Authors: Danelle Harmon
Gareth's patience broke, and with a snarl,
he went for his sword. Juliet grabbed his arm just in time.
"Stop it, the both of you! Really, Lord
Brookhampton — must you antagonize him so?"
Perry tuched a forefinger to his chest.
"Me?"
"Yes, you! The two of you are acting like a
pair of brawling schoolboys!" She pushed Gareth's hand away from
its sword hilt and faced him with flashing eyes. "Charlotte and I
have had enough. Either take us to de Montforte House or wash your
hands of us, but I'm not going to stand here watching you two
bicker while she screams London down around our ears!"
Gareth stared at her in shock.
And Perry, raising his brows at this sudden
display of fire, merely reached into his coat and pulled out his
purse.
He tossed it casually to Gareth. "Here," he
said. "There's enough in there to buy yourselves room and board
somewhere for a week, by which time maybe you'll have come to your
senses. Consider it my wedding present." He mounted his horse and
touched his hat to Juliet. "Good day, Lady Gareth." He gave Gareth
a look of mocking contempt. "I wish the two of you many hours of
marital bliss."
And then, to Juliet's dismay, he turned and
trotted off, leaving her standing on the pavement with a screaming
baby and a husband who — it was growing alarmingly clear — was
ill-equipped to take care of either of them.
Chapter 15
Gareth stared after Perry in dismay. The
baby was still screaming. His new wife was standing on the pavement
trying to calm the infant, her mouth tight, her eyes flashing with
the first anger Gareth had yet to see in them. His friends had all
deserted him, he had cut himself off from Lucien's help —
And he hadn't a clue what to do next.
He stood there helpless, Crusader's reins
knotted in his fist and that saddle looking terribly inviting as he
resisted, with everything he had, the urge to go galloping off
after Perry, and the rest of the Den, and leave this problem far
behind him.
This problem that he had rashly
inherited.
An instant wife and daughter.
Whatever were you thinking of, man?!
The devil only knew, because
he
sure
as hell didn't. And he had no idea what on earth to do with either
of them. He was deep in the suds now, and there was no one to get
him out but himself.
Bollocks.
He looked at his wife. She had turned her
back on him and moved a few steps away, perhaps embarrassed that
she'd lost her temper, perhaps just giving his a chance to cool.
She was bent over the baby, who was finally — thank God — beginning
to quiet, her piercing screams fading to choking, hiccupping sobs.
Gareth raked a hand through his hair, trying to think, trying to
steady himself. Then, leading Crusader, he came up behind her.
"Juliet?"
She didn't turn, and Gareth was suddenly
filled with shame. Shame at the way he'd behaved in front of her.
Shame that he was so unprepared to deal with this situation. And
shame that he had regretted, even for a moment, that he'd married
her and now had full responsibility for both her and Charlotte.
Responsibility.
'Sdeath, it was the worst word in the entire
English language.
"Juliet." She still did not turn around. Her
head was bent, and he could just see the pale curve of her nape
beneath the upsweep of dark hair. Gareth swallowed — hard. Then,
bowing his head, he said awkwardly, "My apologies. Perry's right,
you know. I've got a temper, and sometimes it gets away from
me."
She turned then and gave him a level,
unforgiving stare. "I don't mind your temper, Gareth. What I
do
mind is the fact that we don't seem to have a place to
stay tonight. I suspect we don't have a place to stay tomorrow
night, either, let alone next week, next month, or next year."
He shrugged. "We can go to a hotel or
something."
"Yes, and how long will our money last if we
live like
that?
"
He flushed and looked away.
"Didn't you even
think
about any of
this before you asked to marry me and took on the responsibility of
caring for us?"
"Juliet, please."
She looked suddenly weary. And disgusted.
"No, I didn't think so."
And now she was moving away again, as though
she couldn't bear to be near him, much less look at him.
"Juliet!"
He swore and hurried after her, Crusader
trotting behind him. This scrape was getting worse by the
moment.
"Juliet, please —"
"I wish to be alone for a few minutes,
Gareth. I need to think."
