The Lady And The Outlaw

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Epilogue

About the Author

Copyright

Holy Mother. He was pulling her skirt up!

“You can’t do this!” she gasped.

“I assure you, your maidenly honor is quite safe. I’m only searching for weapons. I don’t trust anyone, especially women as wily as you, my dear. Perhaps a knife strapped to your leg?”

His hand moved up one leg, then another. Her pulse quickened. “How dare you?” she whispered.

Nate removed his hand from beneath the folds of her skirts, then turned her loose.

Ann spun around, ready to give him a piece of her mind. But seeing his raised hand, she backed away. “I don’t care who finds me in your room. If you strike me, I swear I’ll scream.” He brushed back the hair that had fallen into his eyes, and Ann realized her mistake. There had been no blow intended.

Nate leaned against the door. “What’s wrong, duchess? Guilty conscience?”

Dear Reader,

What a perfect time to celebrate history-the eve of a new century. This month we’re featuring four terrific romances with awe-inspiring heroes and heroines from days gone by that you’ll want to take with you into the next century!

Antoinette Huntington is the unforgettable heroine in The Lady and the Outlaw, a new Western by DeLoras Scott, which also happens to be the longawaited sequel to her very first Harlequin Historical novel, Bittersweet. Here, the pragmatic and English-bred Antoinette has a romantic run-in with a rugged outlaw on a train headed to the Wild West. Don’t miss it!

In Suzanne Barclay’s new medieval novel, The Champion, knight Simon of Blackstone will leave you breathless when he returns from the Crusades to right past wrongs. In doing so, he rekindles a love that was lost but not forgotten. Wolf Heart is the fascinating, timeless hero from Shawnee Bride by Elizabeth Lane. He’s a Shawnee warrior who rescues a young woman from certain death. Can the deep love that grows between them transcend the cultural barriers?

Corwin of Lenvil, a Saxon knight, is the handsome hero in Shari Anton’s exciting new medieval tale, By Queen’s Grace. Corwin infiltrates a rebel camp in order to rescue a kidnapped royal maiden who long ago broke his heart. There’s passion and danger at every turn!

Enjoy! And come back again next month for four more choices of the best in historical romance.

Happy holidays,

Tracy Farrell

Senior Editor

The Lady And The Outlaw

DeLoras Scott

To Tracy Farrell, a very special lady

Prologue

England, October 1875

Having heard the baying of the duke’s hounds, the small hunting party spread out. The duke’s cousin, Matthew, moved to the left, while Edmund Huntington, the duke of Gravenworth, veered off to the right. The duchess chose to remain in the center. If all went well, the dogs would soon flush a worthy stag from the protection of the forest, momentarily disturbing the morning fog still clinging to the edges of the meadow.

A superb horsewoman, Antoinette set her frisky gray splendidly. As always, her mohair riding habit and hat mirrored the current Parisian fashion. However, her thoughts were not on horsemanship, fashion or the hunt.

As Antoinette drew her rifle from the confines of the saddle scabbard, a momentary frown creased her smooth brow, the only indication of the pain the effort caused. At least her clothes hid the bruises Edmund had inflicted last night.

Resting the weapon across her lap, the duchess glared at her husband’s back. Before Edmund had pulled ahead, she had seen his nostrils flare. He was already anticipating the kill. Antoinette’s full mouth spread into a contemptuous smile as she curled her finger around the trigger. Finally she raised the weapon to her shoulder and waited for the stag, already desperate to elude the dogs and death. But as if guided by some unknown force, she slowly moved the tip of the barrel until the back of her husband’s head came within her line of vision.

Five years of mistreatment flashed through her mind. From Edmund she had learned the meaning of loathing. How many nights had she prayed that some misfortune would befall him? She could end his tyranny here and now. All she had to do was squeeze the trigger.

A stag suddenly leaped into the clearing, not six feet from where Edmund had positioned himself. He fired his weapon, but the magnificent beast didn’t falter. The duke had again missed his target.

An unusual calmness befell Antoinette. as she looked back down the barrel of her rifle…still pointed at her husband. Could she kill him? Was she capable of such a monstrous act? It would be so easy.

A shot exploded in her ear. Her eyes became large green orbs as she watched Edmund sway in the saddle then slowly slide to the ground, the blood from the hole in his back already staining his yellow hunting jacket.

For a brief moment, Antoinette felt a sense of satisfaction. The next moment she was consumed with the horror at what she had done. The weapon slipped from her hand and fell helpless onto the ground. Pulling her gaze from the motionless body on the grass, she looked at Matthew. She desperately needed to explain that it had been an accident. “I…I…” Words failed her.

As Matthew put his rifle away, Antoinette could see his thin lips were spread in a sardonic smile of satisfaction. Suddenly she questioned whether she had indeed been the perpetrator.or Matthew?

