All for You

  “Robin,” Anne warned.

  He ignored his wife and smiled brightly. “You know, it’s been a bit since we had a wedding, and I don’t think you two should be traveling together either unwed or unchaperoned.”

  Peaches felt her mouth fall open. “A wedding?”

  “Don’t like him, eh?” Robin asked with a knowing wink.

  “Robin,” Anne said with a long-suffering sigh, “stop poking at them.”

  “I’m not poking at them, I’m looking out for their future safety and welfare. Besides, I was robbed of two weddings that I can think of and others I will be too dead to know about. This is the least they can do to soothe my injured pride.”

  Peaches felt Stephen grope for her hand under the table.

  “My lord,” he began slowly, “I haven’t even begun to woo her—”

  “No time like after the wedding to begin.” He handed Stephen something. “There’s a start for you. No need to thank me.”

  Peaches looked at the very lovely, very medieval looking gold band lying on Stephen’s open palm, then she looked at him. He looked at Robin for a moment or two in silence, then turned to her. He smiled at her, that gravely polite smile she loved.

  “Well?” he asked quietly.

  “Oh, by the saints,” Robin exclaimed. “Is that the best you can do?” He looked at his wife. “I fear for the continuation of my line, truly I do.”

  Peaches watched Stephen shoot him a dark look, which she thought was rather brave, given the circumstances. She’d seen Robin in the lists. Then Stephen looked at her.

  “You know this isn’t exactly how I planned on seeing this happen.”

  She couldn’t help herself; she laughed. The last thing she had thought she would be doing in medieval Artane was getting married, but somehow it seemed fitting. She smiled at her yet-to-be-made fiancé. “Well, I don’t require all that much wooing.”

  “That’s fortunate, because you’ll have about fifteen minutes of it,” he said dryly. “But I could remedy that over the course of the rest of our lives.”

  She looked at him seriously. “You know that your grandmother wouldn’t approve, don’t you?”

  “Granny isn’t around to offer an opinion. And she’s my mother’s mother.” He nodded toward Robin. “He likes you, and he has a sword to use in expressing potential disapproval.”

  Peaches felt her smile fade. “And when your grandmother finds out?”

  He leaned close and put his mouth against her ear. “I am the Earl of Artane, my love,” he murmured, “and I don’t give a damn what my grandmother says. If she could remove her nose from her guest lists long enough to see the truth of it, she would see that Artane could not have a finer mistress.” He pulled back and looked at her. “Well?”

  She saw Robin watching her with a smile and thought that maybe Stephen’s grandmother could perhaps learn to deal with things. She looked at Stephen. “I believe I would consider listening to a proposal of marriage.”

  Stephen pursed his lips. “My lord Artane has been a bad influence on you.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  She watched as he pushed his chair back, stood, then made Robin and Anne a low bow. “My lady’s father is unavailable,” he said seriously. “So, if you wouldn’t mind—”

  “Of course I wouldn’t mind,” Robin said. “I’ll happily stand in for her sire. I’ll dower her properly, of course, but what of you, little lad? What do you bring to this union? A little hut on the shore? A silver coin or two?”

  Peaches laughed in spite of herself at the look Stephen gave Robin. Robin only returned that look blandly.

  “Very well, I can divine that on my own.” Robin waved expansively. “Go ahead and ask her, lad. If she says you aye, I’ll have the priest fetched.”

  Peaches watched Stephen go down on one knee in front of her right there at the supper table and found that what had seemed like a potentially amusing story to tell her sister had suddenly become all too real. She found that she was shaking, badly. Stephen looked up at her, his own expression very serious.

  “I know what you’re thinking.”

  She nodded. “I imagine you do.”

  He looked at her hands, then met her eyes. “And if it were instead in a little vineyard on a hill in Tuscany, what would you say?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could you just pretend, then?”

