“‘God helps those who help themselves.’” Reuben smiled, looking every bit as beatific as he did in the pulpit.
“No!” cried Emma.
“Stay behind me!” Spence demanded.
The two men were about ten paces apart, aiming at each other, much as Spence and Esmund had done in the duel. This time more than honor was at stake. His body was the only barrier to stop the ball from hitting Emma; yet, if Spence were hit, she would be Reuben’s next victim. Spence faced his cousin knowing what was at stake—Emma’s life. Their happiness together.
He also knew he had no shot to take.
“Stay well behind me,” he repeated to Emma.
Spence watched Reuben’s face and saw his moment of decision. Reuben’s pistol shot cracked loudly in the tranquil morning. Spence saw the fire from the barrel and braced for the feel of the ball penetrating his flesh. Instead, he heard the ball whiz past his ear. The cloud of smoke obscured him momentarily, and before Reuben could realize what had happened, Spence charged him, knocking him to the ground. Man-to-man Reuben did not stand much of a chance against his stronger cousin, but he fought viciously.
As Spence was holding him down, Reuben’s arms flailed and his hand closed on the dagger and pulled it from its sheath. Spence jumped to his feet, moving out of range. Reuben came at him, slicing the air with the sharp blade.
Emma cried, “I will get help!”
“Run, Emma!” Spence commanded.
She started for the house, several yards away.
Reuben continued to advance, but Spence moved back, watching. Reuben lunged at him again, but this time Spence caught his wrist, knocking the dagger from his hand.
Both men dived for it. Spence’s hand closed on it first, but still Reuben grabbed for it. Spence snatched it away, but the blade sliced into Reuben’s palm.
Reuben broke away. Holding his bloody hand before his eyes, he wailed, “You cut me!”
Emma stopped and started back toward Spence, but he gestured for her not to come too close.
“Are you hurt?” she asked Spence.
“No.” The shot had missed him. This time there had been no sharp pain, no falling backward, no last regrets.
Reuben fell to his knees, holding his fisted hand against his stomach and rocking back and forth.
Spence dropped down to his side. “Let me see the wound.”
Reuben jerked away, refusing to let Spence pry his hand open. Blood squeezed through his fingers and stained his coat. “It hurts.”
The sound of horses’ hooves made Spence look up. Four riders approached. He recognized two of them as Blake and Wolfe. As they came closer, he saw Tolley was with them and—astonishingly—his uncle.
“We heard a shot. What is it? What has happened?” Uncle Keenan fired questions even before the men dismounted.
Tolley held the horses.
“He’s cut,” Spence told him.
“Cut?” His uncle hurried over, crouching next to Reuben. “Is it very bad?”
“It is mortal!” wailed Reuben, still clutching his hand.
“It is not mortal,” Spence said. “But he will not let me see it.”
Keenan, his face awash in concern, reached for his son’s hand. Reuben reluctantly allowed him to examine it.
“He tried to kill me.” Reuben whimpered.
Emma fought her way to Keenan’s side. “It is lies, Mr. Keenan. It was Reuben who tried to kill us. He locked us in—”
“I know,” Keenan said sadly, pulling out his handkerchief and wrapping it around his son’s hand. “The question is, what to do with him?”
“What to do with me!” Reuben wailed. “Father,” he pleaded. “Do not believe them. They killed my groom and are trying to blame it on me.”
“Now see here—” started Wolfe.
“Enough!” shouted Keenan, glaring at his son. “Your deeds have caught up with you.”
“Let’s take him into the house and tend to him. We can discuss the matter there,” Spence said.
Keenan and Blakewell helped Reuben to his feet, each taking one of his arms, Reuben was forced to walk between them to the vicarage. Spence glanced over to Tolley. “Good work, Tolley. Can you stay here and see to the horses?”
“Yes, my lord,” Tolley replied.
Spence wrapped his arm around Emma and followed the others to the house.
Keenan demanded water and clean bandages from the alarmed housekeeper. They took Reuben into his drawing room. His father sat Reuben in a chair and unwrapped the handkerchief. There was a deep gash in Reuben’s palm, but the bleeding had already slowed. Reuben no longer pretended to whimper.
