He was still sputtering in shock when Catriona turned to Simon. “Your father? You went to your father? For me?”
“And why not? It was about time the old goat did something for his second son.”
Despite Simon’s careless shrug, Catriona knew exactly what his sacrifice had cost him.
One of the soldiers had retrieved a set of irons from his horse and was attempting to clamp them on Eddingham’s wrists. “Get your paws off me, you piece of filth,” he snarled, struggling to twist out of the young soldier’s grip. “There’s no need for those. Unlike Wescott here, I’m a gentleman.”
The soldier gave his commanding officer a questioning look. The man sighed, then nodded. “No irons. But don’t take your eyes off of him.”
As the soldier lowered the irons and stepped away, Eddingham jerked his waistcoat straight, giving Simon a contemptuous look. “Once I prove my innocence, it’s you who will be in irons. For the rest of your miserable life.”
He did not protest when two more soldiers stepped forward to escort him to his horse. The young soldier turned away to return the irons to his saddlebag.
One minute the pistol was in the soldier’s belt, the next it was in Eddingham’s hand. He gave Simon an icy smile, but the yawning mouth of the weapon was pointed directly at Catriona’s heart.
“No!” Simon shouted, throwing himself against her.
A shot rang out just as Catriona went tumbling to the ground with Simon stretched out full-length on top of her.
They lay there for a long breathless moment, gazing into each other’s eyes.
“Don’t mind me,” Simon finally said, giving her the crooked smile she loved so well. “I must have tripped.”
Catriona’s breath escaped in a shuddering sob. “Oh, dear God, are you hurt?” Her hands darted all over him like a pair of frantic baby birds, searching for a warm spill of blood.
“It’s all right.” He sat up, pulling them both to an upright position. “I’m not shot.”
“I am.”
At that matter-of-fact pronouncement, they both looked up to find Eddingham swaying on his feet and gazing stupidly at the arrow protruding from his shoulder. The pistol dangled from his limp fingers, spent and harmless.
Eddingham’s knees folded and the soldiers rushed forward to catch him before he could hit the ground. Catriona lifted her gaze to the ramparts of the tower. They were lined with two dozen Highland warriors, arrows notched and bows at the ready. Their braided hair and mud-streaked faces proclaimed them ready for battle. The tallest of them gave her a solemn nod and she knew Kieran’s keen aim was the reason Eddingham’s shot had gone astray and missed them both.
The redcoats were also eyeing the ramparts nervously.
Simon climbed to his feet, tugging Catriona to hers. “I do believe you’ve overstayed your welcome, gentlemen. I suggest you take the marquess and go before the lady’s clansmen decide to give you a proper Kincaid welcome.”
Without a word, the soldiers began to climb astride their horses, dumping the groaning Eddingham over his empty saddle like a sack of meal.
“What will happen to him?” Catriona asked softly, as they began to file their mounts silently down the cliff trail, far more subdued than upon their arrival.
“If the arrow doesn’t kill him, I suspect he’ll be spending some time in Newgate. But I doubt his accommodations will be as luxurious as mine were. Or his visitors as charming.”
Catriona shook her head. “Why, you sly devil! If the Scots had had you fighting on their side at Culloden, Bonnie Prince Charlie’s heirs would still be on the throne.”
“You didn’t really think I was going to greet them with pistols blazing and get us all killed, did you? When it comes to getting what I want, you know I don’t fight fair.”
“I most certainly do,” she said softly, holding his gaze with her own. “So what will happen to the castle now?”
He shook his head in mock sympathy. “With Eddingham under investigation for murder, I’m afraid the Crown has no choice but to confiscate his lands. I’ve already made arrangements to purchase this particular tract. I should be able to get it for a song, especially when I tell them that it’s still being plagued by a pesky band of outlaws.”
“That would be us!” Kieran called down from the tower, where he’d plainly been eavesdropping. Several of her clansmen lowered their bows and gave Catriona cheery waves.
“And just how do you hope to pay for the land?” she asked. “My dowry wasn’t that generous.”
“A most curious thing has happened since the day you walked into my jail cell. It seems my luck at the tables has turned. To put it bluntly, I can’t lose. Which is why my next gamble is going to be on the flock of Cheviot sheep Eddingham has so thoughtfully arranged to have delivered to our doorstep.”
She shook her head, still shaken by how close she had come to losing him forever. “Why did you jump in front of the pistol that way? You could have been killed.”