  Peaches looked around her at a hall that was nothing short of magnificent, a hall that had stood for eight hundred years, protected and defended by generations of de Piaget men and women who had been completely committed to preserving their family’s heritage. She looked at Robin and Anne, who were sitting close together behind Stephen. Robin’s arms were around his wife, his cheek against her silvery blonde hair, his expression grave. Anne was watching her with a look that said she understood exactly what Peaches was thinking.

  Peaches looked at Stephen again. “I don’t think any of your other girlfriends would appreciate your hall.”

  “But you would.”

  “I would,” she agreed, finding it necessary all of the sudden to blink a time or two to keep her tears where they belonged. “Is it midnight?”

  He smiled. “Somewhere.”

  She took a deep breath. “Then yes. And yes again.” She paused. “In case we need to do this at a different time.”

  He stood up, then pulled her up and into his arms. And then he exercised his lordly prerogative and kissed her thoroughly.

  “Ring!”

  Peaches heard Robin bellow the word, but it took a moment or two before what he’d said registered. She smiled at Stephen as he put the ring on her finger, then pulled her back into his arms.

  “Oh, there’ll be none of that yet,” Robin said, shoving back his chair and rubbing his hands together. “We need to fetch the priest and tromp out to the chapel. You don’t think I’m going to allow you to wed her right here at the table, do you? And you, my lad, should probably go have a wash.”

  Stephen looked at Robin in surprise. “I already did.”

  “Go have another.”

  Stephen opened his mouth, considered, then shut it. “As you will, my lord.”

  “Ah, deference,” Robin said, sounding supremely satisfied. “Let’s go find candles and torches. And have a very short ceremony.”

  Two hours later, Peaches sat in front of a fire in a guest chamber that had been filled with candles, delicate edibles, and her newly made husband.

  She was, she had to admit, very glad to be sitting down.

  Stephen had locked the door, settled her comfortably in front of the fire, then paced until he finally came to a stop in front of her.

  “This is my room.”

  She looked up at him in surprise. “In the twenty-first century?”

  He nodded, then rubbed his hands over his face. “I wish I drank.”

  “No, you don’t.” She smiled up at him. “Are you flipped out?”

  He looked at her suddenly, then smiled. “I probably should be, but somehow I’m not.” He walked over to her, pulled up a stool, and sat down in front of her. He took her hands and looked at her seriously. “This isn’t exactly how I envisioned our wedding proceeding.”

  “Well, the chapel was lovely,” she said philosophically. “And the guests were still family, in a manner of speaking.”

  “The chapel is still lovely eight hundred years from now,” he said, “but we would have had more age-appropriate family surrounding us. Though I’m not sure the lighting would have been any better.”

  “I think candlelight is very romantic,” she said.

  “Which is fortunate,” he said, “given that since none of my forbearers has dared install electricity, we would have enjoyed the same in our day.”

  “Then what’s the difference?” she asked with a shrug. “Great food, family, a fire in the fireplace—”

  “A wedding gown befitting your beauty, photographers, my mother and brother, your sister and her husband?” He brought her hands to
his mouth and kissed them. “A carriage drawn by horses to drive us to a Rolls waiting to whisk us to the airport for a flight to Paris for a honeymoon?”

  “Nah,” she said with a smile, “I’d rather rough it here in medieval England.”

  He smiled, apparently in spite of himself. “You realize we’ll have to do it all again for everyone else when we return home.”

  “Do you mind?” she asked wistfully. “If this time is just for us?”

  “Peaches, darling, I wouldn’t mind if the rest of our lives were just for us,” he said seriously. “But given that they won’t be, no, I don’t mind. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He smiled that brief, grave smile that she had come to love. “You, here with me, in this fairy-tale castle on the shore. And a honeymoon in Regency England to look forward to. I can perfectly understand why you’re thrilled with the entire scheme.”

  She laughed and reached out to put her arms around his neck. “You can keep Paris in the back of your mind for the next honeymoon if you want to.”

