A Belated Bride (41 page)

“It is, isn’t it?” Lucien said, coming forward to take Emma by the arm. He gently guided her to the door. “Per- haps you should all retire to the library to toast Jane’s good news. I believe Hastings refilled the decanter with cognac just this morning.”

Emma brightened. “Oh, the very thing! Come, Sir Loughton, Jane. I’ll get some glasses. We have another wedding to plan!” Miraculously restored to spirits, she bounded from the room.

Sir Loughton caught Lucien’s gaze and a moment of understanding passed between them. “Quite right, Wex- ford,” the baron said. “We’ll talk later.” He reached for Jane’s hand, but she turned to Arabella and gave her a swift hug. Lucien watched as Jane whispered something in Arabella’s ear that caused her to chuckle and hug her aunt fiercely.

Sir Loughton coughed. “Come, m’dear. No more to be done here.” He gently pulled his intended back to his side and they left.

Lucien crossed the room and closed the door. His aunt never cried. She never laughed, either, now that he consid- ered it. He was beginning to see why Liza was so unhappy at Aunt Lavinia’s.

From across the room, Arabella smiled at him, her gaze bright and unwavering. “You were saying something before they came in. What was it?”

Lucien raked a hand through his hair. “Bella, there are things we should talk about. I don’t want there to be any secrets between us.”

“No,” she said slowly, some of the light fading from her gaze. “I suppose you are right. There are things we both should say.”

There was a flurry of activity outside of the room, and Robert’s and Liza’s excited voices joined Emma’s and Jane’s. Lucien cursed as the door burst open once again, and Robert entered, pulling Liza behind him.

“Arabella! Look!” Robert held out his hand, an odd assortment of clay balls resting in his palms.

“Robert, your legs . . .” She couldn’t seem to look away from the sight of her brother standing before her.

“Oh, Lord, you didn’t know. I got excited and forgot—” He broke off when she pressed a hand to her mouth, then said gruffly, “Now don’t go all missish on me. It was just a matter of time. You said it yourself, over and over.”

“Only you didn’t believe me.”

He laughed. “Crow all you like.” He selected one of the clay balls and handed it to Arabella, his voice quavering with excitement. “Look.”

Arabella smiled uncertainly. “Crack it open,” Robert said.

She closed her hand over it and pressed. With a loud pop, the ball broke open, something sparkling among the

broken bits of clay.
“Robert,”
she breathed. “The treasure!”

He laughed. “We’re rich! I found it in the old oak tree in the garden.”

“You?”
Liza said, from where she’d been silently standing by the door. “What do you mean,
you
found it?” “
We,
then,” he said amiably, sending her a warm glance

that made Lucien frown.

But he was instantly distracted when Arabella turned to him, her hand held out. “Is it of much value?”

He picked up the sapphire and held it toward the light. “The quality is astounding. How many are there?”

“I don’t know,” Liza said. “I didn’t have time to see before the li—”

“We’ll have to go back and check,” Robert said, send- ing a quelling glance at Liza. “Only this time, I will do it myself.”

Liza opened her mouth to protest, but Robert grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the door. He stopped there and tossed Arabella a grin. “Sorry to run, but Aunt Emma is waiting for us to join her in the library.”

With that, he left, hauling a protesting Liza after him.

Arabella barely waited for the door to close before she crossed to it. She took a gilded chair from nearby and wedged it firmly under the knob. “There,” she said with satisfaction. “That should keep them out.”

Lucien’s lips twitched.

Arabella walked to the settee and sat down. “Now come and tell me what it is you have to say.”

Lucien took the chair opposite hers, wanting to see every expression on her face. He wondered desperately where he should start.

She cleared her throat. “I suppose you are going to tell me about when your father died.”

“Yes.” That seemed the best place to begin. “When I discovered the true state of affairs of my father’s estate, Aunt Lavinia suggested I marry Sabrina.”

Arabella nodded, her face shuttered, and Lucien con- tinued quietly. “Bella, I told her no. Selfish man that I am, I preferred to have you with me in poverty than to live without you.” A bitter smile twisted his lips. “But some- one made me see the error of my ways.”

