Hero, Come Back (24 page)

She ignored him, fixing her gaze on the faker below, and scooted down the path as quickly as possible. The impostor shouted encouragement.

Grimly, Harry descended with less stealth and more purpose, allowing the impostor to see him.

The blackguard smiled, a repulsive uplift of the lips. “Hurry, darling, so I can protect you.” He moved to intercept Jessie.

No matter how much Harry rushed, Jessie had the easier descent. He wanted to shout at her to remember last night, to believe in him, but what was the use? She either trusted him or she didn’t. Apparently she didn’t. If only he’d been frank with her…but he’d learned the habit of secretiveness in a hard school. He’d never imagined it could work against him. And now, right before his eyes, the woman he loved would be killed.

It would be his fault.

As she reached the lower slope, she glanced at him and seemed to slow. She wound out of sight behind the jagged boulders, and the impostor must have lost sight of her, too, for he dropped the open, earnest mask and donned an expression of fierce intent. He whipped out a pistol and pointed it at Harry. “Don’t come any closer,” he shouted. “Or you know what I’ll do.”

Harry loosened the knife in his sleeve and kept coming. It was a race now. Each man moving to catch Jessie and seal his victory over the other. The stranger moved to the place where she should come out.

She didn’t.

Instead she appeared from around the edge of the cliff, walking on the sand right toward the impostor.

“No!” Harry shouted, and raised his knife. But he was far away and had no chance of an accurate throw. He might hit Jessie. He slid, landing hard on his rear, rising to hurry again.

The blackguard grinned and strolled toward her, pointing the pistol at her head.

Still walking, she stooped to the ground, rose to her full height, and as he reached out to grasp her, she threw two handfuls of sand in his eyes.

He staggered back, clutching his face and cursing.

Harry made a last, suicidal leap onto the beach and stumbled on the soft ground.

Baring her boot, Jessie kicked the impostor in the knee.

Harry heard the bone and ligaments crack.

The impostor dropped the pistol. He screamed. Clutching his leg, he fell and rolled in agony.

Picking up the gun, she skipped back, looked at Harry, and in that sweet, pleased tone of hers, she said, “You were right. Kicking him in the knee worked awfully well.”

Harry wanted to shake her, to shout at her, to make it clear she was never to endanger herself again. Instead he stalked toward her and stripped off his black cravat, then his white one.

“Here?” She lavished a flattering look on the vee of his chest, then glanced around. “Now? Don’t you think you ought to tie him up first?”

With a blow of the elbow, Harry knocked the fellow unconscious. “I’m going to tie him up first.” He knelt on the villain’s spine. “Then I’m going to load you on the first coach and send you home to your father with a note to keep you there until you’re no longer a menace to society, which will be never.”

She seated herself on a boulder and watched him truss the bastard like a Christmas goose. “Don’t be silly. I’m not going.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not. Why should I do what you tell me? You’re not my husband. You’re only my lover.”

Harry’s head shot up, and he glared at her.

“And a very exciting lover, too.” She placed the pistol on the flat surface beside her. “Give me one reason for me to leave you.”

“If you stay with me, you’ll be in danger.” Standing, he poked at the stranger’s body with the toe of his now-scuffed best boot. “From people like this.”

“Yes.” She gave the body a thoughtful look. “I can see that would be a problem for a farmer from Derbyshire to be chased by blackguards like this one.”

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and did his best to look forbidding.

Apparently Jessie was not impressed. “In fact, when Lord Granville was shouting that you weren’t who you said you were, I decided he was telling the truth.”

She made him want to snarl—and he did. “If that’s what you believe, why didn’t you go with him?”

“When two men are telling lies, a woman has to make a decision whom to trust, and for me there was never a doubt. I trust you.” The wind tossed tendrils of hair about her delightful face. “I just don’t know who you are.”

She managed to make him feel foolish, and there weren’t very many people who could do that. Taking a breath, he plunged into confession. “I’m the real…I’m your real suitor.” He held his breath, waiting for her reaction.

