Barbara Metzger (26 page)

Miles appeared shortly after, ecstatic with his success. He hadn’t found the boys—“I said they’d get home all right, didn’t I?”—but he had managed to foil a highway robbery, and recover Lady Whilton’s stolen wedding gifts. That should put an end once and for all to those London thugs’ disrespect for country justice.

He and the sheriff and every able-bodied man in the village had set off after the Gypsies. Instead, they came upon Pop Bullitt’s gang, which was in the process of holding up Foggarty’s coach, which was bringing Lady Bowles home. Mr. Foggarty was keeping the widow company inside the carriage, such good company that they were not aware of either the holdup or the rescue. The first they knew of danger, in fact, was when Miles threw open the carriage door and shouted, “You are safe, Lady Bowles.”

Her skirts up, his breeches down, they’d never doubted it for a moment. And Admiral Benbow’s niece was looking prettier by the minute to Miles, even if she did have a squint.

His minions took the red-handed rapscallions into the local gaol, and Miles came along to return the stolen goods. He was delighted to take Terwent in custody once he’d heard the whole, except for the parts about Sailor and Handy and the candlestick and the pickle fork and the ghosts. Daphne saw no reason to muddle the case, when Miles was so satisfied. Why, his corner of the county was so law-abiding now, Miles was claiming, he might take time for a jaunt to London, give the fellows there some pointers. Graydon agreed that might be a good idea.

Lady Bowles sailed in, and out again as soon as her bags were packed. Dear Foggarty was taking her to look at some property in Suffolk he was thinking of purchasing. He wanted her opinion, and la, they all knew what that meant. Daphne naively suggested it meant he wanted her opinion, but Graydon privately thought it meant Foggarty wanted a cozy armful for the weekend. He wished them both good luck, and good riddance.

They were all gone, every last one of the distractions, interruptions, and inconveniences. There were no weddings, funerals, robberies, or kidnappings to stop Graydon Howell from saying what he’d been waiting two years to say. There was only a lump in his throat the size of Gibraltar.

He poured himself a glass of wine, but put it down. He needed a clear head if he wasn’t going to make a mull of the thing this time, not Dutch courage. “Daffy, I—”

“You were magnificent!”

She was sitting on the sofa, wearing a look he hadn’t seen on her face since she was seventeen, when he’d rescued her kitten from a tree. Of course, he didn’t deserve her admiration tonight. “Gammon, the youngsters had already saved themselves. I didn’t do anything.”

“Oh, I don’t mean that, although you did look quite the hero, windblown hair, pistol at the ready. Scott could write a poem about you. What I meant was so magnificent, though, was how you didn’t quibble about taking me along, how you handed me a gun, and how you let me decide how much to tell Miles. You didn’t come the toplofty nobleman or the commanding officer even once.”

“Pomeroy would have had seven kinds of fits, wouldn’t he?”

“Eight. He’d never show me the respect of treating me like an equal.”

“Is that what I did, treat you like one of the boys? Lud, Daffy, that’s the last thing I wanted to do!”

And then, without so much as a by-your-leave, Graydon showed her what he
did
want to do, what he had been waiting all these months to do. He took her in his arms and kissed her till her knees turned to water and her blood turned to fire and her brain turned to mush from his touch—and lack of air.

Graydon forced his arms away. “No, I am going to do this right, which I suppose means that I cannot demand you marry me, or insist you have to after that, ah, demonstration of affection. You do love me, Daffy, don’t you?”

“I thought we were just friends,” she said, enjoying herself hugely now.

“Friends! You don’t go around kissing your friends that way, brat. No, you love me,” he said with assurance she could resent, but couldn’t deny. “That kiss only proved it. You always have, but I wasn’t worth it. And I never even knew how much it meant until you stopped.”

“I never stopped, silly.”

“But I didn’t deserve your love, or you, Daffy. You were the best thing in my life, the only thing, and I didn’t know it till it was too late. Then I tried to make you proud of me, tried to become someone you could admire. If I live to be a hundred, Daffy, I’ll keep trying, but don’t make me wait that long, sweetheart, please?”

“Please…?”

He dropped to the floor at her feet. “One knee doesn’t bend all that well.” Then he took both her hands in his and stared up at her. “Please, Daffy, please say you’ll marry me and truly make me the happiest of men.”

Oh, how she wanted to say yes. But. “But what about the other women? I just couldn’t bear it, Gray, if I had to share you.”

“No other woman meant anything to me, sweetheart, and there will never be another one. I can’t swear that my eyes will never wander—even if a fellow owns the finest Thoroughbred, he can’t help admiring a fancy piece of blood and bone—but my body will never follow because my heart won’t let it. I swear. And you don’t have to be dull as ditch-water to be honest. Here.”

Graydon reached into his pocket and retrieved a flat box. He opened it to show a necklace of perfect sapphires, with a diamond heart pendant in the middle.

“Good grief, that’s even finer than Lady Seline’s diamonds! It’s a gift for a mistress, Gray!”

“I know.” He lifted the necklace and handed her a folded paper. On the paper was written
You are my mistress. The mistress of my heart.

Graydon raised the necklace and put it around her neck, where it looked absurd on the high-collared black gown, so he solemnly undid the collar, button by button. The sapphires match your eyes, only they’re not as beautiful.”

There were tears in those eyes. “Oh, Gray, I have waited so long.”

“Too long.” He reached into another pocket and withdrew an official-looking document. “I ordered a special license when I sent for the necklace. Say you’ll marry me, Daffy, and we can get the vicar here tomorrow.”

“What, marry without Mama? I couldn’t do that!”

“She said she’d be thrilled. I asked before they left. And I asked my father, too, in case you’re thinking he’s head of your household. He said it was about time. I’ll ask Dart tomorrow if you want, since he’s Baron Woodhill now, but he can’t refuse my request, not if he wants to learn to drive my chestnuts.”

Daphne pretended to frown, though her heart was smiling. “That’s getting very autocratic of you. You’re not going to be dictatorial and overbearing like your father, are you?”

He kissed her nose. “You’re not going to be high-strung and temperamental like your mother, are you?”

“No, I mean to keep my pistol loaded.”

“We can do better than that, sweetheart. Let me show you.” And he did, in a way that erased the last doubts Daphne ever had. Neither one of them might be perfect, but they’d have a perfect life together.

“Hmm,” he purred some indecent time later. “Remember when you said you wouldn’t marry me if I were the last man on earth?”

“I lied. But you are, for me. The first, last, and always.”

“I love you, Daffy.”

“And I love you. Just don’t call me Daffy.”

He unbuttoned another button.

Ohlman shut the door.