“You murdered His Grace!” she called accusingly.

“I?” Matthew asked, his face mirroring surprise.

No! Antoinette thought. She couldn’t have committed the act. There was no sense of guilt within her. Suddenly, she realized the precariousness of her situation. If Matthew had committed the crime, he wouldn’t want to leave a witness behind. She yanked her mount about. She had to reach the hunting lodge and safety.

A swift kick sent the big gelding into motion, but Antoinette’s hesitation had allowed Matthew enough time to close the distance between them. His strong hand grabbed her horse’s reins near the bit, causing the animal’s head to be jerked about. It took all of Antoinette’s skill to keep her seat as the horse tugged, danced and kicked. Desperately Antoinette whipped at the hand holding the reins, but Matthew’s grip was firm. Finally she gave up her effort at freedom.

“You shot Edmund in the back!” she again accused:

Matthew’s smile didn’t reach his steely eyes. “Come, come, my dear. It was a poacher who shot him. Right?”

“There was no poacher.”

“Either a poacher,” Matthew said, and raised a meaningful brow, “or you.”

Antoinette’s throat filled with bile.

“Who else hated Edmund enough to shoot him? It certainly couldn’t be me. I would have taken care of the matter a long time ago.”

Antoinette raised a shaking hand to her throat. “No one will believe me guilty of so vile an act,” she said with far more conviction than she felt.

“Ah, but they will. Would it not be easier for the ton to believe that you were ridding yourself of a husband you despised while securing your unborn child’s inheritance, than for me, who gains considerably less, to have committed the crime?” He released the reins.

As frantic as she felt, Antoinette knew escape was impossible. “I…I suppose it must have been a poacher.” Her mind had become a sea of confusion.

“I’m pleased to see your recollection of this little mishap coincides with mine. I’ve always known you to be a wise woman, my dear. Actually, you did the world a service by putting an end to dear Edmund.” Matthew watched a crow fly by. “Just think. Had my father not been born six minutes later than Edmund’s father, I would be the duke. Ah, but as my father always said, trickery abounded that fateful night. He was the firstborn twin, you know, but because his coloring was not dark like the Huntington line, it was claimed that he was second.”

Antoinette had heard the story many times. Too many times.

Matthew pressed the soles of his boots against the stirrups and stretched his legs. “Now you carry Edmund’s child which again prevents me from claiming what should be mine. That leaves me, or perhaps I should say you, with two choices. Either marry me or die for your crime.”

The duchess opened her mouth to speak, but no words came forth. Marry him? All she could do was nod her consent.

“Good. One week after Edmund’s funeral we shall announce our betrothal.”

Antoinette gasped. “The town would believe the child I carry to be yours!”

“Exactly.”

A shudder crawled up Antoinette’s spine, causing the pounding in her head to increase. Her eyes desperately scanned the woods for any sign of help, though she knew none would be forthcoming.

“And of course with the child being mine, I will gain the dukedom,” Matthew continued. “I shall become your protector, so to speak. Now, my dear, we must make haste to inform the servants of the terrible atrocity that has taken place this fateful day.”

Chapter One

Your Grace, there is a messenger here to see you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Cuthwell.” Ann went to the narrow entrance and accepted the message. As soon as she returned to the warm parlor she opened the missive and perused the letter from her father. It stated

that, after a lengthy meeting between her father and

uncle, the duke of Wilmington, it had been decided that she should join their brother’s son, Beau Falkner, in America and await the birth of her child. If she delivered a son, he would be the next duke of Gravenworth, thereby thwarting Matthew’s attempts to gain the title. Should the child be a daughter, then other arrangements would have to be made. Passage had already been booked on the Dolphin, one of the fine sailing vessels owned by W. T. Honeycutt, a close friend of her uncle. Funds had also been provided.

Ann crumpled the paper in her hand and stood watching the heavy raindrops strike the cottage windowpane. The dark, low clouds blotted out the sunlight, making it appear more like dusk than morning. A perfect cover for the daring plan she had been contemplating. It would be a terribly risky move on her part, but she would have the advantage of surprise. And, try as she might, it was the only positive way she could think of to prevent Matthew from gaining control of Graven worth. Ann left the parlor and headed for Captain Cuthwell’s small study.

Twenty minutes later, after half-truths and evasions, Antoinette Huntington had managed to talk the retired sea captain into finding her a driver who was trustworthy and had a fast team of horses.

While impatiently awaiting the captain’s return, Ann thought about her escape from Gravenworth. At Edmund’s funeral, a few whispered words to Jonathan Falkner was all it had taken for him to put his only daughter in his coach and whisk her away from Matthew.

