In My Wildest Fantasies

by Julianne MacLean

  The earl glanced briefly at her. No one made a move or uttered a word for a long, tense moment. Then at last he answered in a tremulous voice, his whole arm shaking from the weight of the sword. “I was in love with Serena, and I was with her that day at the rotunda.”

  “But what happened?” Rebecca asked. “Did you kill her?”

  The earl seemed barely able to form words. “Not on purpose.”

  “Father…”

  Devon moved to take her hand, but she was distracted.

  “I confess, I was involved quite improperly with her, and we argued that day.”

  “Over your bastard child in her womb,” Rushton put in.

  The earl raised the sword again and garnered his strength. “No, sir. It was your bastard child she carried. I always understood that, which is why I would not marry her.”

  Suddenly he strode toward Mr. Rushton, aiming the sword at his heart.

  “Father, no!”

  Devon dashed forward, but Rushton fired his pistol and the shot rang out before anyone could stop the earl from his useless attack.

  Creighton dropped the heavy sword and crumpled to the floor.

  “Father!” Rebecca flew to him and dropped to her knees beside him.

  Rushton scrambled to reload his pistol, but Devon lunged at him and knocked it from his hands, sending it clattering across the shiny floor, while Blake stood back with his own pistol aimed and ready to fire.

  Devon pinned Rushton down, but somehow the man swung a fist and punched Devon across the jaw. A shrill, sharp pain rang inside his skull.

  “You had no right to marry her,” Rushton ground out. “She was already spoken for.”

  “She was not given the chance to speak for herself,” Devon ground out in reply, landing his own punch to Rushton’s side.

  They rolled into a table and knocked it over, then Rushton straddled Devon and wrapped his hands around his neck. He began to choke him. “That pistol shot was meant for you.”

  Gasping for breath, fighting to suck in air, Devon swung a fist and knocked Rushton over with one blow. The man rolled to the side, picked up the sword, knelt behind Rebecca and pressed the point into her back. She froze on the floor at her father’s side.

  “No…” the earl pleaded, clutching the dark stain of blood on his stomach.

  Devon slowly, carefully got to his feet. “Don’t hurt her.” He should have kicked the sword away. Why hadn’t he?

  All at once, he was sliding back down that muddy hill again, helpless, out of control, and regretting all the little decisions he had made that had brought him to this horrific moment in time. He should have knocked Rushton in the other direction just now. He should have brought his own pistol. He should never have brought Rebecca here in the first place. But he had, and now he was forced to face the possibility of a loss greater than any he had ever known. If Rushton drove that sword into her heart and took her life, it would take Devon’s soul.

  Rebecca was still watching her father, who was groaning in pain. “Let me help him,” she pleaded, struggling. “He’s in pain.”

  Rushton gestured toward Blake. “Tell your brother to drop the pistol and kick it to me.”

  When Blake held firm, Rushton pushed the sword against Rebecca’s back, and she lurched forward with a cry of agony.

  “Blake, put it down,” Devon ordered, his eyes trained on Rushton’s.

  Blake set the pistol on the floor, but kicked it to the side.

  Rushton frowned. “I spent all my life fighting to recover what was taken from me—my home, my family. The Creighton name owes me that at least, and this woman was going to give it to me.”

  “Why do we owe you that?” she asked.

  The earl tried to speak. “Rebecca, your grandfather…” But he could not go on.

  “Just lie still, Father. Please.”

  Rushton continued the explanation for him. “Your grandfather won my family home in a card game twenty-five years ago, and came to claim it the very next day, turning us all out onto the street. My mother died two weeks later giving birth to my younger brother in a boardinghouse, then my father, in his grief, took his own life.”

  Rebecca looked down at her father. “Is that true?”

  He closed his eyes and nodded.

  She turned her head to the side to address Rushton. “I am very sorry to hear that,” she said shakily. “Perhaps we could offer you some compensation.”

  Devon had been listening to all of this with increasing fury at the sight of that sword at Rebecca’s back, and her father lying injured on the floor. She had come here with him believing he was her hero, and he had intended to protect her.

  Rage—so powerful that it burned away every regrettable thing he’d ever done in the past—flooded his head. He could not repress the violent instinct to retaliate. It was festering in his gut, shuddering in his bones. He felt like a wild animal in a cage—captive, threatened, and vicious.

  “If it’s compensation you want,” he bluntly said, “go ask your dead father. He’s the one who gambled away your home.”

  Rushton’s gaze turned to him in shock, and Devon shot forward. He threw his body into Rushton’s. The force of the assault carried them both flying through the air to the other side of the room. The sword dropped with a clatter. They landed with a crash, and Devon’s chin hit the ground.

  He scrambled to his knees and bashed his fist into Rushton’s face, then straddled him and grabbed his whole head with both hands. He smacked it once, hard, against the floor.

  Shocked and disoriented, the man blinked a few times, parted his lips as if to say something, then fell unconscious.

  In the meantime, Rebecca had torn off her cloak and was trying to stanch the flow of her father’s blood.

  Blake seized the pistol and hurried to Devon. “Are you all right?”

