"I intend to, madam." His voice hardening a little, he added, "And yes, she does deserve happiness. We both do—after all, we've waited five years for this moment."
Mary flushed, and her gaze dropped.
In the hall, Arabella hissed, "Couldn't you have been more polite? You know she feels guilty and is sorry for her part in what happened."
"Not sorry enough for my liking," he muttered. "We might have been killed."
"She doesn't know that," Arabella said softly. "And she doesn't need to know it either. Her guilty conscience will be penance enough. Let it be."
His dark mood lifting, he glanced down at her. "You know I can deny you nothing. Very well, sweetheart—I'll try to be a more amenable son-in-law in the future."
Jeremy came bounding up to them just then. His expression eager, yet wary, he asked, "Did you tell her my part in it all?"
"Since you insisted that we do so, we could hardly have not done so," Tony said with a gleam of amusement in his eyes. "I am sure that your mother has no doubts where your feelings lie in regards to our marriage."
Jeremy nodded. "It will make it easier for her to accept," he said earnestly, "if she knows that I am on your side."
"Thank you," Tony said quietly. "You have proven yourself to be a good and loyal friend."
Jeremy blushed. "T-T-Thank you," he stammered. An expression of regret crossed his face. "I am only sorry that I was not there at the lodge when Burgess died."
There had been no attempt to keep the truth about Burgess's death from Jeremy. He had been as astonished as the others to learn the identity of Boots. Thinking of that he asked, "How is your uncle taking his death?"
Tony shrugged. "It is hard to say—there was certainly no love lost between them. I am sure he grieves, but how deeply or what he might suspect is not known to me." Tony grinned crookedly. "At least he has not accused me of murdering his son—yet."
Tony had been jesting, but that afternoon when Billingsley announced that Alfred had come to see him, he was aware of a sinking feeling. Tensely he waited for his uncle's entrance into the study.
Stiff greetings were exchanged, and when Tony offered a chair and refreshments, they bluntly were declined.
Standing rigidly before him, Alfred said, "You are no doubt wondering at my call."
Warily Tony nodded.
"I shall not keep you in suspense. Yesterday, that woman of Molly's—Annie—came to call upon me. She brought with her a small book that Molly had given her for safekeeping. It made for unpleasant reading. Among other things, Molly wrote of her liaison with Burgess—including his part in the destruction of your engagement five years ago. She also laid out the scheme she and Leyton concocted to blackmail him." Heavily, he said, "I suspect that Burgess may have murdered them because of that."
Alfred looked as uncomfortable as Tony had ever seen him. If fact, he looked damned embarrassed.
Clearing his throat, Alfred plunged on unhappily. "I have wronged you, and I give you my apologies. Not only were you not the blackguard I thought you then, but it seems my own son is far blacker than you ever were." Baldly, he added, "The boy Marcus is my grandson. Molly wrote that Burgess was his father."
"I would not," Tony said quietly, "want Marcus taken from the Jacksons. He is happy there."
Alfred nodded. "I am aware of that—and I am bitterly aware of my failings as a parent. That a son of mine—" He stopped, and, sighing gustily, said, "When it is appropriate, I would like the boy to know that I am his grandfather. And with your permission, I would like to arrange to visit him and have him visit with me. Someday I will want him to have his father's share of my estate—even if he is illegitimate."
"I think that can be arranged," Tony said, thinking that perhaps Alfred's astonishing proposal was best for Marcus.
Alfred's eyes searched his. Painfully, he said, "I cannot say that we will ever be friends, but I am sorry for many of the things I thought of you in the past."
After Alfred had left, Tony stared out of the window for a long time. It was clear that Alfred did not know the full extent of Burgess's villainy, and while Alfred had guessed that Burgess had murdered Molly and Leyton, he would never know that Elizabeth's death lay at Burgess's door, too. Tony was satisfied that it was so. The past was behind them.
That evening, Patrick came to dine with Tony and Arabella at Sweet Acres. The conversation was lively and amusing, and it was only when they had left the dining room and were seated in the gracious front saloon, the gentlemen enjoying brandy, Arabella a cup of tea, that the subject turned serious.
"Do you think we have brushed through the worst of it?" Patrick asked as he took a sip of his brandy.
Tony nodded. "It appears so. No one seems to doubt that Burgess's death was a tragedy."
Patrick's mouth twisted. "You know it really riles me that he has gone to his grave with everyone thinking he was such a nice fellow—even if his father knows part of the truth about him. But what irritates me even more is that you will be forever blamed for what happened to Elizabeth. It is flagrantly unfair."
Seated on the settee next to his wife, their clasped hands lying between them, Tony merely smiled. "My shoulders are broad. Besides, just consider how well my black reputation will serve me when my daughters reach marriageable age. No gentleman would dare trifle with their tender hearts—I might be moved to murder them."
"Tony!" Arabella cried. "That is not amusing. And we may not have any daughters. What if we have only sons?"
"Oh, but I intend to have daughters," he said with a smile that made her pulse leap. "I shall settle for nothing less than at least two daughters with their mother's bright red hair and lovely eyes."
"And if fate does not cooperate?" she asked archly.
His eyes gleamed. "Then we shall just have to keep practicing until we get it right."
Arabella blushed and looked away.