Covering her chest with her hand, she gasped, “The real Lord Granville!” Then she dropped the pretense of surprise. “On the path, I wondered if that wasn’t the case. The nose looks familiar, like one I might have broken.”

He grunted. She had to bring
that
up.

“Lord Granville. Sent by my father and your mother to be my fiancé.” Her delectable lips curled derisively. “I wonder why they thought I would have you.”

“You’ve got a wicked tongue.”

“So you said last night.” She chuckled. “Well, my Lord Granville, what have you been doing all these years while your poor mother tended your lands?”

He poked morosely at the body on the sand. “Attracting trouble, it seems.”

“Making enemies. Getting shot at and stabbed. Watching every word, learning every exit, knowing far too much about escaping a villain. Do you know what
I
think? I think you’re a famous thief.”

“Of all the ridiculous …I am not a famous thief! I’m a spy.” And he had never blurted that out in his entire life.

She didn’t seem particularly surprised. “On which side?”

“England’s.”

“Yet a girl has to wonder why you didn’t tell me last night.”

“I keep secrets well.”

She considered him narrowly.

Apparently she wanted more than that. “I was an idiot.”

She hopped off the rock and strolled toward him, hips rolling, chin jutted out. “You’re still an idiot if you think you’re going off on your dangerous adventures without me. You’re wearing that faraway, noble expression that says you’re going to abandon me.”

“Not abandon you.”

“Pardon me. Go away and never see me again so I won’t be in harm’s way.” She poked him in the chest with her finger. “Your sense of honor makes me sick. And it’s not going to work, because wherever you go, I’ll go, too, and if you think I’m in danger in England, wait until you travel to India or Egypt or America. I’ll wager there are hundreds of men there who would kidnap me for their love slave.”

He broke into a sweat at the very thought. “You are not going to do that.”

“You can’t stop me. There’s only one thing that can stop me.”

“Let me hazard a guess. A ring around your finger?”

“More to the point, one around yours. A good, tight one. After all, a wedding ring is supposed to cut off your circulation.”

“Assassins,” he said incoherently.

“We’ll face them together. Surely your other spy friends sometimes marry.”

He thought of Throckmorton and Celeste. Of MacLean and Enid. Of their love. Of their devotion. Grudgingly, he admitted, “Sometimes.”

“I know you, Harry. You’ll protect me. You’re my chosen mate.”

The way Jessie talked about Harry, the way she looked at him …she made him feel impregnable. “I’m leaving the spy business.”

“So eventually the assassins will stop. In the meantime, for our honeymoon, you can take me shooting in Scotland. I need to learn how to hit a target.”

A honeymoon. She was planning a honeymoon. “This is blackmail.”

“Poor Harry,” she mocked. “Blackmailed into marriage. Do you mind so much?”

“Perhaps.” Taking her by the waist, he looked down into her warm, amber eyes. “Did you choose me because I’m the best of your three suitors?”

She dimpled. “That’s not saying much.”

Silently, Harry insisted on an answer.

Touching his lips with her fingertips, she said softly, “No, silly. I choose you because I love you. I slept with you because I love you. I want your children…because I love you.”

Flinging back his head, he laughed the hearty laugh that she had taught him. Picking her up, he swung her in a joyous circle. She shrieked with mirth, and when he set her on her feet again, he wrapped her in his arms and held her, as he would hold her for the rest of her life, and said the words he never thought he could say. “My darling Jessie, I love you, too.”

Stephanie Laurens is the New York Times bestselling author of eleven other Cynster novels, including her latest, The Perfect Lover, and three Bastion series books. Presently, she lives in Australia with her family—a husband, two daughters and two independent-minded cats.

Christina Dodd is the author of more than seventeen romances that made regular appearances on the bestseller lists. She has won numerous awards, including Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart and RITA Awards.

Elizabeth Boyle is a history buff who loves traveling and the adventure it offers. In addition to her Avon Treasures, she is the author of three earlier novels for Dell— including the Rita Award winning Brazen Angel and the Romantic Times nominee for Best Regency Historical Brazen Temptress.

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