Some Like to Shock (Mills & Boon Historical) (Daring Duchesses - Book 2) (27 page)

‘My dear Duchess—’

‘Do not move so much as a muscle, Dartmouth!’ she rasped now as that gentleman would have done exactly that. ‘I should warn you that my brother, lacking in male siblings, took great delight in teaching me how to use and shoot a pistol with accuracy some years ago.’

‘The brother who took his own life—’

‘No, Genevieve!’ Benedict cried out in warning as her finger tightened on the trigger of the pistol. ‘He is merely trying to goad
you into firing irrationally and then hoping to overpower you before you are able to fire off another shot. Come here to me, love,’ he encouraged as he held his hand out to her. ‘Give me the pistol and ring for Jenkins. Genevieve, please,’ he urged gently when she made no move to do as he asked.

The fierceness of Genevieve’s gaze remained fixed upon the Earl of Dartmouth for several long seconds, before the tension began to ease from her shoulders and she lowered the pistol slightly as she turned to him, which was when Dartmouth decided to make his move!

What happened next took but a few seconds, and yet it seemed to Benedict as if it all took place in excruciating slow motion.

Genevieve became aware of the earl’s step towards her almost at the moment he made it. She turned back quickly, aiming instinctively, before squeezing the trigger of the pistol. There was a brief look of surprise on Dartmouth’s face before a bloom of red spread across the front of his jacket and he began to crumble slowly to the floor.

‘A
ll this time you have been working for the Crown?’ Genevieve looked blankly at Benedict as he crouched down beside the chair upon which she now perched so tensely whilst he tried to explain the sequence of events which had led up to this evening.

‘
Believed
I was working for the Crown,’ Benedict corrected. ‘Who knows now how much of the information I and others gathered was for England or to be passed on to Bonaparte!’

Her fingers tightened about the untouched glass of brandy she held in her hand as she gave a shudder. ‘I cannot believe I actually shot a man.’

‘He is lucky that it was you who fired
the shot, love.’ Benedict’s jaw had tightened grimly. ‘I would have aimed to kill rather than wing him in the shoulder.’

She gave a shake of her head. ‘He deserves to stand trial for his crimes and have the full extent of his duplicity revealed.’

All had been pandemonium since Genevieve had fired the pistol, the sound of the shot bringing not only Jenkins, but several other of the household servants running up the stairs, eyes wide as they burst into the bedchamber to find their mistress on the bed being cradled protectively in Benedict’s arms, a pistol at her side, and the Earl of Dartmouth lying in a pool of his own blood on the floor.

Jenkins had taken in the scene at a glance and quickly shooed the other servants out of the room, those few minutes’ respite allowing Benedict the opportunity to release a shocked and silent Genevieve before easing gingerly out of the bed and quickly pulling on his shirt and pantaloons, Jenkins finding him crouched over the felled earl by the time he returned to the bedchamber, the bullet having pierced Dartmouth’s shoulder rather than his heart.

Benedict had straightened to issue instructions for the authorities to be brought to the house and for someone to remain in the bedchamber
with the reloaded pistol trained on the Earl of Dartmouth, whilst he took the still-stunned and white-faced Genevieve through to her private parlour and quietly explained his own years of working for the Crown under the guidance of his godfather.

The godfather who had slain Benedict’s own parents, and their household servants, as a means of hiding his treason. The same godfather who would have seen to the disposal of both Benedict and Genevieve this evening for that same cause …

Until Genevieve had appeared in the room with the loaded pistol in her hand. Benedict would never forget how magnificent she had looked at that moment. Every inch the warrior that she undoubtedly was.

She looked up at him now with tear-wet eyes in her parchment-white face. ‘I could not allow him to harm you, Benedict.’

‘And I shall be forever grateful for it, love.’ He moved up to sit on the arm of the chair where she sat and placed his arm about her shoulders. ‘How did you know to bring a loaded gun back into the bedchamber with you?’

‘My suspicions were first aroused when you revealed that you had told your godfather
of your interest in locating your parents’ two missing servants. Enough, I am afraid, for me to listen unashamedly at the door once the two of you were alone in the bedchamber.’ She grimaced.

