“No, you were always his. Kendall’s. I could never look at you without seeing him. And Kit was a girl,” he sneered the word. “What good is a girl but to breed me sons.”
Disgust filled Garrett. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Brandon stiffen. “Christ, you’re madder than I thought,” Garrett breathed.
Arthur ignored his words. “And she finally did! She had Beau, who belongs to Brandon, but then she had Will. Will is mine! The son I never had. Loyal to me, of my blood. With your fortune, he can purchase his own title. He wouldn’t sully it as you are hell-bent on doing, dragging your name through the mud so it’s black as sin and now this risky venture into trade. Don’t deny it, man. Those rumors about your plans for Kendall Ale are true. I couldn’t stand by and watch you bring this family down again, watch you squander Will’s inheritance. I needed to protect my boys before your fortunes fell and your tarnished name stained theirs.”
Garrett studied Arthur’s wild expression. His eyes strayed to Alex, who looked as stunned as he. What a bloody waste. Years of anger expended at this pathetic man who wasn’t worth a moment of his time.
Arthur turned his head, seeking the door behind him. He forced Alex backward, his eyes darting between Garrett and the exit, all the while keeping his choke hold on Alex. “Open the door!”
“Arthur, listen to me. You have two choices. Let Alex go and you live. Hurt her and you die.”
“Open the door!” Arthur bellowed.
Garrett nodded to Brandon, who moved to obey Arthur’s directive.
Arthur’s lips curled into a snarl as he looked at Brandon. “You always stuck with Kendall. Never saw how he was destroying the family.”
“Release her, Arthur. It’s over,” Garrett repeated, his voice cold.
Arthur stared wildly at Garrett and then Brandon. Emitting a savage yell, he shoved Alex from him, hurled the knife at Garrett, and whirled to flee.
Garrett easily deflected the blade, his arm swiping it harmlessly aside. He turned to Alex, drinking her in as Brandon caught her. Seeing she was safe, Garrett pursued his stepfather outside.
Havers stood with the two policemen flanking Arthur, holding him captive between them. One of the men lifted a pair of handcuffs and proceeded to secure Arthur’s arms behind his back.
Arthur’s earlier bravado had burned out. He slumped in the arms gripping him, looking like the pathetic, old man that he was.
Garrett studied his lifelong nemesis and felt nothing. “I’m not going to kill you as I’d like to. I said you’d live if you didn’t hurt Alex, and she’s alive. I don’t want the blood of Kit’s father on my hands. For those reasons, you live, and you’ll live a long, long time remembering all you could have had and all you have lost. There’s an asylum in York, far away from all my estates. Far away from me and mine.”
“You don’t understand! You—”
“No, you don’t!” Garrett cut him off. “You already had replenished your family fortunes. You had a wife who loved you, a young boy who could have, and a daughter who tried to. But you rejected them all to fulfill some perverted delusion. And for what? The legacy you now leave your ancestry, as the last surviving member of the illustrious Brown family, is the stain of madness.”
“You’ve always had it easy. Never had to fight for your birthright. You—”
“I fought for everything! Every scrap you’d toss my way until I realized you didn’t have anything to give. That you are a bitter, empty shell of a man.”
Mouth pursed, Arthur glowered at Garrett, before finally looking away. Defeated.
“Take him away,” Garrett instructed the policemen.
They led Arthur down to where Stewart had arranged for a carriage to take custody of Arthur.
Ned came forward, nodding to Garrett before joining the police. Garrett had asked him if he would accompany Arthur on his journey, knowing Kit would not want her father to be alone. Brandon and Alex stepped forward, and Brandon gave Garrett’s shoulder a squeeze before walking ahead.
The police had protested Garrett’s refusal to bring charges against Arthur, who would have hung for the attempted murder of a member of the peerage. With the clout of two earldoms between them, Brandon and Garrett had managed to save Arthur’s neck from the noose. It was the best Garrett could do for Kit, and all he would do for Arthur.
Evening had settled, and Garrett watched the police and Arthur disappear into the darkness. He turned in time to catch Alex as she launched herself into his arms. He crushed her close, buried his face in her neck. “I love you.”
She drew back and her hand cupped his cheek. “And I love you.” She kissed him. “Let’s go home.”
“My thoughts exactly.” He pressed his forehead to hers, the image of Arthur’s knife against her soft skin a fresh nightmare to plague him. He leaned back from her and became serious. “However, before we return, there is a loose end that needs to be secured.” At her puzzled expression, he went on. “I’d like to renegotiate the terms of our agreement.”
“Oh?” Alex cocked a brow.
