The Defiant One

Epilogue

The duke of Blackheath arrived back in Ravenscombe late the following evening.

The miles had passed quickly beneath Armageddon's swift hooves, but Lucien had still had plenty of time to contemplate and savor his most recent triumph. And a triumph, it was. Another sibling, perhaps the most difficult of the lot, happy and set for life. Another new sister-in-law, madly in love with one of his brothers. Even now, he couldn't help but smile as he remembered the exchange of farewells early this morning. How strange it had felt when Celsie had actually embraced him for the first time, her eyes full of gratitude. How bizarre it had felt not to be at odds with Andrew, who had warmly shaken his hand. And how empty he was feeling now, knowing that there was only one sibling left to settle before his vow to his parents was finally fulfilled.

Nerissa.

She would not be the challenge her brothers had been. She was already in love with Perry, and surely would only need the smallest . . . push, to send her in the right direction.

No, Nerissa would be no trouble at all.

He was feeling quite proud of himself as he finally rode through the gatehouse of Blackheath, swung down from Armageddon, and handed the horse into the care of a groom, who came out of the darkness carrying a lantern. "Welcome back, Your Grace," he said, bowing, and turning the horse, led him back to the stables.

Lucien watched them go; then he headed toward the castle, looking forward to a change of clothes, a hot meal, and a long soak in the bath.

Servants ran to open the great doors for him. Servants ran to take his hat, his coat, and his gloves. Servants ran to prepare his meal.

Ah, it was good to be home.

The lord of Blackheath strode down the dark, dimly lit corridors, his footsteps echoing against the ancient walls that surrounded him. It was a windy night, and as he climbed the spiralling stone stairs that led to his apartments high in the tower, he could hear the gusts howling around the great turret, evoking memories he wished he could forget.

He pushed open his door.

Stepped inside.

And stopped dead in his tracks.

There, bathed in the light of a single bedside candle and sitting cross-legged on his bed, was a woman. A woman with slanting green eyes, vibrant red hair, and a smile that oozed malevolence.

Eva de la Mouriére.

"Ah, Your Grace. I have been waiting for you. You see, I found a little bottle in your safe there, and since I really cannot afford another error, you — like it or not — are going to sample it prior to my departure."

She held a gun in one hand, pointed straight at his heart.

And in the other . . .

The aphrodisiac.

Lucien looked into her angry, glittering eyes for a long moment, his expression giving nothing away. And then, his lips curving in a dark smile, he moved across the room.

Moved silently toward the bed.

And began slipping off his waistcoat, even as the door swung shut behind him.

###

-- the end --

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About the Author:

Multi-award winning and critically acclaimed author Danelle Harmon is the author of ten books, previously published in print and distributed in many languages worldwide. Though a Massachusetts native, she has lived in England and is married to an Englishman; she and her husband make their home in Massachusetts with their daughter Emma and numerous animals including four dogs, an Egyptian Arabian horse, and numerous pet chickens. Danelle welcomes email from her readers and can be reached at Danelle@danelleharmon.com or through any of the means listed below: