Page 5 of Hot Duke Summer

“C elandine?” A gentle hand was on her bare shoulder. “Celandine, you must wake, my love.”

But Celandine didn’t want to open her eyes. Didn’t want to awaken. Because when she did, then the marvelous dream would be over and she would realize Westley’s return to her hadn’t been real. That he was still as lost to her as he’d been these many long, dark, lonely months.

“No.” She rolled over, weary and desperate to cling to her precious dream that her Westley was alive and that he’d rescued her from having to marry Humberton.

“My love, we’ve company. You need to dress.”

The voice at her ear was deep and wonderfully familiar.

It hadn’t been a dream.

Her eyes flew open, and she sat up, the bedclothes falling to her waist, the kiss of cool evening air on her bare breasts.

“It wasn’t a dream,” she said, wonder and awe taking hold, chasing any concern for modesty.

All that mattered was him.

Her love.

But he wasn’t smiling at her with tenderness and love just now. Instead, his handsome face was lined with worry, his angular jaw rigid. There was something in his eyes as well, shadows and worry. His words gradually pierced the haze of slumber and love clouding her mind.

We’ve company.

“Who is it?” she asked, her belly tightening with dread.

“I’m not certain,” Westley said grimly. “I heard hooves approaching in the distance, then silence, suggesting that whomever he is, he’s tied his mount far enough away in an effort to elude notice. He’ll be walking the rest of the way on foot, so we have a few minutes to prepare ourselves. I don’t want you hurt. You’ll need to hide in the garret until I’ve made certain it’s safe.”

Good heavens. He bore the resolute expression of a man going to battle, prepared to give his life for his cause.

“You fear it’s your uncle, don’t you?” she asked, her mouth going dry at the notion.

“I don’t fear him. But my first concern is your welfare. You’ll need to dress with all haste and get yourself to the garret.”

Her denial was instant. “I’ll not hide in the garret while you defend yourself.”

“Celandine, you must.”

“But—”

“This isn’t a discussion,” he interrupted sternly. “I’ll not put you in danger because of me. The longer we argue, the less time I have to prepare for whoever it is who has found us here.”

“Perhaps it’s a passing rider,” she suggested, hoping, even as she slid from the bed to retrieve her chemise and throw it on.

“No.” He shook his head. “We’re on my estate, and this hunting lodge is nowhere near the main roads. There’s only one reason a horseman would be in this vicinity. I’ve taken great care with whom I trusted since my return, but it would appear I’ve been betrayed just the same.”

“But your uncle tried to have you killed.” She found her gown next, pulling it on without a care for its wrinkled state. “If that is who has come here, you cannot face him. We should escape. Take Buttercup and ride.”

“I’ll not run, my love. I’ve been waiting for this moment. I never intended to face him with you here by my side. It’s my fault that he’s found us before I was ready for him to do so. That’s why you must hide for me. Above all, I must know you’re free from harm.”

There was no time to fret over the tapes of her gown. She eschewed her stockings and simply stuffed her feet into her boots. An ominous creak from below suggested that they were no longer alone.

Westley cursed, taking her hand in his.

“Come,” he said with quiet urgency. “I’ll show you to the garret stairs.”

Her heart pounding with new fear, Celandine kept pace with Westley’s long-limbed strides as he led her from the chamber. They hastened to the end of the hall, where a small paneled door blended seamlessly with the walls. He opened the latch and the door swung open, revealing a narrow, steep staircase that led to the dimly lit garret above.

Westley pressed a finger to his lips, indicating she should moved quietly.

Celandine went past him, taking the steps two at a time, determined to move as quickly as she could. But whether it was dread or her cumbersome skirts and hastily donned boots that caused her to stumble and fall, she couldn’t say. All she knew was that one moment, she was scrambling up the narrow stairs, and the next, she was tumbling down them, striking her head.

Westley caught her in his strong arms before she could tumble the entire way. Wordlessly, he carried her up the stairs, his booted footfalls making too much noise on the wooden boards. When they reached the garret, he gently lowered her to her feet, cupping her face in his big hands as he examined her for injuries.

“You’re bleeding, my love.”