  “I am,” Devon replied, barely conscious of what he had just done. He accepted his brother’s hand and let him pull him to his feet.

  Blake aimed the pistol at Rushton’s heart, should the man awaken and wish to make another move. Devon met Rebecca’s gaze. He knelt down beside her. She was gently stroking her father’s head. The earl’s breathing was ragged.

  “We have to do something!” she cried.

  “I’m sorry,” the earl whispered. “I never meant to hurt you, but you must know, the child was Rushton’s. Serena was going to pass it off as mine. I don’t know what happened to me that day. I couldn’t control my anger. I pushed her down and she hit her head. Her death was my fault. It has haunted me ever since.”

  “Try to calm yourself,” Rebecca said. “You’re still bleeding.”

  “I did care for her,” he tried to explain, “but she was his lover. He wanted his son to have my title.” He began to gasp for each costly breath. “I have come to realize that he would have killed me after the child was born, then married her. But when she died, he turned his ambitions toward you.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” Rebecca asked. “I would have stood by you. You should not have given him that power over us.”

  “I was ashamed and ridden with guilt. And the scandal…I couldn’t face the disgrace of a trial, the destruction of my family’s good name.” He squeezed her hand. “It was wrong of me. I should never have believed you would be safe with him. In my fear I was not rational. But you are free now. No need to protect me. I was brave tonight. At last. Brave for you.”

  He gazed at her for a moment, then a shadow passed over his eyes, and they fell closed.

  Rebecca bowed her head and wept.

  Devon placed a hand on her shoulder to offer what comfort he could, then turned to see the young footman watching from the door, his eyes wide as he held a silver tray with tea.

  “Go and instruct the driver outside to fetch the magistrate,” Devon said.

  The young man nodded, set down the tray, then turned and ran out.

  Rebecca buried her face in Devon’s shoulder. He held her close.

  Chapt
er 25

  It was nearly two in the morning when the magistrate and local officers dragged Rushton out of his house and shoved him into a coach bound for Newgate. The coroner had been there, too, and had taken charge of the earl’s body, which would be delivered to the Manor the following day. Rebecca requested also that the magistrate and coroner locate Serena Fullarton’s remains and take the necessary steps to find and notify her family.

  Afterward, Rebecca, Devon, and Blake returned to Creighton Manor. They explained to Mary and the other servants what had occurred, and the members of the household were grief-stricken to learn of the earl’s demise.

  Blake was shown to a guest chamber, while Rebecca and Devon were shown to her former room. The bed was freshly made, and Mary warmed the sheets with the copper bed warmer.

  Rebecca looked upon her room with exhaustion and sorrow. She was here with her husband—the man she had dreamed about countless times in this very bed—but everything was different now. She’d learned things she had never suspected about her father, one very terrible thing, and now he was gone.

  And tonight she had become the Countess of Creighton, a peeress in her own right.

  “Thank you, Mary,” she said. “That will be all.”

  “You won’t be needing anything else, my lady?”

  Rebecca shook her head. All she wanted was to be alone with her husband.

  “I am so sorry,” he said, closing the door behind Mary. He took Rebecca into his arms and held her for a long time. She closed her eyes and rested her cheek on his chest.

  When she was ready to let go, he helped her unbutton her bodice and folded it with her skirts, and set everything carefully upon a chair. While she stood in somber silence, he removed the pins from her hair and brushed it, smoothing it out with his hands and stroking it away from her face.

  When that was done, she went to the wardrobe and opened the doors to find all of her clothes still hanging there, just as she had left them. Her chest of drawers had not been touched either, so she was able to find a favorite nightdress. She put it on while Devon undressed, and a few minutes later, they both slid into the warm bed with a candle burning beside them on the table.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, lying on his side, facing her in the dim, golden light. “Is there anything I can do?”

  She touched his cheek. “You have done so much for me already. I could not ask for anything more.”

  “But your father is gone. Perhaps if I had acted sooner…. Or if I had come here alone to face Rushton…”

  “No, you must not think that way, Devon. None of us can control how life plays out. Nor can we look back on things and wish we had done them differently. All we can do is our best at any given moment, and risk making mistakes, for the alternative is to sit back, always afraid, and do nothing.”

  He spoke softly in the quiet room. “But in my desire to avoid being your hero, I left matters alone that should have been attended to. It was wrong of me to work so hard to keep a distance between us.”

  She gazed into his eyes. “May I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “On our wedding day, you told me you did not want to be my hero because you had failed MaryAnn that day in the woods. Please tell me the truth, Devon—did you love her?”

  A shadow of regret passed over his features. “She was my brother’s fiancée, and yes, I did.”

  Rebecca digested the words with a surface calm, while inside she was wishing desperately that the answer had been different. But at least now she understood her husband’s emotions surrounding that ordeal, and why he had always exercised restraint when it came to his emotional involvement within their marriage.

  Love had not been a friend to him in the past. It had caused him heartache and shame. It had destroyed his relationship with his brother. “What happened between you?”

  “It was the letter she wrote,” he replied. “Until then, I had denied my feelings for her and buried them as best I could. But the letter was what made me go to see her alone. I had every intention of convincing her to forget me, and that she should be with Vincent. I was not going to reveal how I felt, but she was persistent, and I was weak. I desired her, and we did things I regret.”

