A Belated Bride

Francot’s smirk disappeared. “You fool!” he snapped.

  “If you want the jewels, come and get them,” Lucien taunted.

  The smuggler’s eyes shifted between Lucien and the leather bag, then he shook his head. “No. You will slide it over here.” He angled the knife, and another drop of blood dripped slowly down Arabella’s neck. “Any more tricks, Wexford, and you won’t be the only one to pay.”

  A cold rage filled Lucien. Whatever else happened here, Francot would not walk out alive. Lucien slowly approached the bag and pushed it with his foot. It moved several feet, but no more, still out of Francot’s reach.

  “Damn it! Move those over here!”

  Only a few more feet… Lucien walked to the bag and placed his foot on it. With a sudden move, he kicked it past Francot. The bag hit the ground behind the smuggler, and a stream of glittering jewels broke free and slid across the wet rock toward the sea.

  “No!” Francot cried. He instinctively took a step toward the treasure, his blade dropping away from Arabella’s neck.

  With a cry, Arabella shoved Francot’s arm and propelled him forward. He fell against a cask, but caught himself and turned, his knife blade clenched in his hand, an ugly snarl on his face.

  Lucien dived for his gun, scrambling on the slick rock. His hands closed around the cold metal and he lifted the gun, took aim, and fired.

  The blast caught Francot square in the chest. The knife flew from his hand as he staggered backward, hovering on the brink of the ledge. Hands clutched to his chest, he turned a white face toward Arabella, struggling for the breath to speak. “I—I…” A horrible gurgle rose from his throat, and he fell lifeless into the ocean.

  Lucien caught Arabella in his arms and held her tightly. She sagged against him, her whole body trembling against his, but she was safe—safe in his arms.

  Finally, when her trembling had eased, he pulled away and looked down at her. “Are you hurt?”

  She offered a shaky smile. “Just my wrists.”

  He lifted one of her hands and ground his teeth at the sight of the scraped, bruised flesh. Cursing softly, he pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and ripped it in two, then bound each of her wrists with the clean, white linen. As he did so, his gaze fell on the red stain at her bodice. He tilted her chin up and examined her throat. Two thin lines met his gaze, the delicate skin scored just enough to bring blood. Lucien closed his eyes against the fear that chilled him. “I’m so sorry, Bella. I should have—”

  Her fingers brushed his lips. He opened his eyes and found her bright gaze on him. “Lucien, there is nothing to be sorry for.” A husky chuckle escaped her, though tears shone in her eyes. “You saved my life. What more could I ask?”

  He gazed down at her, wondering at her strength. He loved her so much that just looking at her made his soul sing. He burned with the need to tell her, but now was not the time. Instead, he went to collect his heavy greatcoat from the boat.

  She watched him, her eyes dark with emotion. “Lucien, what about the jewels?”

  “When the tide lowers, they will send someone to dive for them.”

  “‘They’?”

  He settled his coat about her shoulders. “The Home Office. I’ve been assisting them since the war began.”

  She glanced toward the black water where Francot had fallen. “I cannot believe he was behind the smuggling the whole time. I never thought he could…” She shivered and turned her face against Lucien’s shoulder.

  He held her there, sharing his warmth. He had so much he needed to say. But before he could tell her what was in his heart, he had to get her home and into some dry clothing.

  He forced himself to loosen his hold and step away. “Your family will be wondering where you are. Come. If we wish to leave while it is still light, we will have to do so now.”

  When they reached the boat, Lucien looked at the cave opening and cursed. “The water is too high to use the dinghy. We will have to wait for the tide to go back out.”

  Sniffling, Arabella pulled free from his arms. “There is another way out.” She pointed to the far wall where a narrow path led to a wide crack.

  Lucien grinned. “With you, there is always another way.” He tugged the collar of his coat more securely under her chin and then collected the lantern.

  Within minutes, they left the dark cave behind and were climbing the steep path to Rosemont.

