“You have terrified all those people,” she managed to murmur. “One woman fainted.”

“She did not.” His voice was warm. “I saw her peeking.”

“Some ladies admire dangerous villains, I suppose.” She tilted up her nose. “I, of course, prefer gentlemen-heroes.”

“You have certainly said so.”

“All right, I will ask: why have you come when I have made it very clear I did not wish you to?”

“I came to tell you that I have decided to change my name to Highbottom.” The corner of his mouth tilted up. “Hinkle Highbottom. It has a fine ring to it, don’t you think?”

Diantha sucked in her breath. She was caught. She was rescued. And she was trembling quite uncontrollably. “I—I always have.”

He dipped his head and his gaze was wonderful. “Why did you invent him?”

“Because I did not think anyone else would ever have me.”

With everyone in the coach looking on, he pulled her to him and kissed her. He kissed her tenderly and then deeply, and she leaned into him and let herself be wrapped in his embrace.

He drew back. “I will have you. Not only that, I will have you without further foolish delay. I allowed you your way before—”

“No, you did not. You took me to your hideaway and held me there against my will.”

A gasp sounded from the carriage.

“I did,” he admitted. “But this time, minx, you will do as I wish, without trickery on either of our parts.”

She smiled and his gaze went to her cheeks, one then the other. But she had to be clear.

“You know, I am not precisely running away. I am going to Monmouthshire to care for children who work in the mines.”

“An admirable goal. But not today’s. Today you are riding north with me over the border.”

“North? To—To Scotland?”

He nodded, his slight smile turning her inside out.

But she frowned. “We will not arrive there in one day.”

“We will make stops along the way.”

“Does my family know of this plan? It is a plan, isn’t it? It isn’t simply a quick solution to me escaping you today?”

“They do not. Yes, it is. And, no, it is not, but that last should be obvious after the number of times I have begged your hand.”

“My family doesn’t know?”

“I aim to marry you, Diantha Lucas, whether anybody else approves of it or not. Over the border I need only the sanction of a blacksmith and the insurance of an anvil. And, of course, your consent.” He touched her chin and his gaze scanned her face. “Will you give it?”

Disbelieving happiness swept through her. “Yes. Yes. Yes.” She flattened her palm upon his chest, the sensation of his heart beating swift and strong lifting hers. “And then what?”

“And then I am taking you to Monmouthshire to save children, if that is what you wish.”

She could not speak, only gaze into his beautiful eyes and try to convince herself it was real.

But one thing was certainly real. She glanced at her fellow passengers, then up at the coachman on the box, who seemed remarkably sanguine about having been halted by a gunman. The coach boy appeared to be flipping through a stack of bank notes.

“You won’t be in terrible trouble for doing this?”

“I have friends in high places. Very high places. And I intend to tell you all about them as soon as we have a moment’s privacy.”

“All?”

“Every last sordid detail.”

“Sordid? Really?”

“Not for the most part.” He smiled. “But I know how you like drama on occasion and I wanted this day to be special for you.”

“Wyn,” she whispered. “I must ask you something.”

“Anything, minx.”

“Why did you stop drinking spirits after Knighton? It wasn’t entirely so you wouldn’t touch me, because you did of course, even after that.”

“I stopped because I did not want to spend another moment in your company less than thoroughly aware of every detail of you. I wanted to wake up from the nightmare and find you there. I wanted you and I wanted to be worthy of you.”

She caught her breath. “I already thought you were worthy.”

“And that is one of the many reasons—” He halted and his eyes grew especially silvery, like a stream at midday. “Diantha, I am in love with you. Beyond reason. Beyond anything I have known.”

“Ohh.”

“I loved you at the abbey. Days before that. And I loved you even more greatly yesterday morning when you refused me because you believed me unworthy of myself. I should have told you earlier. I should have told you immediately. I love you.”

“Even though I make you insane?”

“Because you make me insane.”

She could not manage words. She could not manage to make her lips cease trembling.

He circled his arm around her waist, drew her to him and stroked his hand along her cheek. “And you love me.”

She released a soft sigh, and Wyn wanted nothing but to hear her sigh like this in his arms for the remainder of his days.

“I suppose I shall have to admit to that,” she said.

“At your convenience.”

“What if my convenience does not come until we have been married thirty years?” Her dimples peeked out again. “Can you wait until then?”

“I shan’t have to.” He tightened his arms about her. “I shall simply refuse to marry you until you satisfy me in this.”

“That is singularly unchivalric of you.”

“I am the villain of this piece, pray recall.” He nodded toward the coach.

“Oh, well.” She rolled her blue, blue eyes up and sighed again, this time with a show of reluctant tolerance. “I suppose I do love you after all.”

“You suppose?”

“I suppose.” But her cheeks were pink and she ducked her head and began to fiddle with a button on his coat. “I suppose I may have loved you since you asked me to dance on that terrace, actually. I suppose I always dreamed of you loving me but I never thought love was real until I could not bear the notion of not spending every day with you. I suppose I love you more than I ever imagined a person could love another person, and that love inside fills me up and bubbles over and makes me want to share it with the world, which is really why I was going to Monmouthshire, because I simply could not contain it and you didn’t want it after all.”

“Diantha?” He whispered, and there was something in his voice that grabbed at her overflowing heart. She looked up and his face was so handsome, his eyes glittering, but not with cleverness, instead with tears. “I do not deserve you.”