"Everything will turn out just fine, I'm
sure of it!"
"I'm glad that one of us is."
He picked up his pace. "Look, I know you're
angry with me, but I am rather new at this husband-stuff. I'll get
better at it. Just takes a bit of practice, you know? Why, even
Charles would surely have made a few mistakes along the way —"
She kept walking. "I doubt it."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I said,
I doubt it.
"
He halted in his tracks, Crusader's broad
head crashing into his shoulder blades as he watched her walk away.
The words had cut deeply, and he could think of nothing to say in
his defense. The truth was, of course, that the incomparable
Charles probably
wouldn't
have made any mistakes.
She took a few more steps before she, too,
paused. Her shoulders slumped, and she gave a heavy, tired sigh.
She stood there for a moment, her back to him as though she was
fighting some inner battle, and then, slowly, she turned and faced
him, her face haunted by sadness.
"That was unfair. I'm sorry."
He looked away, his jaw hard. "There's no
need to apologize."
"No, really. You and Charles are — were —
two different people, and I should never have compared you to
him."
"Whyever not?" He tried to laugh it off, but
his anger showed in his voice, and the words were out before he
could stop them. "Everyone else always did."
Immediately, her eyes darkened with
sympathy, with understanding, with pity. She took a step
forward.
Gareth raised his hand, stopping her. "I
told you when we first met that if there's anything I'm good at,
it's making a mess of things. And I've made a fine mess of this,
haven't I?"
Her heart in her eyes, she took another step
forward, slowly reaching out to lay her hand on his sleeve.
"
You
didn't make this mess,
Gareth."
"No. Charles did, didn't he? My brother the
saint, who never put a foot wrong, never gave anyone cause to blush
for him, never made a mistake, never earned himself a caning, a
whipping, a bad reputation. By God! Who would've thought."
She merely stood there, her hand burning a
hole through his sleeve. He glanced sullenly at her, expecting —
maybe even wanting — her to react, to snap back at him, so they
could have it out right then and there and start their marriage
with the air cleared between them.
But she did not.
"Aren't you even going to defend him?" he
asked hotly. "Start proclaiming his virtue, his perfection, his
god-awful sinless glory?"
She flinched, sadness filling her eyes.
"No." Then, softly, she added, "Besides, he wasn't perfect."
"Wasn't he?"
"Of course not. As my grandmother always
said, there was only one perfect person to ever walk this earth,
and God took him back."
Gareth stared at a railing on the other side
of the street, his eyes hard. He felt her let go of his sleeve and
slowly pull away. They stood there awkwardly, neither saying a
word.
A moment passed.
Another.
Carriages went by in the street.
"Well ..." she said at last.
He gave a humorless little laugh. "Well
what?"
"I guess we'd better find a place to stay
for the night."
"I suppose."
They said nothing, each wanting to mend the
rift between them, neither one knowing quite how. Juliet bit her
lip, frustrated by her thoughtless words of comparison, by her
inability to mend the hurt she had caused. Then she looked down at
Charlotte, who had blown herself out and now whimpered in
heartbroken misery in her arms.
She handed the baby — a peace offering — to
her husband.
Charlotte immediately hushed and looked up
at him through her tears, her blue eyes wide and imploring as she
reached up to touch his chin.
And Juliet knew the exact moment when
Gareth's kind, bruised heart melted into a puddle at his feet.
"Ah, hell," he murmured, and as the baby
smiled up at him, he reached down and thumbed the dampness from her
cheeks, a reluctant smile already tugging at one corner of his
mouth. Looking at this tender scene, Juliet was undone. How large
and powerful his hand looked against Charlotte's tiny face. How
little she looked in the cradle of his strong, capable arm.
And what a wonderful father he already is,
despite his shortcomings.
Juliet's own gaze softened — and in that
moment her husband glanced at her and caught her odd expression. He
went still, and something deep and unspoken passed between
them.
"Well, I guess we'd better go," he finally
said, tucking Charlotte's blanket around her shoulders. "It'll be
tea time soon at this rate."
