She was surprised enough not to scream, then wise enough not to when she noticed the gun he had pointed at her head. The horrid man was grinning. Well, why not? He'd won, after all. Vanessa had been right. He'd set the fire in the stable to draw everyone out of the house so he could then sneak into it. And the bastard had no care for the animals, that some of them could have died. Jocelyn's temper rose before fear had a chance to.
"Shut the door, Your Grace," he fairly purred. "We don't want to be disturbed."
"Shut it yourself!"
He sat up, his gray eyes darkening with annoyance that she wasn't immediately cowed. "I don't think you realize—"
"No, you don't seem to realize that I'm fed up to here with you!" She hit her chin with the back of her fingers to show him just where. "So go ahead and shoot me, you miserable little worm. But I promise you, you won't get out of this house alive!"
"I don't intend to shoot you," he growled angrily.
"No? Then give me your gun. I have no such qualms."
"You bloody bitch!" His face was turning quite red in his frustration that she was ruining the way he'd fantasized this meeting. "Remember you said that when I get my hands around your neck!"
"Well, come along then and I'll scratch your eyes out while you're trying!"
But when he did rise with a snarl of rage, she realized she'd forgotten how tall he was. Slim, but not worth risking a physical struggle with. She wasn't stupid, after all.
She darted out the door, racing toward the stairs. She thought she could almost feel his breath down her neck, but hoped it was just her imagination running wild. It was, almost. He was three feet behind her when she abruptly halted at the top of the stairs. Colt was there, halfway up them. He stopped too. So did Longnose, who thought to turn the gun still in his hand on Colt. It was the last thing he ever did.
Even as he was pulling the trigger, Colt was firing his own gun. Longnose's bullet whisked past his ear to embed in the wall behind him. Colt's bullet took 41 the Englishman in the chest. He fell slowly, knees
!hitting the floor first, mumbling something about bloody hell, then toppling the rest of the way over.
Jocelyn sat down on the top step with a shuddering sigh. "This is one time I don't mind at all your habit of dropping men at my feet."
"Are you all right?"
"Certainly. I'm becoming an old hand at this sort of thing." Yet her voice sounded anything but calm.
His eyes narrowed on her. "You look like you could use a shot of whiskey."
"Make that brandy and I quite agree. I have some in the parlor."
"Then go ahead. I'll join you after I dispose of the trash."
He joined her sooner than that. Her people came running into the house from all directions to investigate the shot. He left the cleanup to them. The countess almost beat him to the parlor, however, but not quite.
"She's all right, Vanessa," Colt told her in a quiet but firm voice. "Leave her to me."
The countess was too shocked at hearing him call her by name to say anything at first. And then the door was closed in her face, so she'd missed her chance.
"Well, I never," Vanessa gasped.
"I thought you were hoping he would show up," Robbie said behind her.
"I must have been temporarily crazy. I'd forgotten what he's like."
"As long as she doesn't mind, sweetheart, why should you?"
She started to frown, but ended up smiling. "How right you are. / won't have to live with him, after all."
Inside the parlor, Jocelyn drained the brandy from her glass before saying, "That wasn't very nice of you."
"Wasn't I polite enough?"
She quirked a brow at his innocent expression, not sure whether he was serious or not. Not that she cared. She was more interested in what he was doing here.
He had dropped his coat on the rack in the hall before the shouting had drawn him upstairs. She noted the absence of buckskins and braids. Only his moccasins were familiar. The rest of his attire, the dark pants and open-necked blue shirt, the red bandanna and Western hat, was pretty much what the average cowboy sported.
He was taking in her dress, in particular her thin camisole, so incongruous with her heavy wool skirt. She could feel the color mounting and it annoyed her.
Good Lord, after all they had been through, how could he still make her blush?
She decided her doubting look was answer enough to his question and asked one of her own. "What are you doing here, Colt?"
"I'd heard you planned to shoot Longnose yourself."
"And you thought to dissuade me from that notion?"
" Something like that."
She remembered saying that to him once and couldn't help smiling, even if she was disappointed by his answer. "Your timing was on the mark — as ever. I don't suppose I'll ever learn his real name now."
"Does it matter?"
"No, he was a Longnose to the end, following my scent across yet another country. I'm liable to miss him, you know. He added an element of excitement to my life."
"You'll have to find something else, then — that can excite you."
Those words didn't do too bad a job. She could feel her heartbeat accelerate. And the way he was looking at her.
She moved over to the window so she could watch the activity at the stable and get her pulse under control. The animals were already being taken into the old barn, which fortunately hadn't been torn down yet. She didn't see much more than that, however, once Colt moved up behind her. He had a way of claiming her full attention even when she wasn't looking at him.
"Will you marry me?"
Jocelyn's forehead dropped against the window. It was a wonder her legs didn't give out. She felt such unbelievable relief on hearing those words, and such ecstasy washing over her — and he'd made her suffer for three weeks while he made up his mind.
"I don't know," she said in a perfectly normal tone, though she didn't know how she managed it. "The countess says one shouldn't marry her lover. Ruins the romance, you know."
"And I'm not suitable except to be your lover?"
She swung around, her eyes large with temper. "Suitable? There you go belittling yourself again! I thought I'd warned you—"
He grabbed her to shut her up. "Am I still your lover?"
"If you are, you've been a very inattentive one."
He kissed the pout from her lips, slowly, persuasively. "What if you marry me for the hell of it, but we pretend we're just lovers?"
"That sounds rather nice, especially since lovers tend to love each other."
"And married folks don't?"
"Not always."
"I won't have any problem with that."
"You won't?"
"Don't look so surprised, Duchess. Did you think I was after your money?"
She was chagrined by his grin, and snorted, "You'll probably ask me to give it all away."
"I might."
"And live in a cabin in the hills."
"I might."
"And have your babies and wash your clothes."
"I'd like to keep my clothes intact, and I warn you now, you're not getting anywhere near my stove. I guess you'll have to have a few servants around after all."
"And the babies?"
"You want some?"
"Most definitely."
"I guess that means you love me, huh?"
"Or I just like your body. Did I tell you what a splendid— Yes!" she squealed when he squeezed her tight. "I love you, you wretched man."
"You could have told me sooner," he growled, holding her close. "Like when I was making love to you or some other appropriate time. Then I wouldn't have gone through hell these last weeks thinking—"
"If you're going to mention something about your heritage, Colt Thunder, I'll hit you."
He leaned back to look at her fierce expression, and then he laughed. "God, I love you, Duchess.
You're one of a kind."