‘And I will be eternally grateful that you did,’ Benedict assured her fervently. ‘This is probably not the time to tell you—no, this is exactly the time to tell you!’ he corrected firmly. ‘I know you are upset, that you will need time to—to accept the events of this evening, but before the authorities arrive and we are taken up with other matters, I want you to know that I love you, Genevieve. That I wish very much to ask you to be my wife—’

‘You—must—not—say—such—things—Benedict!’ she warned emotionally as she turned sharply to face him. ‘I cannot—You must not.’ More tears cascaded down the paleness of her cheeks as she shook her head.

‘You cannot what, love?’ Benedict stood up slowly. ‘Cannot ever love anyone after your marriage to Forster? Cannot love me?’ He gave a brief smile. ‘We have time, love. All the time in the world for me to try to persuade—to cajole and love you into loving me in return.’

‘Do not talk nonsense, Benedict.’ She eyed
him impatiently. ‘Of course I can love you. I love you already. I would not have made love with you earlier if I did not already love you. It is only that—’

‘You already love me?’ Benedict crossed the room in three long strides to take her hands into both of his, his expression one of elation before a frown marred his brow. ‘I do not understand … If you love me, why do you not want me to tell you how much I love you in return, how much I long to make you my wife?’

‘Because you are talking out of gratitude and—and honour. Because you believe I saved your life by nursing you after you were shot and stopping Lord Cargill from his attempt to poison you just now—Why are you laughing, Benedict?’ She frowned her consternation as he did exactly that, long and loudly.

‘“Gratitude and honour”?’ he finally sobered enough to repeat. ‘Dante Carfax saved my life once during battle—should I tell him I love and want to marry him, too? Rupert Stirling once stopped a malicious French countess from running me through with my own sword as I slept—should I love and want to marry him, too?’

‘Now you are being even sillier than before.’
She frowned at him reprovingly. ‘And what did you do to this French countess that she wished to run you through with your own sword? More to the point, why was she able to do so as you slept?’ she added suspiciously.

Benedict gave another shout of laughter. ‘Jealous, love?’

Pea-green with it, if Genevieve was honest, and she usually was, no matter what trouble it caused her. ‘You cannot tell a woman you love and wish to marry her in one breath and then talk of sleeping with French countesses in the next!’

‘I was not sleeping with her, but in a bedchamber in a cottage close to her estate,’ he assured her warmly. ‘And the countess wished to run me through with a sword because I had only hours earlier informed her that her husband was a spy and now an English prisoner.’

‘Oh.’ Genevieve blinked, her indignation not completely mollified by this explanation. ‘Anyway, you cannot compare the actions of your two friends with my own.’

‘No, I cannot,’ Benedict agreed fervently as he gathered her clasped hands to his chest. ‘Genevieve, I may not have realised—may not have wished to acknowledge, until six nights ago, that what I feel for you is love—’

‘Gratitude.’ She attempted to pull away from him, her heart heavy.

A pull Benedict easily resisted by holding all the tighter to her fingers. ‘But I knew it when I heard the sound of the gun firing, and the bullet whistling, and knew that if I did not step in front of you it would pierce your heart and kill you and take you away from me for ever,’ he finished firmly.

‘I—you—’ Genevieve looked up at him uncertainly. ‘You realised
then
that you loved me?’

‘With just as much force as that bullet entering my side.’ He nodded determinedly. ‘I already knew that I admired you for your fortitude and strength during those terrible years of your marriage, that with you I laughed as I have not laughed with anyone for years, that your body excites me in ways I had never imagined,’ he added huskily. ‘But they were feelings and emotions that, until I thought I might lose you, I did not recognise as being love. I cannot lose you, Genevieve. Ever. I love you. I will always love you. You are my Warrior Duchess.’ He became silent as Genevieve slipped one of her hands free and placed gentle fingertips against his lips.

‘Once I am your wife I shall be your Warrior Lady,’ she corrected. ‘If you will have me?’