He arched one mocking eyebrow. “Isn’t that what heroes do?”
She gazed up at him with her heart in her eyes. “What if I don’t want a hero? What if I want a husband?”
Before Simon could respond, her uncle came stumbling into the ruins, wheezing like a consumptive. When he saw Simon and Catriona, he lurched to a halt and clapped a hand to his heart. “When I heard the shot, I feared the worst. What are you trying to do? Give an old man an apoplexy? You scared the devil out of us.”
“Us?” Simon echoed, giving Catriona a disbelieving look. “Surely you didn’t drag your poor Aunt Margaret all the way up here?”
“Not exactly,” Catriona said. Chewing nervously on her bottom lip, she took him gently by the arm and led him toward an empty window on the south side of the ruin.
From that vantage point, the mail coach at the bottom of the hill was clearly visible. A woman had alighted and was standing next to it. She was a tall woman, still willowy and graceful despite the silver that had begun to frost her once-golden hair.
Simon was still scowling in bewilderment when she saw the tears start in his eyes. “Catriona,” he said hoarsely, “what have you done?”
She shrugged. “The mail coach had to stop in Northumberland anyway. I didn’t have much time, but it wasn’t really that difficult to track down a legendary beauty who had once performed at Drury Lane. When I told her we were going to meet you, she insisted on coming with us. I warned her that it might be dangerous, but she said she didn’t care as long as she got to see her boy again.”
She released his arm, dashing a tear from her cheek. “If you can’t forgive me, I understand. But I thought that maybe you could try to forgive her. She left you because she believed it was for the best. I left you because I was a coward who was afraid you’d break my heart again.”
When Simon turned to look at her, she took a step backward, unnerved by the stark ferocity of his gaze. But her every fear melted away when he enfolded her in a fierce embrace. She threw her arms around his neck, holding him as if she’d never let him go.
“Ask me again,” she whispered in his ear. “Ask me how long I’d wait for the man I love.”
“How long would you wait for the man you love?” He drew back to look at her, smoothing her hair beneath his trembling hand. “How long would you wait for me?”
She smiled up at him through her tears. “Forever and a day.”
He shook his head. “You’ll never have to wait for me again because I’m never going to leave you.”
Cupping her face tenderly in his hands, he brought his mouth down on hers, sealing both their vows with a kiss.
A jubilant cheer went up from the Highlanders on the ramparts as they welcomed the chieftain of Clan Kincaid home to stay.
Epilogue
Catriona reclined on the rumpled sheets, feeling deliciously decadent as her husband popped a tart strawberry dipped in sweet cream between her parted lips. Her nude body was still flushed with pleasure from their most recent bout of loving.
br />
She welcomed another strawberry into her mouth, chewing with relish. “You know—I’ve always heard that reformed rakes make the best husbands.”
Simon propped himself up on one elbow and cocked a lecherous eyebrow at her. “Who says I’m reformed?”
She sighed with delight as he leaned over to lick a dab of cream from the corner of her mouth.
Instead of gambling at cards and dice, the man who had once been the most notorious rakehell in London now speculated on stocks and sheep. He’d managed to amass a tidy fortune with the same keen wit he’d once displayed at the gaming tables. He only drank when toasting his wife’s devotion and beauty. His carnal appetites were still insatiable and there was always a wench in his bed, but these days that wench just happened to be his adoring wife.
“You’d best be reformed,” she warned him, “because if you so much as wink at another woman, I’ll take my finest pair of silk stockings, tie you to these bedposts and…” She leaned over to whisper something in his ear.
His eyes widened even as his lips curved in an appreciative grin. “I do believe, my darling, that when it comes to perversions, you might be even more creative than I am.”
“Why don’t you let me show you?” Catriona purred, dipping two fingers in the cream and reaching for him.
Someone banged on the door. They looked at each other and groaned.
“I’m so glad you insisted we put a lock on our bedchamber door,” she whispered.
“Not nearly as glad as I am.”
“Just ignore it,” she instructed. “Maybe they’ll go away.”
She was reaching for him again when the banging resumed, more forceful than before.
Simon swore, knowing what he had to do. While Catriona tugged her nightdress over her head, he slid out of the bed and into his trousers.
They’d built their manor house around the original ruins of Castle Kincaid, turning the tower into their bedchamber. The windows afforded them a sumptuous view of the snowcapped mountain peaks and the vale below.