“Yes. You see, it appears that I no longer need your services in apprehending my murderer. However, I have little doubt that you would have single-handedly and heroically accomplished that feat had not my inopportune rescue thwarted your plans. But about our alliance, I’d like to change our arrangement into something more permanent and mutually rewarding to us both.”
“Oh, what did you have in mind? As you know, I’m always open to new negotiations.” She smiled up at him and then lowered her voice so that only he could hear her sof
t words. “And of late, those that are mutually rewarding to both of us are my favorite kind.”
“My thoughts exactly,” he murmured. Ignoring the remainder of his men standing but yards away, Garrett stepped back, knelt on one knee, and grinned into Alex’s suddenly watery gaze. “Alexandra Langdon, will you marry me?”
Alex’s smile wavered and she blinked back her tears, her response almost drowned out by the animated hollers of his men. “Yes, yes, I will.”
“Buss her a good one, Capt’n, an’ seal the deal!”
Grinning, Garrett stood. He heard Brandon’s laughter and his men’s hoots of encouragement, but he didn’t need any prodding. To the delight of their audience, he snatched Alex off her feet and swung her in a circle. His kiss was filled with the joy that exploded within him. When he drew back, he set her on her feet and let his eyes rove over her beloved features. “Now let’s go home.”
She was his and no one could ever take her away from him again.
“My thoughts exactly.” Laughing, she echoed his earlier response and looped her arm through his as they began walking. “And since I no longer have to focus on escaping, or upholding my part of our bargain, I can concentrate on tying up my own loose ends.”
“Oh, and what are those?”
“Well, when I wasn’t cursing Arthur, planning my escape, or waiting for you to rescue me, I had a lot of time to think these last few days. And I was wondering about something.”
“Oh?” Amused, he grinned. “And what is that?”
“Why did you follow me from the card table at Hammond’s after I lost to you?”
Surprised, his smile disappeared and he stopped. He lifted his gaze to his men behind them and then returned it to rest on her. “It was your panicked expression when you realized you had lost.”
She stared at him.
“It reminded me of the boys under my command before they rode into battle. I couldn’t save them, but I thought I’d be damned if I’d be the ruination of another innocent.” He shrugged. “I didn’t need the money, and you looked as if you did.”
“So once again, you were saving me?”
“I was.” He grinned. “Little did I know that saving you would save me.”
“Oh, Garrett.” She rested her hand on his heart. “We were fated to be together.”
He caught her hand and pressed a kiss into her palm. “Looks like.” He brushed a stray wisp of hair back from her temple and let his fingers linger. “If we hurry, we could get started on making a tribe of boys. I’ve heard practice makes perfect.”
Smiling, she slid her arms around his waist. “I might have heard that somewhere as well. There is only one problem.”
“What is that?”
“I refuse to have three boys named Rogue, Rake, and Debaucher.”
He pursed his lips. “Fine. We’ll have twins, a girl named Verity and a boy named Trouble.”
She shook her head with a laugh and slipped her arm through his as they started walking. “Let’s start with one at a time. I’d like a little boy with raven black hair and slate gray eyes and we’ll name him Garrett Melrose Brandon Sinclair.”
He stopped dead. “Brandon? Absolutely—” He got no further.
Alex flung her arms around him, stood on tiptoes, and planted her mouth firmly on his, kissing the rest of his denial from him.
He momentarily resisted her embrace before his arms tightened around her. Groaning, he crushed her to him, his complaint forgotten in the pure joy of once again holding Alex right where she belonged—close to his heart.
Sometimes thinking was not good.
Feeling was best.
TURN THE PAGE FOR A PREVIEW OF
THE NEXT HISTORICAL ROMANCE FROM
VICTORIA MORGAN
COMING IN FALL 2013 FROM BERKLEY SENSATION!
SHE knew what they said about her.
Dumped by a duke. Bedford’s forgotten fiancée. The hushed murmurs circulated in a widening pool of ripples. The betrothal contract was still good, just yet to be honored. If the man hadn’t wedded and bedded her yet, he never would—or so pledged some of the wagers filling White’s infamous betting book. Others proved more generous, wagering on the year, or decade, of the pending nuptials.
Long after the news should no longer have been grist for the gossip mill, it still managed to turn the wheel. After all, she was Lady Julia Chandler, the daughter of an earl, an heiress and renowned beauty. But that was yesterday. Today, she was a fading flower, waiting and wilting at the ancient age of three-and-twenty.
She knew what they asked about her, too. The question circulated in the same hushed stage whispers. What is wrong with her?
Of course, the fault had to lie with her. After all, Bedford was a duke, practically anointed royalty, perched at the pinnacle of the revered aristocratic pyramid. Toss in young, handsome, and rich, and who dared to question such sterling credentials? No one.
