Married By Midnight (26 page)

“
Wait a moment...” Rose cupped a hand to her ear. “Listen. Do you hear that? A vehicle is approaching.”

Samson peered out the dark window. “It is too soon for Charles to return. It must be someone else.”

“
Oh, dear Lord, save us,” the duchess said. “What misfortune will befall us next?”

“
What do you mean?” Rose asked.

The duchess sighed heavily. “What sort of bad character travels anywhere on a night like this? A highwayman, no doubt. I suspect we are about to be robbed.”

Rose scoffed. “I am sure that is not the case.”

Though her skin was prickling. She had witnessed far too much violence in her life not to feel some unease in a situation such as this, for she was a princess from a country that was still raw from the wounds of a revolution that deposed the former king and put her own father—a military general—on the throne in his place.

Though it happened twenty years ago when she was barely old enough to toddle, she would never forget the night an assassin snuck into her father’s bedchamber while she was sitting on his lap in front of the fire. The man had brandished a knife that gleamed dangerously in the firelight. Absolutely terrorized, Rose had watched her father strangle the villain to his death.

She felt that same paralyzing fear now and tried to tell herself it not rational. This was not Petersbourg where her father’s enemies still gathered secretly to plot an overthrow of the New Regime. She and her brothers were in England on a diplomatic visit.

There were no enemy Royalists here. She was quite safe, except for the wind and the rain, of course, but surely the passengers in the approaching vehicle would offer assistance and everything would be fine. In an hour or two, she and the duchess would be enjoying a hot meal while sipping tea in a cozy inn.

As the vehicle rumbled to a halt behind them and the horses shook noisily in the harness, Rose clasped her hands together on her lap to hide the fact that they were trembling.

Samson opened the door and got out. A strong gust of wind blew into the coach and the door slammed shut behind him.

Voices shouted over the roar of the storm. Good Lord, what was happening? Was Samson all right?

Rose slid across the seat to look out the window and nearly swallowed her tongue when the door flew open again and she found herself staring up at a tall man in a top hat and black overcoat, holding himself steady against the wind. It was too dark to make out his face, and the terror she experienced in that moment was more piercing than the panic she’d felt when the coach nearly flipped over and toppled down the hillside.

“
Your Royal Highness!” the man shouted, and she was taken aback by the familiarity in his tone. “May I join you inside?”

Before waiting for an answer, the stranger swung his large frame into the vehicle, removed his hat, and sat down on the facing seat.

As the golden lamplight reached his face, Rose sucked in a breath of surprise.

“
Lord Cavanaugh? Good heavens, what are you doing here?”

“
I am here to rescue you of course,” he replied with a magnificent smile that melted all her fears about highwaymen, but reminded her that they had once flirted shamelessly in Petersbourg, but as soon as her heart had become involved, he had rejected her. Quite cruelly in fact.

Her pride was still bruised by those events, but she would die a thousand deaths before she’d let him see it.

“
My word,” she replied. “How is this possible? Did you somehow learn we were stranded? I was not even aware you were in England.”

Removing his black leather gloves, he shook his head elegantly, and as usual her heart stumbled backwards into that old infatuation that simply would not die, no matter how many times she tried to beat it into submission.

But how could she, when Leopold Hunt was the most darkly sensual and seductive man in the world?

Damn him, and damn her stubborn attraction to him. She hated that he made her feel flustered. She thought she was over that by now. It had been two years, for pity’s sake, and she had done very well since then, behaving with complete indifference toward him as if none of it mattered at all.

“
If I had known,” he said, “I assure you I would have come much sooner, so I must confess the truth. This is an utterly odd coincidence that causes me to wonder if there are higher forces at play. Of course I knew you and your brothers were visiting London, but what in the world are you doing here, Rose, on this remote country road?” His stunning blue eyes turned to the duchess, as if he realized only then that they were not completely alone. “My apologies for the intrusion, madam,” he said with a frown. “We have not yet been introduced.”

“
I do beg your pardon,” Rose quickly interjected.

