The Wild One (37 page)

"I'm not going back. You go, take Charlotte
if you wish, but, by God and the devil,
I
am not going!"

They faced each other from across the room,
his eyes blazing with hurt, hers silently apologetic, neither
moving. Then, with a sigh, she rose from the chair, her skirts
rustling as she crossed the floor to where he stood, sidling close
to him and laying her cheek against his heart. "Then I'm not going
back either, Gareth." She put her arms around him and stared at the
flickering candle. "If you want to stay here and prove something to
yourself, to the world, I'll stand by you. If you want to fight for
Snelling, I'll bite my tongue and pick up the pieces when you get
hurt. I don't like what you're doing, I'm going to worry myself
sick over it — but if this is what you must do, I won't leave you."
She took a deep, shaky breath. "Just … don't get yourself
killed."

"Or you'll never forgive me."

"Or I'll never forgive you."

His anger faded as quickly as it come. He
pulled her slight body against him and rested his cheek on the
crown of her head, grateful for her reluctant support, yet already
anticipating the repercussions of her actions.
Lucien
.
Bloody hell. That was
all
he needed. But he really couldn't
blame her for what she had done, couldn't be angry with her —
especially after she'd not only forgiven him for misleading her
about the fighting, but had just pledged to tough it out with him
when she could so easily go back to Blackheath and Lucien's
more-than-capable protection.

"Juliet?"

"Gareth?" she mimicked, in a hopeful little
voice.

They stared at each other, their lips
twitching.

"Ah, the devil," he muttered, laughing, and,
bending his head, claimed the parted lips turned so eagerly up to
his own.

Chapter 29

Dawn.

Juliet was snuggled cozily against her
husband's chest, her head pillowed in the cup of his shoulder, his
arm cradling her body close to his, when something penetrated her
slumber and nudged her awake. Blearily, she opened her eyes. In the
early-morning stillness she could hear a commotion off in the
direction of the manor house.

She didn't need to be a fortune teller to
know what it was all about.

Lucien had arrived.

She lifted her head. Gareth, on his back,
was sound asleep and snoring lightly, his eyelids dancing slightly
in a dream. He felt warm and sleepy and delicious, and Juliet hated
to wake him.

But the commotion was coming closer. She
could hear a servant's voice raised in protest, Snelling's
wheedling attempts to placate —

And the duke.

"Get in my way, Snelling, and I promise you
my horse will take great pleasure in walking over you. Now,
stand aside
."

"Really, Your Grace, don't you think it's
just a
little
bit early to go disturbing the lad, especially
after he fought so well last night?"

"Your sniveling protests are beginning to
irritate me beyond the restraints of my patience. I shall see my
brother, and I shall see him
now
."

"But Y-Your Grace, he's
working
for
me ..."

"
Not any more, he's not!
"

They were just outside the dower house now.
On the steps. In the next second, the Duke of Blackheath would be
pounding the door down.

"Gareth!" Juliet shook his shoulder, the
powerful muscles wonderfully sculpted by the soft, buttery light of
morning. "Gareth, wake up — Lucien's here."

"Hmmm?" He opened his eyes, staring blankly
at the ceiling for a moment. Then the pounding downstairs started,
and he flung a hand across his brow, wincing with each loud bang.
"Oh bloody hell, my aching head ..."

"Gareth, you've
got
to see him. He'll
break the door down if you don't."

But the duke was not so barbaric as all
that. As Gareth crawled wearily from the bed, scowling and rubbing
his bloodshot eyes, they both heard Lucien's terse orders.

"Bring me the key, Snelling."

"'Sdeath," Gareth swore and pulled on his
breeches. He went to the window and flung it wide. "For God's sake,
Lucien, do you know what time it is?" he shouted.

"Get down here
now
, Gareth!"

"Sod off — I'm going back to sleep."

And with that, Gareth yanked the window shut
and sank down on the bed, elbows on his knees as he rubbed his
aching temples.

