"How fortunate for her," Annabel said faintly.
"We began to meet in secret. She insisted upon this, said her parents would not approve the match given the differences in our stations. For two years, I worked day and night on the farm, trying to make something of myself for her sake. Then a miracle occurred—or so I thought."
Bitterness scalded his insides; he forced himself to go on.
"A series of unexpected deaths left Alaric the heir to Uncle Henry's estate. This meant not only wealth and power, but a title. My half-brother was now the Duke of Strathaven—and I his heir."
He heard Annabel's sharp inhalation. "You're the heir ... of a
duke
?"
"Was," he corrected. "But I didn't give a damn about any of that. All I wanted was Kincaid's consent to marry his daughter. Given my new circumstances, my suit was accepted. Alaric agreed to come and meet my betrothed's family."
"And did he?"
"
Veni, vidi, vici
. Alaric came, saw Laura, and seduced her," he said flatly.
"Your brother seduced your fiancée?" Annabel gasped. "Why, the … the
bastard
!"
Despite the grim topic, Will felt his lips twitch at her indignation. What a fierce, loyal lass she was. "Aye. He managed to get Laura with child, too. He married the woman I loved and seven months later had his heir, too."
Annabel stared at him with wide eyes. "I had no idea ..."
"Now you do," he said. "And I trust you understand why I want nothing to do with Strathaven—or his letters."
She nodded, biting her lip. He wanted to stay and talk further, but the chime of the clock reminded him of his appointment with Todd.
Blowing out a breath, he said, "I have to go now, lass. Lingered too long already."
"For what it's worth," she said tremulously, "I'm sorry, McLeod. That this happened to you. You didn't deserve to be treated this way by the ones you loved."
Her genuine words opened hidden floodgates within him, and the hand he ran over her hair had a slight tremor. "Ach, but you're an ease to me, Annabel. A balm to my soul. We've more to discuss—tonight, after I've finished the business with Harding."
Her eyes glimmered. She flung her arms around his neck. "Promise me you'll be careful."
"I promise," he said huskily. "Now give me a proper send-off, lass."
Her passionate kiss warmed him to the marrow. To the part of him that had lain cold and fallow before she came into his life. He vowed to himself that when he returned they would finish what they'd started.
*****
That evening, Will kept watch on the cottage from his hidden vantage point behind a convenient hedgerow. Dusk had come and gone, and the only light came from the moon and stars, the lamplight flickering behind shaded windows. Like many of the properties in St. John's Wood, the villa Harding leased for his mistress was designed for privacy. It was set off from the main road and surrounded by majestic trees that shivered in the moonlight.
The glow from the cottage windows illuminated the outlines of the two guards who stood at the front entrance. From previous scouting, Will knew another guard was posted at the back. When it came to visits with his mistress, Harding was like clockwork: he arrived at half-past eight and left at ten o'clock sharp.
In and out—no pun intended.
Squinting, Will made out the hands on his pocket watch: quarter to ten, almost time for the coup. Though the darkness cloaked Todd's men, Will knew the team of five was positioned at various points around the villa. He'd spent the day coaching them on the strategy. His goal was to extract Harding with as little fanfare and bloodshed as possible.
First step: immobilize Harding's guards before the cutthroat emerged.
Second: take Harding with minimal struggle and none the wiser.
As Will waited, his thoughts veered to Annabel and their parting conversation. He'd revealed more about his past to her than he had to anyone. Yet it had seemed ... no, it had
been
right. To open himself up—to trust her. Annabel was nothing like Laura: she was a strong, steadfast woman. He admired her, liked her ...
hell
. The recognition jolted him.
He loved her.
His breath shortened. Not with panic this time, but wonder. He was a lucky bastard to have such a woman in his life. First thing when this was over, they'd have a talk about the future—
His sensitive ears picked up on a rustling beyond the trees. Five minutes to ten: the plan was in motion. He sensed movement, Todd's men sweeping forward across the lawn. The five of them advanced stealthily, in coordinated fashion: three to the front and two to the back of the villa. A cry went up from one of Harding's men—snuffed out in the next instant. Will heard a faint scuffling as the guards in front were gagged and bound, dragged behind the bushes.
