Weddings of the Century: A Pair of Wedding Novellas(9)

She went rigid with disbelief. No, it wasn't possible. It wasn't possible!

Chand-a-la. Chandler. The wretch! The bloody-minded, faithless wretch! The man who had broken her heart had returned.

And when they got to wherever they were going, she thought furiously, she was going to wring his neck.





Chapter 5





The sooner they got off the road, the better. Dominick couldn't have been more conspicuous if he had been painted scarlet. He kept the horse at a canter, hoping that he would remember the twists and turns that led to the cottage. During the days he had stayed there, he had come and gone by night and been heavily cloaked to conceal his wild appearance.

Luckily the cottage wasn't far, and it was approached by a sunken lane so no one was likely to see them during the last stretch. He was grateful that Roxanne seemed unafraid. A lesser female would be having strong hysterics.

He knew he should identify himself, but once they started talking, the explanations would be lengthy and possibly acrimonious. He preferred to remain silent a little longer. During a hard decade of traveling in the world's wild places, he had yearned for this moment a thousand times, and now he wanted to savor the wonder of her presence.

The cottage was set in the center of an apple orchard. It was the height of spring blooming, and the bewitching scent of blossoms hung heavy in the air as he pulled the gelding to a halt and dismounted.

When he lifted his arms to help Roxanne down, she came readily enough, sliding from the horse's back to land a foot away from Dominick. She really was a little bit of a thing, the top of her gloriously red head scarcely reaching his chin.

For a long moment they stared at each other. With ten thousand things to say, all he could manage was to ask softly, "Do you recognize me, Roxanne?"

"Of course I do, you idiot!" she snapped. "Have you lost your mind, Dominick Chandler?"

He laughed buoyantly. "I should have known that I couldn't fool you! I'm glad. You might have been frightened otherwise, and I certainly didn't want that."

"I find your solicitude unconvincing." Her eyes narrowed. "Having ruined my life ten years ago, it appears that you have come back to ruin my reputation as well."

He sighed as he thought of all the complications ahead. "I didn't plan it this way, but I thought that masquerading as a savage might help me get close enough to you to talk. I couldn't bear it when I saw you leaving, so I acted on impulse."

"I can see that you haven't matured any since I last saw you," she said acerbically. Taking the gelding's reins, she led it to a stump, climbed up, and tried to mount, but the stump wasn't high enough. After failing twice--and showing a delicious amount of leg in the process--she said, "Help me up. If I return to town quickly, it might be possible to salvage my reputation."

"Is that all you're concerned about? Your reputation?" He caught the gelding's reins. "I didn't go to this effort merely for the pleasure of running off with you for half an hour. We must talk, Roxanne."

"That's Miss Mayfield to you!" Standing on the stump put her eyes on a level with his. ''There's only one thing I want to do with you, and it isn't talk."

Of course; he should have had the sense to kiss her right away. They could find each more quickly in an embrace than by speaking. He moved forward, eager to take her into his arms.

She hauled back her right arm and slapped him across the cheek with all her strength.

He rocked back on his heels. Eyes watering, he said, "You're angry over what happened."

It was her turn look incredulous. "Angry? That doesn't begin to describe how I feel!" For an instant her lip trembled. "The words don't exist, Lord Chandler."

"You know that my uncle died two years ago," he said with interest.

She looked away. "I noticed his obituary in the newspaper. Believe me, I was not following your inglorious career!"

But she had noticed, and remembered. "Come inside and I'll make a pot of tea," he suggested. "I imagine that we could both use some."

“I could use some tea. What you need is a shave, some decent clothing, and a sense of shame!"

She tried to rake him with a scathing glance, but her gaze faltered somewhere around his chest. He found her bashfulness enchanting. Taking the gelding's reins, he said, "I'll rub this fellow down if you'll start a fire and put the kettle on. I should be finished by the time it's boiling."

Not budging from her stump, she said, "Do thieves always take such good care of the horses they steal?"

He stroked the gelding's sweaty neck. "I didn't steal Thunder. He belongs to my friend George. He's a fine fellow. I wouldn't have cared to try jumping that cart with a strange mount."

She hopped from the ground into the lush, ankle high grass. "You thought of everything, I see. Does the cottage belong to George as well?"

"As a matter of fact, it does." He led the gelding into the shed that leaned against the cottage. As he tethered it, he continued, "This is a remote comer of his estate. I stayed here for several days while we worked out the details of my plan. My baggage is still here."

She sniffed. "I'm surprised that you were able to convince a grown man to participate in something so childish."