The Bachelor

by Sabrina Jeffries

  “No. Oh . . . that feels so . . . so . . .”

  “Amazing?” he said hoarsely. “Because that’s how it feels for me.”

  “I was . . . going to say . . . incredible, but . . . amazing is good, too.”

  “Thank God.” He drove into her up to the hilt, his body tensing with the effort of trying not to come too soon. He wanted to feel her quaking around him first, pulsing and squeezing him in her release. Only then did he mean to pull out.

  Finding her pearl once more with his fingers, he pressed it and thrilled to the gasp she gave. She was his, damn it. If he had to go childless the rest of his days, he would. Because he wanted her as his wife.

  As his love.

  She shifted her position, and he nearly went out of his mind.

  “Dearling,” he murmured as he thrust deep, over and over. “My sweet dearling . . . my love . . .”

  “My love,” she echoed, her eyes dark green pools of pleasure.

  The words struck him to the heart, bringing him to the edge of coming. He loved her. He did. And he would do anything for her.

  Now was his chance to prove it. He shifted her until his thrusts thrummed her pleasure spot with every stroke. Over and over he drove into her until she erupted. He could see it in her eyes, feel it on his cock.

  And when she cried, “Oh . . . my . . . Lord, Joshua!” in the throes of her release, it was enough to bring him right to the edge of coming. Swiftly, he jerked his cock out of her, which damned near killed him, and spilled his seed on her thigh.

  “What . . . are you doing?” she asked hoarsely.

  He held her close as he came. God, how he loved her. He loved her unabashed enjoyment of making love, her sense of humor, her loyalty to those she loved. He could do this. He must. Because losing her over something like her ability to have children was intolerable.

  Kissing her hair, her forehead, her temple, he waited for them both to stop quaking. She was his now. He would make sure of it.

  “Joshua.” She drew back to gaze up at him. “Why did you—”

  “So I could prove I was willing to keep from getting you with child. What I just did is how I can do it.”

  She gaped at him. “But . . . but you didn’t—”

  “Oh, trust me, I did. Just not inside you.”

  She swallowed. “And that doesn’t . . . frustrate you?”

  “A little.” He kissed the tip of her pretty nose. “But it’s worth it to have you. Gwyn, I love you. I want you to be my wife. And if that is what’s required, I will do it.”

  “Do you really mean that?”

  “I do. I can’t go on without you, dearling.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. “That is . . . the sweetest thing any man has ever said to me, done for me.”

  “So you’ll marry me?”

  “Yes,” she whispered and kissed him soundly. “Yes.”

  “Good,” he rasped. “Because I think I hear someone in the hall, so it’s probably time we get dressed.”

  “Joshua!” she cried. “You should have said something!”

  “And ruin our special moment? Not on your life.” He left her to hop over to the settee so he could sit down and drag on his stockings. After he tied the garters, he pulled on his drawers and buttoned them up, trying not to look at her as she drew up her bodice.

  She hadn’t yet said she loved him, but she’d called him her love, and that was good enough for now. Especially because she’d agreed to marry him.

  He looked over to find her slipping off the console table and fluffing out her skirts. “Damn, woman,” he murmured. “You barely look disheveled.”

  “Yes, but underneath, I’m a ruin of dishevelment.”

  “Don’t start talking like that,” he grumbled. “I still have to don my trousers, not to mention my boots.”

  “Can I help?” she asked, coyly sashaying toward him.

  “No.” He drew on his trousers, then buttoned them. “Just the sight of you swinging your hips will soon have me rousing again.”

  “What a pity we can’t do anything about that,” she said flirtatiously and a bit too loudly.

  This time he distinctly heard footsteps in the hall. He could tell she’d heard them, too, for her eyes widened. Hastily, he pulled on one boot as the footsteps paused and came back toward the door. It was probably just her maid, but he didn’t like being unprepared.

  Damnation. He took the pistol out of his other boot, which made her gasp. Then he slid it into the waistband of his trousers in back. Holding a finger to his lips, he gestured to her to get his cane for him where he’d left it by the console table. Nodding, she tiptoed toward it.

