How To Bed A Baron (8 page)

Serena scoffed at that, wondering if the gun were truly loaded. She could not seem to work up a decent level of fear. This man had chased her across half of Europe and she had been afraid of him the entire time. But now, standing so close to a Frenchman who truly needed to bathe, she felt nothing. Only love for Arthur who was standing in front of her, not looking toward her at all, but focusing completely on the man in front of him.

Perhaps it was the heat in the depth of his blue eyes, heat that reminded her of how he had looked at her when they were together in bed. Or perhaps it was the unshakable certainty in her heart that so long as Arthur was in the room, no harm could come to her. But she knew that she loved him as she had loved no other, and that if he was still fool enough to want her after this debacle was over, she would accept his proposal, and let the rest of their lives take care of themselves. So much for honor. Honor was a cold bedfellow. And she was done with foreigners and fools. She wanted Arthur, and she would have him

If she managed to avoid getting shot first.

As she was wondering how an elbow applied judiciously to Galliard’s ribs might improve or harm her situation, the Frenchman took a deep breath of the cinnamon concoction that still perfumed her skin, and he sneezed.

She elbowed him then, pushing the gun away and diving low. In the same moment, Arthur moved to take him down, with no care for the gun or for the damage it might do. He broke the Frenchman’s hand, and the room was filled with Gallic curses. Still calm, Arthur ignored the swearing and turned the pistol on his enemy.

“Be silent. You should get much worse than that for raising your hand to a lady. Lucky for you, monsieur, this firearm is not loaded. Powder alone will not serve, which you would know if you were a man of action. You can make your case to the magistrate. Perhaps he will only send you to the local jail. Or he might well send you to Whitehall as a French spy. I really could not say.”

The butler burst in then, brandishing a blunderbuss from the previous century. Lady Sara was hot on his heels.

“My lord,” the butler said. “I heard French being shouted and thought a spy had broken in.”

“Smith, take this man in hand and see to his wound. We’ll send for the magistrate in the morning.”

Galliard cursed Serena and her ancestry in colorful French as he was led away. Lady Sara frowned severely at his use of colorful language, raising her voice a bit so that she might be heard above the din. “Put him in the small room off the wine cellar, Smith. I don’t know what Oxfordshire is coming to, with cursing Frenchman gadding about at all hours of the night. And in my very house!”

“I am sorry, my lady,” Serena said once it had grown quieter. “He broke in looking for me.”

“No need to fret, my dear. I am simply grateful that you are here, and that Arthur was here at your side to stop him.”

“Mother,” Arthur said. “I know you are quite ill. Do not distress yourself.”

Lady Sara laughed loud and long. “Distressed? This is the most fun I’ve had since your father passed on. God rest his soul. And as for being ill, I don’t know where you came up with that cock-eyed notion, but I am as fit as a woman half my age.”

Her blue eyes pierced her son’s, who stood staring, clearly at a loss for words.

When she waited a long moment and Arthur still did not speak, Lady Sara amended. “Well, ten years my junior then.”

              She turned from her son and wrapped her arms around Serena, who took in the scent of lilac on her skin, and felt for a moment as if her own mother held her once more, and blessed her.               “Serena, I am so happy to see that the engagement is a real one, and not some nonsense concocted by Arthur to placate me. At long last, grandchildren!”

Lady Sara kissed her soundly on the cheek, and “I’ll send to the Bishop of London in the morning for a special license. They are expensive, but worth every penny, wouldn’t you say?”

Serena stood alone with the man she loved, and for one horrible moment wondered if he still wanted her.

              “I made a mess of things, Arthur,” she said. And I’m sorry for it.”

              His smile emerged then to light the room for her. She hoped that his smile would light rooms in her home, and in her heart, for the rest of her life.

              He stepped toward her, and took her into his arms, almost as if he was afraid that she might get away. “I’ll only be sorry if you refuse me again. Serena Davenport, will you marry me?”

              “Arthur...”

              “Before you say no again, know this. If I have to ride over to your father’s house every day from now until we both are eighty to ask you that question again, I will. Answer me now, and make us both happy.”

              She felt her heart swell with joy and love in a surge that was almost painful. Serena pressed herself against him, and before she kissed the man she would love all her life, she answered him.

              “Yes.”