Juliet sat beside him, curved an arm around
his shoulders, and pulled him unresistingly close. She kissed his
ear, the side of his head, the silky, sleep-mussed hair that hung
over his brow. "Go; get it over with," she said quietly, sliding a
hand across his chest and reveling in its breadth and strength as
she rubbed it lightly. "You'll feel better afterward."

"Mmmmm. ..." He was kissing her back, now,
his lips making trails of fire all down the side of her neck. "You
think so, do you?"

"I do." She smiled and laid her cheek
against his. "Besides, you know he's not going to go away. He's not
going to leave you alone until he's satisfied that you're all
right. So go down there, confront him, prove to him he has no
reason to fear for you. He's your brother, Gareth. He's here
because he loves you — not because he wants to make your life
miserable."

"He's here because he's a right controlling
bastard, Juliet. Nothing more."

"No, Gareth.
He's here because he's your
brother and he loves you.
"

He sat there beside her for a long moment, a
hundred emotions playing over his face. Then, with a heavy sigh, he
slid his palms up over his cheeks, blinked, and got to his feet.
His shirt was draped across the back of a chair. When he picked it
up and began to put it on, the big purple bruise visible beneath
his right arm caused Juliet to wince as though it were her own. But
he paid it no heed. He merely tucked the shirt into his breeches,
raked a hand through his hair, and leaned down to kiss her. "Keep
my side warm, all right?"

"Of course," she said softly.

