The Hired Hero (26 page)

“You have done well, my dear. I am proud of you for showing such a kindness to your friend.”

 Caroline looked up at him in surprise.

 “I am proud of you in so many other ways as well,” continued the Duke in a halting voice. “Perhaps I don’t...well, that is...”

 Her surprise only deepened as she watched her father struggle for words in a way that was most unlike him.

“Lucien brought up the fact that you may have the oddest notion that...that perhaps I might, well, regret that you are not a...” He took a deep breath. “I can’t imagine a more nonsensical thing. Surely you must know that.” He gave her a hard squeeze. “Perhaps I don’t give voice to my feelings as easily as some other men, but no father could be blessed with a more wonderful child—intrepid, intelligent, full of integrity.  My dear Caro, you are the light of my life.” At that his arms came around her in a fierce hug.

She  blinked back tears as her cheek rested against his shoulder. “Oh Papa.”

For a time, neither of them said anything as they just held each other.

Then she raised her head. “It seems Lucien had taken it into his head to take over the ordering of my life,” she said rather shakily.

 Her father smiled. “Mayhap he has more sense than I give him credit for.”

 Caroline wiped at her cheeks. “Men,” she sniffed. “They always think they know best.”

 The duke dropped a kiss on her brow. “Ah, but we are quite quickly—and frequently—corrected of that delusion.”

* * * *

Davenport rubbed at his temples. His head felt as if a score of revelers had danced the night away on it despite the fact that he had not imbibed overly much throughout the past evening. Or was it still the same evening? It seemed he had lost track of all time as he lay tossing and turning in his bed, unable to fall into even a fitful slumber. He finally gave up even trying. Throwing off the covers, he rose and went to stand by the window, staring out into the blackness that still enveloped the terraced garden.

 The images of dancers refused to bow out of his head. Caroline with this man. Caroline with that man. He wasn’t sure what was worse—imagining her in the arms of someone else or having to endure the actual sight of her there. Things seemed to him to be as black as the outside, until one small ray of light pierced through his dark musings.

 She had told him she would miss him. Despite his ill-temper, his horrible moods and rough words, she still could say that. Maybe there was hope yet.

Hope of what? His fingers drummed on the window casing. Perhaps it was high time to be entirely honest with himself.  Much as he had tried to convince himself otherwise over the past few months, the thought of life without her was much like tumbling into an unfathomable abyss. And wasn’t the notion of  such an empty existence even more frightening than the possibility of rejection? If he didn’t try, he would despise himself as a coward for the rest of his days. For cowardly was how he had been acting, and she deserved better than that. She had never backed away from her fears or doubts. She had the courage to say what she felt. He should do no less, no matter if she laughed in his face or told him to go to the devil.

 His mouth quirked ruefully on trying to imagine just what her reaction to his declaration would be. Somehow she seemed to be under the cork-brained impression that he didn’t have...any regard for her. Well, he had his work cut out for him. But for some odd reason he couldn’t lay a finger on, he suddenly felt more at peace with himself than he had for ages.

He returned to his bed and fell into a deep sleep as soon as he closed his eyes.

* * * *

A soft knock on the door interrupted Davenport’s second attempt to arrange the folds of his neckcloth just so. He didn’t usually fuss over matters of dress but this morning he wanted to be at his best. Sighing, he left off  struggling with the length of linen and bade the maid to come in. Indeed, he was looking forward to the early morning cup of coffee that he had requested be brought to his chamber each day—being a guest in such a well-run household as that of the duke had its little privileges.

He turned from the mirror, ready to voice his thanks, only to have his mouth drop in surprise at the sight of Caroline standing before him instead of the expected servant.

“Before you begin bear jawing at me,” she said in a rush, “I know I am behaving with  like a hoyden again, coming to your room and all, but I simply had to speak with you, before you left for Highwood.” She hesitated while she took in a gulp of air. “Lucien told me last night that he had given you the idea— that is, he suggested to you that you should...”  The color rose to her face and her eyes dropped away from his. “Drat it,” she stammered. “What I mean to say is, he told me he had tried to cajole you into...making an offer to me. I can’t imagine where he got the notion that...”