Her head ached, and at his pronouncement, she lifted her fingers instinctively to find her head wet with warm blood, a gash about a finger in length opened at her temple. But she didn’t care about herself in this moment. All she did care about was him.

“I’m fine,” she reassured him quietly. “You haven’t time to worry over me. Leave me here.”

“I can’t leave you like this.”

“You can, Westley. You must.” Already he’d wasted precious time in lingering with her when he should be concentrating on defending himself against his uncle’s murderous wrath.

“Here.” He reached into his coat and extracted a handkerchief. “Press this to the wound to stay the bleeding. I’ll come back to you as soon as I’m able.”

She took the handkerchief, more concerned for him than the blow she’d taken to her head in her fall. “Go. I’ll wait here, as you asked of me.”

His countenance was resolute. “I love you, Celandine.”

She stared into his eyes, committing his handsome face to memory, praying that he hadn’t returned to her from the dead only to die again. Her heart couldn’t withstand losing him a second time. “And I love you, Westley. God go with you.”

“How heartwarming.”

The cold male voice tore a gasp from Celandine. Westley whirled about, keeping her behind his back, to face the man who had silently crept up the garret stairs without either of them being aware.

“Uncle,” Westley bit out, barely suppressed rage in his voice.

Celandine peered around Westley’s shoulder. A few paces away, the usurper Duke of Westley stood, flintlock pistol in hand.

“Forgive me for the interruption,” drawled the man, his tone dripping with scorn. “But when I learned there were trespassers in my hunting lodge, I rode out immediately to investigate.”

“Who told you?” Westley demanded, his spine stiffening.

Dear heavens. Did Westley have his weapon? How would he defend them if he didn’t?

“Rogers,” his uncle said. “His loyalty will certainly be justly rewarded.” He gestured with his pistol. “Move slowly, both of you. Stand by the window where I can see you more clearly.”

“The lady is an innocent,” Westley said, remaining immobile despite his uncle’s demand. “She’s also injured. I would ask that you release her.”

“And why should I wish to do so?” His uncle’s lip curled. “No, I don’t think that I’ll be allowing her to flee so that she can carry the tale of what happens here to anyone. Now step into the light, both of you.”

He meant to kill them both, Celandine realized, horror making her throat tighten.

“There’s no reason to harm her,” Westley cajoled. “I’m the one you want. Let the lady go.”

“Perhaps you’ve failed to notice I’m the one holding the weapon,” his uncle said sharply. “To the window. At once! Do as I say, and I’ll consider sparing her.”

“If you harm us, all the world will know you for a murderer,” Westley said, moving them slowly, with grave care, toward one of the small windows at the sloped end of the garret. “Killing us defies all logic and reason.”

“On the contrary, my dear nephew. It’s the perfect plan. You see, everyone already believes you’re dead.”

They stopped near the window, Westley continuing to keep Celandine shielded behind his body. “The man you sent to kill me knows I’m alive.”

“Bah.” His uncle dismissed the notion with great disdain. “He’s nothing but a criminal. No one would believe his word over that of a duke. Moreover, where is he now?”

“He is in London,” Westley said. “Along with all the proof of what you’ve done. Let us go, and I’ll see that you’re treated with lenience. There’s no need to become a murderer in truth. You’ll be hanged.”

“You’re lying,” his uncle snapped. “Do you truly think I’m stupid? You may have succeeded in thwarting death on that ship, but you’ll not do so this time, and neither will your whore.”

“Don’t you dare to besmirch her,” Westley growled.

Celandine couldn’t remain hidden behind his back any longer. They had to do something to save themselves, or his uncle would kill them both. The double-barrel held two shots without the necessity of reloading, one for Westley and one for Celandine. She couldn’t lose him. Wouldn’t lose him. Her mind worked to frantically form a plan, some means of distracting Westley’s uncle so that he might be able to wrest the flintlock from his grasp.

It was their only hope.

“I’ll dare anything I like if it brings me what is owed to me,” his uncle said coldly. “ I should have been the duke. A mere circumstance of birth kept me from what should have been mine. Your father had a weak constitution. I’ve always been hale and strong. I was my father’s favorite.

“And then you came along, to rob any hope I possessed of one day claiming my birthright. I settled upon an easy solution—send you on a Grand Tour. You were so wonderfully easy to sway. With the war over and Boney exiled, it was the perfect time to send you away and then send you to the bottom of the sea.”

