Dangerous to Kiss (50 page)

There was a point to what she was telling him, but the expression in his eyes was not very encouraging. Her shoulders slumped.

“The point, Deborah,” he prompted.

She answered persuasively. “I don’t care who you have found for your house in Hans Town, Gray, but she will never love you half as much as I do.”

“My house in—? Ah, you had that from your brother, I suppose?”

There was a glint in his eye that gave her encouragement. “I mean it, Gray. I’m the woman for you. I’m not as fearful as you seem to think. I stood up to Elizabeth’s
mother and guardian, and I won. I faced the ghosts in Belvidere. I abducted you, and have made you my prisoner. You must see, I
can
be the girl you want me to be.”

His voice snapped out at her, making her jump. “You
are
the girl I want you to be. You always were.”

He looked so grim, she wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic, and she did not know how to answer him.

He took a deep breath. “Deborah,” he said, “where the hell do you think I was going tonight when you waylaid me?”

“You were coming to Sommerfield to look over the damage.”

“I don’t give a damn about the damage to Sommerfield. I was coming for
you.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs, and she swallowed the lump in her throat. “Why? What made you change your mind?”

He answered simply, “I found your last will and testament. It wasn’t sealed. I didn’t know what I was reading until it was too late. When I read it, I realized there was hope for us. I thought you would never get over your fear of men, you see.”

“I’m not afraid of men!”

“What I should have said was the
power
of men. Yet, you trusted a man to dispose of your fortune. I would have expected to see Miss Hare’s name, or even my mother’s. I knew then, all was not lost.”

He paused, shook his head and laughed. “No, that’s not it. Even if I had not read your will, I would have come for you eventually. I’m sorry about the laws of the land, but that’s not my doing. I know this, you will never find a man to love you half as much as I do. We may not be a perfect match, but in this imperfect world, we’ll do.”

Joy shivered through her. “You were coming to Sommerfield to beg my forgiveness and promise that you would try to change too?”

His eyes were very blue. “I was going to abduct you and keep you my prisoner till you damn well came to your senses.”

This display of his habitual arrogance raised her
hackles. Recollecting, however, that she had bested him by abducting him
first
made her smile in sheer feminine triumph. Then she remembered the house in Hans Town.

“What is it?” he said.

“Hans Town. I should warn you, Gray, I am not so liberal as Lady Helena.”

He grinned. “And I am no Eric Perrin. The house is let to a respectable gentleman and his family. My new secretary, to be precise.”

“But Stephen said—” She frowned, trying to remember what her brother had told her.

“Deborah,” he said, “Hart, Nick, and your brother were supposed to be helping
me
to abduct
you.
Doesn’t that tell you something?”

She was at a complete loss, and stared at him dumbly. He was wrestling with his bonds. There was a snap and his hands came free.

Laughing, he captured her in his arms. “You don’t see it yet, do you?”

“No,” she said.

“My darling Deb! They’ve abducted you too. If you don’t believe me, try the door and see if it will open.” She made to obey him, but he said, “Later, try it later. Take my word for it. We’ve both been abducted.”

He crushed her in his arms so fiercely that every sensible thought went out of her head. His lips on hers were hard and demanding. With a little cry of surrender, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back. So caught up were they in that kiss, they didn’t hear the key grating in the lock, or the tread of feet that stole up on them. It was the sound of the pistol cocking that brought them out of the kiss.

Gray didn’t look up; he didn’t release Deborah. “Go away,” he said, and kissed her again.

Nick laughed, then made an exaggerated show of clicking his tongue. “Gray, old man, have you no shame? You’re corrupting the morals of your baby brother.”

“Yes, indeed!” said Hart, trying not to sound sanctimonious. “Of all of us, in fact.” When there was no
response to this, he said to his companions, “I told you it was a mistake to lock them in a bedchamber.”

“Kendal,” drawled the Earl of Belvidere, “I warn you, I have honed my skills in diplomacy since last we met.” He aimed the pistol straight at Gray’s head. “I give you two choices. You either marry my sister or you marry my sister.”

Gray ended the kiss with obvious reluctance. He smiled down into her eyes. “Which is it to be, Deb?”

She smiled up at him. “You choose,” then as an afterthought, “Doesn’t that show how much I trust you?”

Gray threw back his head and laughed.

The wedding took place that very night in the Great Hall at Sommerfield. There was no evidence that it was a hastily contrived affair. The hall was garlanded with flowers. The special license, which was necessary with no banns read in church, was in perfect order. The bride’s dress was laid out on her bed, as were her flowers, and those for her maid of honor, her sister, Lady Elizabeth. The cleric who was to perform the ceremony said that he was honored despite the lateness of the hour. The guests, who were confined to members of both families including the children, gave no indication that the marriage came as a surprise to them. In short, there wasn’t a shadow of doubt in Gray’s mind or Deborah’s that they had been well and truly duped. And it did not dim their joy one whit.

