Rebellious Desire

Bradford's ma

"All right. So Perkins and the men he hired are all dead. Where does that leave us?" He rubbed his jaw in a thoughtful ma

The sound of the clock chiming the hour was the only noise in the room as both men contemplated the puzzle.

"Are you positive that no one else knew what happened? Couldn't Perkins have told anyone?"

Braxton shook his head. "He wouldn't have dared," he commented. "And I didn't tell anyone but my brother."

Bradford stood up and began to pace the room.

"What are you going to do?" the earl asked. He was wringing his hands together and Bradford thought he looked as old and fragile as the marquis.

"I'm not sure yet. But the letter makes sense now. Whoever wrote it promised revenge but there were so many other disjointed obscenities that I didn't pay it any attention."

"Oh, God, she still isn't safe! She-"

Bradford interrupted his father-in-law with a curtness in his tone that he couldn't contain. "Nothing is going to happen to her. Damn it, I have only just realized how much she means to me. I won't let anyone touch her. I-"

"Yes?" the earl prompted when Bradford stopped.

"I love her." Bradford let out a loud sigh. "I'll not lose her now," he added, making the statement as a vow. "Look, try your best not to worry. Tell the marquis that Caroline is suffering from a cold or something. Convince him that she's out of bed now and intent on writing to him. That should appease the man until I can formulate a plan of action."

The earl felt as if a weight he had been carrying since the begi

Bradford nodded. "I'll keep silent for now but later, when this is finished, I'll have to tell her."

He followed his father-in-law to the front door and made the comment, "Caroline didn't tell you about the threat because she didn't want you to worry. And I've said very little to her about my thoughts concerning her enemy because I didn't want her to worry. Each of us has been so intent on protecting each other that we have an lost track. I've always insisted on blind trust-" Bradford halted as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He shook his head. "Blind trust. Her exact demand of me," he acknowledged.

"What?" The Earl of Braxton looked confused.

"She's given me her love and her trust," Bradford commented. His voice sounded curt but it was the only way he could control the trembling inside. "Did you know that she sometimes calls me Jered?"

His father-in-law shook his head and frowned, obviously perplexed by the turn in the conversation.

Bradford coughed and gripped the door handle. "Look, I promise to keep you informed. Now go home and get some rest."

The earl was halfway down the steps when Bradford stopped him with a question. "When exactly did it happen?"

"What?"

"The date, sir, when the men came."

"Almost fifteen years ago now," the earl answered.

"No, I mean the exact date. The day, the month-do you remember?"

"February, on the night of the twentieth, 1788. Is that important?"

Bradford wouldn't allow his face to show any reaction. "It might be. I'll be in touch," he promised, saying nothing more about his suspicions.

But as soon as the door was shut, his expression changed and his worry was clearly visible. He prayed he was wrong, shaking with anger. If his suspicions were correct, then there wasn't much time left. Only six days to find the bastard! Six days until February twentieth.

Bradford's hands shook as he made his list of what was to be done. He didn't go to bed until well into the middle of the night. Tomorrow, after he had set his plan into action, he would return to his wife. That thought calmed him and he realized that he was looking forward to confessing his love and begging her forgiveness. He would go to her as both the Duke of Bradford and Jered Marcus Benton. He knew in his heart that she loved him. And if the power and the wealth and the title disappeared tomorrow, she would remain by his side.

Bradford felt such contentment, such peace of mind when he thought about tomorrow and how he would hold his wife in his arms. He began to think of all the different ways he would make love to her, and fell asleep with a smile on his face.

Milford arrived at Bradford's townhouse just as his friend was preparing to leave.

Bradford quickly explained that he believed whoever was after Caroline would make his move in just six days' time but he didn't explain his reasons. He felt that his wife should be told first, and it would be her decision to tell Milford, or anyone else, about what happened so many years before.

"I would appreciate it if you would come with me to Bradford Place. I could use your help. The more trusted people around Caroline, the better," he said.

"God, my backside's sore from yesterday's ride, but you know I'll come with you," Milford returned. "Besides wanting to help, I also wish to hear who apologizes first." He saw his friend's exasperation and laughed.

"What makes you think I'll apologize?" Bradford asked, gri

"Because while you're stubborn, my friend, you're not stupid," Milford returned.

Bradford surprised his friend by nodding agreement. "Then you are going to apologize?" he asked.

"On my knees if I have to," Bradford a

Milford looked sheepish. "Guilty," he returned. "Now, Brad, no need to overdo it. You get on your knees just once and Caroline will have you there the rest of your life. Besides, she's ready to come home. God knows, I love her, but she's-"

"I do too," Bradford interrupted him.

"What?"

"Love her," he explained.

"Don't tell me, man, tell Caroline."

Bradford shook his head. "I would, my friend, if you'd get moving."

The twosome barely spoke a word during the journey, taking several shortcuts that lessened the distance from London to Bradford Hills by almost an hour. With each mile that passed, Bradford's mood lightened.

He walked into the drawing room of his mansion, shouting for Henderson so that he could give him new directions, and then poured himself a portion of brandy. After taking a healthy swallow, he turned to sit for a few minutes. His favorite leather chair was missing and he frowned when he sat in the low-backed chair. He took another drink from his glass and then turned to place it on the tripod table that was always there, next to his favorite chair. Only the table wasn't there anymore, and Bradford didn't notice that until he was about to drop his glass.

He frowned over the small inconvenience and then Milford walked into the room, asking his attention.

"Brad? You been inside your library yet?" he asked with mild interest.

Bradford shook his head. His mind was filled with pictures of his wife and he was trying to formulate the way he would tell her what a fool he had been, without sounding like one. He found himself getting nervous, realized he was still uncomfortable with the thought that he was soon going to bare his heart and his soul to the woman he loved. The problem, as he sat there and analyzed it, was that he hadn't had much practice.