"Am I forgiven, then?"
"Forgiven?" He grinned, slowly, like the sun
breaking through a bank of clouds. Out came the dimple. Out came
the sparkle in his blue, blue eyes. When he smiled like that, it
was impossible to be angry at him for anything.
Anything at all.
He took her hand and raised it to his lips
before tucking it into the crook of his elbow. "Only, my dear, if
you can forgive me for not being Charles."
"Oh, Gareth," she said, shaking her head and
sidling close to him. "Let's just go and make the best of it, shall
we?"
With that, they moved off down the
street.
And neither noticed the tall figure that
kept to the shadows just behind them.
~~~~
The entry was duly recorded in White's
Betting Book:
The Earl of Brookhampton wagers Mr. Tom Audlett
fifty guineas that Lord Gareth de Montforte will return to
Blackheath Castle within a fortnight.
"What's going to happen to us, now that he's
abandoned us for a woman?"
"We'll just have to make her an honorary Den
member."
"Oh, yes, right. I can just see her getting
drunk with us and vandalizing statues. I can tell you right now,
this
marriage isn't going to last."
"I sure hope it doesn't; I mean, what the
devil are we going to do without Gareth?"
"I give him a week," Cokeham said,
approaching the green baize table where his friends were just
sitting down to a game of faro. He flipped his coattails back and
took a seat near Perry, his eyes gleaming. "In fact, Perry, I'll up
your bet to seventy guineas!"
"Done."
"A week?" Audlett stood up, his chair
crashing backward. "The devil take it, I'll go you a hundred that
he goes running back to Blackheath in three
days
!"
"One hundred and twenty!"
"One hundred and fifty!"
A servant arrived with a fresh bottle of
wine, his expression perfectly blank at the frenzied betting going
on around him while he topped up each man's glass. As he glided
innocuously away, Hugh leaned across the table and said heatedly,
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Perry."
"Whatever for?"
"Leaving poor Gareth there to fend for
himself, and with a woman and babe besides!"
"My bleeding heart."
"What a heartless bastard you are!"
"Why thank you, Hugh. I shall take that as
the highest of compliments." Perry flicked open his snuff box and
took a pinch. "I didn't see the rest of you sticking by his
side."
"No, we went off so he could have a proper
wedding night."
"Ha!" Cokeham said, "he'll get no proper
wedding night with
her
. I couldn't believe what she did to
him in that church, leaving her ring on like that! The bloody cheek
of her!"
"Really, Jonathan, I hardly think it was
intentional," Perry drawled. "And I'll tell you another thing.
Despite appearances, Gareth's bride has more spunk than any of us
gave her credit for. She's quite striking when she's angry."
"How do
you
know?"
"You forget —
I
stuck around after
you all fled." Mirth danced in Perry's gray eyes. "Gareth's lovely
little wife is no dull stick at all."
"Well, thank God for that!"
"Aye, after the last twenty-four hours, I
just couldn't see what Charles saw in the wench that the rest of us
have not."
"Happiness, probably," Perry remarked
acidly.
"Happiness?! Let's hope she doesn't drag
Gareth down in the dumps with her!"
Cokeham leaned forward. "Care to know what
I
think?"
"Not particularly."
"
I
think Gareth married too far
beneath himself. He should've married money. Lots of it. How else
is he going to survive in this world?"
Audlett nodded sagely. "Yes, he could've had
his pick of the heiresses — Lady Eastleigh, Miss Beatrice
Smith-Morgan... even Louisa Bellington, who's got to be the richest
baggage in England, was panting after him like a bitch in heat. She
would've married him in an instant if he'd only asked her —"
"Yes ... funny, isn't it?" Perry murmured
with a dramatic sigh. "To hell with money or a title, all it takes
is charm and a handsome face and the best doors in England open to
you."
"Not to mention the prettiest thighs,"
Cokeham muttered, a little enviously.
Perry shot him a sideways glance. "I take it
none have been open to
you
lately, old boy?"
Cokeham spluttered and cursed. "Plague take
you, Perry!"