He watched brother and sister meet and embrace. His mind began involuntarily calculating the tremendous loss of profit when he actually paid Morvan for the contents of those caves.
Aye, it was very much against his interests to have Morvan return. In fact, having Sieg guarantee that Morvan fell during battle …
Christiana looked up at her brother with glistening eyes. Even at a distance, her worry was palpable.
Her sadness twisted his heart. His mind emptied of everything but the desire to comfort her.
Theobald had been right. Recognizing one's options was not the same as choosing them. He would turn his back on these golden opportunities which Lady Fortune had capriciously offered him.
He would do it for Christiana, because he loved her.
Christiana and Morvan stood arm in arm while men burdened with booty jostled past.
This was what war was really all about. Profit, of the most primitive sort. All of the talk of chivalry and honor appeared very false to her today.
“Every farmhouse in England will have new cookware and cloth,” Morvan said, surveying the boats riding low in the water.
“Is any of it yours?”
“Nay. My prize is your safety. It is enough for me.” He glanced to where David waited fifty paces away. “And for your merchant, I think. This time, at least.”
“David. His name is David.”
“Aye. David.”
“I know that you still do not favor him, Morvan, but he is a good man. You can not deny that he proved that.”
“He has goodness in him, but much more too. Things that I do not understand. But he has proven that he can protect you. I can part from you today with an easy mind, if not an easy heart.”
“It will not be such a long parting. This war cannot last once winter threatens.”
He turned his attention from the boats to her. “However long it lasts, I do not think that we will see each other for many months. Knowing that you are safe and have a home frees me to leave the court. I may not return with the army. I think that I will seek some adventure when this campaign ends.”
Her spirits had been battered by the destruction of Caen, and now a new sadness spread through her.
She embraced him. “I pray that you change your mind. My place with him does not dim my love for you. If you must seek adventure, let it be for a short while only. And my home is yours too. Please believe that.”
“It will not be so long. But you have found your future, Christiana, and now it is time for me to find mine.” He set her away, and smiled down at her. “I must leave you now. Edward has duties for me. No tears, sister. This is not forever. Go to your husband.”
He walked away, and soon the sight of him became lost in the bustling crowd. She kept watching, hoping to see his dark hair one more time, praying that his words were true, and not the last that she would ever hear him speak.
David came up behind her. She felt his presence, and then the comfort of his arms surrounding her, holding her closely.
“I love you,” he said.
How like him to know that she needed that right now. But then those blue eyes had always seen into her heart. She turned to him, and to the sanctuary that his declaration offered.
“I worry about him,” she said.
“He is skilled and strong, Christiana. And in battles, they do not try to kill knights, but take them for ransom.”
“Aye. But I know the value of a knight's ransom and there is no father to pay it. He could live his life in the hole of some French keep if Edward fails.”
“If he is captured, I will get him out.”
She looked in his eyes and knew that was true. Whether it took coin or a dagger, he would do it for her.
The horrible images of the last day receded. The brilliance of his love and care burned away the fog of melancholy that had thickened with Morvan's departure.
“Where is Sieg? Isn't he returning with us?”
“He decided to join this war. It is his nature to enjoy such things.”
“But he has gone to your father first, hasn't he? You sent him to return the documents, didn't you? Your mother's picture was missing from the book in your study. You sent that too. So he would know who you really are and why you did it.”
That surprised him. His smile showed amazement. And admiration. “You are becoming dangerously clever, darling.”
“So how long do you think that we have?”
“I will be in England. He cannot harm me there.”
“Of course he can, but that is not what I meant. How long do you think the Comte will live? How long before Senlis is yours?”
Not just surprise this time. Astonishment. That in turn astonished her. He had not considered this possibility. He truly had not foreseen how this would end.
“He is a nobleman, David, and the last of an ancient line. In this one thing I know him better than you. He does not want the line to die out and the lands returned to the crown. Such men will do anything to assure they have an heir. Despite what you did, he will not forget that you are all he has left once he learns the truth.”
He stood very still while he absorbed that.
“So how long do you think we have?”
“He is about fifty-five. If you are right, and I think that you misjudge him, it should be a long while before I face that choice again.”
He said it lightly, but she felt a change in him. She sensed his mind and emotions begin to churn. She knew him very well now, and easily recognized the quiet drama that his soul controlled and contained.
He had seen that she was right, and that Senlis could one day be his after all. He had begun waiting again. He was good at waiting.
She reached up to caress his face. “I love our life, and I am not sorry that it will probably be a long while. And I love you. I thank God for our love, David. There is beauty and goodness in it, and in you, always waiting for me.”
“Whatever goodness you see in me is merely a reflection of yourself, my girl. You make me better than I was ever born to be.”
“That is not true. For a man who sees so clearly, there are parts of yourself that you do not know very well.”
“Parts I would have never known if you had not touched them.”
