Tender Rebel

  Noting the fortune in diamonds that sparkled on her with each turn into the light, he said in an impersonal tone, “What does a man give a woman who has everything?”

  “Something that canna be bought,” Roslynn replied absently, for she was still thinking about what might happen when this dance ended.

  “His heart, perhaps?”

  “Perhaps—no—I mean—” she stammered to a halt, glaring up at him, her tone bitter as she continued. “I’m no’ wanting your heart, mon, no’ anymore.”

  One hand disturbed the curls along her temple. “But what if it’s already yours?” he asked softly.

  For a moment, Roslynn lost herself in the vivid blue of his eyes. She actually drifted closer to him, was about to offer him her lips, heedless of the crowded room and what was between them. But she came to her senses with a gasp and drew back, glaring at him again.

  Furious at herself, she said, “If your heart’s mine, then it’s mine to do with as I choose, and I’d be choosing to cut it into wee pieces afore I give it back.”

  “Heartless wench.”

  “Not so.” She smiled wryly, amusing him though she didn’t know it. “My heart’s right where it’s supposed to be, and that’s where it’ll be staying.”

  With that, she jerked loose of his hold and flounced off in the direction of his elder brothers. In their presence was the only place she felt safe from Anthony’s bold taunts and the supposedly innocent touches of his caressing hands.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  George gave the door knocker a few sharp raps, then stood back, whistling a jaunty tune as he waited. It was Dobson who answered.

  “You’ve just missed him, my lord, by five minutes,” Dobson informed him before George even started his business.

  “The devil, and here I thought I had time to spare,” George replied, but he was undaunted. “Right you are, then. He’ll be easy enough to find.”

  George remounted his bay stallion and headed for Hyde Park. He knew the paths Anthony favored, those well away from Rotten Row, where the ladies turned out. He had joined him several times on his morning rides, but then those times had been after a night of carousing, when neither of them had yet to go to bed. Never had he actually gotten up at this ungodly hour to ride or do anything else, for that matter—until recently.

  George continued to whistle, his spirits so high he could have been floating along. His habits had changed in the past three days, drastically, but he couldn’t have been happier. Early to bed, early to rise, and each day spent with Franny. No, he couldn’t be happier, and he owed it all to Anthony. But he had yet to have an opportunity to thank his friend, which was why he had thought to ride with him this morning.

  Entering the park, he picked up his pace to catch up with Anthony, but it was a while before he finally spotted him a good distance ahead, and that only because Anthony had stopped at the start of the long run that he usually used for his all-out gallop. George raised his arm, but before he could shout to be heard, a shot was fired.

  He heard it, he just didn’t believe it. He saw Anthony’s horse rear up so far that nearly both rider and horse tumbled over backward, but he still didn’t believe it. Anthony did tumble over. The horse found his footing, but he was obviously spooked, shying away, tossing his head, backing into a bush that further spooked him. And a redheaded gent about twenty yards away from Anthony mounted a horse concealed in the brush and took off at an instant gallop.

  Anthony had yet to rise, and although it had all happened in the space of only a few seconds, the pieces finally came together in George’s mind with heart-stopping clarity. And then Anthony sat up, running a hand through his hair, and the blood rushed back into George’s ashen face. He glanced between the fleeing redhead and Anthony pushing himself to his feet, apparently not wounded at all, and made his decision. He turned his horse to follow the redhead.

  Anthony had just handed his mount over to the waiting footman to return him to the stable when George cantered up behind him. Bloody hell. He was in no mood for George and his “everything going right” ebullience. Not that Anthony begrudged him his good fortune. He just didn’t need to be reminded how opposite was his own state of affairs.

  “So you made it home under your own steam,” George remarked, grinning at the instant scowl that darkened Anthony’s features. “No broken bones, then?”

  “I take it you witnessed my unseating? Nice of you to lend a hand in retrieving that bloody nag of mine.”

  George chuckled at the deliberate sarcasm. “Thought you might rather have this, old man.” He tossed a scrap of paper at Anthony.