“You envied my father,” Westley said hoarsely. “You coveted what he had.”

“I wanted what was mine.”

“But it’s not yours,” Celandine countered, stepping from behind her beloved’s back, at his side, facing the monster who had tried to take him from her and who would now attempt to do so again. Her chin went up in defiance. “You aren’t the rightful duke, and you never were. You’re the second son. A vile, hateful man who would try to kill his own flesh and blood out of greed.”

“Celandine,” Westley said in soft warning.

He likely feared she would incite his uncle to shoot her. But she would gladly give her own life for Westley’s if she must. She would do anything for him.

“You’ve a barbed tongue on you, don’t you?” his uncle snarled, aiming at her now. “Perhaps I’ll kill you first, just to make him suffer before he dies.”

When she’d moved from behind Westley’s protective back, she had loosened her boot by rolling her ankle to the side. Now, she discreetly slipped her foot from the boot, her actions shielded by the hem of her gown.

“I would gladly give my life for his,” Celandine declared, meaning those words to her marrow.

And then it was time.

She dropped the handkerchief she’d been pressing to her wounded head, watching it flutter to the floor precisely where she’d intended for it to land. “Oh dear.” She pressed her hand to her wound, raising fingers that were red with blood. “I’ve dropped my handkerchief. May I at least retrieve it? I’m bleeding.”

His uncle’s eyes narrowed at her, suspicion evident. “I suppose you may. No need for you to bleed everywhere until I’ve had my say with my nephew.”

Thank heavens. She hadn’t been certain he would agree. Celandine cast a meaningful glance at Westley, hoping he could read everything she needed to tell him in her eyes. Then she bent her knees, taking care to make certain her skirts obstructed the view of her boot. When she retrieved the bloodied handkerchief, she swiftly reached beneath her hem, seizing the boot. Without thought, she hurled it toward Westley’s uncle.

Everything happened with impossible haste. Her aim was true, her boot sending the flintlock clattering to the floor as an explosion went off and shattered glass rained down. With a roar, Westley charged at his uncle, who still stood perilously near to the steep, narrow garret stairs. The two of them went crashing down in a series of horrible thuds.

Celandine ran after them, scrambling down the stairs to where they’d fallen, Westley atop his uncle. His uncle’s neck was bent at an unnatural angle, and he didn’t appear to be moving or breathing, his eyes open wide, unblinking.

“Westley!” she cried as she reached them.

Had he been wounded? Had he been shot? Had he been otherwise injured in the fall down the stairs?

“My love.” He rolled away from his uncle, rising to his feet in haste. “Are you hurt?”

She frantically searched his person for any sign of blood and found none. “No. Are you?”

“A bit bruised, but I’ll live.” He took her in his arms and held her so tightly that his crushing embrace might have been painful had she not been so overwhelmed by relief.

He was safe.

She was safe.

And his evil uncle…

She stiffened, remembering the villain lying on the floor, the man who had repeatedly tried to kill Westley and who would have murdered her as well. “Your uncle—is he…?”

“Dead,” Westley confirmed grimly. “He must have broken his neck in the fall.”

“You’re safe,” she breathed. “He can never try to hurt you again.”

“You saved me.” Westley drew back slightly, gazing down at her with so much love that her heart ached. “You saved us both, my brave darling.”

“We saved each other,” she told him, smiling through her tears of love and relief. “It was meant to be, just like we are.”

He cupped her face in his hands, catching a fallen teardrop on the pad of his thumb. “I’ll secure a special license. I want to marry as soon as we’re able. I’ll pay your father’s debts, and I’ll spend the rest of my life loving you with everything I have. We’ve spent too much time apart as it is.”

There was no answer save one for the man she’d always loved.

“Yes,” she told him.

Some time later, as they rode Buttercup away from the hunting lodge and toward a future together, Celandine turned to slant a glance over her shoulder.

“Westley?”

He glanced down at her. “Yes, love?”

“Would you kiss me now?”

He gave her a devastating grin. “If it pleases my lady.”

“It pleases your lady very much.”

Her beloved Westley lowered his head and claimed her lips with his.

The End