She began to object. The intensity in his expression stopped her. Maybe he was right. Hadn't his love taught her things about herself that she might have never learned without him?
Two men carting a bed jostled by. The din on the docks intruded.
“Maybe love is all that stands against what we have seen here in Caen,” she said. “That is sad.”
He shook his head. “I understand the darkness in men like your innocence never will, Christiana, and the acts of war are the least of it. Trust me when I say that love is a formidable foe. Perhaps the only foe.”
For a moment his gaze revealed his soul like it had the night of their reunion, and it was all there. The shadows that he spoke of, and the power of love to contain them. Aye, Morvan had been right. There was goodness in him, but other things too.
“Then let us love each other as well as we can, David. Let us build a life full of hope and light that never dims, no matter what the world brings us. I want our love to be the hearth at the center of our home, wherever it is, burning hotly forever. I never want to look back on what we shared here and wonder if it was an illusion that we embraced in our desperation.”
“It was no illusion. You owned my heart long before I found you here, and it is yours forever. Our love is as real as the arms embracing you, and always will be. I am not a man who loses hold on something precious once it is in his possession.”
He kissed her, his mouth lingering and claiming, a welcome reminder of the passion they had found. He held her so closely that they molded as one and made an image of love amidst the greed swarming the docks.
He turned her under his arm. “Let us leave this place now. Let us go home.”
A few men had paused their hauling to watch the lovers
. She met their eyes frankly, and hoped that the display had reminded them about the true value of things.
“Aye, David, let us go home. Take me back to our garden and our bed.”
They walked down the pier side by side, with no prize in their arms except each other.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MADELINE HUNTER has published sixteen nationally bestselling historical romances. More than two million copies of her books are in print in the U.S., and her books have also been translated into nine languages. She is a five-time RITA finalist, and won the long historical RITA in 2003. Madeline holds a Ph.D. in art history, which she teaches at the college level. She currently lives in Pennsylvania with her husband and two sons. She can be contacted through her website: www.MadelineHunter.com.
Look for
MADELINE HUNTER'S
nationally bestselling “Seducer” series …
THE SEDUCER
THE SAINT
THE CHARMER
THE SINNER
THE ROMANTIC
Available from Bantam Dell
If you loved By Arrangegment, stay tuned for this scintillating novel from Madeline Hunter.
THE
SINS
OF
LORD EASTERBROOK
Coming from Dell in 2009
The Sins of Lord Easterbrook on sale in 2009
Leona paced back and forth in her opulent prison, simmering with vexation.
It was difficult to maintain one's dignity when one had been hauled off the street like so much lost baggage. Leona hoped that she had managed anyway.
She had spent the short ride to Grosvenor Square ignoring her captor and treating him like the lackey he was. Only once did she almost lose her temper, when she perceived that her young abductor found her pose of hauteur amusing.
A seed of worry sent out a vine to wind through her anger. While scathing scolds formed in half her mind, the other half assessed the implications of this insult. This lord's treatment of her reflected his view of her lowly status. He had concluded that she deserved no better.
When others learned about this lack of courtesy, they would imitate it. Nothing, not her mother's blood or her letters of introduction, would help her cause now. Her plans here in London would be more difficult after today, and some of them might be nigh impossible.
She stopped walking. Her gaze took in the applegreen silk bed hangings and drapes, and the elegant, fine-boned mahogany furniture. She noted the exquisite watercolor paintings lending rainbow hues to the cream-colored walls. Then she saw nothing at all of her surroundings, but only the mental image of her brother, Gaspar, smiling as his boat pulled away after he had transferred her to the ship at Whampoa.
Gaspar had appeared so young to her that day. Far younger than his twenty-two years. Perhaps his unquestioning trust caused him to look juvenile. He had agreed to risk everything on this journey. His patrimony and his future were at stake, but he had handed the fate of both to her.
His image faded, and she again saw the luxury surrounding her. Her heart still beat heavily, but no longer due to insulted pride. Calm determination had replaced anger.
Her father had taught her that if one viewed adversity from a different angle, one could often see an opportunity hidden within it.
If one looked at this development from a different angle, one might say that she had just obtained an audience with one of the highest titles in the realm. A man of such consequence could be very useful. She might want to slap Easterbrook's face, but it would be wiser to win him over.
She walked to the dressing table and bent to see her reflection in the looking glass. Not really pretty, but hopefully pretty enough.
She removed her bonnet and set it on the table. She pinched her cheeks to make them flush.
“Primping for me, Miss Montgomery?”
The voice startled her. Her gaze shifted from her own reflection to that of the room behind her.
She saw high black boots and snug breeches in the shadows near the door. She dipped her head until the white billows of a shirt came into view, then the ends of very dark hair. The man who had intruded appeared to be a servant, and a lowly one at that, if he worked in such informal garb.