When the housekeeper came with the water and bandages, Wolfe took them and closed the door on her.
Keenan gently cleansed his son’s wound and rebandaged it.
He glanced to Spence. “Tell me what happened.”
As briefly as possible, Spence related the events of the previous night, their entrapment, the dead groom, their escape, Reuben’s wounding.
Keenan frowned. “What will you do now?”
“What will he do?” broke in Wolfe. “Send for the justice, I daresay. The man ought to hang!”
“Wolfe,” cautioned Blakewell, shaking his head. “It is for Spence to decide.”
Spence stared at his cousin for a long moment. He squatted down so he could look Reuben directly in the eye. “Give me one reason why you should not hang.”
Reuben’s eyes filled with hatred.
Spence’s uncle answered the question. “He is my son. Your cousin.” The older man looked pale.
Reuben laughed. “Oh, now you show concern for me, Father. When I was a boy, it was always Stephen this, or Stephen that. ‘He is the earl.’ That is all I ever heard from you.”
Keenan’s face contorted in pain.
Spence glared at Reuben. “Did you kill Stephen, too?”
Reuben gave a sardonic grin. “No.
You
performed that deed. I will admit that was when I first got the idea I could be earl. Thank you, Cousin.”
His uncle looked toward Spence. “Australia, perhaps? The West Indies?”
Reuben wailed. “I will not go to those god-awful places!”
Spence rose. “How can we, Uncle? He has killed more than once. He tried to kill Emma. I see no other choice but to send for the squire and to see him prosecuted.”
“Prosecuted?” Reuben cried. “Like a common criminal? A man of the cloth?”
Spence looked over at Emma.
She stared back at him, the enormity of what they were discussing written all over her face.
Spence shook his head. “We must send for Squire Benson. A trial must decide his fate.”
Reuben leapt to his feet, and before anyone could stop him, ran to the door, pulling it open. Spence chased him up the stairs to his room, but Reuben had been too quick. He reached his bedchamber, slamming the door and turning the key in its lock.
“Reuben!” Spence shouted.
The others reached the hallway.
Spence stepped back to kick at the door, and just as his boot shattered the wood frame, the loud report of a pistol sounded in the air.
Emma screamed, “Spence!” Blake held her back.
This pistol ball had not been meant for Spence. As he entered the room, his cousin lay sprawled on the bed, dead from a shot to the head.
Hours later Emma sat on her bed in her bedchamber at Kellworth, bathed, freshly dressed, and fed. The room was comfortably unaltered, making it seem as if she had never left Kellworth, had never gone to London, had never been trapped in a living tomb.
A wave of nausea hit her, and she curled up on her bed.
Spence, his uncle, his friends, and Justice of the Peace Squire Benson had been below stairs for ages discussing some way to minimize the scandal. Was there any palatable story to explain the death of the parish vicar?
She must have dozed, because she woke to the sound of mewing. Tom and Puss climbed the bedcovers to reach her, purring and rubbing against her.
“My little darlings,” she murmured, sitting up again. “I have missed you.”
The door connecting her room with Spence’s opened. Spence walked in. “The little rascals are still with us, I see.”
He sat upon her bed and picked up little Tom, ruffling its fur until Tom squirmed and Spence released him.
Emma gazed upon her husband’s handsome face. Her body ached with the nearness of him and with how close she had come to losing him.
“Is everything settled?” she asked.
He nodded. “Reuben killed his groom and then himself when his deed was discovered. It is close enough to the truth and not nearly so scandalous as the whole story.” Tom pounced, back for more roughhousing. “It satisfies my uncle.”
“I felt sorry for him.” Emma had never expected to feel any such emotion toward Mr. Keenan, but his pain at his son’s deeds was palpable, and the man had been so visibly grieved.
“I do as well.” He lounged on the bed, resting on his elbow. “How do you fare, Emma?”
Her breath caught with the force of his gaze. “A little unwell, but I suppose that is because of all that has happened.”
Concern showed in his eyes. “Unwell?” He felt her forehead.
She took his hand in hers. “Not feverish. A little nauseous. The feeling comes and goes. It has ever since the curricle accident.”