The last thing Deborah did before leaving her chamber to join Gray in the Great Hall was to go to her jewel box for her mother’s locket. It had arrived from Miss Hare the week before, along with a jubilant letter, congratulating Deborah on her vindication of all the charges against her. Her brother and sister were with her, and Elizabeth, sensing a private moment, turned away and began to arrange the bric—a-brac on top of the dresser.

Deborah opened the locket, and she and Leathe looked down at their mother’s likeness. This wasn’t the
first time Leathe had seen it, but the effect on him had not lessened.

“I wish—” he began, then stopped.

“What?” asked Deborah.

“Oh, that she were here, that she could see us now.”

Deborah smiled through tears. “I think she
is
here. I think she knows. I can feel it here.” She touched a hand to her heart. “Put it on for me, Stephen.”

He took the locket from her and fastened it to her throat. For a long, long time, they stared at their reflection in the looking glass, Deborah with her mother’s locket, her brother behind her, with his hands cupping her shoulders. Then Nick’s voice called to them, and the moment passed into memory.

On her brother’s arm, with her sister in attendance, Deborah descended the stairs. Gray’s eyes never strayed from hers, nor hers from his. At the last, when she placed her hand in his, he smiled.

When it came time to exchange their vows, Deborah handed her posy of freesias to her sister, Elizabeth. She faltered only once. It was a solemn occasion, of course, and Gray’s face reflected that he was aware of it. Deborah, throwing him a veiled look as he repeated his vows, was struck with the sheer power and strength that seemed to radiate from him, and her hand trembled in his. He turned to look at her, and that look sent a piercing sweetness flooding through her. Her voice was not quite steady when she made her own vows.

When they knelt before the priest to have their marriage blessed, Gray had never felt more humble in his life. It seemed incredible to him that Deborah had prevailed when the odds were so heavily stacked against her, and he fervently thanked God for His unceasing vigilance on his beloved’s behalf. He thought of her mother, and Miss Hare, and her brother, Stephen. He thought of Gil. Finally, he thought of her father and Philip Standish. He prayed for them all, not knowing how to pray, hoping it was enough.

Deborah’s prayer was very simple. She was thinking of Gray and only Gray.

When the priest raised them, and Gray looked into
Deborah’s eyes, he thought his heart would burst. He kissed her softly, reverently, and in that kiss there was a promise for their future life together.

Nick said something rude and everyone laughed, then they were seized and amid laughter and cajolery led off to the dining room for the toasts and wedding feast. Deborah looked around at the faces she loved best in the world, and her gaze finally came to rest on Quentin. He caught that look and smiled, and she knew that the memory of that smile would be forever locked in her heart.

She was petting Old Warwick when the last of the guests trooped off to bed. Gray came to stand behind her and he enfolded her in his arms.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said.

Her dimples quivered, and she patted Old Warwick affectionately. “I doubt it.”

“You’re thinking this house is hopelessly old-fashioned. You’re thinking that it’s about time it was refurbished. And you’re right. Well, look at this shabby old war horse.” He whacked Old Warwick on the rear end, and a cloud of dust floated up. Gray was taken aback. Deborah giggled. “Yes, well,” said Gray, grinning, “it’s more than time Old Warwick was put out to pasture. I mean it, Deb. You have my permission to start afresh. Do what you like with the house. Decorate it to your own taste. I don’t care what it costs.”

It was pathetic. Poor Gray. She could see from his expression that he had steeled himself to make this generous offer. “You’re an idiot,” she said. “You don’t understand anything. I don’t know why I bothered to explain things to you. Oh, for heaven’s sake, kiss me. At least you do
that
well.”

It looked as though he might argue with her, then, shrugging, he turned her in his arms and kissed her nose.

“Not there,” she said.

He kissed her ear. She shivered, but shook her head. “Not there.”

He kissed her lips, and when he pulled back, she shook her head.

“Where?” he demanded to know.

She went on tiptoe and whispered something in his ear. He let out a whoop of laughter and reached for her.

“No, Gray! No!” She laughed as she backed away from him. “It was only a joke.”

“You wanton hussy!” he cried out, and pounced.

Shrieking, laughing, she went darting away from him. He gave chase. She knocked over a chair to slow his progress. When he vaulted it, she screamed and dashed for the stairs, bumping into a suit of armor in her blind haste to get away from him. It rocked on its heels, then toppled to the floor with enough din to wake the dead. Gray caught her at the foot of the stairs. She was swept up in his arms and held high against his chest. He kissed her fiercely, and the shrieks of laughter dwindled to giggles, then to little whimpers and moans. She twined her arms about his neck, and they murmured softly to each other as he carried her up the stairs.

Best-selling award-winning author Elizabeth Thornton was born and educated in Scotland, and has lived in Canada with her husband for over thirty years. In her time, she has been a teacher, a lay minister in the Presbyterian Church, and is now a full-time writer, a part-time babysitter to her five grandchildren, and dog walker to her two spaniels.

Elizabeth loves hearing from her readers. Visit her at
www.elizabeththornton.com