Step one executed. Now for the second.
Pulse hammering, Will watched as the front door opened on cue. Harding emerged—
goddamnit
, with pistols blazing. Somehow he'd caught wind of the attack.
Todd's men were falling like dominoes. Enraged, Harding emptied one weapon after another, an entire arsenal hanging from his belt. If this kept up, the entire team would perish and the bastard would escape.
With an oath, Will sprang forward, sprinting through the darkness, dodging fire. He tackled Harding, knocking him to the ground. The cutthroat's pistol flew into the darkness. The two of them exchanged blows, rolling and grunting as fists flew. Will managed to leverage himself on top and landed a bone-cracking punch to the other's jaw.
Harding groaned.
Will reached for the rope at his belt. At the same instant, movement caught the periphery of his vision. His head snapped to the right: a woman, ghost-like in a sheer, flowing white gown. A firearm glinted in her hands.
"Get away from him, you bastard!" she yelled.
The blast tore through the night.
Even as Will leaned away on instinct, heat punched through his shoulder. Knocked him off Harding. He lay on the grass, ears roaring, as stars blurred and melted into white light.
SIXTEEN
Where is McLeod? What's taking him so long?
All evening, Annabel had kept vigil by the front parlor window. Mrs. Ramsbottom had sat with her while she'd alternately paced and stared out the glass pane. Finally, she'd caught the good lady's yawn and sent the housekeeper off to bed. That had been three hours ago; now it was past midnight and still no sign of McLeod.
Her hands twisted in her lap, fear gnawing at her insides.
Please, God, protect him. Don't let a good man come to harm.
From what McLeod had shared earlier, he'd been hurt enough already. Her heart wept for the betrayals he'd suffered at the hands of the fickle Laura and the villainous Strathaven. With a brother like that, who needed enemies?
At the same time, a selfish grief settled over her: McLeod was the relation of a
duke
. True, he was a fiercely independent man and wanted nothing to do with his cad of a brother, but still ... He'd been too good for her before this revelation; now, she had no hopes of a true future with him.
You never had a chance to begin with. Be grateful for the time you have with him. For what you've shared ...
A carriage pulled up in front of the house, and she jumped to her feet. She flew out the door and down the front steps ... drew to a halt as two strangers disembarked. Despite the balmy summer night, they wore greatcoats. They hauled out a familiar brawny figure—
"McLeod!" she cried. "What happened?"
"'E ran into the fray and got shot by Harding's wench," one of the men said. "Fat lot o' good that did—Harding still got away."
Annabel put a trembling hand against McLeod's forehead. His skin was waxen, clammy to the touch. A tear spilled and trickled down her cheek.
"McLeod saved your 'ide, didn't 'e?" the other fellow retorted to his companion. To Annabel, he said gruffly, "Not to worry, ma'am. McLeod lost some blood, but the bullet went clean through. Doctor patched 'im up and gave 'im a good dose of the poppy so 'e won't be wakin' any time soon. Now where do you want 'im?"
McLeod moaned.
"Upstairs," she said hoarsely. "Please bring him in."
*****
He didn't wake until the morning.
Relief tumbled through her when his eyelids opened to reveal a lucid gaze.
"Annabel?" he said in a gritty voice.
"Yes, my darling." She squeezed his hand. Posted in a chair by the bed, she'd spent the night keeping watch over him. "How do you feel?"
"Like shite." He grimaced. "My shoulder's on bluidy fire."
"That's what happens when you get shot." Her voice broke. "Dash it, McLeod, what were you doing charging into the fight? You promised me you'd be careful."
"Harding tried to escape. I had to try." His eyes closed wearily. "Got away, didn't he?"
"I'm afraid so." Rising, she went to fetch him a glass of water—and to give herself a moment to gather her emotions. To tuck them away and return with a composed demeanor. She held the glass to his lips. "Drink this, darling."
He took a sip and made a face. "That's bluidy awful."
"The doctor gave it to help with the pain," she said. "Finish it."
He did as she asked and grumbled, "What'll really make me feel better is you beside me. Get over here, lass." Taking care not to jar him, she got into the bed next to his uninjured side. He hugged her close with his good arm and grunted with satisfaction. "Much better."