‘If I will have you?’ Benedict groaned. ‘Genevieve—my love, I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my days showing you, telling you, how much I love and want you!’

‘As I will spend the rest of my days showing you, telling you, how much I want and love you, too,’ she vowed huskily.

It was, Genevieve realised, more than she had ever hoped for. A man she not only trusted but would love for ever, as she now had absolutely no doubts that Benedict would love her.

‘Why do you have that cat-who-lapped-the-cream smile upon your lips, love? And why is Sandhurst scowling across at you so disgruntledly whilst doing his damndest to look as if he is interested in the Earl of Ramsey’s conversation?’ Benedict eyed his wife of but a few hours suspiciously three weeks later as the two of them strolled amongst the guests at their wedding supper being held at their London home, their four closest friends, Rupert and Pandora Stirling, and Dante and Sophia Carfax, having stood up for them at St George’s Church, in Hanover Square.

Genevieve met that suspicion with wide and guileless eyes. ‘I really cannot say.’

‘Cannot or will not?’ Benedict prompted indulgently, only too well aware, after three weeks of sharing days of laughter and nights of passion with this beautiful woman, that she did nothing without purpose.

She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. ‘I merely mentioned to the Earl of Ramsey that I had seen his daughter Charlotte and Sandhurst alone together in the conservatory earlier, and that perhaps he might wish to talk to Sandhurst on the matter of his intentions towards his daughter.’

‘Was that altogether fair to Charlotte Darby, when she has only recently had such a lucky escape from her previous fiancé?’ Benedict glanced across to where the two men were still in conversation, Ramsey looking coldly determined, Sandhurst having a hunted look in his blue eyes.

Genevieve shrugged. ‘I believe, his daughter having so narrowly escaped being married to a man who is now known to be both a cheat at cards and a bankrupt, that Ramsey will keep a diligent eye on the next man who wishes to become his son-in-law. As I have no doubts that Charlotte, being as you once remarked,
of a romantic frame of mind, would very much enjoy being married to a man as handsome as Sandhurst.’

‘A Greek god, as I believe you once referred to him …?’ Benedict recalled disdainfully.

‘Besides which,’ Genevieve continued as if he had not spoken, ‘Sandhurst would be a fool to refuse the opportunity to take an heiress such as Charlotte as his wife. And he is many things, but not a fool.’

Benedict arched dark brows. ‘And are those the only reason for your … matchmaking?’

Her mouth tightened. ‘Well, there is still the little matter of Sandhurst having once tried to play me for a fool.’

Benedict gave a shake of his head as he chuckled; he should have realised that his Genevieve would not allow that incident to go unpunished. ‘So you have decided that his punishment for that is to be married to a romantic chit whose father will keep such a tight rein on him he will never be able to draw so much as another breath without Ramsey breathing down his neck?’

Genevieve smiled impishly. ‘I believe the three of them will deal very well together, yes.’

Benedict smiled ruefully as he slipped his
arm about the slenderness of his wife’s waist. ‘Remind me never to get on the wrong side of you, love.’

‘Oh, you never could, Benedict.’ She beamed up at him. ‘For, you see, I love you more than anyone or anything and I always will.’

His arm tightened about her waist. ‘And I love you as deeply and for always. When shall we be able to escape this hell and be alone together, do you suppose …?’ He scowled at their numerous wedding guests.

‘Do not glower, Benedict,’ she teased as she ran the lightest of fingertips down the tightness of his clenched jaw. ‘And what do you suppose I was doing in the conservatory earlier?’

Benedict looked down at her hopefully. ‘Looking for a suitable place of seclusion for the two of us to escape to, it is to be hoped?’

‘How well you know me, my darling Benedict,’ Genevieve purred seductively. ‘I also asked Jenkins earlier to see to there being a downy blanket or two in there for the two of us to lie down upon.’

‘And has he carried out your instructions?’ His eyes glittered darkly.

‘Come and see.’ She took his hand in hers and the two of them slipped away to the privacy
of the conservatory, where the bride and groom proceeded to show each other just how much they would enjoy ‘loving and cherishing’ each other for the rest of their lives …