  “Did you make love to her?”

  He paused. “I went as far as a man can go before complete ruination, but stopped in the nick of time. Even so, I had never felt more ashamed.” He closed his eyes. “I remember telling her harshly to get dressed, while I fastened my breeches with hands that would not stop shaking. It was a nightmare, and it is why I was in such a hurry to return her to the palace. To Vincent. I wanted to erase what I had done, and in my haste, I was grossly incompetent.”

  She sighed. “You had enough to worry about at Pembroke, after coming home from America to face your brother again, then to learn of your father’s illness. Then you suddenly found yourself with a new bride who was pushing for your love—a bride who had kept secrets from you. I should not have expected you to solve all my problems, Devon. It was wrong of me to come to Pembroke assuming you would.”

  “But thank God you did come,” he said, pulling her close. “How I needed you. You will never know how badly I wanted to be your hero tonight. With every inch of my soul, I wanted to protect you and keep you safe, not only from Rushton, but from everything unpleasant in the world.”

  She snuggled closer. “You were my hero.”

  “Perhaps a better word is ‘ally.’ You were very brave tonight. You’ve always been brave.”

  She managed a small smile. “I had the strength and courage to confront Rushton because you were at my side, and if not for that, my father would still be living in fear and shame. And perhaps your family might have been in danger.”

  “I am so sorry about what happened to your father.”

  “I am, too. But it was his choice to confront his enemy. I believe he needed to do it, and now I understand that it was his guilt and fear that changed him in recent years. He was no longer the father I remembered from my childhood.”

  Devon kissed the tip of her nose. “But he was brave tonight.”

  She nodded.

  “As for you and me,” Devon said, “we shall share the heroics by agreeing to be comrades, because when we are together, Rebecca, you rescue me from all the madness of my life, and I suspect you are going to be a great comfort to me in the coming months—when I will no doubt need your support in dealing with my father, and possibly a few spur-of-the-moment weddings.”

  Rebecca wet her lips. “I will do whatever I can to ease your burdens.”

  He inched a little closer. “And may I have permission to envision you riding to my rescue on a magnificent white horse?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Why would you need my permission to envision that?”

  “Because you are naked on the horse.” He squinted with humor, then laid a light, tender kiss on her lips.

  “In that case, you have my consent.”

  He continued to gaze at her in the candlelight, then his expression became serious again. “Will you be able to forgive your father,” he asked, “now that you know what really happened?”

  “I am devastated to know what he did, but I shall have to find a way to forgive. I only wish I had known the whole story sooner. Perhaps I could have helped him do the right thing, and Rushton would never have had the power to bully him for so many years.”

  “Your father found his courage in the end. And none of it is your fault. You didn’t know.”

  She felt a painful lump in her throat. “Everything you say is a help to me, Devon. You do ease my pain with your kindness. I am a lucky woman.”

  He ran a finger down her cheek, then kissed her again. “I am the lucky one. The most exciting, exquisite woman in the world fell straight into my lap. I will be forever grateful that I traveled through the forest that night four years ago, and that I was able to be your hero. I love you, wife.”

  He pressed his lips gently to hers and held her close in hi
s arms all night long, until sunlight shone through the window in the morning. A clear, new day beckoned to them, and when they rose from bed and pulled the drapes open, there was not a cloud in the sky, nor a single drop of rain.

  Rebecca, Devon, and Blake remained at Creighton Manor for a few days, long enough to see to the earl’s funeral, which was a private family affair. He was entombed in the mausoleum on the hill, where all the Creighton earls had gone before him.

  As for Creighton Manor, it belonged to Rebecca now, and she and Devon decided they would spend their summers in residence after the close of the London Season, and enjoy the autumn hunting season there as well. And when—God willing—they brought their children, they would deliver life and laughter back to those quiet, empty rooms.

  Promising to return soon, Rebecca and Devon said goodbye to the servants and stepped into the Pembroke coach with Blake.

  The journey back to Pembroke passed quickly, for the sun was shining through the coach windows and both Devon and Blake were in high spirits. The sky had been clear for three days straight, and the weather, they believed, was sure to alleviate some of their father’s anxieties regarding the family curse. Perhaps in time, he would realize they were not in danger of being swept away by raging floodwaters, and the hasty weddings could be put off.

  Perhaps also a grandchild would bring him some peace of mind, Devon thought, feeling hopeful as he gazed at his lovely wife sitting next to him in the coach. He wondered how soon they would be able to call themselves expectant parents. He had never in a hundred years imagined he would anticipate such an event with joy. He supposed anything was possible—and that very simple notion boosted his spirits further as they drew closer to the palace and waved at the villagers in the fields. Everyone was in high spirits it seemed. Sunshine, he supposed, had a way of spreading cheer.

  By the time they arrived at the palace, the sun was low in the sky and the whole estate was twilight-pink.

  “It is good to be home,” Devon said, feeling a sense of warmth and completeness he had never known before. He had his wife with him and his brother, and he would soon see his sister, Charlotte, and their mother.