  Chapter 28

  Liza stared up at the tree, whose huge branches swayed against the gray sky. The faintest hint of a lump formed in her throat. “Are you sure it is here?”

  “Don’t you listen to anything, brat?” Robert asked.

  “The painting led me to the book containing the family history—thus, the family tree. It took me a while, but”—he pointed to the great oak, his eyes silvered with excitement—“this is the family tree.”

  “I’ve never heard of a family having their own actual tree.”

  “And you know so many.”

  “I know all of the best families,” she snapped, then grimaced to hear herself utter such an empty-headed platitude. What was it about Robert that brought all of her worst qualities to the fore? He was rude and insufferable, wallowing in enough self-pity to destroy an ordinary man, yet she found herself seeking him out.

  Since their uneasy truce yesterday, when she’d made such a spectacle of herself and almost ruined her brother’s chance at happiness, Robert had allowed her to assist him with his search for the Captain’s fabled fortune. Liza sighed, still not sure whether she was being punished or rewarded.

  She glanced back at the house and remembered Lucien’s face when he’d entered the house carrying Arabella. For the rest of her life, Liza would never forget his expression—fiercely tender, his eyes haunted. She’d known then that her brother was deeply in love with his wife. He wouldn’t even let Aunt Jane and Aunt Emma tend to her, insisting that it was his right as her husband. He’d been so determined, no one had dared gainsay him.

  But something was still bothering Lucien. Though Arabella had awoken this morning in a sunny mood, teasing Robert all through breakfast, Lucien remained quiet, his gaze never leaving her. Liza wondered what weighed on her brother’s mind. Whatever it was, her brother was not one to let anything stand between him and what he wanted—and it was obvious that he wanted Arabella.

  From both her brother’s experience and the novels she’d read, Liza decided that men were much quicker to admit their feelings when faced with the imminent death of their chosen. She glanced at Robert and wondered how he would react if she were being held by a crazed smuggler.

  Robert sighed impatiently. “Well, we’ve dug all around the—”

  “We?”

  A reluctant grin twitched the corner of his mouth, but he ignored her. “So the treasure must be in the tree. There is an opening halfway up.”

  She tilted her head back again and looked. Where the branches began to thin, there was a round hole in the trunk. She blinked. Just looking up into the swaying branches made her dizzy.

  Robert tucked the papers into his coat. “I suppose we shall have to go and find Ned and get him to climb the dratted thing.” He stared down at his legs with something akin to hatred. “I am no good to anyone.”

  Liza had to bite her lip against an overwhelming urge to soothe his creased brow with a kiss. Heavens, what is wrong with me?

  But the rush of emotion gave her an idea, and she looked back up at the branches. Perhaps…She placed a slippered foot on the marble bench and stepped lightly up.

  “What in the hell do you think you are doing?”

  She wrapped her hands securely about a branch and pulled herself into the tree. “What does it look like?”

  “For the love of—Get down from there.”

  But she was too far gone to stop now. For some reason, she had to help Robert succeed at something. She grasped a thick branch with both hands and pulled herself up, kicking impatiently at her skirts. “I’ll have you know that I have climbed many, man
y trees.”

  Of course, that had been when she’d been a child, but he didn’t need to know that. She was sure her skill would return as she progressed. Her foot slipped and for one fearful moment, she tottered. But her hands found purchase and she managed to regain her balance.

  “Damn it, Liza!” he said, his voice hoarse. “Come down now!”

  “But the fortune—”

  “I don’t give a bloody damn about the fortune!”

  “Well, I do.” She grasped a thick branch and tested it. It barely swayed, as she had expected. Perched on a sea cliff, the oak was subjected daily to hardy winds. A weak branch would have blown down long ago.

  She carefully put her feet on the limb and reached for the one higher, stopping when her skirt snagged on a branch. “I should try to—”

  An outburst of cursing met her words. Liza primly responded, “I’ll toss an apple on your head if you don’t stop saying such vulgar things.”

  “There are no apples in that tree. It is an oak and it is the dead of winter.”

