A Belated Bride (40 page)

Of course, that had been when she’d been a child, but he didn’t need to know that. She was sure her skill would return as she progressed. Her foot slipped and for one fearful moment, she tottered. But her hands found pur- chase and she managed to regain her balance.

“Damn it, Liza!” he said, his voice hoarse. “Come down now!”

“But the fortune—”

“I don’t give a bloody damn about the fortune!” “Well, I do.” She grasped a thick branch and tested it. It

barely swayed, as she had expected. Perched on a sea cliff, the oak was subjected daily to hardy winds. A weak branch would have blown down long ago.

She carefully put her feet on the limb and reached for the one higher, stopping when her skirt snagged on a branch. “I should try to—”

An outburst of cursing met her words. Liza primly responded, “I’ll toss an apple on your head if you don’t stop saying such vulgar things.”

“There are no apples in that tree. It is an oak and it is the dead of winter.”

“Then I shall break off a limb,” she replied hotly, gath- ering her skirts in one hand and wishing she’d thought to tie them up. Robert had to be the most ungrateful creature alive. Here she was, putting herself in the utmost jeopardy, and all he could do was curse at her.

“Liza . . . please . . . get down from there.” Just the faintest note of supplication colored his words. “You will fall.”

“And if I do?” She looked down at him, her heart sud- denly lodged in her throat. “Don’t pretend you would care.”

There was a long silence and then he said, “Of course I wouldn’t care, but Lucien might. And I damned well don’t want to explain to him what a fool you were.”

Her foot slipped off a branch and she made a mad grasp for a lower branch to regain her balance.

“For the love of—” Robert burst out. He had never felt so helpless in his life. His hands gripped about the handles of his chair, his palms wet.
“Get down from there now!”

She ignored him, climbing with an assurance and com- petency that did nothing to ease his thundering heart.

“Stop glowering like that,” she called. “If I fall, then you can catch me.” She pulled herself onto a branch that creaked noisily in protest.

Robert pushed the chair closer to the tree, muttering

curses as he went. Didn’t she know that he couldn’t catch her? He was a cripple, for God’s sake, unable to help him- self, much less her. And if she died before his eyes . . . He bit his lip until he tasted blood.

She grabbed a bough above her head and hesitated one instant, her foot searching for purchase. To Robert’s strained eyes, the branch looked much too thin to bear her weight. He wished with all his might that his legs were his own again. It should be him in the tree, not Liza.

“I’m almost there,” she called down. The wind buffeted her voice and made it sound as if it came from over the ocean.

He could see her dress fluttering in the stiff breeze, the long pink skirts ruffling about the branches. Overhead, dark clouds swirled and the distant rumble of thunder seemed to portend disaster.

“Robert?”

“What?” he asked through clenched teeth. Was her foot wedged between two branches? Had she caught her dress on a branch and was unable to free herself?

“I’ve reached the hole. I’m about to put my hand in.” “Blast it, Liza! Forget the treasure and come down

from there!”

“Don’t be absurd. I didn’t climb this stupid tree for nothing.” The branches rustled around her.

“Well?” he finally said impatiently, wondering if he should fetch Lucien. Thunder rumbled again, closer this time and he looked uneasily at the quickly darkening sky. “There is nothing in here but marbles,” she said, disap-

pointment evident. “A child’s prank and nothing more.” “Then come down,” he said, too relieved she hadn’t

fallen during her climb to even think about the treasure. “You had better hurry; it is going to rain.”

“Very well. I just wish . . . Here, let me toss a few of them to you.”

A scattering of small red balls came through the branches. Robert leaned over and picked one up. Made of red clay, it was inexpertly formed, too lumpy to be of use as a marble. He stared at it a minute before asking in an odd voice, “Liza, are there more?”

“A whole nest of them.” She tossed several handfuls to the ground. They hit the walkway and bounced in differ- ent directions. “Perhaps we should—”

Thunder rolled overhead, and lightning crashed. Before Robert’s horrified eyes, the tree exploded, the sound deafening. Pieces of bark and limbs flew through the air, the acrid smell of smoke clogging his mind.