“Would it be so very terrible if I did,” asked the earl, barely louder than a whisper.

 Her eyes came up slowly. “But you don’t even  like me! I mean, you can’t forget that I stole your horse, called you all sorts of rude names, drank out of the bottle like a fishmonger, not to speak of making you drag me out of the mud, or putting your life at risk time and again.”

“No,” he agreed. “I can’t forget those things. Neither can I forget the way you brandished a pistol at four men to save my skin or how you tended my wound...or how you called out my name as I held you in my arms. I don’t ever want you to call out another man’s name like that.”

The expression in his eyes made the breath catch in her throat.

His own breathing had become a bit ragged as well “Don’t like you?” he continued. “Why, I think I’ve been in love with you ever since you planted your fist on my nose that first morning I met you.”

“You have?” she said a bit uncertainly. “You mean you don’t think  I—”

“I mean that I want you to marry me, my dear Caroline.”

“Are you sure? Because I doubt I shall be able to change much— I shall always be headstrong and outspoken.” Her mouth quivered just the tiniest fraction. “Perhaps you should tire of having to pick me up out of the mud.”

Suddenly she was in his arms. “I shall never tire of it, my love,” he said as he planted kisses on the lobe of her ear. “Indeed, life would be sadly flat without having to try and keep up with you.” Then he turned serious. “You think you can put up with all my faults? For I, too, fear I shall remain a growling bear at times. And you are all too aware of the state of my finances. I can hardly offer you the life to which you are accustomed.”

Caroline ran her hand along the thin white line of his scar. “Julian,” she said simply.  “Oh, Julian.”

The she lifted her lips to his.

When finally they parted, his eyes were a mesmerizing shade of blue she had never seen before.

“Is that a yes?” he ventured.

She smiled in answer. “If you hadn’t spoken today, I might have been forced to follow you to Highwood and put on breeches again so that I could ask you myself.”

“You may wear breeches anytime you wish. You may ride neck and leather, you may drain bottles upon bottles of brandy, you may curse like a sailor—just as long as you do all those things with me.”

 Caroline blinked back tears of joy. “Why, I can’t imagine a life without you. I do love you so—” The rest of her words were cut off by another kiss.

  A soft knock came at the door. Without waiting for an answer, Lucien entered. “Julian...” he began, then stopped short at the sight of his cousin wrapped most intimately in the earl’s embrace. A sly grin spread over his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, I assume the two of you know what this means.”

  Davenport made no attempt to release her. “I know very well what it means, and so do you.”

  “Was this your final strategy, cuz?” demanded Caroline. “Just in case the subtle suggestions didn’t work? How dare you follow me— “

 Lucien’s mouth twitched. “I have no idea what you are talking about. I came in here to speak to Julian on a very important matter.”

“And what was that?”

“Why, to be the first to wish him happy, of course.” The grin widened. “Either that, or to call him out, though I’m not sure which a sane man would consider the lesser of two evils— facing my much improved aim or being leg shackled to you for a lifetime.”

Caroline gave an indignant yelp and looked for something to throw at her cousin.

 Lucien winked at the earl. “I take it I may wish you happy?”

 Davenport chuckled as his arms tightened around Caroline’s waist. “You may, indeed.” His lips then brushed close to her ear and the rest of his words were murmured for only her to hear.

 “For no one in the world could be happier, my love.”

Andrea Pickens created her first book at the age of five-a neatly penciled story about cowboys, the pages lavishly illustrated with full color crayon drawings of horses and bound with staples. She has since moved on from Westerns to writing about Regency England, a time and place that has captured her imagination ever since she opened the covers of Pride and Prejudice.

Andrea graduated from Yale University and now works in New York City as the Creative Director of a lifestyle sporting magazine, a job which lets her combine her love of the printed word with a Master's degree in Graphic Design. She feels very fortunate in that her work allows her to travel to interesting destinations around the world-but her favorite spot is London, where the funky antique markets and used book stores offer a wealth of inspiration for her stories.

Copyright © 1999 by Andrea Pickens

Originally published by Signet (ISBN 9451196929)

Electronically published in 2011 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.