Lucien grabbed up the candlestick beside the bed. "You ought to count yourself damned lucky that you're not dead," he growled, holding the candle over Gareth's face and leaning down to stare into his eyes.
Gareth swatted him away. "What the devil are you doing?"
"Nothing."
"The doctor told us to watch your pupils," Juliet explained. "If they're different sizes, it could mean you have brain damage."
Gareth only laughed.
"Nothing wrong with you," Lucien muttered, straightening up. He slammed the candlestick back on the nighttable so hard that it dented the wood.
"Yes, well, stay out of my face and there'll be nothing wrong with you, either," Gareth returned with mock threat, sighing happily as Juliet pulled the covers up over his arms. Lucien saw another of those nauseatingly sweet, sickeningly tender gazes pass between them. Faintly disgusted, he rolled his eyes and turned away.
Leave it to the Wild One to stumble into a killer's scheme and emerge with one of the finest estates in Berkshire. He was lucky he wasn't dead.
But by God, I am proud of him.
Proud, yes. But furious. And what still had him particularly incensed was the fact that Gareth had known what Snelling was doing, but hadn't summoned him until it was nearly too late. Then Snelling's man had intercepted his message. Christ. Had Snelling found out any earlier that Gareth had been on to him, Gareth — like Charles — might be lying in a grave with a bullet in him. Lucien cursed between his teeth, even as he silently admired his brother for his courage and cleverness.
"Luce?"
Lucien, hiding that admiration beneath a black scowl, turned and stared down at him.
"You still haven't told me how you got Crusader back."
"Fox saw him at Tattersall's and promptly bought him back for you. Now, go to sleep. Get some rest. I want you to heal up so I can beat the living daylights out of you, myself."
"I dare you to try it," Gareth whispered, with a weak grin. "I'm a champion now, you know."
Lucien stared down at him. And then he shook his head, no longer able to prevent a little smile from touching his severe and unforgiving mouth. "So you are," he said softly. "So you are."
Gareth raised one eyebrow in surprise.
Lucien added, "Believe it or not, you've fulfilled my expectations and become the man I always thought you could be." His smile deepened. "You've grown up, little brother. I'm proud of you."
And with that he turned on his heel and left the couple staring after him in stunned shock.
~~~~
The room was quiet, dimly lit by two candles on either side of the bed; pulled up near it in her cradle, Charlotte gave a tiny sigh as she dreamed.
Juliet waited until the duke's footsteps faded, then looked down at her husband.
"Well, well. Monsters do have hearts, after all," she mused, grinning. And then, as she caressed his lips with her fingertip: "Gareth?"
"Yes, my love?"
"Just one thing. If you ever do do anything like this again, Lucien won't have the chance to kill you because I'm going to get to you first."
He laughed, curved his good arm around her neck, and, ignoring her feeble protests, pulled her down, kissing her so soundly that her head was soon as dizzy as his.
She snuggled up beside him and he drew her right up next to him. They lay facing each other on one pillow, his fingers lightly caressing her breast.
"I love you, Gareth."
"Ah, Juliet, I love you, too. I cannot tell you what it meant to me to see you running across the stage toward me tonight ... to know that you had not left me, after all." He swallowed hard, his eyes dark with the force of his gratitude, his love. "My greatest victory this evening was not defeating the Butcher; it was waking up and finding you here, with me."
"Oh, Gareth ... can you ever forgive me for doubting you?"
"I will forgive you anything, my love. Now, snuff out the candles and get back down here under the covers with me, would you?" He found her nipple with his thumb and, with a wicked little grin, played with it until it peaked. "This bed is too big and lonely without you."
Epilogue
It was three weeks before Christmas. Lucien, who'd lingered at breakfast after the others had made their excuses, was sipping his coffee and contemplating how to straighten out Andrew — as he had so cleverly straightened out Gareth — when a footman brought in a silver platter bearing the morning post, and presented it to His Grace.
He went through it with his usual lack of interest. Nothing out of the ordinary, here. Bills, investment opportunities, loan requests from friends and charities, invitations to social events, and ah! — his brows rose in interest — two letters. He tossed the other post aside and slit the seal on the first one. It was from Gareth and Juliet, full of recent news: about Charlotte, who was now walking; about Gareth, who'd recently been elected the local Member of Parliament; about Juliet, who was expecting their second child. The letter ended with an invitation for the whole family to spend Christmas at Swanthorpe.