Her brows dipped, but only for a second. When she met his gaze, a flicker of pain lit the brown depths to amber. “My father.”

Lucien nodded. “My aunt had written him and told him the truth of our finances and that I was determined to wed you. He had not yet wasted your inheritance, and the idea of his daughter throwing herself away on a man who stood on the brink of ruin was untenable.

“Bella, I should have resisted, but he made me aware of the true horror of my future situation in such a way . . . Suffice it to say that by the time he left, I knew I could not subject you to the financial horror that awaited me.”

And that, Arabella thought bitterly, was the ultimate irony. Rather than see his daughter with the man she loved, braving poverty together, her father had confined her to poverty in the country, alone and ruined. As the years passed and he lost more and more of their fortune, she wondered if he ever thought of the happiness he had robbed from her. “And so you married Sabrina.”

“After I had given up hope of having you, I didn’t care. Sabrina seemed like a logical choice. She was wealthy and willing to marry.”

“Lucien, you don’t need to tell me—”

“I want you to know. That way, nothing will ever come between us.” Lucien shifted restlessly in his chair. “When

Sabrina and I were first wed, I had planned on using her fortune to repair my father’s mismanagement. But after we married, I couldn’t do it. The problem wasn’t hers, it was mine. And though she was my wife, she was concerned only with her own amusement and not my dealings.”

Arabella hoped Lucien didn’t expect her to maintain such an attitude. She had every intention of being an active partner in his affairs. “That was very unnatural of her.”

“There was very little that was natural about Sabrina,” he said with a humorless smile. “Her moods were extreme, to say the least, and I was glad she took so little interest. I took what little capital I could raise and began to invest. It was a difficult venture and I put endless hours into it. Hours away from my house, away from Sabrina. I was gone so often, I didn’t realize that her uneven spirits had progressed so badly that.. .” He stopped, his face shadowed with remem- bered pain.

“One day, I arrived home just in time to see her fly into a passion and attack one of the servants with her riding whip. If I hadn’t been there, she would have killed the girl.”

“Good God!”

“I immediately put everything aside and took Sabrina to the country, and placed her under the care of a physi- cian. She hated it. She paced the floor and refused to eat. It was as if a wild animal had been caged. And she blamed me for her loss of freedom.”

“Lucien, you were helping her.”

“She didn’t see it that way. After several weeks, she grew quieter, more docile. I thought she was better.” He sighed and tilted his head back. “Eventually I was recalled to London to deal with some business matters. When I told Sabrina that I had to go, she asked me not to, begged

me to stay with her. But I had been in the country for weeks, and my business . . .” He passed a hand over his eyes.

“You left?”

Lucien closed his eyes. “Not an hour after my depar- ture, she slipped out of the house and rode a horse she knew was unfit. It bolted across a stream and threw her.” He took a slow breath. “The fall broke her neck.”

“Lucien, you cannot take responsibility for Sabrina’s death. She was ill, her judgment impaired—”

“Which is why I should have stayed,” he said harshly. “It is my fault that she died.”

“Oh, pish-posh! What an idiotic thing to say. You can- not be responsible for anyone’s actions other than your own.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “Besides, how do you know staying would have made any difference? Chances are, she had already decided to leave and your being there wouldn’t have changed a thing.”

He shook his head. Arabella could tell he wanted des- perately to believe the words, but couldn’t.

“You know, Lucien, there comes a time when you have to let those who depend on you make their own decisions, and sometimes their own mistakes.”

From outside the door came a burst of laughter, Robert’s voice raised over them all. Arabella turned toward the sound. “It was the same with my brother. He was determined to join the war effort. He had a very ideal- ized vision of battle and no concept of the true horror. I tried to tell him, but he wouldn’t listen.”

Lucien watched her closely. “So you let him go.”

“He was eighteen at the time, a man fully grown. If I had forced him to remain here, he would have felt as if he were less than he should be. Less than a man. I couldn’t take that from him.”

Lucien’s grip tightened on the chair arm. “There is more, Bella. About us. I haven’t been fully honest with you.”

