Pistols at Dawn (28 page)

"I thought you considered me arrogant," he murmured.

"Well, yes, you are at times. But I've come to find that rather endearing." Eliza slid her arms around his shoulders and hugged him tightly. "Surely you must know that I've loved for an age."

"My arithmetic is sharp, but apparently I don't read hearts very well."

"We shall both work on that skill," she replied.

"Together, I hope," he said.

"Together," she agreed as his lips found hers.

"I trust that is a, 'yes' to my marriage proposal," whispered Marcus when finally he broke off the kiss.

"You haven't made one yet," said Eliza.

"Let me think of a suitably flowery one." He took his time in kissing her again. "Will you marry me?"

Eliza smiled. "On one condition."

His brows rose.

"I continue to have a role in managing the estate."

Amusement danced his eyes. "You drive a hard bargain."

"That's why you hired me," she responded. "So, do we have a deal?"

"Yes—if you will seal it with a kiss."

"Mmmm," Eliza gave a last little nibble to his lower lip, then eased back from his embrace. "I have to teach you to be a tougher negotiator."

"I am always open to learning new things from you, my love."

"And I from you," said Eliza, hugging him close.

"I think we shall make a perfect partnership." He paused. "No more pistols at dawn. The next time you are angry with me, we may discuss the matter over breakfast."

"No more pistols at dawn," agreed Eliza. "The coming days will be much too filled with sunlight to darken them with gunpowder."

Marcus drew her into a long, leisurely embrace before expelling a sigh. "Lovely as it is to linger here, we should probably return to the Manor and announce our news to the other betrothed couple."

"Somehow, I don't think they are going to be surprised. I think they recognized our true feelings long before we did." Eliza smiled. "In her own quiet way, Meredith gave me quite a scold last night."

"And Lucien rang a peal over my head this morning," admitted Marcus.

"That's because he loves you, and wishes to see you happy."

"Love," he mused, his gaze following the lazy spin of a rose petal caught in the gentle breeze. "Love can take the most unpredictable turns and come upon you when you least expect it."

Eliza twined her fingers with his and brushed a kiss to the back of his hand. "Unexpected love may be the sweetest of all. Just think of all the heartfelt bonds that now weave us all together—Lucien, Meredith, you, me."

"What I think," said Marcus as he encircled her in his arms, "is that the Black Cat has been transformed by love into the luckiest man alive."

The End

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CODE OF HONOR

The Intrepid Heroines Series

Book One

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THE BANISHED BRIDE

The Scandalous Secret Series

Book One

Excerpt from

Code of Honor

The Intrepid Heroines Series

Book One

by

Andrea Pickens

Award-winning Author

"May I have the pleasure of a dance, Miss Chilton?" asked Branford. The musicians were striking up a waltz. "Perhaps this one, if you are not taken." He had already noticed that the dance card dangling from her wrist was all but empty.

Alex seemed to hesitate for a moment, then rose slowly and placed her hand on his arm.

Ashton was right, he noted. She was no raving beauty. Her hair was merely brown, not a striking blonde or glossy raven, and her mouth was a touch too wide, though obviously expressive. She was also too tall and her curves were not rounded enough for the tastes of most gentlemen.
 

But her eyes...

Her eyes were an unusual hazel color flecked with green, and they had a depth that was intriguing, hinting at hidden facets not readily discernable on the surface.

However, observed Branford, if her aunt hoped to marry her off she had better employ another modiste. The dress was a disaster. The insipid mauve color clashed with her lovely eyes, and the cut made her look gawky and ill proportioned. Girlish ruffles and bows were in overabundance, and the effect was more appropriate for a female of twelve rather than twenty-four.
 

Branford, whose taste was acknowledged to be impeccable, nearly winced as he turned to face her full on.

However, she danced much better than he expected, moving with a lithe grace and matching his steps effortlessly. As he was deciding to forgo the usual compliments on her dress in favor of another less egregious social lie, she spoke first.

"As a matter of fact, I have been wanting to meet you, milord."

Branford closed his eyes for an instant. Now would come the usual outrageous compliments or silly simperings that every unmarried girl felt obliged to offer up to a rich, titled bachelor. He had forgotten how much he loathed all of this.
How the devil had he allowed himself to be drawn into such a stupid, senseless bet?
Ashton was right on another thing—he had been drinking too much of late.

Despite such thoughts, he replied in a neutral tone. "Is that so? And why is that, Miss Chilton?"

"Because in the paper you sent to the Botanical Society on the gardens at Riverton, you are mistaken in thinking that the purple flowers are
Petrea volubilis
," answered Alex. "They do not grow in this climate. They are no doubt
Clytostoma callistegiodes
, which look very similar.
 
Of course it is a reasonable error for someone who is ignorant of botany to make."

It was not exactly what he expected to hear. He nearly trod on her foot. "What?"

"The flowers in the south garden," she explained a touch impatiently. "I take it you are the
only
Earl of Branford in England."

Branford stared at her, speechless.

"Mr. Simpson was too afraid to correct you, but I said that was utter nonsense—any sensible person would want to know of his error." Alex paused and regarded his stony face. "Oh dear," she sighed, half to herself. "I had looked forward to talking about the gardens with you, but it appears that, like most gentlemen, you disapprove of ladies who wish to have an intelligent conversation."

Branford quickly recovered his wits. "No, Miss Chilton," he answered dryly. "Actually, on that topic I have formed no opinion, since I have little experience in making intelligent conversation with a lady."

There was a pause. Alex smiled. "Touché, my lord."

In spite of himself Branford found himself smiling back. The girl had wit as well as backbone.

"You do not look half so dragon-like when you smile, you know," she said after a moment's pause. "Or do you prefer to frighten people with that black scowl?"

Branford unconsciously drew his dark brows together.

"There, you see," murmured Alex. "You are doing it again. It is quite intimidating, you know."

"And you, Miss Chilton. Are you always so outrageous? Or are you just hoping I will take you back to your chair so you can resume your own private thoughts and not have to be bothered with having to do the polite thing." He watched a wave of surprise wash over her face. "You are not the only one capable of observing people," he added softly.

Her eyes met his for a moment, the green flecks alight with some emotion, before she dropped her gaze in some confusion.

"Now, about my gardens. What would you like to know...?"

The music was drawing to an end and the surrounding couples were beginning to leave the floor. Branford found himself irritated that the dance was over so quickly. "It appears we will have to wait for another waltz. Shall we say the one after the supper break?"

"If you wish, milord." Alex had composed herself and answered evenly, her chin thrust up slightly as if to say that she, at least, was not in the least bit intimidated by him.