  “Then I shall break off a limb,” she replied hotly, gathering her skirts in one hand and wishing she’d thought to tie them up. Robert had to be the most ungrateful creature alive. Here she was, putting herself in the utmost jeopardy, and all he could do was curse at her.

  “Liza…please…get down from there.” Just the faintest note of supplication colored his words. “You will fall.”

  “And if I do?” She looked down at him, her heart suddenly lodged in her throat. “Don’t pretend you would care.”

  There was a long silence and then he said, “Of course I wouldn’t care, but Lucien might. And I damned well don’t want to explain to him what a fool you were.”

  Her foot slipped off a branch and she made a mad grasp for a lower branch to regain her balance.

  “For the love of—” Robert burst out. He had never felt so helpless in his life. His hands gripped about the handles of his chair, his palms wet. “Get down from there now!”

  She ignored him, climbing with an assurance and competency that did nothing to ease his thundering heart.

  “Stop glowering like that,” she called. “If I fall, then you can catch me.” She pulled herself onto a branch that creaked noisily in protest.

  Robert pushed the chair closer to the tree, muttering curses as he went. Didn’t she know that he couldn’t catch her? He was a cripple, for God’s sake, unable to help himself, much less her. And if she died before his eyes…He bit his lip until he tasted blood.

  She grabbed a bough above her head and hesitated one instant, her foot searching for purchase. To Robert’s strained eyes, the branch looked much too thin to bear her weight. He wished with all his might that his legs were his own again. It should be him in the tree, not Liza.

  “I’m almost there,” she called down. The wind buffeted her voice and made it sound as if it came from over the ocean.

  He could see her dress fluttering in the stiff breeze, the long pink skirts ruffling about the branches. Overhead, dark clouds swirled and the distant rumble of thunder seemed to portend disaster.

  “Robert?”

  “What?” he asked through clenched teeth. Was her foot wedged between two branches? Had she caught her dress on a branch and was unable to free herself?

  “I’ve reached the hole. I’m about to put my hand in.”

  “Blast it, Liza! Forget the treasure and come down from there!”

  “Don’t be absurd. I didn’t climb this stupid tree for nothing.” The branches rustled around her.

  “Well?” he finally said impatiently, wondering if he should fetch Lucien. Thunder rumbled again, closer this time and he looked uneasily at the quickly darkening sky.

  “There is nothing in here but marbles,” she said, disappointment evident. “A child’s prank and nothing more.”

  “Then come down,” he said, too relieved she hadn’t fallen during her climb to even think about the treasure.

  “You had better hurry; it is going to rain.”

  “Very well. I just wish…Here, let me toss a few of them to you.”

  A scattering of small red balls came through the branches. Robert leaned over and picked one up. Made of red clay, it was inexpertly formed, too lumpy to be of use as a marble. He stared at it a minute before asking in an odd voice, “Liza, are there more?”

  “A whole nest of them.” She tossed several handfuls to the ground. They hit the walkway and bounced in different directions. “Perhaps we should—”

  Thunder rolled overhead, and lightning crashed. Before Robert’s horrified eyes, the tree exploded, the sound deafening. Pieces of bark and limbs flew through the air, the acrid smell of smoke clogging his mind.

  Suddenly Robert was no longer on the cliff at Rosemont. He was at Waterloo, the rancid smell of death choking him, the metallic taste of fear filling his mouth. All around him, people were dying and he could do nothing to help them, nothing to stop the carnage. Nothing to keep the blood from soaking into the cold, hard ground.

  Only this time, it was Liza.

  Her scream rent the air. A haze covered his vision, as if a silk net had been stretched across time and slowed it to one endless heartbeat. As clearly as if he were beside her, he could see her tumble from the branches, her skirt tangling about her legs. She plunged headfirst, her arms flailing, her face frozen with terror.

  Robert closed his eyes. Teeth clenched, he imagined himself reaching for her, catching her, holding her against him, safe and warm and so incredibly alive. No longer was he in his chair, but standing straight and tall, his arms extended, his hands grasping, closing about her.