  “I believe I shall. And whilst I would never admit this to anyone but you, I would be thoroughly delighted to have you and an endless supply of decently prepared French cuisine in the same locale for an extended period of time.”

  She sighed. “Salads with exquisite dressings.”

  “Filet mignon and foie gras.”

  Well, there were obviously just some things they would have to agree to disagree on. But before she could start a list of those sorts of things for him, he kissed her, which left her unable to think about anything but the man who had pulled her up and into his arms who had gone to unbelievable lengths already to rescue her, their home, and their future.

  And for the rest of the night, she supposed that was enough.

  Chapter 28

  Stephen stood in the hallway of Artane’s upper floor in a time definitely not his own and wondered just how in the hell it was he was going to rid himself of the body he was holding under the arms. He looked at Peaches and nodded at the door she was standing in front of.

  “We’ll put him in there.”

  She nodded and opened the bedroom door—his bedroom door, as it happened, which was just as unsettling as it had been six hundred years earlier in Robin de Piaget’s time—then held it open whilst he dragged an unconscious Regency wastrel inside. That wastrel happened to be his grandfather a few generations removed, which was the only reason Stephen hadn’t already dropped him on his fool head. Peaches shut the door, then lit a lamp with the help of a match. She turned and looked at him.

  “I suppose that was one way to do it,” she said cheerfully.

  He had to admit it had been. They had arrived in Regency Artane just as the sun was setting and managed to blend into the crowd that was making its way up the path to the great hall. Stephen would have thought he’d stumbled onto a period piece set if it hadn’t been for the all-too-real smell from the stables and the guests alike.

  Things had gone fairly well until he’d come face-to-face with Reginald de Piaget, current earl of Artane, and realized that he probably should have aimed for a party where the guests had been wearing masks. Reginald goggled, gurgled, then patted himself to look for something Stephen decided abruptly wouldn’t be in their best interests for him to find. His and Peaches’s best interests, that was. He had grasped Reginald firmly by the arm and smiled pleasantly.

  “I wouldn’t,” he had advised.

  Reginald had ripped his arm away. “I’ll have your name, sir, or you will face me over pistols at dawn!”

  “Oh, let’s avoid that,” Stephen had demurred. “Why don’t you instead divulge a few details about the current lord of Kenneworth you’re about to face over cards with nothing left to wager but your ancestral hall and all its entailed properties?”

  Reginald de Piaget, that very keen gambler, had blanched, then opened his mouth with what Stephen had seen was the intention to call for aid. That had resulted in a trip upstairs, Peaches creating a diversion by getting something in her eye, and Stephen using Patrick MacLeod’s favorite heel-of-hand-under-chin technique to render the other man blissfully unconscious.

  All of which left him now looking at his hapless progenitor lying on the floor, drooling prodigiously.

  “What an idiot,” he muttered.

  “You really want to just tie him up?”

  Stephen shrugged. “I am at a loss for any other solution.”

  “Oh, I fully agree with it,” she said, studying Reginald de Piaget, who was lying unconscious at her feet. “I’m just wondering where we’ll put him once we’ve got him swaddled.”

  “We’ll gag him and shove him under the bed. But I’ll need his cravat first. He seems to favor that truly revolting color of green.”

  Peaches looked at him, then came to put her arms around him. “Stephen …” She shook her head and held him tightly. “If any of your students could see you now, they would be impressed.”

  “Because I managed to clunk my hapless grandfather from the past on the head and drag him down the hallway? Into my own room again, which I will tell you this time is causing me a rather substantial bit of discomfort. Though at least I know my way around, if you know what I’m getting at.”

  She considered, then glanced at Reginald. “How hard did you hit him?”

  “Very.”

  “Then we’d better take advantage of that—and no, not for anything more than removing his cravat and jacket.”

  “I thought you wanted to honeymoon in Regency England.”

