Secrets of Midnight (42 page)

Donovan glanced at the other torn half of the letter in
his hand, but he had no stomach to read further. No stomach because suddenly he
was so furious with himself that he didn't know what to do.

Damn him for a fool, how could he not have seen it?
That time last week when he had tried to kiss Corisande and she had panicked,
then
cried herself to sleep? How she had tried so
desperately to run from him the other night—even attempting to jump from the
balcony—and he had demanded why she was afraid of him? But maybe she hadn't
been running from him as much as from something else . . . maybe feelings that
frightened her so . . . feelings he had sensed all along ran as deep and as
fierce as his own . . .

Cursing his blindness, cursing himself for having
spoken to her so callously last night on the ship when she had come to thank
him, Donovan stuffed the torn letter in his pocket and sprinted outside, his
heart thundering in his ears as he headed for the stable.

***

"What do you mean he's not here?" Corisande
began to think she would have to shake an answer from Henry Gilbert, who was
gaping at her so fearfully, his Adam's apple bouncing. "I've no pistol,
Henry! I'm not going to shoot you! I just want to know where Donovan—"

"Th-the stable, I think. A few moments ago—I
imagine
to get
his horse. He . . . he said he was
going to London."

"Oh, Lord."

She fled back outside, wondering wildly if she had
missed him. Henry Gilbert had been so engrossed in his work when she burst into
the library, who could say if it had been a few moments ago or maybe a quarter
hour ago that Donovan had left? She must have frightened the poor man to death,
too, papers flying into the air as he dropped to his knees and ducked behind a
chair. It had been so comical she might have laughed, but she didn't feel at
all like laughing.

She'd never ridden so hard, exhausting poor Pete. He
would never make it any farther, not to Helston, and certainly not to London.
She ran to the stable, her lungs hurting, already so out of breath.

She couldn't believe Donovan would leave her without
even saying good-bye—ah, yes, she could, and she couldn't blame him. Yet it
still made her angry all the same and—and, oh, please, please, may he still be
in the—

Corisande gasped, spinning so crazily out of the way as
a horse and rider galloped through the stable doors that she lost her balance
and fell flat on her face, the wind knocked from her. For a moment she could
only lie there, coughing at the dust and bits of hay settling around her, but
suddenly she was hauled to her feet, coming face to face with Donovan.

"Corie? Good God, woman, are you all right?"

She stared up at him, so grateful that she'd caught him
in time, so giddily happy that he hadn't left yet for London, so . . . so angry
that he was going to leave without saying good-bye!

"You . . . you cad! Scoundrel! Reckless horseman!"

"Reckless horseman?"

"You could have killed me!
Killed me!
And I came all this way to find you!"

"You came to find me?"

"Yes, that's only fair, isn't it? After all the
times you had to come after me? But then Gilbert said you were going to London
and—and without even a good-bye and . . . and you're going to annul me, aren't
you?"

"Actually," he said huskily, drawing her into
his arms, "I'd annul you just for the chance to start over with you again
as my bride, Corie, if I thought it might help me win your love."

As tears filled her eyes, Corisande plucked at Donovan's
coat; she had suddenly grown so flustered. "I . . . I don't think that
will be necessary, my lord."

"No?"

She shook her head, swallowing hard so that she might
continue to speak. "I think I've been quite won over already . . . quite
won over. I'm just so sorry, Donovan, that it took me so—"

She didn't have to finish. Donovan's kiss was so warm,
so tender, that she felt her heart filling with unimaginable joy. And when he
finally pulled away from her, long, long moments later, he had the funniest,
wryest smile on his lips.

"I wasn't going to London, you know."

"No?"

He shrugged. "No. Couldn't leave you. That's all
there is to it. I guess you're stuck with me, woman, for better or worse,
informer or not—"

"Oh, no, Donovan, I never believed you were an
informer! I only said that because—"

Again Donovan silenced her, this time with a finger
placed gently to her lips. Later, he thought, later he would tell her about
Jack Pascoe, but not now. Not now.

"That's all behind us, Corie. Are we agreed?"

She nodded, and he drew her close, hugging her fiercely
to him as he murmured against her hair, "And no more fair trading, are we
agreed? After seeing that revenue cruiser, I can't bear the thought that—"

"Agreed."

She'd answered so hoarsely that he drew back to look
into her face, only to discover tears coursing down her cheeks.

"Corie?"

"I want you to find your daughter, Donovan, I
truly do, and I'll do anything I can to help you. I'll love her as if she were
my very own. But for you to go behind enemy lines—"

"There won't be any enemy lines, not in Lisbon,"
he said softly, watching surprise light her face. "Paloma's been found. My
daughter's been found. We have only to go get her, Corie. Will you come with me
to bring my little girl home?"

Corisande reached up to cradle his face, her lips
sweetly, so sweetly touching his, and Donovan knew that he needn't have asked. But
he couldn't help himself from asking for one final agreement when she drew away
from him a moment later, her beautiful eyes shining.

"One last thing, Corie. Would you promise here and
now that you'll never call me lambkins?"

"Only if you promise never to call me a shrew."

"Oh, you're no shrew, woman." Donovan hugged
her against him, his smile as teasing as her own. "Just lively. And I
wouldn't want you any other way."

About the Author

Miriam Minger
is the award-winning, critically acclaimed author of ten historical romances
.
 
She also writes
inspirational romantic thrillers as M.C. Walker, and is the co-author of the
popular Little Mike and Maddie series of children’s picture books about a
lovable pair of dogs and their motorcycle adventures.
 

Historical Romances
by Miriam Minger:

Twin Passions

Stolen Splendor

A Hint of Rapture

Captive Rose

Defiant Impostor

The Pagan’s Prize

Wild Angel

Secrets of Midnight

My Runaway Heart (sequel to Secrets of Midnight)

Wild Roses (sequel to Wild Angel)

Inspirational
Romantic Thrillers by M.C. Walker:

Blood Son

Children’s Picture
Books by Miriam Aronson:

Little Mike and Maddie’s First Motorcycle Ride

Little Mike and Maddie’s Black Hills Adventure

Little Mike and Maddie’s Christmas Book

For information about the above titles, visit
www.walkerpublishing.net
or write to
[email protected]
.