Page 34 of The Defiant One
But God didn't seem to be looking out for her today.
For at that moment, she happened to catch sight of her sleeve, upon which a very red, very bright, very gruesome blotch of her own blood was seeping through the bleached linen. She staggered. Swayed dizzily —
"Celsiana, are you all right?"
And heard Andrew's voice, seeming to come from very far away, though he was only a few steps behind her, running to catch up.
"Celsie?"
"I think I am going to swoon," she managed in a little voice, and the last thing she felt before darkness claimed her was his strong arms catching her before she could hit the ground.
As indeed they did.
For a moment, Andrew stood in surprise, for he hadn't thought that the mettlesome Lady Celsiana Blake was the sort of woman given to fits of the vapors. But then, he really couldn't blame her. Subjected to the near-slaughter of her brother, a sudden and unwanted betrothal, and worst of all, the knowledge that her prospective bridegroom was something of a freak, it was no wonder she had lost her senses.
He felt a flash of sympathy. Of protectiveness. And then he happened to glance up and see Lucien approaching with his sword, and all tenderness exploded into fury.
"An heiress," the duke murmured benignly. He slid Andrew's blade back into its sheath. "Well, well. I always knew you'd make an advantageous match. Shall we post the banns?"
Andrew's reply caused the blood to drain from the faces of several nearby spectators, for nobody dared speak to His Grace the Duke of Blackheath like that. Lucien, however, only raised an amused brow. "Such language," he chided, not blinking an eye as a red-faced Somerfield galloped past, beating as hasty a retreat as his horse could give him. "Really, Andrew, why don't you set the girl down? Not only are you making everyone think you enjoy holding her, but I daresay she'll be none too pleased to find herself in your arms when she awakens."
"And why don't you wipe that satisfied smirk off your face before I do it for you?" Andrew seethed through clenched teeth.
"Now, now," the duke murmured, letting the smirk remain. "That is no way to speak to the man who just saved your life."
"You're right. Speaking to you is the last thing I feel like doing."
He turned and headed toward the coach, holding Celsiana close to his chest and feeling oddly, disturbingly, protective of her.
"Off to procure a special license, are you? Ah. No wonder you're in such a hurry . . ."
Andrew was so angry he thought his head might explode. "I am taking her away. From everyone. From you. She's going to be upset enough as it is, without waking up to a crowd of strangers gawking at her and offering felicitations on her upcoming nuptials." He glared at Lucien, thinking it was a good thing his arms were occupied, because otherwise Lucien wouldn't be looking quite so smug. "You're a complete and utter sod. A despicable bastard. A contemptible, soulless monster. I hope you're damned proud of yourself."
"For saving your life? Hmm, yes. I don't think 'proud' is the right word . . ."
Andrew snarled a curse and kept walking.
Beside him, Lucien reached into the inside pocket of his coat and pulled out a flask. "Very well then, go. But at least take this. I think both of you could use a little sustenance."
"What is it?"
"Brandy. I brought it in the unlikely event you sustained a wound and needed bracing up, but it appears to have found a much better use."
Cradling Celsie in one arm, Andrew snatched the flask from his brother's hand and shoved it into the side pocket of his waistcoat. And then he spun on his heel and strode toward the coach, angry with Lucien, angry with fate, angry that now everyone in Ravenscombe — let alone the woman in his arms — must know there was something more than a little peculiar about him . . .
Bloody hell. At least her desperate declaration to marry him had distracted people from his own unfortunate plight. He had that to thank her for, at least.
Not that he intended to, of course. The less attention he called to himself, the better.
He put Celsie on the seat and climbed up behind her. Then he took her in his arms, slammed the door, and pounded a fist on the roof. "Drive on!" he ordered harshly.
"But His Grace —"
"His Grace be double damned, I said drive on!"
"Where to, my lord?"
"Anywhere. Just get us out of here, and now."