  Anthony’s brow rose just a smidgen as he read the address, which meant nothing to him. “Doctor? Or butcher?” he snarled.

  George laughed outright, knowing very well he wouldn’t consign his favorite mount to the butcher’s block. “Neither. You’ll find the red-haired chap who used you for target practice there. Strange fellow. He didn’t even wait around to see if you were down and out for the count. Probably thinks he’s a crack shot.”

  Anthony’s eyes were gleaming now. “So you followed him to this address?”

  “After I saw you dragging your bruised bones off the ground, of course.”

  “Of course.” Anthony finally smiled. “My thanks, George. His trail was cold by the time I’d mounted up again.”

  “He the one you’ve been looking for?”

  “I’d say it’s a safe bet.”

  “You going to pay him a call?”

  “You may depend upon it.”

  George wasn’t too sure he liked the cold sparkle in his friend’s eyes. “Need some company?”

  “Not this time, old man,” Anthony replied. “This meeting’s long overdue.”

  Roslynn opened the door to the study but was brought up short to find Anthony seated behind his desk, cleaning a pair of dueling pistols. She hadn’t heard him return from his morning ride. She had purposely stayed in her room until she heard him leave, not wanting to face him after having made a fool of herself last night.

  Anthony had been so amused when she dragged Jeremy home with them from the ball, against the lad’s protests too. He knew exactly why she didn’t trust herself alone with him, even for such a short ride. But James had left the ball early with his friend, Conrad Sharp. Jeremy was her only buffer. It had been inconceivable for her to think of being alone with Anthony after the way he had taunted her all evening.

  Now here she was alone with him, having come to exchange one book for another from his small library. But he hadn’t glanced up when she entered. Perhaps if she left quietly…

  “Did you want something, my dear?”

  He still hadn’t glanced up. Roslynn gritted her teeth. “Nothing that can’t wait.”

  Anthony finally gave her his attention, his eyes flitting to the book she was grasping so tightly in her hands. “Ah, the companion of spinsters and widows. There’s nothing like a good book to while away an evening when you’ve nothing else to do, is there?”

  She felt like throwing the book at him. Would he always allude to their estrangement every time they encountered each other? Couldn’t he back off long enough for her to come to terms with his unfaithfulness? He acted as if she were the guilty party.

  Her hackles rose with the unfairness of it, and she attacked. “Preparing for a duel, my lord? I’ve heard it’s one of your more favorite pastimes. Which unfortunate husband is it to be this time?”

  “Husband?” Anthony smiled tightly. “Not at all, sweetheart. I thought I’d challenge you. Perhaps if I let you draw some of my blood, you might be moved to sympathy, and our little war can end.”

  Her mouth dropped open for at least five seconds before she snapped it shut. “Be serious!”

  He shrugged. “Your dear cousin has decided that if he can get rid of your current husband, he will have another chance at you.”

  “No!” Roslynn gasped, her eyes flaring wide. “I never considered—”

  “Didn’t y
ou?” he cut in dryly. “Well, don’t let it concern you, sweetheart. I did.”

  “You mean you married me knowing you were putting your life in danger?”

  “Some things are worth putting one’s life in jeopardy for—at least I used to think so.”

  The dig stung, so much so that she couldn’t bear to face him another moment and ran from the study, up to her room, where she felt safe to burst into tears. Oh, God, she had thought it would be over once she married. She never dreamed Geordie would try to kill her husband. And her husband was Anthony. She couldn’t bear it if anything happened to him because of her.

  She had to do something. She had to find Geordie and talk to him herself, give him her fortune, anything. Nothing must happen to Anthony.

  Having made up her mind, Roslynn dried her eyes and went back downstairs to tell Anthony what she had decided to do. They would buy Geordie off. All he wanted was the money anyway. But Anthony was gone.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Anthony saw now why neither he nor his agents had had any luck in locating Cameron. The Scot had moved away from the docks, letting a flat in a better part of town, which was amazing when such accommodations were at a high premium during the season. The landlord, a congenial chap, admitted that Cameron had been there only a few days, and yes, he was in at present. Whether he was alone, the landlord couldn’t say. It made no difference to Anthony.