Except Julia.
And she knew the answers—or at least most of them.
Today she vowed to get the rest.
Julia tightened her hands on the reins and dug her heel into Constance’s flank, leaning low over her sidesaddle and streaking across the field. She relished the bite of the wind against her cheeks, the whip of it through her riding habit, the feel of freedom it gave her. The sense of purpose, for today she had a purpose.
Edmund was back in Hertfordshire. Spotted in town. Her damn duke, for that was her name for him these days. Still evoked with affection, but lacking the reverence she had used when he had been her Beautiful Bedford or her Earnest Edmund. After all, there was a price to pay for his paucity of visits, letters, and of course, those nasty rumors he never deigned to squelch. “Damn duke,” she muttered. But he was still her damn duke, and today, she vowed to remind him of it.
Julia didn’t know what made her take the shortcut through Lakeside Manor, which abutted her father’s estate. Despite the scenic views overlooking the lake, the charred, skeletal remains of the burned-out manor house were haunting. Black timbers rose up like a plaintive plea to the heavens to rebuild. A riotous mass of untamed weeds, ferns, and brambles snaked, weaved, and climbed over the sandstone foundation and crumbling brick walls like wild decorations breathing life into the desolate landscape.
She didn’t understand why Edmund hadn’t razed the estate to the ground. The property had come from his mother’s side of the family and had only been inhabited a few weeks each summer. Edmund had never cared for it, so why let it sit and rot over the past decade, a morose symbol of loss?
She shuddered and reined in Constance, coming to a halt on a bluff overlooking the remains. The site held a macabre fascination for her. How could it not, tangled up in so many childhood memories? Those were the days when Edmund had been beautiful. And she had been happy.
She shook her head, bemused. Had been happy? One would think she heeded the rumors about her. Well, she was not quite ready for a silver-tipped walking cane, and she was happy. Planned to be happier if her courage didn’t desert her. But still, her gaze drifted back to those stark, bleak, ghostly timbers, and she frowned.
“Bleak, but still beautiful.”
Julia started at the words, her sudden movement irritating Constance, who grunted, tossed her mane, and danced back a step. Julia leaned over to rest a calming hand on the mare’s neck as she turned to confront the intruder. Her heart thudded and her mouth went bone dry.
Edmund.
Her damn duke.
Tall and lean, he stood in the shadows of the copse of trees framing the back perimeter of the manor house. As she straightened, he moved forward and into the sunlight. A few months had passed since she had last seen him, and she drank in the changes to his appearance.
He looked thinner, his hair unfashionably longer and lighter than she remembered. Thick, wavy, and golden brown, it curled over the collar of his crisp, white shirt. His black riding jacket hugged his lean frame, the tight fit of his buff-colored trousers accentuating his muscular thighs
and long legs as he strode toward her with an easy grace.
A gust of wind lifted a stray lock of hair from his forehead, and her gaze roved over his handsome features, the strong jaw, the sharp cheekbones and that enigmatic cleft denting his chin. But it was his eyes that were so arresting, being a rich, deep moss green. Edmund was vain and clever enough to appreciate their asset, spearing many a maiden’s heart with a well-aimed look.
He stopped a few feet away, and Julia found her own heart endangered when those eyes locked on her. Her breath caught at his expression. Never before had he studied her with such intensity, looking at her as if she were some ghostly apparition or as if he were seeing her for the first time. She squelched the urge to shift in her saddle, like so many giggling, twittering maids did under his regard. There were advantages to being older. She rarely giggled and had never twittered.
“Julia.” His lips curved into a slow, devastating smile.
She blinked. What game was he playing now? Edmund liked his games. More so, he liked to win. Well, today she refused to play—or at least by his rules.
“You’re beautiful. I knew you would be,” he said.
She stared at him, bemused at his words, wondering if he was seeking to undermine her with that dangerous charm of his. When he chose to wield it, it was lethal. She cursed the heat climbing her neck and the traitorous leap of her pulse. Today, he’d need more than charm to derail her. “We need to talk.”
He paused and raised a brow at her words, but then nodded. “That we do.” He strode forward, “May I?’ He lifted his hands, but waited for her to acquiesce before moving closer to assist her in her dismount.
She unhooked her knee from the pommel and nearly gasped at the touch of his hands on her waist, the cotton fabric of her burgundy riding jacket but a thin barrier between them. Her gloved fingers curled over his sturdy shoulders, bracing herself as he easily lifted and set her on her feet before him. Rather than step back as a gentleman should, he stood inches away, staring down at her with a rather odd and un-Edmund-like smile curving those sensuous lips.
For the Love of a Soldier Page 33