Suddenly Robert was no longer on the cliff at Rose- mont. He was at Waterloo, the rancid smell of death choking him, the metallic taste of fear filling his mouth. All around him, people were dying and he could do nothing to help them, nothing to stop the carnage. Noth- ing to keep the blood from soaking into the cold, hard ground.

Only this time, it was Liza.

Her scream rent the air. A haze covered his vision, as if a silk net had been stretched across time and slowed it to one endless heartbeat. As clearly as if he were beside her, he could see her tumble from the branches, her skirt tan- gling about her legs. She plunged headfirst, her arms flail- ing, her face frozen with terror.

Robert closed his eyes. Teeth clenched, he imagined himself reaching for her, catching her, holding her against him, safe and warm and so incredibly alive. No longer was he in his chair, but standing straight and tall, his arms extended, his hands grasping, closing about her.

For one long, breathless moment, he held her, his arms

tightly wrapped around her, his face buried against her bright hair.

Then, slowly, he raised his head and looked into her eyes.

“You . . . you moved,” she said, her voice husky and trembling. “And I—” She gave a convulsive sob and buried her face in his neck.

Robert tightened his hold, afraid to breathe and waken from this dream. A dream in which she was safe and warm, alive in his arms. If he opened his eyes, he would know the truth; would see her crumpled form at his feet.

Her body quivered against his and he marveled at the faint smell of rose that lifted from the silken strands beneath his cheek. Terrified to waken, he simply stood, holding her.

After a long moment, Liza collected herself and gave a shaky laugh. She stepped out of the circle of his arms and looked down at his legs, her blue eyes shining. “Robert, it’s a miracle.”

It was at that second that he realized he was wide awake and he was
standing,
for Christ’s sake. Slowly, afraid to move, he looked down at his legs, astonished to see his feet planted firmly on the ground.

Robert swallowed, intensely aware of every sensa- tion—the feel of the solid earth beneath his boots, the sound of his harsh breathing, Liza’s sweet scent lingering on his collar.

Joy exploded through his veins and he laughed as he caught Liza into a crushing embrace. The movement tilted his none-too-steady knees and sent them careening back to the bench, where he sat down so hard his laughter ended with a muffled grunt, Liza in his lap.

Red-faced, she scooted to his side. “I can’t believe this!”

“Neither do I. But I owe it all to your pigheadedness.” He chuckled and flexed his legs, one after the other.

Another rumble of thunder made him carefully stand. Though a tremor weakened his knees, he stayed erect. “We’d better get inside.”

Liza swiped a hand across her eyes and stood. “Of course.”

Robert looped an arm about her shoulders and said gruffly, “Just to keep my balance.”

She nodded and did not move away, and he noticed that she was indeed the perfect height, the top of her head coming to his brow. They had taken no more than two steps when Robert stopped. His chair lay overturned amid swirling dead leaves and broken branches. Clay balls lay scattered along the path and throughout the brambles of the dead garden.

He removed his arm from Liza’s shoulder and picked up the chair. With a surge of pure energy, he walked to the stone wall and heaved it into the air. It spun in the whitish glow of the approaching storm, the wheels spinning crazily. Then it dropped out of sight, leaving only the fad- ing sound of crashing metal and wood as it bounced off the rocks and fell into the ocean.

Liza slipped an arm about his waist and pulled his weight against her. “Come into the house.”

He nodded and turned with her. When his foot brushed by one of the clay balls, a faint gleam caught his eye. Brows drawn, he bent and picked it up. “Liza, help me gather the rest of these.”

“But why—”

“Hurry. Before the storm arrives.”

Liza frowned, but helped him collect all of the clay balls she could find. The wind increased with each passing minute and the thunder began to rumble closer and closer.

They found the last one and just made it into the house before the storm broke.

From the window of the morning room, Arabella watched as Robert and Liza ran inside. “Lucien!”

“I see him,” Lucien said quietly. He came to stand behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist, his cheek against her hair, his own heart full.

Arabella turned her face against him and clutched his coat. Lucien soothed her hair. “Bella
mia,
don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying.” She sniffed and pulled away to search desperately for her handkerchief.

He watched her dry her eyes. Seeing Robert walk had been her dearest wish, and he had been here, standing beside her, to witness it. As he would be with her from now on, sharing her joys and helping her through the painful times.
If she will have me.