  Campbell was the name Cameron was assuming, and Anthony had little doubt it was assumed. He had found his man. He felt it. His blood pumped with that certainty, the adrenaline flowing through his veins. And once he had settled with Cameron, he would settle with Roslynn. Letting her dictate the rules had gone on long enough.

  The room was on the second floor, third door on the left. Anthony knocked softly and had only a few seconds to wait before the door swung open, giving him his first look at Geordie Cameron. The eyes were the giveaway, sky-blue, and bright with recognition.

  It took the Scot several moments before his wits returned and panic took over, enough for him to try slamming the door in Anthony’s face. A single hand was all it took to prevent the door from closing. A forceful shove and Geordie lost his hold on the handle, cringing as the door slammed into the wall.

  Fury and anxiety mixed sickeningly in Geordie’s gut. The Englishman hadn’t looked this strong from a distance. He hadn’t looked this dangerous either. And he was supposed to be dead, or at least seriously wounded, at the very least intimidated by knowing he had a deadly enemy in Geordie Cameron. Roslynn was supposed to have panicked and left the protection of the house on Piccadilly, and Wilbert and Thomas Stow would be there to grab her. The Englishman was not supposed to show up at his door, looking disgustingly healthy, lips turned up in an ominous smile that did more to shake Geordie than anything else.

  “I’m glad we don’t have to waste time introducing ourselves, Cameron,” Anthony said as he stepped into the room, forcing Geordie to back up. “I would have been disappointed to have to explain why I’m here. And I’ll give you a sporting chance, which is more than you gave me this morning. Are you gentleman enough to accept my challenge?”

  The quiet, nonchalant tone gave Geordie back some of his belligerence. “Hah! I’m no’ a bloody fool, mon.”

  “That’s debatable, but I didn’t think we’d do this in the usual way. So be it, then.”

  Geordie didn’t see the punch coming. It caught him square on the chin and sent him careening into his small dining table, breaking the spindly legs, and knocking over both straight-backed chairs as the table collapsed, Geordie on top of it. He leaped to his feet instantly, to see the Englishman calmly removing his coat, in no hurry. Geordie wiggled his jaw, found it still intact, and eyed his own coat on the foot of his bed across the room. He wondered how much chance he had of reaching the pistol in its pocket.

  None at all, he discovered as he turned toward the bed, only to be spun back around. A fist slammed into his midsection; another connected with his cheek. He was on the floor again, not so quick to rise this time. He couldn’t breathe either. The bloody bastard had rocks for fists.

  Anthony came to stand at his feet. “That was for this morning. Now we’ll get down to the real issue.”

  “I’m no’ going tae fight ye, mon,” Geordie spat out, tasting blood where his teeth had cut into his cheek.

  “But of course you are, dear boy,” Anthony replied in the lightest tone. “It’s the only choice you have, you see. Whether you defend yourself or not, I’m going to wipe the floor with your blood.”

  “Ye’re crazy!”

  “No.” Anthony’s tone changed, all humor gone. “I’m deadly serious.”

  He bent over to lift Geordie to his feet. Geordie kicked out to keep him away, but Anthony blocked with his knee, yanking him up anyway. And then he felt those rocks slammed against his jaw again. He only staggered back this time, and had time to raise his own fists before Anthony reached him. Geordie threw a right and struck nothing. He doubled over as two successive punches sank into his stomach. Before he regained his breath this time, his lips were smashed against his teeth.

  “En-ough,” he tried to get out.

  “Not even close, Cameron,” Anthony replied, not at all winded from his exertions.