Only he wasn't a servant. His confidence clothed him in nobility more than any garments could. His body stood in lithe relaxation, exuding assumptions regarding his rights in this chamber, and in the world outside its walls.
She straightened and sought the kind of poise that might impress such a man. She turned to greet him with calm grace.
“Are you Lord Easterbrook?”
“I am.”
“Your invitation was unexpected, Lord Easterbrook, but I am delighted to meet you all the same.” She made a little curtsy.
He appeared to be waiting for something more. She could not imagine what it might be. Her smile began to feel odd and stretched.
Goodness, he looked for all the world like a pirate, now that she saw him from head to toe. The boots were high-quality, but his general appearance was not fashionable. His hair fell in long, lazy waves to well past his shoulders. They framed a face that, from what she could see, was younger than she had expected, and handsome enough to make his lack of coats and cravat romantic rather than crude. His dishabille was an insult, as had been her abduction and her entry up the servant's stairs, but she could not afford to dwell on that now.
He finally made a cursory bow. “Please forgive the rude way that you were brought here. My only excuse was my impatience to see you alone.”
He walked toward her, and the light from the windows found him. It made the black boots blacker and the white shirt whiter. His face also became distinct. Dark eyes appeared hawkish in their intense focus on her. An unexpected elegance softened the strong bones of his face. His wide mouth curved into a vague smile that could easily turn hard.
A strange sensation stirred in her. It carried dark, deep caution, but not without a thrilling note. The way his body moved in his stride … the tone of his voice… those eyes…
Suddenly her mind saw him with short hair and more proper garments and a younger, less severe face. Her confusion crystallized into shock. She squinted at him, peering hard.
“Edmund?”
He enjoyed her astonishment. It amused him. Maybe she would slap Easterbrook after all.
Just how big a scoundrel are you?
A very big one, it seemed.
“I always guessed that you had deceived us. I did not realize the depths of it, however.” Her voice snapped with her anger. She felt a fool in more ways than she could list. Humiliation almost buried the girlish elation at seeing him again. Almost.
His amusement disappeared. “You know why I could not reveal who I was when I arrived in Macao.”
She knew, but there might be more to his deception than what he alluded to. The potential implications of his true identity, to the past and future, to her plans here in England, jumbled together in her mind. They evoked a chaos of emotions, but nostalgia threatened to submerge every other reaction. She struggled to hold it at bay.
An awkwardness settled between them, one created by distance and time and the questions shouting in her mind. The silence made it worse. His proximity made it excruciating.
What a sight he was. That long hair made him look like a Tartar. The years had hardened him in all kinds of ways too. Echoes of his youthful brooding still spoke to her, but Easterbrook exuded none of the soulful pain that Edmund had carried.
“You have changed,” she said.
“So have you.” His appreciative gaze indicated that he found her changes pleasing.
He had always been too obvious about that. He had never had the courtesy seven years ago to pretend there was no attraction between them. He had deliberately made her blush and fluster. He still did, even if she refused to show her reactions. She warmed all over, as if he caressed her body with his gaze.
Her heart beat rapidly. The memories broke free. They flowed and an old, secret wistfulnes
s soaked her.
It all came back. All of it, as if she were nineteen again and her womanhood was blossoming under the wayward traveler's seductive attention. Only she was not nineteen now, and the traveler had not been what he claimed, but a marquess. That changed everything about their friendship back then. It meant that he had toyed with her most ignobly.
Fury spiked fast and hot, and she surrendered to it. “You unforgivable bastard.”
He reached out and rested two fingertips on her lips. “Such language. What would Branca say?”
Her lips pulsed beneath his touch. A terrible, wonderful shiver slid down to her heart.
She turned her head to break the contact. “Branca is dead,” she said. “Two years now.”
“I am sorry. She was a good duenna, even if I found her inconvenient.”
She could not believe that he referred to his cynical pursuit so casually. “My father is also deceased. He died the year after you left Macao.”
“I know. Word came to me through the Company.”
“Yes, I imagine a marquess can get whatever he wants from them. Is that how you traveled back then? Other men might have to pay their way or work for their berth. I expect a marquess need merely present himself to the captain of an East India Company ship to obtain passage.”
He shrugged, as if such privileges were of little account. “I was surprised to hear that you are using the name Montgomery. You did not marry Pedro after all.”
“When the financial condition of my father's trading house became apparent upon his death, Pedro withdrew the proposal. Everyone understood.”
“You must have been disappointed.”
“Saving the business from total failure occupied me. I was able to preserve it for my brother. After he reached his majority and was allowed into Canton, it improved significantly.”
He smiled. For that brief moment he looked much like Edmund, whose rare smiles made her heart rise with both joy and relief. “I think, Leona, that the trading house improved under your own hand. Your father relied on you, and I suspect that your brother does too.”
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