Her lips curled. “And sign my life away? I don’t think so. I couldn’t run far enough. There isn’t enough world to evade Roget if he decided I was worth the effort to find.”
As if it mattered not at all, Michael murmured, “If you are on a ship bound for an unknown destination with twenty thousand pounds and he is under arrest and facing a hangman’s noose, surely you could effectively disappear.”
Alice’s laugh was mirthless. “I thought you knew him. I’d be dead soon enough. Obviously you aren’t as clever as you are reputed to be.”
“No?”
Luke should have known when Michael smiled a cer tain way that the situation was about to change. He’d seen that mannerism before, but undoubtedly it was new to Mrs. Stewart.
“In that case, surely you can offer me something . . . a small tidbit about Roget to tempt me into the bargain you seek?” Michael was, as usual, unruffled, urbane, his hazel eyes veiled by his lashes, his pose nonchalant. “If, in your opinion, I am not clever enough to catch him, that is.”
“You’ll grant me my bargain for Altea’s sake without any input on my part already.”
“Will I?” Michael’s voice held a distinctive edge of uncompromising rigidity. “Don’t be so sure.”
Madeline tensed, and Luke pulled her closer in the guise of comfort. “Shh,” he whispered in her ear. “Trust him.”
“Fine.” Alice’s chin lifted above the proper collar of her traveling costume. “Roget is in England.”
“Tsk, tsk, you must do better. That isn’t news.”
“London, then.” Her gaze wandered across the au dience, resting briefly on the young man with the gun, flitting past Lawrence, ignoring Luke and Madeline with disdain, and then back to where Longhaven stood.
Michael looked unimpressed. He glanced at Law rence and nodded. The other man slipped out the door only to step back in a moment later holding the hand of a dark haired young boy, who took one look at Mad eline and said joyfully, “Mama.”
Madeline yanked herself out of Luke’s arms in an in stant, and he watched as she ran across the room in a rustle of silken skirts, then fell on her knees despite the filthy floor, holding her son tightly to her, whispering his name over and over, stroking his dark curls.
The intensity of his relief made Luke shove his hand through his hair and exhale raggedly, his gaze fixed on the poignant picture of mother and child. Something in his chest eased, and not for the first time he pictured a younger brother or sister for Trevor . . . a family.
His family.
If he could bring himself to risk it.
He was starting to think it was too late already. The risk had been taken even with his best efforts at resistance. He couldn’t replace what he’d lost; neither could he give Madeline back what
she
had lost, but the idea of building a new life together was coming sharply into focus, as if his existence had been a blurred image these past few years, the future an abstract concept he’d refused to think about until now.
Until Madeline.
“Perhaps you’d like to see Lady Brewer and her son home,” Michael said pleasantly, meeting Luke’s eyes. “It seems Mrs. Stewart isn’t in need of funds after all. The Crown will take care of her living expenses until her trial. Unless, of course, she wishes to answer some questions of a somewhat sensitive nature not for everyone’s ears.”
Luke said wryly, “I don’t even want to know. Thank you for your help.”
“On the contrary,” Michael murmured. “I think
you
helped
me
. This unfortunate incident has been quite . . . fortuitous.”
Alice Stewart said nothing, her composure belied by the sudden ashen pallor of her cheeks and the cornered look in her eyes. Luke went to take Madeline’s arm. “I am sure you have no objection to us taking our leave, my love.”
“No,” she agreed fervently, not bothering to even look at the woman who had betrayed her and her husband’s trust and endangered her child.
Trevor was clearly unharmed and seemed to sense he’d been on an adventure, for he chattered on about the docks as they left the old building and walked along the wharf, sending curious, sidelong looks at Luke all the way to the carriage and on the ride back to Madeline’s town house.
As they alighted, Luke let his hands linger at Mad eline’s waist for a moment. “I’m staying tonight,” he in formed her. “I want to be with you.”
“That’s an arrogant assumption, Altea,” she re sponded, but her smile was soft and hopeful.
“You and Trevor might need me.”
Her gaze went to her son as he dashed up the steps of the house, being welcomed by an obviously relieved and delighted Hubert and what looked like the entire household of servants hovering behind him. “He seems quite remarkably unscathed by what happened. Thank goodness for the resilience of children.”
“Nonetheless, I think I should be available, just in case you
do
ever need me.”
Madeline must have caught the singular inflection in his voice, for her eyes widened.
“I was rather thinking the next fifty years or so,” Luke went on calmly, as if he wasn’t proposing marriage outside on the wet street. “If you are willing to take the chance. My first wife died.”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“My family doesn’t even know. She was Spanish . . . we met after Talavera. I was still wounded and on light duty, assigned to meet with our allies.” He stopped, took a breath, and then went on as unemotionally as possible. “Our paths crossed again after Badajoz. When she told me she was pregnant with my child, we married. But it was war, and she was passionate about the resistance . . . and she was killed. I thought I would never recover.” It was a simple explanation, and one day he would tell her the whole story, but not now. He wanted to think about the future, not the past.
Now Madeline’s beautiful eyes were filled with tears again. The rain touched her hair with a jeweled mist of moisture. She whispered, “Oh, Luke.”
“You petrified me,” he said honestly, his voice slightly hoarse. “I told myself after that one night we spent together it was too big a risk to even allow myself near you. Kneeling by Maria’s grave, I swore I would never take that chance again.”
“Colin died.” She took in a breath. “And I thought
I
would never recover. The idea of it frightens me, too. We have far too much in common.” Her voice was low, with a quiver he loved.
Because he loved
her
.
“I agree, my darling Madge. Especially this.”