Simon padded to the door, half a dozen yellow and orange kittens scampering at his heels. Robert the Bruce might spend most of his time napping on the hearth now, but he’d still had enough coal in his stove to father this latest litter.
Before Simon could get the door all the way open, two wee ones came sprinting into the room, flinging themselves onto the bed with the same joyful abandon as the kittens. A litany of questions came tumbling from their lips.
“Mama, why do you have your nightdress on backward?”
“Mama, can I have a strawberry?”
“Mama, why can’t we eat strawberries in bed?
“Mama, why are you all sticky?”
“Mama, why is Papa glaring at me that way? Is he mad?”
Simon relaxed his scowl. “Of course I’m not mad, poppet. Mama and I were just taking a wee nap.”
“May we take a nap with you, Papa?” his daughter asked, her hair more strawberry than blond and her solemn gray eyes as impossible to resist as her mother’s.
“Of course you may,” he said, trudging back to the bed with a long-suffering sigh.
“I don’t want to take a nap,” their golden-haired son announced, bouncing up and down on the heather-stuffed tick. “Please, Mama,” he implored, twining one of Catriona’s curls around his chubby finger, “don’t make me take a nap.”
She rolled her eyes at Simon. “He’s a shameless flirt just like his father. Only yesterday I caught him trying to steal a kiss from one of Donel’s little girls.”
Simon whisked his giggling son up in his arms, tickled him until he begged for mercy, then stuffed him under the blankets. “You’re going to have to learn that you can’t get everything you want from a woman just by batting your eyelashes at her and stroking her hair.”
“I don’t know why not,” Catriona retorted with a smile. “You do.”
They’d just gotten the children to stop wriggling and go to sleep when another knock sounded.
“You’ve got to be joking,” Simon said, throwing back the blanket and padding to the door.
This time it was a footman with a letter on a silver salver. “This just arrived in the post for Mrs. Wescott.”
“Perhaps it’s a letter from your mother,” Catriona suggested hopefully. “Maybe she’s coming to stay and look after the children again.”
“Lord, I hope so,” Simon muttered, handing her the letter.
She turned it over to study the return address. Simon drew closer, his fascination growing. He’d seen that look on her face before—on the day they were wed for the second time and on the day each of their children was born.
“What is it, darling?”
She glanced up at him, her face alight with joy. “It’s from my brother. It’s from Connor. He’s alive!”
Simon leaned over the bed as she tore open the letter with shaking hands. As she scanned its contents, all of the color slowly drained out of her cheeks.
She lifted her stricken eyes to his face. “Oh, Simon, we have to do something! He’s writing to say goodbye. They’re going to hang him!”
Acknowledgments
Every happy ending requires a fairy godmother and this book had three. My heartfelt thanks to Carrie Feron, Tessa Woodward and Andrea Cirillo for wielding their magic wands on my behalf.
About the Author
New York Times bestseller TERESA MEDEIROS wrote her first novel at the age of twenty-one, introducing readers to one of the most beloved and versatile voices in romantic fiction. She has appeared on every national bestseller list, including the New York Times, USA Today, and Publishers Weekly lists, and has been published in over a dozen languages. Her numerous accolades include being a two-time recipient of the Waldenbooks Award for bestselling fiction. She makes her home in Kentucky and is never happier than when she has her grumpy cat (or her cheerful husband) in her arms. You can visit her website at www.teresamedeiros.com.
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By Teresa Medeiros
SOME LIKE IT WICKED
THE VAMPIRE WHO LOVED ME
AFTER MIDNIGHT • YOURS UNTIL DAWN
ONE NIGHT OF SCANDAL • A KISS TO REMEMBER
THE BRIDE AND THE BEAST
CHARMING THE PRINCE
NOBODY’S DARLING • TOUCH OF ENCHANTMENT
BREATH OF MAGIC • FAIREST OF THEM ALL
THIEF OF HEARTS • A WHISPER OF ROSES
ONCE AN ANGEL • HEATHER AND VELVET
SHADOWS AND LACE • LADY OF CONQUEST
Coming Soon
SOME LIKE IT WILD
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SOME LIKE IT WICKED. Copyright © 2008 by Teresa Medeiros. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition © JUNE 2008 ISBN: 9780061804724
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Teresa Medeiros, Some Like It Wicked
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