“I wouldn’t, if I were you.” he said softly. It was only then that Miranda noticed the pistol he held in his left hand. It was pointed directly at her. “At least, not if you wish your sister’s life to be spared.”
She had tensed for a scream, but released it when she realized that he was canny enough not to threaten her, but Juliet. “What do you mean?”
“If you and I don’t follow quickly behind my dear cousin and your darling brother, then your sister’s carriage will plunge off a cliff before dusk.”
“They will kill you when we catch up to them.”
Silently, she wondered what would then happen to Juliet. Was there any way to keep Simon safe without sacrificing Juliet?
“Perhaps.” He laughed, a squeaky-sounding hiss.
She began to realize that his sanity was not all that it should be.
“Or perhaps your husband will choose to strangle you when you tell him you are leaving him for a life of sin with me.”
The evil of the man was unparalleled. “Run away with you?”
He gestured with the pistol. “We can better discuss this on the way, don’t you agree?”
No, she thought silently. But she moved swiftly toward the stables anyway, her mind working furiously. She had just made love to her husband for the first time today. She had no intention of standing by helplessly while he died the same day.
Chapter 25
“How much of a head start do you think they have?” Valentine asked, when the horses had slowed to pass through a village.
Simon glanced up at the sun in the sky, impatience rippling through his muscles as he watched the wagons and pedestrians on the road ahead. “The groom said the carriage left a good hour before us. But a carriage is always slower. I hope to catch up with them very soon.”
“I suppose you would know — having done this before quite recently.”
Simon felt the potentially awkward moment slip away as he glanced in surprise at the younger man and saw his wry amusement at the situation. “Yes. But I was chasing two relatively sensible, if momentarily muddled people. Grimthorpe is a different matter altogether.”
Valentine smiled grimly. “I now understand how you felt when you pursued me. If I had Juliet here with me, I don’t know if I’d embrace her or berate her. What could he have said to convince her to elope with him?”
“Grimthorpe is no love-struck swain. Perhaps he told her some tale.” He did not want to speculate on his darker fear — that the girl had been forced. It was entirely possible, but if her brother didn’t think of it on his own, Simon had no intention of mentioning it aloud.
“Perhaps. Or perhaps Juliet told him some tale.”
“Is she that like Miranda?” Simon smiled.
Valentine looked at him curiously. “That was said like a satisfied husband. May I be so forward as to ask if your health has taken a turn for the better?”
“Decidedly so.” He laughed, thinking of the shocks he had suffered today. None of that mattered, though. He could leave both his father and mother behind him to start a new life with Miranda. “The rumors of my early demise are completely groundless, I am happy to say.” Not to mention miraculous. But that was a secret for he and his wife to savor once they were well away from here.
“I am delighted to hear it.”
Simon saw the shadow of hesitation that clouded Valentine’s features. “Do you have some doubt about my ability as husband?”
Valentine looked at him in surprise, and then shook his head. “No, I am truly delighted for you and Miranda. But I have a favor to ask you and I am not certain of your reception.”
“I will not help you elope.”
“Of course not.” Valentine’s eyes shone with indignation.
“It had to be said.” Simon offered the only apology he could and was relieved when Valentine nodded in acceptance.
“I suppose Miranda has been trying to convince you that is the proper way to mend things.” He looked away, at a young carter with his arms around a woman who beamed at him like a new bride.
“You need to ask? Knowing your sister?” Simon turned his gaze away quickly, trying not to think of tonight, with Miranda. He could not allow himself to be distracted or he might find himself coming back to her as a corpse instead of a lover. He felt a flash of sympathy, understanding, at last, what Valentine had lost when he lost Emily. “I am sorry for the way things turned out. I hope that you find another like Emily.”
Valentine sat up in his saddle. “Thank you, Your Grace. And I assure you that I will not attempt to see your cousin or influence her into a poor marriage with me. I have investigated her betrothed, and he is a good enough man.”
Startled, Simon could not help a question, “You investigated him?”
He cleared his throat. “It is just that I could not bear to see her hurt by a brute. But this man seems decent enough.”
“I understand.” And he did, for hadn’t he had a similar dilemma five years ago when, even knowing that he could not ask Miranda to marry him, he had not wanted her to become Grimthorpe’s pawn?
Miranda clung to Grimthorpe’s waist as if her life depended upon it. Probably because it did. The speed they traveled was for madmen and fools. Fitting, since he was a madman and she a fool. Unable to do anything else, she closed her eyes and prayed that Simon and Valentine would reach Juliet and Arthur soon enough to prevent the disaster that Grimthorpe had paid his men to ensure.
The irony was evil. Grimthorpe and his desperate willingness to commit murder to become duke, while Simon’s honor prevented him from accepting the title because of an accident of birth.
The landscape blurred and her mind grew numb as her arms gripped her enemy fiercely. Try as she might, she found little hope that there would be a happy ending to this day. Grimthorpe was mad.
Only a madman would do what he had done. He had killed every man who stood between him and the dukedom — except Arthur. Now he meant to kill both Arthur and Simon. Juliet was simply a convenient means to an end, no matter to him that her young life would end before it had truly begun.