  She’d just got it in her hand when the door swung open. Joshua had forgotten she had unlocked the door.

  A man appeared in the doorway, his face in shadow because of the candles in the sconce on the wall behind him.

  “Lionel?” Gwyn said.

  Before Joshua could even rise, Malet grabbed her and held a blade to her neck. “Ah, ah, Major. Don’t even attempt to come at me or she dies. I can slice her from ear to ear before you can limp one step forward.”

  Joshua’s heart dropped into his stomach. This was his worst nightmare come to life. He dared not reach for his pistol because Malet would see that. And he had no other weapon ready to hand, nothing with which to thwart Malet. His gaze shot to Gwyn, who looked pale as death in the candlelight.

  But she made sure that he noticed that his cane was in her right hand, though she’d moved it into the folds of her skirts. At least she’d have something to defend herself. Although right now that was little consolation. Because there might be more adversaries. The Frenchman might have come here, too. Joshua had to know what he was up against before he acted.

  “You know damned well I won’t let you leave this house with her,” Joshua said, fighting to keep his terror from bleeding into his voice. “I don’t even know how you got past the footman.”

  “I didn’t have to. I came in through the kitchen door downstairs and slipped up here. Your footman was half-asleep when I got him by the throat and threatened to kill him if he didn’t tell me where you were. He said you were in the kitchen, but I knew you weren’t.”

  “You’d better not have hurt John!” Gwyn cried. “He’s done nothing to you!”

  “He’s tied and gagged in a closet, my dear girl,” Malet said. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. As long as I get what I want, we’ll all end up happily.”

  Somehow Joshua doubted that, but he had to keep Malet talking, had to distract him until he could get to his weapon. At least now he knew that Malet had come here alone.

  Joshua pressed on the arm of the settee so he could rise. “What do you want?”

  Malet’s gaze narrowed on him. “Where’s your cane?”

  “Somewhere under the settee.” He made as if he were going to bend over. “But if you’ll give me a minute—”

  “Stop! I’m not fool enough to let you gain access to your favorite weapon.”

  Joshua straightened, then shrugged. “I don’t know about favorite. But it would do in a pinch.”

  Malet scowled at him. “Which is why I’m not about to let you hunt for the damned thing.” He scoured the room. “Where did you put the Frenchman’s purse?”

  “It’s still in my coat pocket.” Joshua pointed to where his greatcoat lay over the chair. “You’re welcome to look for it.”

  He had to get Malet away from Gwyn somehow.

  “You seem to think I’m stupid,” Malet growled. “You want me to let her go so I can look for the purse while you get hold of your cane and stab me with it.”

  Joshua shrugged. “It was worth a try.”

  “Fortunately, I am too clever for you.” He nodded at Joshua’s greatcoat. “Get the purse out of there and throw it to me. Come to think of it, while you’re at it, throw me the papers I sold the Frenchman. I daresay he’ll pay me for them again.”

  “Lionel!” Gwyn exclaimed. “Are you . . . are you spying for th
e French?”

  “This doesn’t concern you, Gwyn. It’s between me and your lame champion there.”

  Joshua fought his urge to react in anger. He dared not risk Gwyn. “Speaking of lameness, how am I to walk without my cane?”

  “I don’t care. I just want the money.”

  “Very well.” Joshua hopped toward his coat.

  “Wait!” Malet cried. “You have your pistols in there, too, don’t you? No wonder you were so amenable.”

  “Lionel, how could you even consider hurting me?” Gwyn wheedled. “Especially after all we meant to each other.”

  “Shut up, Gwyn! I need to think.”

  Gwyn cast Joshua a meaningful look and closed her fingers around the head of his cane. Damnation, she intended to try something. He’d better be ready.

  Malet’s knife hand wavered at her neck. “Here’s what you’re going to do, Major. You’re going to grab your greatcoat by the collar and toss it over here so that it lands at my feet, do you hear?”

  “There are two loaded pistols in the pockets of that greatcoat,” Joshua lied calmly. “I daresay neither of us wants to risk them going off.”

  The bastard cast him a truly evil smile. “Then you’ll just have to throw it carefully, won’t you?”