His eyebrows rose and he placed his hand on her belly. “Could there be a baby?”
She started to shake her head, but stopped. “I don’t know.”
“When was your last . . . your last . . .”
“My courses?” She felt herself blush talking about it. “I thought it came the day you left for London, but it was very little bleeding, nearly gone the next day.”
He rubbed his hand across her belly and winked. “If I were a wagering man, I’d wager you are carrying a boy.”
She covered his hand with both of hers. In spite of everything, a deep fear returned. “If there is a baby inside me, our bargain is complete.” She twisted around to search his face. “You would be free to leave.”
He placed his fingers gently on her cheeks. “I propose a new marriage bargain.”
She was afraid to breathe. “What?”
He kissed her lips, a long, soft kiss that made her feel like butter melting near a fire.
He moved his lips away enough to murmur, “Till death do us part.”
W
hen Diane Perkins was a little girl, she thought everyone had stories filling their heads. It never occurred to her to write down her stories, even though she loved reading, especially reading Historical Romance. Instead, she spent a career as a county mental-health therapist helping other people craft real happy endings. It took a lull in Diane’s busy life for her to finally put fingers to the keyboard and bring her stories to life. Once started, she never looked back, even going on to win the Romance Writers of America’s prestigious Golden Heart Award, the Royal Ascot, and other romance writing prizes. She now writes Regency Historical Romance full-time. Happily married and the mother of a grown daughter and son, she and her husband live in Northern Virginia with three very ordinary house cats. Diane would love to hear from you. Contact her through her Web site at
www.dianeperkins.us
.
THE EDITOR’S DIARY
Dear Reader,
Ever think fate is getting a little chuckle at your expense? Whether it’s husband hunting on a deadline or a second chance at your first marriage, pick up our two Warner Forever titles this October and join in the fun.
Romantic Times BOOKclub raves
Wendy Markham’s
last book is “touching and humorous” and “will keep you glued to the page.” Well, cancel your plans—you won’t be able to tear yourself away from her latest,
BRIDE NEEDS GROOM
! Dominick Chickalini rejoices in his bachelorhood. In fact, he’s on his way to Las Vegas for a decadent weekend of drinking, flirting, gambling, and ignoring the fact that everyone in his life is married. But as he boards the plane, he notices the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen is sitting right next to him . . . and she’s wearing a wedding dress. Mia Calogera has to get married. Her wealthy grandfather has threatened to cut her off financially if she isn’t married by his 85th birthday and it’s just about time for him to blow out a few candles. As much as she hates to admit it, she just can’t go back to the hand-to-mouth lifestyle she led before. Her plan: to marry a man she met over the Internet. But will this gorgeous bachelor throw a wrench into her otherwise fool-proof plan?
Emma Chambers from
Diane Perkins’s THE MARRIAGE BARGAIN
knows a little something about fool-proof plans failing too. When Spence Keenan married her, he rescued her from a distasteful union to a lecherous old codger. But he was far from her white knight. He disappeared off to war without a backward glance and has ignored Emma’s pleas since. Now he’s returned to her, delirious with fever and in desperate need of her care. As Spence slowly regains his health, he can’t help but be grateful to this beautiful woman who has kept his estate running. But what begins as gratitude soon becomes much more . . . until mysterious “accidents” threaten both Emma and Spence’s lives. Can Spence convince Emma of his love? Or will his past behavior threaten their current happiness? Booklist called Diane Perkins’s previous book “emotionally intense and richly romantic . . . simply superb” and this one is even better! So run out and grab a copy today.
To find out more about Warner Forever, these titles and the authors, visit us at
www.warnerforever.com
.
With warmest wishes,
Karen Kosztolnyik, Senior Editor
P.S. Destiny takes a hand and love follows in these two irresistible novels: Amanda Scott delivers the sensual tale of a man whose family secret threatens his life and the life of the beautiful, intriguing woman who must become his wife in PRINCE OF DANGER; and Candy Halliday tells the hilarious and sexy story of a woman whose perfectly planned life is turned upside down by a patrol cop in MR. DESTINY.