Microsoft Word - 1606013963-Incomparable-Wildes.doc (11 page)

“
Diable
,” he said lethally, “what kind of madness is this? My horse is ill unto death, and they suspect a grave infection of some kind. Two of my other horses are sick also and Bernard thinks maybe this disease will run rampant through my stable.” He stood abruptly and nodded to the young messenger. “I will leave at once. Have them saddle a mount. I’ll take Zeus. He’s the fastest.”

80

Emma Wildes

“Yes, monsieur.” The young man bowed away and ran back the way he came.

“How terrible,” Lara murmured sincerely, knowing how he loved his racing bloodstock. “I am sorry, Anton.”

“And I am sorry,
chérie
, to leave you at what should be a tender moment between us.” Lifting her hand to his mouth, he kissed her fingers, but his expression was abstract, worry evident in the tension in his body. “I will be back tomorrow or send word. If you need company, send for Helena. She will always be glad to entertain you.”

“I know,” Lara said dryly.

For an instant, his expression lightened. “Not that way,” he said firmly. “Save your delectable charms for me from now on.”

“Yes, Monsieur de Comte,” she said demurely. Then, more gravely, she added, “Travel safely and come back to me soon.”

“I will.”

He was gone in minutes, calling out orders in his cultured voice, collecting little more than his cloak before he rode away like a whirlwind.

Lara still sat on the terrace, the remnants of their breakfast on the table. Aside from her concern over her future husband’s beloved horses, she felt deliciously content and happy. This coming child had changed her world, not just because of Anton’s proposal. She felt whole again, not so flawed, not at all the restless woman who had decided to risk her life spying for England because she felt she needed to give something meaningful to the world around her.

“Well, well, this is a bucolic picture, is it not? Roussel’s English whore basking in the sun, no doubt dreaming of the next opportunity to spread her legs.” The mocking, repulsive voice came from behind her, startling her out of her lethargic contentment, sending a deep chill down her spine. “Luckily, that will be very soon indeed.”

Standing and whirling around, to her horror Lara saw that Jacques Lacroux stood only paces away, obviously having crept up from the shelter of the gardens. He was the lean, ravenous man of her

Incomparable

81

nightmares, attired in plain country garb, his glittering gaze utterly without mercy as he stared intently at her. The expression of livid hatred on his face was borne out by the twist of his mouth as he leisurely examined her body with undisguised lust.

He was too close for her to run. Lara managed only one choked cry before he lunged forward and caught her roughly, his hand going over her mouth. In her ear, he hissed, “I have been waiting for this since the first time I saw you, Countess. So female…so regally proud, with every man in your range fawning at your feet. You spying bitch…you want it, all women do. I will stick you so hard, you’ll scream. I want to hear you beg and whimper…

God, I have dreamed and plotted for this. Your lover won’t ever touch you again, I’m afraid. You are mine now. He’s a fool, so easily mislead, valuing his horses over your charms. When he returns, you will be used and dead.”

Terrified, in disbelief, Lara struggled, protective of the precious life inside her. This baby also belonged to Anton. He obviously wanted it, and no one was going to take it away from them.

Biting down hard on his hand, she tasted blood and heard his outraged cry as he released her. Hampered by her long skirts, she only managed to run a few paces before she stumbled and felt Lacroux grab her again, this time yanking her long hair.

She screamed then, a hollow cry of despair, the stable so far from the house, she wasn’t sure anyone would hear her. Mrs. Bourges was inside but half-deaf, and the older woman was hardly someone who could help her.

Tossed to the flagstones of the terrace, she tried to crawl away, seeing Lacroux loom over her, his free hand going to his trousers, fumbling with the fastenings. “English slut,” he laughed as he spoke, the sound hideous, “you reject me but accept Roussel? I will teach you what a real man feels like when he rides you.”

Fighting nausea, Lara was held immobile by his relentless grip on her hair, expecting at any moment to feel her skirts pushed upward.

82

Emma Wildes

“No,” she cried in despair, determined if nothing else to live and save her child. “God help me.”

“Well, perhaps not God, but I certainly will…good morning, Lacroux. Have you lost your way? I believe this is my property, where you are not welcome, and that is my future wife, who obviously does not welcome you, either. Let her go and stand up. This time you will not slink away like a dog.”

Hazily, Lara registered Anton’s cool speech in stunned disbelief.

Her assailant was also surprised and his fingers tightened in her hair, making her wince and gasp. “Anton.” His name was a prayer on her lips.

“Roussel,” Lacroux snarled, rising and trying to drag her with him. “You left.”

“I am not stupid. There are guards posted all around this estate. I wish now, in retrospect, I had done the same for my Parisian stables, but animals can be replaced. You took long enough to crawl out of the woodwork, Jacques. I was beginning to get bored waiting for you.

Now, let Lara go and let us settle this. After all, this isn’t really about her, is it?”

“She’s a whore. All women are whores.” Lacroux sputtered, but his fingers loosened. Lara hung there, still captive, watching where Anton stood just a few feet away, her gaze fixed on his lean figure, hope replacing the fear in her heart. He looked implacable and every inch the arrogant aristocrat. His jacket was gone, the width of his shoulders impressive under his white shirt.

“Like the little maid?” Anton asked almost conversationally. “I refer to the one you raped, the one who bled as virgins will do, you bastard. I should have killed you then. Now, don’t make me say it again, let Lara go. Fight me man to man. That way you have a chance, though I doubt it actually. I could literally tear your heart out at this moment.”