  “Fine,” Joshua said in an annoyed tone that he hoped sounded convincing, given the fear he felt for Gwyn.

  He hopped toward the chair where his greatcoat was draped, but he made sure to angle himself so that he could lean against the table beside the chair for support. Then he grabbed his greatcoat with his left hand and tossed it into the air.

  While Malet’s attention was on the greatcoat, Joshua thrust his right hand beneath his frock coat and drew his pistol. As the coat landed, Gwyn pushed the button to release the sword from Joshua’s cane and jammed it down as hard as she could into Malet’s calf.

  The man howled and moved the knife from her neck for a fraction of a second, just long enough for her to duck under Malet’s arm and for Joshua to fire.

  And Malet crumpled.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Gwyn looked down at Lionel and realized he wasn’t moving. Besides which, there was an awful lot of blood on his waistcoat and the floor. Joshua pushed Lionel’s knife away with the toe of his boot just in case.

  “Do you think he’s dead?” she asked Joshua.

  “Probably. I aimed to kill.” Joshua shoved his spent pistol into the fall of his trousers, then stepped forward to the console table. He held on to it so he could bend down and check Lionel’s neck. “I can safely say he is dead.”

  “Thank heaven,” she murmured, even as a chill seeped through her bones. She and Joshua had come so close to death themselves.

  Joshua lifted a brow. “That’s a bit bloodthirsty, don’t you think?”

  “I do not.” She thrust out her chin. “I was so afraid he might get to one of those pistols in your greatcoat and shoot you!”

  “You do know how to prick a man’s pride,” he said dryly as he pulled her against him.

  That was when she realized what she’d said. “I didn’t mean it that way. I merely feared you would be so worried for me that you would do something reckless.”

  “You mean, like stab a fellow in the leg while he’s holding a knife to your throat?”

  “Yes, I suppose that was reckless. I should have left the matter in your clearly capable hands.” She gazed up into his face. “But I had to do something. I wasn’t going to let Lionel get away with whatever he planned to do.”

  “You nearly gave me heart failure,” he said hoarsely. “If he had cut your throat—”

  The sound of people running around upstairs brought them both to their senses. Obviously, everyone in the house had heard the gunshot. She and Joshua would have to make explanations.

  He ushered her past Lionel’s body and into the hall just as her mother—in nightdress, wrapper, and mobcap—rounded the staircase baluster and saw them together.

  “What happened?” Mama cried.

  Sheridan came up behind her, wearing a dressing gown and slippers. “We heard a shot.”

  Then Heywood appeared. “A gunshot,” Heywood said, as if that needed clarification. “Loud enough to wake me on the third floor, though Cass miraculously slept right through it.”

  “Yes, it was indeed a gunshot.” Joshua squeezed Gwyn’s waist as if to caution silence. “Malet got into the house somehow and tried to kidnap Gwyn at knifepoint. I was forced to shoot him.”

  “Then thank goodness you were here!” Mama said. “Shall I fetch a doctor for him?”

  “There’s no reason,” Gwyn said. “Mr. Malet is dead.” And with him died her fear of what he might say about her to the world, what scandal he might foment.

  It sank in that she no longer had to worry. She’d never realized until just that moment how much her past with Malet had dogged her throughout her life. And now, what a weight his death had taken off her shoulders!

  By that point, half a dozen servants were amassing behind Mama and Sheridan, and they began to murmur among themselves.

  Immediately, Joshua turned into Major Wolfe and took charge of the situation, pointing to individual servants as he barked orders. “You there, let John out of the coat closet where Mr. Malet locked him, and get him out of his bindings. You there, find a sheet or something else with which to cover Mr. Malet’s body. And you there, come with me. I need you to carry a message to Lucius Fitzgerald, undersecretary to the War Secretary.”

  Oh, right. Joshua’s new secret employer.

  Sheridan lifted a brow at Joshua’s commanding tone. “What does the undersecretary to the War Office have to do with Malet?”

  Blast. What could Joshua say to that?