“Oh, well, there you are wrong. Because I am quite certain you do. I am very troublesome, you know.”

“I have heard that.”

“And somewhat wayward.”

“Somewhat?”

“And I occasionally invent astoundingly reckless plans.”

“Never.”

She screwed up her brow. “You cannot mean it.”

“Your reckless plan brought you to me.”

“I had another plan.”

The corner of his mouth tilted up. “What was that?”

“I was going to Monmouthshire because it was the closest I could think to go to the abbey. I thought perhaps from there I could visit you and—well—throw myself upon your doorstep until you agreed to take me in.”

“You knew I would.”

“I only knew that when I was there I was the happiest I have ever been in my life.”

“Happy? You had a surly servant, a limited menu, and an irascible, ill man to care for.”

“I had you. All to myself.” Beneath his greatcoat she twined her arms about his waist and tucked her face against his chest. “It was like a dream, never mind the evil-smelling well.” She couldn’t stop smiling. “Will you really abduct me now and carry me across the border to marry me?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps along the way you could ravish me so that I am unfit for any other man? Repeatedly?”

“Yes, although technically that is already taken care of. And most certainly yes.”

“Even if I protest, like a proper damsel in distress?”

“Even if you protest, if you wish it.”

“You are a villain.” She went onto her tiptoes and kissed his delicious mouth, and like every time she’d done so, he kissed her back. She whispered, “My one true villain.”

Epilogue

Sunshine painted the path along the canal and the hills rising to either side in glorious golds and greens. Sheep dappled the slopes and the breeze blew mild in the valley. A dog galloped toward them and dropped a stick beside the water, and Diantha slipped her hand from Wyn’s and ran over to it.

“Silly Ramses. You should bring it all the way to me.” She bent to pick up the stick, the grace of her movements stirring Wyn as everything about her always did. He had dreamed once of taking her down in the grass here and making love to her, with only the cloudless sky and birdsong to accompany their pleasure. The servants were on holiday today, and Owen off to the village to practice his new apprenticeship at the smithy.

Wyn watched his wife and his appetite grew. The prospect of fulfilling his dream was looking good.

One matter must be addressed first. He drew the letter from his pocket and snapped open the seal.

Raven,

The royal battle has come to its anticipated conclusion and I have had communication from the captain of the Queen’s entourage that she wishes your attendance upon her immediately. If you refuse her, His Majesty promises a baronetcy. The director awaits a reply.

—Peregrine

P.S. Sparrow bids me convey to you her deepest affection, but between you and me she is furious to have been denied the planning and hosting of your wedding. Beware of a sentimental siren with the intelligence of a man; she is never fully honest.

Diantha snatched the letter from his grasp.

“From Lord Gray?” She read, her curling locks twining about her wrist and across her eyes. Tenderly Wyn brushed them aside, stealthily reaching for the paper. She whisked it away, reading as she glided along the path ahead. She halted abruptly and turned to him again, her eyes popping wide.

“A baronetcy! You did not tell me about that.”

“I was not certain of it until today.” He picked up the stick and threw it, Ramses racing after.

“And the queen too. How exciting!” She looked up as he neared. “Which do you want? The queen’s retinue and great responsibility, or knighthood and great prestige?”

He seized her about the waist and pulled her against him, plucking the paper from her fingers. “I have but one desire, minx.”

Her eyes sparkled. “What is that?”

He released the letter and it floated upon a gust of wind, rising high then dipping and falling into the canal to be carried away by the water. He tightened his arms about her. “This one.” He took her mouth beneath his and drank in the intoxicating beauty of her flavor, her scent, and her passion for him. When he drew away, her cheeks were rosy, her lips bruised.

“I have a plan,” she murmured, twining her arms about his neck, her dimples deep.

He brushed his lips across hers, feeling her full breasts against his chest, her hips and thighs cradling him, and swiftly assessing the distance to the ground. “You do, hm?”

“This is it: you decline both, and we remain here for the rest of our lives, just humble Mr. and Mrs. Yale and a dog named after a pharaoh. And whoever else comes along, of course.”

He kissed her again; he could never kiss her enough. “An excellent plan.”

“Really?” Her lips curved into a smile beneath his.

“Yes.” He spread his hands on her back. “It suits my wishes entirely. Especially at this moment.”

“Why this moment?”

“Because it takes care of that uninteresting business so that we can advance to other matters. You see, I have a plan too.” He cupped her behind and drew her against him.

“I like your plan.” She slipped her hands beneath his waistcoat. “But I didn’t know you were in the habit of making plans.”

“I am indeed.” He set his mouth to the curve of her shoulder. “Many plans.” He drew her thigh around his hip, her skirts fluttering in the breeze.

“Show me your plans, Mr. Yale.” She leaned into him, her eyes a wonder of desire and love. “And I’ll show you mine.”

Author's Note

My research for this book took me into the minds and hearts of people dependent or once dependent upon alcohol, and also—as is the case with all my books—into my own life experiences and memories. Theories abound about alcohol dependency today, and an equal abundance of treatments is available. But one fact is certain: detoxification from an alcohol binge can be life threatening. Multiple factors contribute to the severity of an individual’s withdrawal symptoms, and the seriousness of these symptoms is not predictable. The laudanum (an opiate) that Wyn used lowered his blood pressure and ultimately saved him. But compared to many, Wyn’s detoxification symptoms are mild. Alcohol detoxification should always be undertaken under the supervision of a physician.