Patrick laughed and stood up. "I think," he said, "that it is time that I leave you alone—if I see the pair of you together and listen to you much longer, I might forsake my long-standing rule against marriage."
Smiling, Tony and Arabella walked him to the front veranda and watched him mount his horse.
"I shall stop in before I leave for London," Patrick said as he regarded the two of them standing nearby.
"You are determined then to go to England for a while?" Tony asked.
Patrick nodded, a lazy smile in his gray eyes. "There is nothing here for me, and you, my friend," he added with a sly glance in Arabella's direction, "are going to be preoccupied for some time. Years, perhaps."
Tony laughed, and they waved him away.
Returning to the house, Arabella asked as they walked toward the salon, "What will happen to him? Do you think he will ever marry? Find the happiness we share?"
Shutting the door behind them, Tony pulled Arabella into his arms. Kissing her soundly, he said thickly a few seconds later, "The happiness that we share? Perhaps—and I wish him well if his heart is ever snared. Certainly I hope he does not travel the torturous path that we trod." He kissed her again more deeply. "Right now," he murmured, "I do not want talk about Patrick. I want to talk about us, our baby, how much I adore you and then..." He grinned wickedly. "And then I intend to make love to my beautiful wife."
"Oh, Tony, I do love you." Arabella sighed, her eyes shining like golden stars. "I will love you forever and ever and ever..."
"Yes," Tony said thickly, his hard face soft with love, "forever and ever... until forever ends."
The End
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LOVE A DARK RIDER
The Southern Women Series
Book Four
Excerpt from
Love A Dark Rider
The Southern Women Series
Book Four
by
Shirlee Busbee
New York Times Bestselling Author
LOVE A DARK RIDER
Reviews & Accolades
"One of the best romance writers of our time."
~Affaire de Coeur
She'd been sitting in Sam's office for some time, wrapped in her thoughts, the silence of the house gently cocooning her, when she suddenly became aware of a sound—stealthy footsteps coming down the hallway....
Frozen, she listened, her heart beating in thick, uncomfortable strokes as the furtive sound came nearer, and her breath literally stopped when the steps halted outside the door to Sam's office. Wide-eyed, she stared mesmerized as the crystal doorknob slowly turned.
Her fingers closed around the heavy glass. It wasn't much of a weapon, but if she threw it and if her aim were good enough...
The door opened and a tall, masculine figure stood there in the darkness. Sara had a brief impression of a wide-brimmed hat pulled low across his face and menacingly broad shoulders covered by a muddy, dark greatcoat in the second before she flung the glass in his direction with all her might. As the glass flew across the room, she snatched up the half-full bottle of brandy and a second glass, armed and ready to sling more missiles, should it be necessary. It never occurred to her to scream for help.
Sara's aim had been strong and true, and there was a muffled curse as her weapon struck with bruising force high on the intruder's right cheekbone. Her small bosom heaving, her militant stance behind the desk making it clear she intended to fight, she waited tensely for his next move. It surprised her. His hand moving faster than Sara's eyes could follow it, she found herself looking down the blue barrel of a Colt revolver.
"Drop them," he said quietly, "or I'll have to put a bullet through that soft, pretty hide of yours."
The remembered sound of his deep voice reverberating through her skull, Sara dazedly obeyed. When the glass and the bottle were safely placed on top of the desk, his cool amber-gold eyes never leaving hers, he picked up the glass from the floor where it had fallen and walked further into the room. Slamming the door behind him with a deft twist of his foot, he came over to stand in front of Sara. With only the desk between them, he carefully set down the glass and regarded the unexpectedly erotic picture she presented.
The lamplight increased the golden glow of her unbound hair, the shiny mass flowing in gentle waves over one shoulder and down one breast, and he was aware of a powerful urge to reach out and grasp those honey-colored strands to see if they were as silky as they looked. Her eyes were wide and very green as she stared back at him, her dark lashes and brows contrasting vividly with the paleness of her skin, but it was her mouth, her generously curved, enticingly pink mouth, that held his attention for a long moment. Wrenching his gaze away from the tempting promise of her lips, he let it travel indolently downward, noting with admiration the way the worn emerald-green robe clung to her slender body, and he found himself wondering just what she wore underneath it....
The silence spun out as they regarded each other, and then, as if he had seen enough, he re-holstered the pistol and seated himself in one of the old leather chairs in front of the desk. He tipped back his hat and with insulting familiarity put his boots on one corner of the desk, crossing his feet as he did so.
"I didn't expect you to be happy with my return..." Yancy Cantrell drawled softly, "but, dear little step-mama, was it necessary to greet me with such violence?"
Love A Dark Rider
by
Shirlee Busbee
~
To purchase
Love A Dark Rider
from your favorite eBook Retailer,
visit Shirlee Busbee's eBook Discovery Author Page
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New York Times bestselling author Shirlee Busbee is celebrating 50 years of marriage to her husband Howard, and looking forward to another 50. Together, they live in Mendocino County, California, with three Miniature Schnauzers (Shirlee wants a fourth but Howard thinks two is enough—ah, drama ahead) and a herd of American Shetland Ponies.
Table of Contents
Cover
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
A Note from the Publisher
Excerpt from Love A Dark Rider(The Southern Women Series, Book 4)
Meet the Author
At Long Last Page 34