She shook her head. “Lucien, don’t. I al—”

“Please, let me say this quickly. When Constable Rob- bins came to arrest Wilson, I knew it was only a matter of time before he came for you, as well. I thought if I married you, I could keep you from such a fate. So I went to Aunt Jane and asked her to help me plan the night in the cot- tage. It was no accident, and I—”

In an instant, Arabella was kneeling by his chair, her fingers across his lips. “I already know, Lucien. Edmund told me.”

Lucien caught her hand. “I shall have a few choice words for that jackanapes. He is a hapless fribble.”

“Don’t blame Edmund; he was very,
very
sorry. If it hadn’t been for Liza, he would never have said a word.”

“He is not as sorry as he will be.” Lucien took her hand and placed it on his chest, where his heart beat steadily against her palm. “Bella, can you forgive me? I never should have left you all those years ago. It is my fault you had to endure such circumstances—”

“Pish-posh. Did you wager away my family’s fortune? No. And neither did I. If this mess is anyone’s fault, it is my father’s. And I shall go to his grave this evening and have a word with him about it.”

To Arabella’s relief, Lucien’s mouth twitched and some of the tension left his shoulders. “I still should have been honest.”

“True. I suppose I shall have to punish you.” And oh, how she would enjoy that, Arabella thought, looking at the strong lines of his face, the sensual curve of his mouth.

He raised a brow, his gaze suddenly hot. “And how might you do that, lady wife?”

She ignored the tingles that traced down her spine as his thumb traced lazy circles on the palm of her other hand. There was one more thing Lucien needed to admit to her. And it was the most important confession of all.

“Why did you marry me, Lucien? It wasn’t just to pro- tect me from Constable Robbins, was it?”

“No,” he whispered, kissing her fingers and then pulling her into his lap. His arms enveloped her in a circle of heat. “I love you, Bella. I always have.”

The words slipped into Arabella’s heart and filled her with joy. He loved her. Nothing else mattered.

His kiss was as gentle as the drop of a snowflake, a cherished promise that quickly swelled into a blaze of pas- sion. Without breaking the kiss, Lucien ran his hands over her shoulders and down her back to cup her bottom through the thin material of her gown. Arabella moaned against his mouth, her whole body instantly awash in desire.

Lucien finally broke the kiss, and stared down at her with a look of heated possession. “Perhaps we should retire to our chambers.”

“But I’ve never been kissed in the morning room before. In fact, there are quite a few things I’ve never done in the morning room.” She wiggled in his lap suggestively. He growled. “You have a very interesting way of pun-

ishing a man, love.”

She pulled away to hold his face between her hands. “Don’t expect me to let you off lightly. You know I am a stubborn woman; what I start, I finish.” She took a deep breath, then said, “I love you, too, Lucian—and showing you how much could take a long, long time.”

He brushed a finger across her lips, his face alight with love. “Then we had better get started.”

As she snuggled against him, a sudden thought made her chuckle.

Lucien drew away, a quizzical gleam in his eyes. “What are you laughing about?”

“Aunt Jane. Just before she left, she told me to call on her if I had any trouble getting you to come around.”

His brows rose in an arrogant slash. “What was she going to do? Have her beau challenge me to a duel? I don’t think Sir Loughton would oblige her.”

“Oh, no. She said she’d teach me how to make her sheep tonic.”

He blinked. “She didn’t.”

“Oh, she did. So be forewarned, Lucien.” She placed her fingertips on his lower lip and traced it with a delicate touch. “The Hadley women always win.”

His gaze darkened as he pulled her tightly to him. “As long as I’m the prize.”

Chuckling, Arabella wound her arms around his neck and kissed him.

New York Times
bestselling author KAREN HAWKINS recently moved to sunny Orlando, Florida, so she could take her afternoon writer’s nap on a lounge chair on her lanai beneath gently waving palm fronds. A fervent believer in the benefits of Extra Sleep (as well as the cathartic effects

for her release schedule at
www
.karenhawkins.com
or write to her at P.O. Box 149924, Orlando, FL 32814-9924.

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