Sneering, Lacroux shook her. “Why fight? I hold what you desire.”

Incomparable

83

“I am a man who believes in preparation and I knew you would come here. There are men right now aiming their rifles at you, make no mistake. At my signal, you will fall dead.”

“I do not believe you. You are not that clever, Comte.” The reply was scathing and Lara’s knees buckled her heart was pounded so hard.

Looking bored, Anton lifted one dark brow. “All right, if it must be this way. I wanted to make sure I gave you a fair chance, though why I should have such scruples is a mystery…Valentin!”

The roar of the shot and the whiz of the bullet by Lara’s cheek were both loud and the sudden slackness of the man next to her barely registered. Anton moved so quickly, he caught her before she crumpled to the ground, lifting her easily, murmuring in her ear, “I am so sorry, my love. Are you all right?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” she whispered, and then fainted for the first time in her life.

84

Emma Wildes

“You must relax, Monsieur de Comte, for you are wearing a hole in the expensive carpeting for nothing.”

Glancing over at Bernard, sitting so calmly in a chair and sipping his cognac with a knowing look in his eye, Anton swore, a low oath that rang into the room. “Do not tell me,” he said through his teeth, “that when your wife labored to give you…what is it now—”

“Six children,” Bernard supplied helpfully. “And another due in a few months.”

“All right then,” Anton restively reached for his own glass and took a huge drink, feeling the fiery liquor slide down his throat. He rasped, “So when your wife begins her pains, you do not panic, wanting the child but fearful of losing her?” Running his fingers raggedly through his hair, he paced again toward the fireplace.

“Of course I am fearful. And helpless, which is what is driving you to madness. But I have also found that walking back and forth across a room does nothing to ease her pain or deliver a healthy child.”

With a wry glance at his old friend, Anton went still, sighing suddenly. “At this moment, I am trying to make a pact with God, swearing I will never touch her again if he will grant me both her and the babe. I suppose I am condemning myself to perdition, aren’t I?”

Bernard chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “I have seen Madame de Comtesse. Do you actually think you could hold up your end of the bargain?”

Incomparable

85

“Right now, yes,” Anton answered, and then reluctantly laughed, “but I have seen her, too. It would be impossible.
Diable
, I just wish someone would come and tell me what is happening.”

As if answer to that prayer, there was a sharp rap on the door.

Crossing the room, Anton flung it open, seeing the portly doctor there. His heart felt as if it flew upward and lodged in his throat.

“What it is?” he demanded hoarsely. “Is it over? How is my wife?”

Smiling, the man nodded, still wiping his hands on a cloth. “I am pleased to tell you, monsieur, that the next Comte de Roussel has been born.”

Closing his eyes briefly in elation, Anton felt instantly guilty.

“Lara wanted a girl…but I am pleased with a son. Is she well?”

“Very well,” the doctor said dryly. “She also has her wish, as well, Comte. Your wife has given you two children at once. You have both a boy and a girl.”

“Twins?” Overwhelmed, Anton practically staggered to the desk and groped for the cognac bottle.

“Twins, yes.” The doctor watched with a world-weary amused expression. “I told her the last time I saw her I expected as much.

That’s why for one so slender, she was so big and why the babies came early.”

“Everyone is healthy?” Anton dimly heard Bernard ask.

“Yes.”

Twins. God in heaven.

“I need to see her—them,” he suddenly interrupted, fighting a rush of joy and relief that swamped him. “My family. Now. At once. I will not be denied.”

“Go on up, monsieur,” the doctor nodded, “she is understandably tired, but was asking for you.”

He took the stairs two at a time, marveling he did not break his neck since he had consumed a great deal of liquor and had very little sleep. There was a small crowd of servants in the hall and he nodded

86

Emma Wildes

at the smiles and murmured congratulations, pausing at the doorway with almost fearful anticipation, before stepping inside.

Lara lay in the bed, looking exhausted but utterly beautiful, even with her hair damp and disheveled and her face white with fatigue.

Both children lay in her arms, their tiny faces visible above the blankets that wrapped their little bodies.

She smiled suddenly. “Anton, look, you do indulge me. I have a daughter and you have a son.”

He found he couldn’t speak even as he walked across the floor, his legs suddenly wobbly. “
We
have a daughter and a son,” he corrected, his gaze going from one child to the other. “My God, they are so beautiful.”

Lara laughed. “I think there are very pink and wrinkled and undoubtedly look like every other baby ever born, but I agree. Very beautiful.”

“I love you,” he said intensely, dropping to his knees by the bed and looking into her eyes. “Since the first moment I saw you across a crowded ballroom, I have loved you. Not with good sense or reason or mindful of our vast differences, I just…do. You are my life.”

“I know,” her blue eyes were filled with a dreamy contentment.

“And it looks,” she said with a hint of mischievous amusement, “to be a busy one, Monsieur de Comte.”

Taking her hand and lifting it to his lips, he whispered against her fingers, “I cannot wait.”

THE END

www.emmawildes.com

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Emma Wildes is the author of over thirty novels. She has been an Eppie finalist six times, a Write Touch Reader’s Choice award winner, a Lories winner, and received first place for the 2007 Eppie in historical erotic romance. She lives with her husband and three children in rural Indiana. Visit her at www.emmawildes.com

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com