Anne Gracie - [The Devil Riders 02] (39 page)

“Who, Tilda?”

Barrow nodded. “A lass like that, with only a few candles in her brainbox, is easily led astray, but under my good lady’s wing, well, she’d learn how to live right. We’d protect her from them who prey on simple young women. She could give Mrs. B. a hand with the young ’uns, if you have no objection, that is.”

Harry grinned. “No objection at all. That girl saved Torie’s life.”

“We’ll be off tomorrow then,” Barrow said.

“Godspeed.” Harry embraced his foster father. “And for heaven’s sake don’t let Mrs. Barrow go inside that house . . . not unless you want to see her swing for murder.”

 
“Rafael, my dear boy,” Lady Gosforth said as the wedding party sat down to dine. “I’ve seated you with a friend of mine, Lady Cleeve. Look after her, will you? She doesn’t know many people.”

Rafe looked across at Lady Cleeve, an elderly lady with white hair. He masked his disappointment and bowed gracefully. “I’d be delighted, Lady Gosforth.”

She laid a hand on his arm to detain him a moment. “You’re a good boy, Rafe,” she said. “Ask my friend about her long-lost granddaughter. I think you’ll find it an interesting tale . . .”

 
The wedding celebrations had been going on for some time when suddenly there was a commotion on the terrace outside. Shod hoofs rang on the paving stones. The guests turned curiously toward the windows.

Showing no sign of alarm the Earl of Alverleigh signaled servants to draw back the curtains. Three large dark horsemen stood silhouetted against the gray afternoon sky. To everyone’s surprise, the earl ordered the French windows opened, despite the cold.

There was a buzz of surprise among the crowd: the horsemen wore black masks to conceal their faces. Apparently un-worried the earl stepped forward. “Who are you and what do you want here?”

The masked man in the center replied. “I am Not-So-Young O’Lochinvar, and I’ve come for Fair Tibby.”

A ripple of amusement and speculation passed through the spectators as Tibby slipped through the crowd and stared up in amazement at the horseman. “Who did you say you were?”

“Not-So-Young O’Lochinvar,” he answered in soft Irish burr. “Fair Tibby, will you come away wi’ me?”

Her eyes widened. “Now?” She glanced down at her soft wool dress. It had been snowing earlier.

“Aye, now,” he said, and as if at a signal his two tall companions dismounted. He passed one a bundle, and the man shook it out. It was a long, crimson, fur-lined cloak. He wrapped it around Tibby’s shoulders.

“’Tis only rabbit, but ye’ll not be cold,” O’Lochinvar told her. “So will you come, Fair Tibby?”

She looked up at him, her heart so full she was unable to speak, and nodded.

Without another word the two men lifted Tibby up in front of O’Lochinvar. He had a cushion tied to his saddle. “It won’t be as uncomfortable as last time,” he murmured, wrapping his strong arm around her. Tibby didn’t care. She would have gone anywhere with him.

“Fare thee well,” O’Lochinvar addressed the watching party. “And fear not,” he added, looking straight at Princess Callie. “Fair Tibby is safe with me. You’re all invited to the weddin’.” And he galloped away with her to the west.

“Oh, Ethan,” Tibby said when she could finally speak. “That was wonderful.”

“You don’t want to go back?”

She shook her head. A few flakes of snow floated down. “I’ve bespoken two rooms at the inn in the next town,” Ethan told her. “If you want, I can hire a maid to play propriety.”

She turned her head and looked up at him. “No maid,” she said firmly.

He smiled and tightened his grip. They rode on into the darkening night.

“Ethan, are you a rich man?” Tibby asked him after a few minutes.

His white teeth flashed and he said in an easy voice, “No, darlin’, I’m not. Does it matter?”

“Yes,” she said. “It does matter. Very much.”

He looked down at her in faint consternation. “It does?”

She nodded solemnly. “If you’re not a rich man, it changes everything.”

“What? But you knew—”

Tibby continued, “We cannot afford to waste good money on a second room. One should do us both nicely.”

It
was Christmas Eve. Nell woke in the night and found Harry awake, propped on his elbow, watching her.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, sitting up. “Is it Torie?”

“No, no, she’s sound asleep in her cradle, there,” he said soothingly. Nell wasn’t yet able to let Torie out of her sight.

“It’s nothing. Go back to sleep.” He lay down again. His arm slipped around her, drawing her against him in that beloved, familiar way, and she closed her eyes and thought no more of it.

But an hour later she woke again, and found him still awake and staring down at her.

“What is it, Harry?” she whispered.

He didn’t say a word. The tendrils of sleep were trying to drag her back, but the expression in his eyes caught her and held her fast. She sat up on her elbow and put a hand to his cheek. “You look so grim. What is it?”

He didn’t answer.

Her anxiety grew. “Has something happened, Harry? Tell me. Whatever it is, we will weather it.”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

She scanned his face worriedly. “Something must be bothering you, otherwise why can’t you sleep?”

He stared down at her for a long, intense moment, then gave a low, deep groan. “I love you,” he said.

She sat up. “What did you say?” she asked breathlessly.

“I love you, Nell.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her hard against him, clutching her so tightly the breath was almost squeezed from her lungs. “I love you so much.”

“I thought—” she began.

“I think I fell in love with you that first day in the forest, but I didn’t believe . . . didn’t think . . .” His embrace tightened. “I couldn’t tell you then; you would have thought me insane.”

“No, I—”

“And then I kidnapped you and trapped you into marriage.” He shook his head. “I was so arrogant, so certain I could do what I promised . . .”

He fell silent. She wasn’t sure what he was thinking, but she didn’t interrupt.

“And then we didn’t find her,” he said. “And I’d trapped you with false promises.”

“No, I—”

“But then I did find Torie, and I made it right, so now I can tell you.”

“Tell me what?” She knew, but she’d ached to hear it for so long and needed to hear him say it again.

“That I love you. That you are my heart, my life.” He wrapped his arms around and pulled her hard against him, clutching her so tightly the breath was almost squeezed from her lungs. “I love you, Nell Morant. Don’t ever leave me.”

“Never,” she whispered. “Never, my love. I love you, Harry Morant. First you captured my body, then you stole my heart. I am yours forever, body and soul.”

I have taken a few liberties with the details of the foundling hospital process. They had stopped accepting tokens from mothers more than fifty years before my story starts, and the items were stored in envelopes, not in a box with tags. But I was so moved by the tokens when I saw them in the Foundling Museum that I couldn’t resist using them in my story. I suspect it was also easier for my characters to get information from the director than it probably would have been; however, I ascribe that to Harry’s commanding ways. Exceptions are often made to rules.

If you are visiting London, the Foundling Museum is well worth a visit, and very easy to get to by the Tube. There is also more information on my web-site:
www.annegracie.com
.

“What a remarkable writer [Anne Gracie] is. I can’t think of another writer who seamlessly combines quite as she does the most sparkling comedy with such heartbreaking emotion.”

—Anna Campbell, author of
Untouched

Coming Fall 2009 from Berkley Sensation!