  For one long, breathless moment, he held her, his arms tightly wrapped around her, his face buried against her bright hair.

  Then, slowly, he raised his head and looked into her eyes.

  “You…you moved,” she said, her voice husky and trembling. “And I—” She gave a convulsive sob and buried her face in his neck.

  Robert tightened his hold, afraid to breathe and waken from this dream. A dream in which she was safe and warm, alive in his arms. If he opened his eyes, he would know the truth; would see her crumpled form at his feet.

  Her body quivered against his and he marveled at the faint smell of rose that lifted from the silken strands beneath his cheek. Terrified to waken, he simply stood, holding her.

  After a long moment, Liza collected herself and gave a shaky laugh. She stepped out of the circle of his arms and looked down at his legs, her blue eyes shining. “Robert, it’s a miracle.”

  It was at that second that he realized he was wide awake and he was standing, for Christ’s sake. Slowly, afraid to move, he looked down at his legs, astonished to see his feet planted firmly on the ground.

  Robert swallowed, intensely aware of every sensation—the feel of the solid earth beneath his boots, the sound of his harsh breathing, Liza’s sweet scent lingering on his collar.

  Joy exploded through his veins and he laughed as he caught Liza into a crushing embrace. The movement tilted his none-too-steady knees and sent them careening back to the bench, where he sat down so hard his laughter ended with a muffled grunt, Liza in his lap.

  Red-faced, she scooted to his side. “I can’t believe this!”

  “Neither do I. But I owe it all to your pigheadedness.” He chuckled and flexed his legs, one after the other.

  Another rumble of thunder made him carefully stand. Though a tremor weakened his knees, he stayed erect. “We’d better get inside.”

  Liza swiped a hand across her eyes and stood. “Of course.”

  Robert looped an arm about her shoulders and said gruffly, “Just to keep my balance.”

  She nodded and did not move away, and he noticed that she was indeed the perfect height, the top of her head coming to his brow. They had taken no more than two steps when Robert stopped. His chair lay overturned amid swirling dead leaves and broken branches. Clay balls lay scattered along the path and throughout the brambles of the dead garden. r />
  He removed his arm from Liza’s shoulder and picked up the chair. With a surge of pure energy, he walked to the stone wall and heaved it into the air. It spun in the whitish glow of the approaching storm, the wheels spinning crazily. Then it dropped out of sight, leaving only the fading sound of crashing metal and wood as it bounced off the rocks and fell into the ocean.

  Liza slipped an arm about his waist and pulled his weight against her. “Come into the house.”

  He nodded and turned with her. When his foot brushed by one of the clay balls, a faint gleam caught his eye. Brows drawn, he bent and picked it up. “Liza, help me gather the rest of these.”

  “But why—”

  “Hurry. Before the storm arrives.”

  Liza frowned, but helped him collect all of the clay balls she could find. The wind increased with each passing minute and the thunder began to rumble closer and closer. They found the last one and just made it into the house before the storm broke.

  From the window of the morning room, Arabella watched as Robert and Liza ran inside. “Lucien!”

  “I see him,” Lucien said quietly. He came to stand behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist, his cheek against her hair, his own heart full.

  Arabella turned her face against him and clutched his coat. Lucien soothed her hair. “Bella mia, don’t cry.”

  “I’m not crying.” She sniffed and pulled away to search desperately for her handkerchief.

  He watched her dry her eyes. Seeing Robert walk had been her dearest wish, and he had been here, standing beside her, to witness it. As he would be with her from now on, sharing her joys and helping her through the painful times. If she will have me.

  His breath caught in his chest as he looked at her. Luxurious strands of chestnut hair had pulled free from her ribbon and now curled about her face in a mussed tangle. Her eyes glowed a warm brown; her soft mouth trembled with emotion. Lucien rammed his hands into his pockets and forced himself to turn away from the delectable sight. They were alone, she was rested after her ordeal—now was the time.

  He took a deep breath. “Bella, we need to ta—”