Ann smiled warmly. During the trip here, she had told her dear father what had really happened during the hunt. The tall, stately man had been completely understanding, mumbling something about Edmund’s just reward.

“Perhaps it’s because I can’t fathom murdering anyone,” she had said, “but in my heart, I do not believe I fired the shot.”

“I understand you were upset at the time, but it’s. too bad you couldn’t have retrieved your rifle. You could have found out if it had been fired. Fortunately, the tale about the poacher was believed by all,” her father had pointed out. “There is a great deal at stake here if, as you suspect, Matthew did indeed see to Edmund’s demise,” he had added thoughtfully. “Matthew might not hesitate to harm you now that you are no longer under his control.” “I’ll be safe at Seaborne Manor.”

“Having you at the manor would indeed lighten my heart. I have been far too lonely since your blessed mother’s passing so many years ago and since your brother sailed for India. But it’s still not safe. I’m taking you to an old friend’s cottage instead.”

Her father had placed her chilled hands in his and rubbed them gently. “My dear, you must stay in Bath until it is decided what should be done. Matthew will never find you at Captain and Mrs. Cuthwell’s cottage.”

Though the following two weeks of confinement had moved at a snail’s pace, it had allowed her time to come to grips with her feeling about Edmund’s death. She knew she should feel guilty for not caring, but she still hadn’t shed a tear and there was no sorrow within her. Edmund had long since destroyed any emotion she might have harbored. For the first time in years, she was free to do whatever pleased her. And if there were tears to be shed, let them be for her and the sin against God she had committed…if she had committed the sin.

Despite her fears, later that morning Ann left Bath, time being her enemy. The Dolphin was due to sail in two days, but if she was fortunate, the pounding waves caused by the storm would delay the ship’s departure long enough for her to board.

Matthew flung his goblet in the blazing fireplace and curled his lip. Where was Antoinette Huntington? He knew for certain she had never arrived at Seaborne. So where had her father hidden her? He turned to warm his backside. The cold and miserable weather only served to fuel his temper.

What was it going to take to flush the duchess from her hiding place? He had put out word of money offered for her return, but nothing had come of it. Even the men he’d posted at each ship boarding in Bristol had turned up empty-handed. Somewhere, sometime she would have to emerge.

He had thought he had everything under control. He had been convinced that Ann’s fear and self-condemnation would prevent her from trying to leave. When she mingled with the guests who had arrived for the funeral, he had remained constantly by her side. But as his cousin was being placed in the ground, she had moved to her father’s side and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. He had seen her whisper something to the stately man and knew immediately that he had been tricked. Her apparent meekness as of late had been but a ruse to keep him from suspecting her intentions.

Matthew banged his fist against the thick rock wall. As the closest relative, he would now be the next duke of Gravenworth. if Ann wasn’t carrying Edmund’s seed. It was without question that she had informed her father of her condition, which meant that her uncle, the duke of Wilmington, was also aware of it. The duke had the queen’s ear. Matthew knew that should he make a move to claim the title, Ann’s uncle would be quick to inform Her Majesty of his niece’s condition. He had no desire to be sent to the guillotine.

Matthew scowled. He had to find Ann and proclaim himself father of the babe she carried. But even that seemed doomed. The duchess was still nowhere to be found!

The door to Matthew’s room flew open, startling him. “How dare you barge in here?” he thundered.

“Milord,” Thomas, the manservant, said hurriedly, “the kitchen has informed me that the duchess was just here and. she’s already left.”

“And no one stopped her?” Matthew hurried forward. “I’ll see that some heads roll! Get my coat.and my horse!” His heels clicked on the stone hallway as he hurried forth.

Thomas rushed after the taller man. “She took her dog and Hester with her,” he sputtered, already out of breath.

Inside the carriage, Antoinette clutched the leather coach strap, trying to maintain her seat. She was so tense her bones were aching. The black overcast skies, the flight for safety, the bumpy ride and the uncertainty of escape had taken its toll.

She released her hold and stretched her cramped fingers. She could barely see the pregnant maid who sat in the shadows on the far side of the seat Ann worried about the rough road causing Hester to lose her baby, but to slow the carriage would be disastrous.

Antoinette released a suppressed grunt. Had she remained at Gravenworth, it wouldn’t have taken long for Matthew to discover her claim of being with child had been nothing more than a means of keeping her husband from her bedchamber.

The whip cracked in the cold night air, reminding Ann of a gunshot. For a brief instant, she relived the sight of blood soaking Edmund’s coat as he slid from the-

“If I don’t die from this bloomin’ ride, I’m as likely to die from the cold!” Hester wailed. She pulled the blanket tighter about her shivering body.

