by Anne Stuart
Except that she couldn’t bring herself to send the old man a note, informing him she was in town. Something kept stopping her—perhaps it was the memory of his liver spots or his tendency to drool. There was no hurry, she told herself, though Lord Eastham wasn’t getting any younger. If she didn’t do something soon she’d be a widow before she married.
Was the Maddy Rose still under repairs? Was he still here, ignoring her presence, or had he returned to Devonport and Gwendolyn Haviland? If so, he deserved her, and so she’d tell him. If she ever saw him again.
It was one of those rare sunny mornings in late spring as she sat reading in the garden, trying to ignore the hornets that were diving at her. She had found a number of salacious French novels, which she dearly hoped hadn’t belonged to the villainous late countess, but by that time she was so desperate for distraction she couldn’t afford to be too fastidious. Just because the woman had been a vicious, evil tramp didn’t mean she couldn’t have decent taste in wicked novels.
She set the novel down just as the wicked highwayman had captured the innocent damsel. The innocent damsel who was a watering pot, limp and pathetic.
Maddy’s back stiffened. Had she been just as craven? Waiting around, sniveling, for Luca to appear and throw himself at her feet, begging forgiveness? He was a pirate, for God’s sake. He wouldn’t grovel for anyone.
Well, neither would she. But that didn’t mean she had to accept defeat and slink away into the night.
Long ago she’d fantasized about grabbing him by the lapels and slamming his bigger, harder body up against a wall. And then kissing the hell out of him.
Maybe that was exactly what she needed to do. Right now, before he left London, assuming he was still in residence. And if he’d left?
Then she could board a train and go after him. Anything rather than continue on in this pitifully defeated misery. She was no victim, she was a heroine of her own love story, and she was going to make one last attempt at claiming what she wanted.
She was halfway toward the house when she heard the steps on the footpath, and she froze, her heart stopping for a moment before it lurched forward, rather like the Maddy Rose in the storm. The Maddy Rose had survived, so would she. Finally, finally he’d come for her.
She turned, joy bubbling within her as she expected Luca to round the corner. A feeling that died as Jasper Tarkington came into view.
“Darling!” he cried, throwing himself at her feet and grasping her hand, just as she’d hoped Luca would. “I was so afraid I wouldn’t be able to find you! Can you ever forgive me?”
She stared down at his bent head in shock and disbelief. The days in South America had been kind to him. His sandy colored hair was now streaked with gold, his skin had turned a faintly darker color, though a far cry from the rich honey of Luca’s skin. His sky blue eyes were looking up at her in such a beseeching manner that it was almost comical, and she stared at him, speechless.
“Jasper,” she managed to say after a minute. “This is a shock.”
He looked a little nonplussed, as if he had expected her to throw herself into his arms. A few months ago this had been what she had dreamed about, wept for, longed for. This was the man she had been planning to marry, the man she had given herself to. He had come back to her.
And she didn’t give a bloody damn.
“I know I’ve been terrible, my darling,” he was saying. “I was so confused when I left. You see, my family had been counting on your dowry, and you know people like us cannot simply marry for love, much as we might want to. I had to be practical and break it off.”
She tried, unsuccessfully, to detach his clinging grip. What a botheration! She’d finally built up the courage to go after Luca and now Tarkington was in her way. “After you deflowered me,” she said caustically.
He flinched. “Ah, but how could I resist you? You came to me, you were so sweet, so willing…”
All true enough. She’d been desperate, and he’d known it. So he was blaming her for that colossal mistake. “Why are you here, Jasper?”
“Why… because I love you, silly girl,” he said with a laugh that was just this side of irritating. “I tried to make the wise decision, but I kept thinking about you, and I decided to hell with everything. Beg pardon,” he added, suddenly realizing he’d used the word “hell” in a lady’s presence. He had no idea who she was, or that hell was simply a pleasantry to her when she was properly riled. As she was quickly becoming. “It doesn’t matter that your father was a depraved criminal. I’m willing to overlook it. I want us to get married.”