  Geordie groaned, and groaned again with the next two punches. He went a little crazy then from the numbing pain. He’d never experienced a beating before in his life. He didn’t have the character to take it like a man. He started screaming, throwing wild punches. He laughed when one finally struck, only to find, when he squinted his eyes open, he had hit the wall, breaking three of his own knuckles. Anthony spun him around, and this punch cracked his head back into the wall. His nose was also broken, he realized as he slowly slid to the floor.

  He thought that would be the end of it. He was beaten. He knew it. He hurt all over. He was bleeding profusely. It wasn’t the end. Anthony pulled him up by his shirtfront, stood him against the wall, and simply pounded away at him. And no matter how Geordie tried warding off the punches, they kept coming, kept landing unerringly.

  Finally he didn’t feel them anymore. Finally they had stopped. He was slumped on the floor again, siting up only because the wall was supporting his back. Blood was splattered all around him from his mouth, nose, and several cuts on his face. Two ribs were broken. The little finger on his left hand was broken too, from one of his attempted blocks. He could see out of only one eye, and what he saw was Anthony staring down at him in disgust.

  “Bloody hell. You give a man no satisfaction at all, Cameron.”

  That was funny. Geordie tried to smile, but he had no feeling in his lips, couldn’t tell if he had managed it or not. But he did manage a single word.

  “Bastard.”

  Anthony grunted and hunkered down in front of him. “You want some more?”

  Geordie moaned. “No—no more.”

  “Then pay attention, Scotsman. Your life may very well depend upon it, because if I have to come looking for you again, I won’t use my fists next time. She’s mine now, and so’s her inheritance. I married her a week ago.”

  That penetrated Geordie’s fuzziness. “Ye’re lying! She’d no’ have wed ye unless ye signed that stupid contract of hers, and nae mon in his right mind would’ve done that.”

  “There you’re wrong, dear boy. I did sign it, and in front of witnesses, then promptly burned it after the ceremony.”

  “Ye couldna. No’ wi’ witnesses.”

  “Did I neglect to say the witnesses were related to me?” Anthony taunted.

  Geordie tried to sit up farther, but couldn’t. “Sae what? She’ll still be having it all back when I make her a widow.”

  “You just don’t learn, do you?” Anthony said, grabbing hold of Geordie’s shirtfront again.

  Geordie quickly grasped his wrists. “I didna mean that, mon, I didna, I swear!”

  Anthony let him go this time, deciding to further the lie instead of using more force. “It won’t matter to you,
Scotsman, whether I die or not. According to my new will, everything I possess, including my wife’s inheritance, goes to my family. They’ll of course see that my widow doesn’t want for anything, but other than that, she gets nothing. She lost it all the day she married me—and so did you.”

  Geordie’s one good eye narrowed furiously. “She mun hate ye fer tricking her!”

  “That’s my problem, isn’t it?” Anthony remarked as he stood up. “Your problem is getting out of London today in your present condition. If you’re still here tomorrow, Scotsman, I’ll have you arrested for that little stunt you pulled in the park this morning.”

  “Ye’ve nae proof, mon.”

  “No?” Anthony grinned at last. “The Earl of Sherfield witnessed the whole thing and followed you here. How else do you think I finally found you? If my testimony won’t put you in prison, his will.”

  Anthony left him mumbling about how Anthony expected him to leave London when he couldn’t even get up off the floor.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Fortunately, Roslynn didn’t see Anthony when he returned home, and by the time he had bathed and changed, there was no evidence left of the fight. His knuckles might be tender, but thanks to the gloves he had worn, there were no cuts or abrasions from Cameron’s teeth. Still, he was disgusted with the whole affair. The man had offered him no challenge at all. It put him in a foul mood, one that wasn’t conducive to tackling his next challenge—Roslynn.

  He didn’t even care to see her at the moment, but, as his luck would have it, she came out of the parlor as he was on his way out again.

  “Anthony?”

  He frowned at her hesitant tone, so unlike her. “What is it?”

  “Did you—challenge Geordie?”

  He grunted. “He wouldn’t accept.”

  “Then you saw him?”

  “I saw him. And you can relax your guard, my dear. He won’t be bothering you again.”