What was wrong with her? Oh, but she knew the answer to that question. As soon as she recognized the impossibly gorgeous and smoldering Lord Cavanaugh, the rest of the world had simply disappeared. She had become distracted and forgotten about the duchess entirely.

In fact, she had forgotten about everything. The fierce gales. The stinging rain.

Most importantly, her recent engagement which had not yet been announced.

“
Your Grace,” she said, “may I present Leopold Hunt, the Marquess of Cavanaugh and a great hero in the war against Napoleon. Lord Cavanaugh is an old friend of my brother’s. They went to school together in Petersbourg.” She gestured with a hand. “Lord Cavanaugh...the Dowager Duchess of Pembroke.”

“
I am delighted, Your Grace,” he replied. “What brings you both out on a night like this?”

How perfectly agreeable he behaved, as if the awkward, humiliating end to their affair had never occurred.

The coach shuddered in the wind, and another blast of rain struck the windowpanes.

Rose gave the duchess a sidelong glance. “We attended a charitable event in Bath, but were late leaving town. We didn’t expect to encounter such treacherous roads.”

“
Welcome to springtime in England,” the duchess said with a chuckle.

Lord Cavanaugh raised an eyebrow. “Indeed. Well then. I have already spoken to your driver, and I insist that you both join me in my coach. I, too, am on my way to London, but I’ve made arrangements to stay at the Crimson Flower Inn for the night. I can deliver you both there safely, and your good man Samson is transferring your bags to my vehicle as we speak. He promises to meet you in the morning to continue on your way, providing there is no damage to your vehicle of course, in which case you shall ride the rest of the way with me.”

Rose’s pride reared up, and she wished she could reject Lord Cavanaugh’s assistance, but the fact remained—they were stranded and in desperate need of help.

“
We most gratefully accept,” the duchess replied. “How fortunate for us that you came along when you did, Lord Cavanaugh. You are the hero of the day!”

He turned his arresting blue eyes to Rose. “Shall we?”

She managed a polite smile.

The next thing she knew, he was handing her up into his own well-appointed vehicle with warm bricks on the floor, lush velvet seats, and luxurious cushions with gold tassels thrown freely about. The light from a small carriage lamp filled the space with a warm glow, and it smelled cozy and inviting—like apples and cinnamon.

Cavanaugh climbed in and sat down across from her. Though he wore a heavy greatcoat, she could still make out the muscular contours of his body beneath it. Or perhaps she simply remembered all too well those particular details of his appearance—along with the rich, chestnut color of his hair and the unruly manner in which it fell forward around his temples.

It was difficult not to stare at those long black lashes which framed an intense pair of blue eyes—a rare and striking feature on a man. And that mouth...so full of confident sexuality.

He was a devastatingly handsome man by all accounts and she wondered if he had any notion of the power he possessed. Did he know that he could make a woman swoon and ruin her for life with a mere glance in her direction?

Oh, probably.

As Rose sat back in the seat and settled in, she wondered if his chance arrival and heroic chivalry was an event too good to be true, or if it was the worst possible thing that could ever happen—for she certainly did not wish to be tempted away from her fiancé. Not only was Archduke Joseph the future emperor of Austria, he was, by all accounts, utterly besotted with her and would never in a thousand years break her heart.

If only she could be more indifferent toward Lord Cavanaugh and his extraordinary charisma.

She feared this was going to be a bumpy ride.

Acknowledgements

Special thanks to my cousin and critique partner Michelle Phillips (a.k.a Daisy Piper) for your constant support and creative assistance, editor
Patricia Thomas
for helping to make this book shine, and reader Michelle Whitney, whose lovely gift of needlepoint hangs in my dining room where I write and still inspires me with each new project. Thanks also to my agent Paige Wheeler at Folio Literary Management for thirteen years of excellent representation.

Thanks also to Romance Writers of Atlantic Canada, the Eloop, the Summit Authors and most especially my husband Stephen and my daughter Laura for all the joy and laughter you bring to my life. Lastly to all the readers who have sent me letters and emails over the past few years asking about Garrett’s story. Your support and encouragement is what kept my Pembroke Palace fires burning. Thank you!