Ann shoved the derringer into her reticule then returned her hold on the strap. Threatening Hester with the weapon had been the only quick way she could think of to make the loose woman do her bidding. She still found it hard to believe that at four months into her confinement, the maid’s stomach gave no evidence of her condition. Could Hester have also lied about being with child? Enough. She couldn’t dwell on it now.

The duchess’s thoughts turned to Sir Drake. She wanted to weep. On top of everything else she had lost, she could now include her dog. Even after making it outside the castle safely, she’d had to keep the gun pointed at Hester. Busy hands and haste had allowed Sir Drake’s leash to slip from her fingers. The whippet had immediately darted off to relieve himself. To her despair, it would have taken too long to search for him or wait for his return.

“Where the bloody ‘ell are ye takin’ me?”

Ann’s wool cloak failed to keep out the night’s dampness. “Someone should have washed your acid mouth with lye soap a long time ago.”

“Edmund dain’t complain.” Hester toyed with a long flaxen curl hanging over her shoulder. “At least I ain’t barren.”

“You seem to have overlooked something very important,” Ann said calmly. “Edmund is dead, and it is because you are pregnant with his bastard that Matthew will see to your demise next.”

Hester gasped. “‘E wouldn’t do that. Why’re you sayin’ such? Edmund told me a bastard can’t inherit a title, but he said he’d see that his son was well taken care of.”

“And you believed him?” Ann scoffed. “Matthew is Edmund’s closest relative. He has slain to secure the title. Why would he allow Edmund’s bastard to live? But Matthew isn’t going to succeed. I shall see that Richard will become the next duke of Gravenworth.”

“Richard?” Hester asked.

“That is to be Edmund’s son’s name.”

Ann pulled back the curtain and tried to see out the window. Every instinct told her that Matthew was close behind. The momentary break in the clouds seemed a godsend. She rapped on the trap to get the driver’s attention. It took several tries before she was successful. “Holbert,” she called, when the man on the box finally slid the trap open, “take the coach to the trees! We’re being followed at close chase!”

As soon as the team and coach were well hidden, the driver quickly placed scarfs over the team’s muzzles to keep them from nickering. Then, everyone waited.

Less than five minutes passed before all heard the cadence of hooves pounding against the earth. Ann could make out only the shadows of riders as they passed, and Matthew was surely one of them.

She let out her held breath. What was she going to do now? After the riders had gone so far without catching the conveyance, they would circle back. Suddenly she remembered an old road that hadn’t been traveled in years. When she and Edmund were first married, she’d used it for her morning rides, knowing he wouldn’t find her. Ann glanced at the sky. It was clearing. Once past the trees, there would be enough moonlight to see by.

Ann quickly informed Holbert of the road and how to reach it. The driver had already proven well worth his fee. Knowing there was nothing more she could do, she settled against the back of the cushy seat. The clouds were clearing too quickly. Was the storm passing? If so, they would never make it back to Bath in time to catch the Dolphin that would have taken them around the cape to San Francisco. She had waited too long to fetch Hester.

But if the ship had sailed by the time they reached the docks, she would be forced to procure another passage to America. The corners of Ann’s lips curved upward. She had thwarted Matthew and for the moment she was justly proud of her victory.

“How do ye know it was Matthew who murdered ‘Is Grace?” Hester asked, but with considerably less haughtiness.

“I saw him do it,” Ann lied. Hester would never know the truth.

“But you told everyone-”

“I said what had to be said at the time.”

“Milady, why are you protectin’ me?”

“Because of the child you carry. I intend to raise Edmund’s bastard as my own.” Letting Edmund and everyone else think she was pregnant had proven to be more of a blessing than she had realized. She did, however, feel guilty about keeping the secret from her father. But only by claiming Richard as her own could she secure the title. “You’ll have until we reach Bath to decide if you are agreeable. If so, we will sail to the colonies, where I will see that you are financially secure.”

Hester had always wanted to go to the colonies. “What if it’s a girl?”

“Huntington men sire sons. But should it be a girl, you will still be taken care of.” Ann had already concluded that if she had to, she would secretly obtain a boy from an orphanage in the colonies.

They had finally reached the old road. The bumpy road would make traveling even more uncomfortable, but there had been no alternative. Inside the dark conveyance, Ann could feel the abigail staring at her.

Hester sat quietly, absorbing what the duchess had said. It wasn’t uncommon for a barren family to raise a bastard child. The duke’s death had put an end to all her planning and scheming. Now she’d never be the lady of the castle. Who would have thought His Grace would die at such an early age?

Hester took a deep breath. Since Edmund’s departure, she hadn’t cared what happened to the brat she carried. But with the duchess now wanting to raise the child as her own, all sorts of possibilities could open up for her. From now on she’d bide her time and do whatever Her Grace wanted. “I ain’t gotta think on it, Your Grace. I’m willing to go with you. Richard will be your son.”