  She laughed and pulled away. “I did but that was before we got here and I started not being able to breathe normally. Let’s hurry before we’re stuck here permanently.”

  He had to agree that was something he had no stomach for, so he set to the task of compromising part of his grandfather’s modesty. He removed Reginald’s coat, shirt, and cravat, then put them on. He stood still whilst Peaches adjusted the bile-green cravat, then looked at her.

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you’re gorgeous,” she said. “Even in that color, which is truly disgusting. I don’t think anyone will be able to tell the difference between you and your drooling grandfather there. Now, let go of me. You should be using your time to review your gambling strategies.”

  “I reviewed them last night,” he said, drawing her back into his arms. “The time change and all that.” He looked at her solemnly. “It kept me awake.”

  “That wasn’t all that kept you awake.”

  “Now that you mention it, no, it wasn’t—”

  She laughed, sounding a little breathless. “Stephen de Piaget, you’re a rake.”

  “It’s the bilious cravat,” he said, praying he wasn’t going to bring home lice thanks to putting it on. “It’s making me reckless.”

  She pursed her lips. “Yes, I’m sure that’s it.” She looked at him, then shivered. “Please let’s have this over with, really. I’m ready to go home.”

  He sighed deeply, then held her close for several minutes in silence.

  “Thank you for marrying me,” he said finally.

  “Really?”

  He nodded. “Yes, really.” He held her for another very long moment, then stepped back reluctantly. “Let’s go see to this so I have a home to take you to. Though I will tell you I’m finding it very difficult to concentrate on the task at hand.” He smiled at her. “You’re very distracting in your Regency garb.”

  “Shall I tell you tales about David Preston to inspire you?” she asked lightly.

  He pursed his lips. “I think that might have done it right there, darling. Let’s see to Reggie, then I’ll go put the game into motion.”

  “I’ll go mingle.”

  He looked at her seriously. “Be ready to run, Peaches.”

  “Do you think we’ll need to?”

  “At this point, love, I wouldn’t be surprised by anything.”

  She leaned up on her toes and kissed him briefly. “Play well.”

  “Stay within
reach.”

  She looked up at him seriously. “That is the place I would like to be for the rest of my life.”

  He hugged her quickly, then let her go before he either sobbed like a babe or told her he’d changed his mind about trying to save his hall and they would just have to move to Italy and work on growing olives. He exchanged one last look with her before she slipped out the door and he turned to the first task of the night, which was to get his ancestor out of sight.

  He only hoped the rest of the night’s activities would be so easily accomplished.

  It was sunrise when he stumbled with Peaches up toward Artane’s gates. Modern Artane’s gates, his father’s gates—

  Only they weren’t his father’s gates any longer. They were his gates.

  “Are you okay?”

  He looked at his wife of eight hundred years and smiled wearily. She was wearing her Regency clothes with a backpack over her shoulders, looking as if she’d spent the night rolling in the mud. He was also wearing Regency clothes, but instead of a backpack, he was carrying a sword. But he suspected he also looked like he’d spent the night rolling in the mud.

  Which was exactly what they’d been doing.

  “I’m numb,” he admitted, “from cold, terror, and lack of food.” He shook his head slowly. “If we’d had to eat any more of that slop Reggie was serving, I would have lain down right there at the card table and surrendered.”

  She smiled up at him, a bit of dirt on her cheek flaking off as she did so. “I would say indigestion was what turned the tide in that very dodgy game—Lionel of Kenneworth suddenly coming down with food poisoning, I mean—but I think he would have feigned stomach trouble just the same to get out with his pride intact simply because you’d outcheated him.”

  “I didn’t cheat,” Stephen said archly.

  “Liar.”

  He looked at her, then smiled in spite of himself. “Very well, I didn’t see any reason not to use his own ploys against him. But I’ll have you know and want it remembered for future generations that all the sterling I won at cards during my Eton years was won fairly.”

  “Just Eton?” she asked politely. “Not at Cambridge?”