She shivered. Certainly he would not hesitate to add Valentine and Miranda to his murderous list.
She could see only one way to stop him. But he had given her no time to tell him about Peter.
He had gleefully explained his plans to her, allowing no words from her, as he held the pistol to her ribs and walked her casually to where his horse stood saddled and ready — not a groom in sight. And then the ride had been too fast, too breathless.
She would have to take her chance when they stopped, as they must soon.
The story was so preposterous, though. Could she find the words to convey it quickly and convincingly?
As soon as they slowed enough that Miranda was certain they were stopping, she began to speak. “Simon is not the true duke. Peter, his older brother has been discovered in America.”
He did not turn his head toward her, or make any indication that he heard her. Her mouth went suddenly dry. She did not pause to swallow, or for breath, afraid that he would interrupt and her chance would be gone. “An enquiry agent brought him here.” As the horse stopped at the top of a small rise, she pulled her arms from around his waist, surprised at the way they trembled from exhaustion and tension. She raised her voice, hoping to get through to him. “Stop this now. Killing Simon will not get you what you want. You will never be the Duke of Kerstone.”
Her voice was high and shrill now, at the edge of control, but she sobbed out a breath and repeated herself. “Stop this now. You will not achieve what you — ”
Her words broke off abruptly when Grimthorpe pulled at her trembling arm, toppling her from the horse to land solidly on the ground. She fought through the shock and pain, knowing that Simon’s life depended on her.
For a moment she had no breath, but when she had gathered it again, she was not interested in speaking, only in scrambling to a stand so that she could see what had captured Grimthorpe’s attention.
>
They stood at the rise of a small hill. There was a perfect view of the road from here. Simon and Valentine were toy figures on horseback, racing toward a toy carriage. The sun shone on the pretty picture, gilding Simon’s golden hair, much as it had been when she’d waylaid him at the hunter’s cottage.
Miranda ran forward, crying out for them. She tried to wave her arms to get their attention, but Grimthorpe had stopped too far away.
She turned back to her enemy, chilled to see the satisfied grin on his face. “I tell you, you will gain nothing from this. Tell your men to stop their murder, now.”
“If you think I’d believe your fairytale story of a resurrected heir, you are mistaken. Peter is long dead and buried, and soon he will have company for tea,” he snarled. Miranda turned back to the toy figures.
Simon and Valentine were gaining on the carriage, which had begun running full out, the horses eating up the roadway as the carriage bounced and jounced on the rutted surface at a speed that was much too fast.
At first she thought the carriage would shudder apart from the battering it was taking. As she surveyed the scene, however, her breath caught in a gasp. There was a sharp turn ahead and she realized in horror that the carriage would go over a small embankment if the horses did not change direction.
A small but fatal twenty-foot embankment.
Even as she watched, the horses drawing the carriage veered away from the edge of the embankment sharply, tipping the carriage over the side. It seemed to take hours for the carriage to unbalance, tip, and fall out of sight.
Miranda could not even find the breath to cry out her sister’s name. Grimthorpe sighed contentedly when the traces separated and the horses hurried on, unhurt.
She could not tear her eyes away from the sight, as Simon and Valentine managed to stop their mounts and dismount to peer over the edge. With their attention on the fallen carriage, they did not notice the ruffians who were even now sneaking up on them.
Miranda strained forward, but could not see them well. Were they bigger and stronger than Simon and Valentine? She had no doubt they were well armed with weapons and cheerfully lacking in conscience. Unlike both her husband and her brother.
Unable to watch the carnage without acting any longer, Miranda remembered what she had accomplished by slapping Simon’s mount on the rear. Without thinking any further, she turned and advanced toward Grimthorpe.
He did not retreat. Instead, laughing softly, he said, “Give it up, my dear. They are dead men, now. You cannot help them.”
Miranda let out an inarticulate cry as she lifted her hand and slapped his horse sharply.
A fierce satisfaction coursed through her when the horse responded by rearing and then, as Grimthorpe lost the reins and grabbed for the mane, the horse streaked toward the group of men confronting each other at the edge of the embankment.
Miranda prayed for Simon or Valentine to see the runaway and realize that something was very wrong besides the carriage that had held Arthur and Juliet having plunged over the embankment. She kept her mind from the thought of them, concentrating only on her husband and brother.
Let them see Grimthorpe.
Let them see the men who are intent on killing them.
Let them live.
Winded, Grimthorpe’s horse ran for only a short distance, perhaps a quarter of the way toward the men. To Miranda’s surprise, he uttered a hoarse cry and spurred the flagging horse on toward the men, instead of back toward her.
It was her chance to escape. Should she head toward the copse or toward Simon? She focused her gaze on the distant battle. Could she help them?
Chapter 26
As she scanned the distant tableau, her heart skipped a beat. There were only two men standing. The other two were dark lumps on the scuffed-up ground. For a moment she wasn’t certain, and then she was. That shining blond head had to be Simon’s.
He and Valentine had overpowered their attackers. And now they were standing, with pistols in hand, waiting for Grimthorpe. She sagged with relief, at the same time as sunlight glinted from something in the mounted madman’s hand. His pistol.