  “Malet was cashiered, yet he was still using his rank as if he hadn’t been,” Joshua said smoothly. “The undersecretary mentioned the problem to me when I was at the War Office asking about my half-pay. I told Fitzgerald that if I encountered the man, I’d be sure to let the War Office know. I encountered him. He tried to abduct Gwyn. I shot him. Now I am letting the War Office know.”

  Although Heywood, himself a retired officer, looked a bit skeptical, Sheridan seemed to accept Joshua’s story, for he nodded to the servants to obey Joshua’s orders.

  “We should also send for Thorn,” Heywood said. “He’ll want to be included in this, because it involves Gwyn.”

  “Of course,” Joshua said. “Feel free to handle that.” He turned to Mama. “Aunt Lydia, why don’t you call for tea to be served in the drawing room? I imagine Gwyn could use a cup.”

  “Indeed,” Mama said, then took Gwyn by the arm to draw her off.

  Normally, Gwyn would want to be in the midst of all the excitement, but this had been a very long day, and right now she would relish some quiet moments alone with Mama. She knew it was probably neither the time nor the place for her to talk to Mama about her own experiences giving birth, but ever since Beatrice and Joshua had planted doubts in her own head about her miscarriage, she’d been burning to question Mama. She just had to find a way to broach the subject.

  As soon as they were settled in the drawing room with the door closed and their pot of tea steeping, Mama sat Gwyn down on the sofa next to her. “Are you all right, my dear? It cannot be easy to see a man shot dead before your very eyes.”

  It had been much easier than watching Joshua shot dead would have been, so she couldn’t find it in her heart to mourn Lionel.

  “I’m fine, Mama. Or I will be soon enough. Mr. Malet proved to be an awful fellow in more ways than you can possibly imagine. Trust me when I say that Joshua had no choice but to shoot him.”

  “I’ve no doubt of that. My nephew isn’t reckless in the least. But you’re sure you weren’t harmed?”

  “I wasn’t harmed, Mama.” She patted her mother’s hand. “But I do need to talk to you about something important.”

  Her mother paled. “I swear, Gwyn, I didn’t speak a word to Sheridan. He must have hoped for the same thin
g himself because he was the one who mentioned it to me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Mama blinked. “Oh. What you wanted to discuss wasn’t the possibility of you and Joshua marrying?”

  “Wait—Sheridan is hoping I’ll marry Joshua?”

  “I told him not to even mention it to you because you get very annoyed by the subject, but he insisted—”

  “This isn’t about me and Joshua!” She paused a moment. “Well, we are getting married, but—”

  “I knew it!” Mama seized her hands. “I am so happy!”

  “Mama! I need you to pay attention for a moment. I have a question that I promised a friend I’d ask you, and it’s been weighing heavily on me.”

  Her mother narrowed her gaze suspiciously. “Which friend?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I promised not to reveal her name.”

  “All right,” Mama said in a wary voice. “What’s the question?”

  “Did you ever lose a baby?”

  “What do you mean? While I was taking a walk with one in the park or something?”

  Gwyn sighed. “No. I mean, have a miscarriage.”

  “Oh.” Her mother pondered that a moment, then eyed Gwyn warily. “You and Joshua haven’t—”

  “Mama!” she said with all the outrage she could muster, knowing that she would have a hard time lying to her mother.

  “Wait a minute—did Bea lose Grey’s child?” her mother asked, heartbreak in her voice.

  “No, Mama,” Gwyn said hastily.

  “Oh, I do hope it’s not Cass and Heywood,” Mama said worriedly.

  “They’ve only been married a month,” Gwyn pointed out. “There hasn’t been enough time for that.”

  Her mother arched one brow. “Hasn’t there? They got engaged at Christmas, and it’s Easter. Besides, don’t you think it odd that she slept through the gunshot that woke the rest of us?”

  “I’m not speaking of anyone in the family, Mama.” This was going to take all night. “It’s just a married friend who had a miscarriage and is very concerned she won’t ever be able to bear a child. Please answer the question, so I’ll know what to tell her.”

  “Fine. I did lose one babe.” She got a faraway look in her eyes. “I had just found out I was enceinte, and I was so excited because it was with your father. Of my three husbands, he was the only one I truly loved, you know.”