“Why?” It was a simple question, but he looked taken aback.
“But I told you…”
“Not able to find a rich wife in the Argentines?”
He got up from his ridiculous pose by her feet, tugging down his waistcoat in an attempt at dignity. “In fact, there were a number of rich, beautiful women who would have made perfectly suitable wives. But I discovered that it was you I loved, Madeleine. I can’t live without you.” There were actual tears in his eyes, and she realized with a certain amount of shock that he meant it. He did love her. Of course, having a wealthy earl as a brand-new brother-in-law didn’t hurt matters either, she thought cynically.
She opened her mouth to give him an answer when Collins appeared from around the hedge, followed by a short, slightly shuffling creature. “Oh, bloody hell,” she said out loud when she recognized him, and Jasper drew back with a gasp of shock.
“My Lord Eastham,” Collins announced with full pomp and ceremony.
“Dearest girl!” Eastham scuttled forward, reeking of scent. “I couldn’t believe it when I read in the papers that you were back in town. I’ve missed you terribly! Tell me you’re back in London to stay!”
It was difficult, but she managed to plaster a welcoming smile on her face. Damn the newspapers. She held out her ungloved hand and Lord Eastham promptly drooled on it. “How lovely to see you, my lord.”
“But why didn’t you send me a note telling me you were in town? I thought we had a special relationship?” he chided her. It was only then that he noticed Jasper standing off to one side, conflicting emotions washing over his handsome face.
“You know Mr. Tarkington, do you not, my lord Eastham?” she said with resignation. It appeared to be a question of feast or famine when it came to marriage, and at that point she was much preferring famine. She couldn’t marry either of these men, no matter how wise it seemed.
She took a deep breath. “Gentlemen, I hate to be ungracious but I was just on my way out…”
“Nonsense, my dear,” Eastham said. “What could be more important than your future?”
It was her future she was thinking of. She swallowed her instinctive retort.
Eastham reacted more quickly, turning his back on the interloper. “My dear, allow me to take you out to dinner this evening, and we can talk about the future.”
“She can hardly go out alone and unchaperoned!” Tarkington snapped.
Eastham turned on him, a venal little toad up against youth and propriety. “We all know just how alone and unchaperoned she was right before you left for South America, young man. You were the one who ruined her for marriage, not I!”
“Ruined me for marriage?” Maddy said blankly.
Eastham turned back to her, an uneasy expression in his faded eyes. “My dear, you can’t have expected me to offer marriage? I have my family name to protect. You’re soiled goods, but lovely and charming for all that, and I was planning to settle a house in Mayfair on you, as well as a generous allowance…”
“You bloody son of a bitch!” a voice roared, and Maddy wondered if now was a good time to faint. All she’d needed to make this comedy of errors complete was the arrival of the pirate captain.
She was aware of a number of things, all observed as if from a great distance. First, that Lord Eastham sailed through the air quite gracefully for a squat, toad-like figure, landing in the rose bush with a comically high-pitched
scream. Dismissing him, she turned back to see Luca confronting Jasper, another shock. She’d always thought Jasper was so tall, so handsome. He looked pale and weedy next to Luca, with a weak chin, a pale mustache, narrow shoulders, and an expression of almost pathetic fear.
“Who the hell are you?” he demanded, his voice quavering just the slightest bit.
“Her husband.”
Maddy jerked her head toward him in shock. Husband? What the bloody hell was he talking about? He hadn’t even asked her, much less actually gone ahead and married her.
Tarkington was looking at him in disdain. “Don’t be absurd. She’d never marry a filthy gypsy.”
She was at last beginning to enjoy herself, despite what lies Luca was spinning. In the background she could hear Collins extricate Eastham from the rose bush, with the old man muttering threats and imprecations towards all and sundry as Collins steered him away from the garden.
“Actually he’s a very clean gypsy,” she pointed out, feeling devilish. “And he’s also a pirate.”
Luca didn’t turn to look at her—all his attention was concentrated on the trembling Tarkington. “So you’re the man who decided to seduce her and then run off. Quite the gentleman, aren’t you?”
