Free The Wild One by Danelle Harmon Page B

to
live the robbery all over again, he wouldn't do a thing
differently. Despite his hangover, his raw cheek, and the throbbing
of his nicked rib, he felt quite good about himself just now. Quite
good, indeed. He slid back beneath the covers, smiling like a fool.
It was rather nice, being the hero of the hour ... and there were
no words to describe how he'd felt when Miss Juliet Paige had come
in to say good night to him and bent down to touch her cool, sweet
lips to his brow. He sighed and lay back in bed with a happy grin.
Such attentions made him feel quite special, indeed. And,
appreciated.
    He wasn't used to anyone appreciating
him.
    He closed his eyes. The blackbird was still
singing, and as he began to drift away, he allowed himself to
imagine that Juliet Paige was gazing reverently down at him,
standing watch over him as though he were some mighty fallen
warrior-hero and she, heaven's dearest angel.
    When Lucien came quietly in to check on him
an hour later, Gareth was fast asleep ... and still smiling.
    ~~~~
    The mighty hero slept straight through
breakfast. By then, the flowers, tributes, notes and poems of
praise had already begun to arrive as news of the robbery, and
Gareth's part in thwarting it, spread through Ravenscombe and into
the surrounding countryside.
    The Wild One had always been popular with
the ladies, but never so much as he was this fine, late-April
morning. His actions of the previous night — and the fact that he'd
suffered a "grievous, life-threatening wound" — seemed to have
driven every female in Berkshire into a frenzy. A group of
blushing, giggling maids from the village brought him a bouquet of
bright purple lilacs. A half-dozen red roses arrived from Lady
Jayne Snow, only to be outdone by a full dozen from her sister Lady
Anne. A box of sweet, juicy oranges were sent by Miss Amy Woodside,
letters and notes poured in by the dozens, and a poem of ardent
admiration came from the gushing pen of Miss Sally Chilcot, who was
as brainless and silly as her fool of a brother, Neil.
    Or so proclaimed an increasingly annoyed
Lucien, as a footman entered the dining hall where they were all
having breakfast, with the missive on a silver platter.
    "For heaven's sake," he muttered,
plucking the perfumed vellum and slamming it down into the growing
pile before Gareth's empty chair.
    He picked up his coffee and went back to
reading The Gentleman's Magazine .
    "Oh, do open it, Luce," drawled Andrew,
buttering a piece of bread and craning his neck to read the flowery
writing that covered the folded vellum. "Let's see ... Ah! A
Poem: To the Brave and Dashing Lord Gareth de Montforte ." He
made a noise of amused contempt. "Whatever she wrote ought to be
priceless as far as breakfast time amusement goes."
    "Whatever she wrote is for Gareth's eyes
only," snapped Nerissa, who was bouncing Charlotte on her lap.
"You're just miffed that Gareth is getting so much attention, and
you're not."
    "On the contrary, my dear sister. I have
better things to do than fend off the attentions of pestilent
females."
    "Perhaps that's because there are no
pestilent females giving you attention to fend off," Nerissa shot
back.
    " Children ," murmured the duke,
without looking up from his paper.
    Feeling uncomfortable and more than a little
out of place, Juliet silently stirred sugar into her tea. She was
still smarting over the way the duke had treated her during the
previous night's interview, and even now she didn't know whether he
intended to take her in and make Charlotte his ward — or not. He
hadn't said a word about the subject, and until Nerissa had brought
her down here to breakfast, Juliet had not seen him so that she
could ask. She wanted to speak to him alone. Here at the table,
with two bickering siblings listening in, did not seem the
appropriate time or place in which to do so.
    Perhaps she could request a moment of his
time after breakfast....
    "Don't look so troubled, Miss Paige," Andrew
said amiably, mistaking the