And then, still in his bare feet, he opened
the bedroom door and walked out.

~~~~

He's here because he loves you.

Her words rang in Gareth's head with every
step he took down the stairs, across the foyer, and to the front
door. He paused for a moment before it, taking a deep, bracing
breath. And then he unlocked it and pulled it open.

There was Lucien.

His brother stood on the lawn holding
Armageddon's reins, his back toward the door. Snelling and the
servant were halfway back to the manor house, gone, no doubt, to
fetch the key. And then Lucien turned, and for the briefest of
moments, Gareth saw the tiny worry-lines that bracketed the duke's
eyes, the tension around his mouth — until his brother's face
hardened and those black eyes began to glitter with fury.

He's here because he loves you.

"Ah, there you are, my dear boy —"

"Don't patronize me," Gareth snapped. "I
know why you're here. I know what you want from me, what you want
to say to me. Well, I'm not leaving, Lucien. I'm not leaving, and
neither is Juliet, and if you want me to go back to the castle,
you're going to have to drag me off by the ear."

Lucien's brows rose. "What is this?"

"You heard me. For the first time in my life
I am actually supporting myself, instead of living off your charity
and holdings, and it feels good. Damned good. I won't have you take
that away from me, Lucien."

"My dear boy. There is no need to be so
defensive. I have no intention of taking anything away from you ...
but really, there
are
other ways to make money besides
fighting."

"I have to start somewhere, don't I?"

Lucien cast a quick glance at Snelling's
retreating back and led Armageddon over to the stairs atop which
Gareth so defiantly stood. He stared harshly up at his younger
brother and in an angry whisper, snapped, "You are a fool, Gareth.
Do you know what sort of man you're dealing with?"

"I have a damned good idea."

"You have a damned good idea," the duke
muttered in disgust. "Now, you listen to me and listen well.
Snelling is dangerous. He's an opportunist and a cheat who will go
to any lengths to make money, and he doesn't give a damn whom he
crushes along the way. Do you understand me, Gareth?"

Gareth made a noise of scoffing dismissal.
"My, my, for a man who associates with kings, princes, statesmen
and other assorted bluebloods, you certainly do know a lot about
the lowly Jonathan Snelling," he mocked.

"I only know what Fox told me last night.
And
he
, as a barrister, is certainly in a position to
know."

Gareth shifted uncomfortably and looked
away.

"Three years ago, Snelling was accused of
fixing horse races," the duke continued heatedly. "The only thing
that saved him was his acquaintance with an influential member of
the Jockey Club whom, it is widely believed, Snelling bribed to
keep quiet. The year before
that
he was caught cheating at
cards at his club in London. Sir Maudsley, who lost four thousand
pounds to him that night, saw him do it and called him out on the
spot. But the duel was never fought. And do you know why it wasn't
fought, Gareth? Because Snelling never showed up for his dawn
appointment. He quit the country and went to the Continent, hiding
out there until Maudsley conveniently died!"

"So he's a coward with a tainted past,"
Gareth said, shrugging. He folded his arms and, curling his toes
around the edge of the top step, leaned negligently against the
doorframe. "Who cares? He's paying me good money."

"I'll pay you five times what he's giving
you if you'll just come home where you belong."

Gareth gave a bitter laugh. "Why should I do
that? Why should I — after all your taunts about how worthless I
am, how I'm a good-for-nothing wastrel, how you're sick to death of
having to rescue me from one scrape or another — why should I come
back with you, only to suffer more of the same abuse?"

"Because," Lucien said gruffly, "I think you
are in danger here, that's why."

"You're treating me like a child again,
Lucien. I dislike it."

"Yes, I suppose I am ... but God help me,
you were a damn sight easier to handle when you were acting like
one."

Gareth raised his brows and stared at his
brother. Lucien unflinchingly held his gaze then lookred out over
the river, his jaw hard. An awkward silence hung between them.
Finally, Gareth sighed and sat down on the top step, raking both
hands through his hair. "I daresay that's the closest thing to a
compliment I've yet to hear from you."

"Yes, well, keep at it the way you're going,
and you just might get an apology out of me as well."

"That'll be the bloody day."

Lucien, still holding Armageddon's reins,
mounted the steps. He, too, sat down, the tails of his black frock
just inches from his younger brother. The two sat together in
silence for a long moment.

"I treated you abominably," Lucien finally
said.

"Yeah, you were a right bastard."

"So will you come back to Blackheath?"

Gareth shook his head. "I cannot."

"Care to tell me why?"

"I'm determined to make a new life for
myself. I know Juliet summoned you, and that she regrets the
rashness of doing so; I know you came here thinking you had to
rescue me from yet another scrape. But those days are behind me,
Lucien. I have a wife and baby to look after now. They have faith
in me, believe in me when no one else thinks I'm worth the polish
on my boots. I won't let them down."

"I see," the duke murmured, slowly. And
then: "Would you like any assistance? I can send a servant to help
—"

"No. I want to do this by myself.
Have
to do this by myself. I don't need my big brother to
help me."

"You sound very determined."

"I am."

"Well, then." The duke rose to his feet,
unsmiling. "I guess there is no need for me to remain here." He
walked down the steps, turned, and stood there for a moment looking
up at Gareth. An odd look touched his stark features. Not quite
admiration, not quite pensiveness, not quite worry — but maybe a
combination of all three. "Just promise me one thing."

Gareth raised a brow in question.

"That if you get in over your head, you'll
contact me." His black eyes stared levelly into Gareth's, and
Gareth realized that, for the first time, his brother was treating
him as an equal. "Sometimes it takes more courage for a man to put
aside his pride and admit he needs help than to try to manage on
his own."

"I shall remember that."

"You do that," Lucien said. Then, without a
backward glance, he swung up on Armageddon, touched his heels to
the stallion's sides, and rode off.

Chapter 30

By the time Gareth showed up at the barn to
begin his morning's training, his head had long since ceased to
ache.

This morning, his sparring partner was
Dickie Noring, a likeable, up-and-coming young lad whom Snelling
had recruited during a trip to Bristol. Dickie had worked in and
around ships for most of his eighteen years and was more of a
brawler than a boxer. But he was strong, keeping Gareth on his toes
as the two circled each other and traded punches. Gareth was
enjoying himself, taking pleasure in his own fitness and strength.
But try as he might, he could not keep his mind on what he was
doing. Lucien's dawn visit kept replaying itself through his
mind:

You're treating me like a child again,
Lucien. I dislike it.

Yes, I suppose I am ... but, God help me,
you were a damn sight easier to handle when you were acting like
one.

"Guard your face better than that, Dickie!"
Snelling called out as Gareth's fist glanced off the other man's
cheekbone.