“It’s none of your…”
“I told you, she’s my wife.”
“Excuse me,” she broke in, more interested in Luca’s claim than Tarkington’s reaction, “but I don’t remember getting married.”
“I’ll refresh your memory,” he snarled, his eyes still boring into Tarkington’s. Maddy had experienced the full force of that black gaze, and she was surprised Tarkington’s knees weren’t knocking together. “Now I can’t decide,” he continued to Jasper, “whether I should kill you or simply beat you to a pulp.”
“You can h-h-have her,” Jasper stammered. “Not w-w-worth the trouble.”
In the next moment he was on the ground, having been the recipient of Luca’s fist. Maddy walked over to Tarkington’s motionless form. She gave him a sharp little kick. “You’re very good at rendering people unconscious, aren’t you?”
Finally he turned to look at her, the fury slowly fading, and for the first time since she’d known him the devilish pirate captain looked almost uncertain. “You have truly terrible taste in men,” he said flatly.
“I know,” she agreed, giving him a speaking look. “When did we get married? I don’t happen to recall it.”
“When I stole you away and took you to bed, and then later we were joined by blood. Among gypsies that constitutes a wedding twice over, and you’re now a runaway bride.” He was watching her closely. “And there’s no such thing as a gypsy divorce.”
“Give me one good reason why I should pay any attention to all this. We’re nothing alike.”
His slow grin melted her, like butter under the hot sun. “No, not alike at all. Neither of us is ruthless, stubborn, deceptive, adventurous. I despise clever, forceful women who can give as good as they get. And we’re terrible in bed together. I can hardly stand to kiss you.”
“True enough,” she said solemnly. “I see another problem.”
“You don’t love me?” he suggested, clearly believing such a thing was impossible, the conceited jackass.
She didn’t answer that one. “You’re only half gypsy. You’re going to have to marry me in an Anglican church as well.”
For a moment he looked stunned. “Are you proposing?”
“I’m countering your proposal.” God, she’d missed him. God, how she loved him. “I was about to come and find you, you know, if these two hadn’t gotten in my way.” She stepped over Tarkington’s prostrate body without a second glance, coming up to him, knowing he could see the love in her eyes. There was no way she could hide it. “And there’s one more thing.”
Before she could ask he’d pulled her into his arms, his mouth on hers, and she wanted to weep with joy. But the time for tears was past. When he finally lifted his head he gave her that glorious, wonderful smile that made her heart melt.
“Yes,” he said, before she could ask the question. “Of course I’m in love with you. Why else would I be here?”
“Maybe you missed my sweet nature?” she suggested.
He laughed, and kissed her again, lifting her feet off the ground and swinging her around. “You’re going to make my life a holy hell, aren’t you?” he said when he set her down again.
“I’ll do my best,” she promised sweetly. “And I love you so much I’m willing to sail back on a boat with you.”
“Ship,” he said automatically, even his dark eyes were smiling. “That’s true love indeed.”
“Yes,” she said, “it is.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ANNE STUART is a grand master of the genre, winner of Romance Writers of America’s prestigious Lifetime Achievement Award, survivor of more than thirty-five years in the romance business, and still just keeps getting better.
Her first novel was Barrett’s Hill, a gothic romance published by Ballantine in 1974 when Anne had just turned twenty-five. Since then she’s written more gothics, regencies, romantic suspense, romantic adventure, series romance, suspense, historical romance, paranormal, and mainstream contemporary romance.
She’s won numerous awards, appeared on most bestseller lists, and speaks all over the country. Her general outrageousness has gotten her on Entertainment Tonight, as well as in Vogue, People, USA Today, Women’s Day, and countless other national newspapers and magazines.
When she’s not traveling, she’s at home in northern Vermont with her luscious husband of thirty-six years, an empty nest, three cats, four sewing machines, and one Springer Spaniel, and when she’s not working she’s watching movies, listening to rock and roll (preferably Japanese), and spending far too much time quilting.