He kissed her then, regardless of the neighbors, the passing carriages, the thin mist of rain, and no doubt all of her staff gathered in the doorway. “I love you,” he murmured against her lips. “I love you.”
“I love you too. I even love it when you call me Madge.” She withdrew from his embrace, blushing. “But don’t you feel we have far too many meaningful and personal conversations on the street?”
He leaned forward then and whispered in her ear exactly how, where, and when he wished to continue the discussion, and if she had been flushed before, she turned positively scarlet now.
With a grin, he escorted her up the steps.
Epilogue
Three months later
T
he sun was setting in a brilliant display of magenta with splashes of indigo, and the shadows were thickening under the trees.
“Do you mind telling me just where we are going?”
Elizabeth grinned and looked over her shoulder at her husband. He was particularly handsome today in charcoal gray, a beautiful red rose tucked into a buttonhole in his lapel. “It’s a secret.”
“El, we have guests.” The protest was halfhearted, though; she knew him well enough to interpret the tone of his voice. There was an underlying laugh and a bit of curiosity.
Good. She wanted him intrigued.
On her wedding day, wasn’t she allowed to be a bit spontaneous? And, as she’d been waiting for Miles her whole life, maybe to be a little impatient as well? “Those are mostly my mother’s guests,” she told him, her slippers light on the long grass, her ice blue skirts brushing the foliage as they left the formal gardens. “They are dancing and drinking and having a lovely time. They won’t even miss us.”
The path wasn’t nearly as clear as she remembered it, but she could have found her way blindfolded. Past the wild honeysuckle bushes in overgrown disarray, as this was no longer part of the formal gardens, near the hovering elms on the outskirts of the park . . .
“The riverbank?” Miles, holding her hand and easily keeping up with her hurried footsteps with his long strides, guessed with unerring accuracy.
“Our secret spot.”
It probably wasn’t as much of a secret as she thought, but truly it was a very secluded portion of the estate and not tended by the gardening staff, so they could be relatively alone. The sight of the river when it came into view, the shimmering water moving lazily in a quiet flow between the banks, and the scent of early autumn in the air brought back poignant memories and emphasized her euphoria. Elizabeth whirled around in the small clearing they had once as children christened as their very own and asked, “Do you want to go swimming?”
Miles tugged her toward him. “Maybe later.”
“Later?”
“After,” he equivocated, his gaze intent. “Since you lured me down here, abandoning our guests—”
“My mother’s guests,” she corrected with a breathless laugh, as his arms closed around her.
“Whatever you say, my lovely wife.”
Wife.
She was his wife. She’d married
Miles
.
And who would think it would make her the happiest woman in the world?
Well, perhaps anyone who has experienced the intoxication of his kiss
, she decided a few moments later as his mouth claimed hers. His hands too seemed to leave a trail of tingling sensation as he brushed her skin in his quest to remove her dress. Then there was the way he whispered in her ear that he wanted her, and he untied the ribbon to her chemise and pushed the garment off her shoulders.
Then, somehow, he was undressed also, shedding his clothes in haphazard disregard, his cravat actually land ing in the water and floating away.
The grass was cool at her back as he lowered her down and nuzzled her neck, making her shiver. “You were right,” he murmured against her skin. “This should be done here, where we have shared so many adventures.”
It
was
another of their reckless escapades, she discov ered with each touch, each heated kiss, every forbidden caress. When he stroked her breasts, she gasped at the sensation, her nipples tightening in a way she’d never expected, an unknown excitement coiling in a tight ball in her belly. At the moment when he gently coaxed her knees apart and settled between her thighs, his erection nudging her feminine opening, she was already so far gone she merely whispered his name and clung to him.
And she and Miles embarked on another wild adven ture.
Together.
“What a beautiful wedding.”
Luke made a small sound that Madeline interpreted as male derision. He sat down on the edge of the bed to tug off his boots and muttered, “I am just grateful it is over.”
“Elizabeth was radiant.” Madeline bent to lift her skirts and untie her garters. “And Miles was so hand some.”
“Nice of them to so conveniently disappear.” Her husband sounded disgruntled.
As she actually thought it was very romantic, Mad eline just smiled. She’d seen them stealing through the gardens hand in hand. “On such a day, I think they can be granted a little latitude.”
“I preferred our wedding, to be honest. No crush of guests, no lengthy ceremony.” Luke’s cravat went next, tossed carelessly on the floor, his gaze suddenly fastened on her bared legs as she rolled down her silk stockings. “Just a spectacular honeymoon.”
“We stayed in London and didn’t leave our suite,” she pointed out with a laugh.
“As I said, it was perfect.” His smile was wolfish and unrepentant. “Let me help you with your gown.”
“Undress yourself, Altea.”
“I’d rather undress
you
, my darling Madge. Turn around.”
Autocrat
, she thought with an inner smile, but obeyed so her husband could unfasten her gown. His long fingers were skillful and efficient, and in moments she found herself on the bed, his lean body balanced on top of hers, his mouth doing sinfully wonderful things to her neck.
Later, drowning in sensual joy, she ran her fingers down Luke’s bare back and her sigh stirred his hair. He rolled off her carefully and his hand trailed down to rest on the swell of her stomach. “I hope I wasn’t too demanding. Are you exhausted after all the festivities?”
In truth, she felt wonderful, fertile, happy in her current state of conception, and yet she reveled in his concern. For such a notorious gentleman, he was a very considerate husband and was going to be a wonderful father. Already he and Trevor were forming a special bond. “I’m fine,” she assured him, smiling. Then her smile faded. “What did Michael take you aside to tell you at the wedding dinner?”