His breath caught in his chest as he looked at her. Lux- urious strands of chestnut hair had pulled free from her ribbon and now curled about her face in a mussed tangle. Her eyes glowed a warm brown; her soft mouth trembled with emotion. Lucien rammed his hands into his pockets and forced himself to turn away from the delectable sight. They were alone, she was rested after her ordeal—now was the time.

He took a deep breath. “Bella, we need to ta—”

The door flew open and Aunt Emma rushed into the room, her gown obviously donned in haste. “Arabella! I don’t know what—” She slid to a stop when she saw Lucien and stood uncertainly, wringing her hands, her eyes wide. “Oh! I didn’t realize you would be in here. And I— Oh, dear!”

“Emma, Lucien is a member of our family now.” Trust warmed Arabella’s voice. Lucien’s heart lowered. How

could he tell her that trust was the last thing he deserved? Reassured, Emma burst out, “Oh, Arabella, I think something horrible has happened. Jane—Sir Loughton—I should have told you about it, but Jane told me not to and so I didn’t, though I knew I should, and I—” She stopped, dropped her face in her hands, and began sobbing loudly.

“And n-now it’s too l-late!”

Arabella paled. “The gaming debt.”

Emma lifted her head, her blue eyes wet with tears. “How did you know about that?”

“I overheard you and Jane talking about it. And I . . .” Arabella stopped and glanced at Lucien, her cheeks flush- ing. But then she said in a resolute voice, “I have the money now.”

So that was what the ten thousand pounds had been for.

Lucien had suspected as much.

“If only Jane had known, then she wouldn’t have—” Emma pressed her handkerchief to her mouth.

“When did she leave?” Arabella asked.

“Last night, after you fell asleep. She said it was just one night and that, all in all, it was a very fair offer.” Emma fixed her wide blue gaze on Lucien. “Do they charge so much in London?”

Lucien managed to say with tolerable sincerity, “Actu- ally, no.”

“Well. That is something! At least she wasn’t cheated.” Arabella made an exasperated noise. “Emma, there is no amount of money to compensate for a woman’s virtue.

Furthermore, I cannot believe Sir Loughton would make such a request. It is very improper.”

Lucien could believe it; he’d seen the way the baron stared at Jane, as if he’d like to both strangle and kiss her at one and the same time. Since Lucien was very familiar

with that feeling, he could only sympathize that circum- stances had led the baron to such extreme actions. Before he could give voice to his opinions, there was a commo- tion in the foyer, and then Jane entered the room, looking slightly flushed, but unharmed.

Emma flew to her sister, flung her arms about her neck, and promptly burst into fresh tears.

“Heavens!” Jane exclaimed. “What is wrong with you?”

“With me? How are
you
? Are you . . . well? Did Sir Loughton—”

“There’s really no need to discuss this here,” Jane said hastily, glancing at Lucien and Arabella. “I’m perfectly fine.”

Sir Loughton entered the room behind Jane. “And feisty as the devil, too.”

With a deafening screech, Emma threw herself in front of Jane and glared at Sir Loughton. “
You bounder!
What do you want? Haven’t you taken enough from her already?”

His eyes twinkled. “Not yet. I’ve one more coming to me.”

Emma gasped. “I cannot believe this! Not content with stealing my sister’s virtue once, you have the effrontery to demand it again! We’d rather pay you the money!”

Sir Loughton frowned. “Lord, no! I’ve too much coin as it is. In fact”—he glanced around the room, his mouth quirking into a grin when he caught sight of Lucien— “I’ve decided I need a spendthrift wife who will go through my fortune as fast as possible and spread it about the countryside.”

Emma blinked. “A wife?”

The baron nodded, then turned to stare at Jane from

beneath his shaggy brows. “And I think I may have found one.”

To Lucien’s astonishment, something amazingly like a simper crossed Jane’s thin face.

“You wish to marry
Jane
?” Emma said.

“Why not? Fine-looking woman, plenty of spice to her, and she don’t bore me to tears, which is something I can’t abide.”

Jane sniffed. “That was hardly the way I would have announced it.”

“It served, didn’t it?” he demanded, his blue eyes sharp with amusement.

Emma clasped her hands together and smiled through her tears. “This is so romantic!”