Before she could scream, uselessly or not, she saw Valentine’s arm raise and buck. There was a sharp report. Grimthorpe fell from his still-running mount and lay still.
She bent over, burying her face in the cool grass and wept, for Juliet, for Arthur, for Simon and Valentine. For herself.
She could not stop when Simon reached her and took her into his arms. And he did not ask her to, holding her tight, rocking her against his chest as if she were a baby.
After a moment, she realized he was not just repeating soothing noises, but actual words. “Juliet’s safe. Juliet’s alive.”
She broke away from his grip so that she could look into his eyes. “How could she be alive? I saw the carriage — ”
He interrupted her with a kiss and a grim smile.
“My cousin Arthur has more Watterly in him than I ever believed possible. He suspected something was wrong when the men who were to take him to see an interesting rare book seemed so disreputable.”
“But what could they do?” Miranda thought of her wild ride with Grimthorpe. She had been unable to stop him. How had her sister and Arthur escaped a speeding carriage unharmed?
His lips tightened in suppressed amusement. “At the inn, when the carriage was forced to stop to change horses, they both recognized their chance to escape. As soon as the carriage started up, they jumped free without being observed by their abductors.”
Miranda blanched. “They could have been killed.”
The absurdity of her statement struck her as soon as the words were uttered. They almost had been — all of them, by a cunning and devious madman who wanted the dukedom that was now Peter’s. How ironic that both Peter and Simon would have gladly let it go. She looked up then. The affection in Simon’s eyes jolted her for a moment. And then she remembered that he had dropped the barricade to his heart. She laid her head against his chest, content to hear the beating within, no longer afraid that the sound heralded coming death.
“Where is Valentine?”
Simon looked down at her resting against him so trustingly and could not swallow for the sudden fearful realization that he had almost lost her just when he could claim her. He touched her cheek softly. “He has gone back to the inn, where we met up with Arthur, to notify the authorities about Grimthorpe. We should join them there.” He turned her face to his so that he could reassure himself that she was alive and well. His fairytale bride.
Her tone was scolding, but her eyes brimmed with tears. “And so you and Valentine were prepared for a trap, then? I needn’t have worried at all watching those two huge bullies trying to trounce you and toss you over after the carriage?”
“Of course not. You had nothing to fear. And you never will again. You’re married to me.” He kept his reply bland, but his arms tightened around her and he lowered his lips to hers for a long kiss.
He did not break apart from her until she began to shudder in his arms. No matter that she was enjoying the kiss, she had still been kidnapped and watched a runaway carriage dash off a cliff, believing her sister to be inside. He wrapped his cloak around her and drew her to her feet. “Let’s get you to the inn and cleaned up.”
She laughed, a trifle breathlessly he was pleased to note, as she looked down at her torn and dirty gown. “And you, as well.”
His eyes lit with warmth. “A bath for two. I think that can be arranged.”
With a sigh, he watched as Miranda surrendered to the feelings that were quickly replacing the grief, fear, and despair of minutes ago. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips against his eyes, his cheek, his ear, his mouth. Soft, warm kisses of love and hope and desire.
As if murder and treachery and danger were an aphrodisiac, he realized that she had no wish to wait for their room at the inn to reaffirm their love and the simple joyous fact that they lived.
She did not even seem
to realize that she was sobbing despite the smile that lit her face between kisses, until his lips caressed her cheeks and his tongue tasted her tears. He had been given a gift this morning, which he had refused. That she offered him this chance again was a blessing he did not have any intention of refusing.
He felt the crushing need and translated it into a lingering exploration of her body. The torture was no less than it had been when he found her in his bed and had had to drive her away. This time, however, there would be no worry about a child to keep him from completing their joining.
For all he cared, they could have a hundred, a thousand. He was no longer a duke. He was only a man who wanted his wife. He lay her back, spreading his cloak on the grass and allowed his lips to play with her ear before moving to her mouth to swallow her sigh. She turned her head and met his lips with her own, impatiently. They kissed — not briefly, but possessively. Forever.
Miranda caught fire within as she undid the fastening of his shirt and rubbed her sensitized palms against his firmly muscled ribs. She surrendered thought, listening only to the demands of her body and the soft sounds of pleasure — hers or Simon’s she could not tell and did not care.
His hands had found their way under her skirts, as if he sought to assure himself that she was whole and real, not a fairy ghost, by touching her, reaching for the heart of her passion and helping it to burst through the pain and sorrow that had held them apart for so very long.
Still sensitive from their encounter in the morning, Miranda was shocked at the wanton way her body burned for him. When he pressed into her, she welcomed him, waiting for the pain and finding only pleasure that washed away any doubt that she and Simon were made for each other as perfectly as any couple in her fairytales.
When he groaned against her skin and drove deeper, she wrapped her arms and legs around him, helping him closer, where he belonged, until there was no more two, only a long shuddering cry sounding the triumphant music of one shared soul.
[Once Upon a Wedding 01.0] The Fairy Tale Bride Page 25