Her cheek pressed against his chest, she listened to the steady rhythm of his heart. Alive and well—for now. With no thanks to her.
In a muffled voice, she said, "You scared me, McLeod."
"Scared myself, lass. Couldn't be helped."
"What you risked—no one's ever been so good to me."
"You deserve nothing less." His voice rumbled beneath her ear.
"If the situation were reversed, I would do the same for you. Whatever it takes to protect you,"—her voice hitched—"I'll do it, McLeod."
"Wouldn't let you, sweetheart. Too dangerous." Drowsiness slurred his words. "Can't let anything happen to you. Find Harding again ..."
She swallowed tears, waited until his heartbeat slowed, his large chest rising and falling in even surges. Only then did she raise her head. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed by the dose of laudanum she'd given him.
She smoothed a thick brown curl off his forehead and kissed his cheek.
"I love you, McLeod. One day you'll understand," she whispered.
She got up from the bed. Took one last look at her sleeping lover before slipping from his bedchamber and out the front door. With steadfast purpose, she made her way toward the destiny she could no longer escape.
Goodbye, my love. Forgive me.
SEVENTEEN
Will surfaced, pushing through sleep thicker than mud. He blinked, his vision blurry in the darkened chamber. He heard a rustle.
"Annabel?" he said groggily.
"Not the last time I checked," a deep, haughty voice replied.
Will jolted upright, air hissing through his teeth. Shock overwhelmed the pain as he caught sight of the tall, broad-shouldered figure standing in the shadows. Despite the dimness, there was no mistaking the black hair and icy jade eyes. The pale, chiseled features. The coldly amused expression that Will detested with every fiber of his being.
"What the fuck are you doing here, Strathaven?" he growled.
His brother smiled—a pulling back of the lips that conveyed no amusement. "If you'd paid any attention to my letters you would have expected me. But perhaps, Peregrine, you've forgotten how to read?"
"It's
Will
. And I haven't forgotten anything," Will said flatly. "Which is why I tossed your bluidy missives into the fire."
Strathaven's eyes narrowed. "Your manners haven't improved with age. Pity."
"How the hell did you get in here?"
"Your housekeeper let me in. Charming lady, Mrs. Ramsay."
"It's
Ramsbottom
," Will said through his teeth. Goddamn Strathaven—the rake could charm the scales off a snake. "What did you say to her?"
"That I am Strathaven." His grace's arrogance shone through the dimness. "And I've come to discuss important matters with my heir."
"I'm
not
your bleeding heir—"
Strathaven stepped out of the shadows. For the first time, Will saw the black armband worn over his brother's black coat. And another jolt of shock travelled through him.
"Your ... boy?" he said hoarsely.
The faintest flicker passed through those hard green eyes. The sharp-edged jaw tautened. "Charlie is dead."
Despite everything, sorrow pierced Will's chest. His nephew had been but a wee lad. He'd never met little Charlie … and now he never would. Regret flooded him for the past which had made him a stranger to his own kin.
"I am … sorry, brother." He didn't know what else to say. Couldn't imagine how such a loss would affect Strathaven and the duchess.
"Are you?"
The drawling tone was a slap to the face, raising Will's hackles. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"You're the heir to a duchy now. An enviable position."
"I don't want anything to do with the bluidy title—or with you." Familiar anger rushed through Will. "And I'd never wish anyone ill for the privilege, least of all an innocent child."
Strathaven's dark lashes veiled his gaze. When he raised them, his eyes were chilling. "The fact remains that you are now my heir. A stroke of luck for you."
"Bugger you," Will snarled.
The past repeated itself: the bullying, unwarranted attacks by his older sibling. Alaric had endlessly baited him, delivering barbs with detached amusement whilst Will struggled haplessly with hot rage. Nothing had changed—Alaric was the same controlling bastard he'd always been.
"Your time in the regiment did nothing for your manners," the duke said.
"Why are you here? You and Lau—the duchess could have another child. You don't need me for anything."
A pause. "She's dead, too."
Will's breath stuttered.
"She and Charlie were on a ship. It went down in a storm," Strathaven said tonelessly.