The Rebel Bride by Catherine Coulter

She drew back in the circle of his arms and tried for a smile. “You were a worse bully than that horrible man, Julien. Do you think we could just say that all’s well that ends well?”

He was obliged to laugh. “What, Kate, more Shakespeare? Just as long as you don’t try to tell me it’s much ado about nothing at all.”

“No, I shan’t, and Julien, I will tell you again, I’m not a shrew and your veiled references are quite revolting to me.”

“Undoubtedly you’re right,” he said, not wanting to give her reason to leave the circle of his arms. “You now have one task left, my dear, and that’s to name your mare.”

She didn’t move away from him, thank the powers, just grew silent and thoughtful. “You know,” she said at last, smiling up at him, “it’s too bad she’s a mare, for Gabriel would be my choice. You see, I was quite convinced that I had reached my judgment day.”

His arms tightened about her, though his voice was light enough. “Then she shall be Gabriella. What do you think?”

She looked up at him fixedly for a moment, the expression on her face unreadable, and lightly slipped from his arms.

There was a companionable silence between them as Mrs. Crayton served their dinner, clucking worriedly each time she gazed at Kate. When she left the room, Kate looked up from her plate. “The way she is acting, I feel as though I should cock up my toes and pass over to the hereafter. Ah, do tell me, my lord, whatever were you doing in the village today? I thought that perhaps you were not pleased here and wished to make arrangements to return to England.”

“Why ever should I not be pleased?”

She fidgeted for a good thirty seconds, then managed to pull herself together, saying, “Oh, I can really think of no reason. How stupid of me to say such a thing. Now, do tell me, Julien, what was your errand?”

“I was on a quest actually, a matter of some importance, and I hope, indeed, I am quite certain that the result will meet with your approval.”

“My approval? Come, stop teasing me. What have you done?” Her lips were parted slightly, and her eyes shone with excitement.

Rather than answer her immediately, Julien swiveled around in his chair, looked at the clock on the mantel, and appeared to give some weighty problem due reflection. He turned back to her, a smile on his face. “Perhaps we should wait until tomorrow. You have had a rather trying day.”

“How horrid you are. I’m fine as a new penny, I promise. Now, what have you done, do tell me.”

“Very well. Go to your room. You’ll find a surprise. I will expect you in the library in fifteen minutes.”

She had no idea what to expect, but when she found a pair of black-silk breeches, a frilled white shirt, and a pair of elegant black boots set neatly on her bed, she was baffled. In but a trice she was gazing at her trim figure in the long mirror. She quickly drew on the boots, pulled her hair back, and secured it with a black ribbon.

She skipped out of her room and down the stairs, unable to contain her excitement. She pushed open the library door to see Julien standing in the middle of the room, dressed as she was, in breeches and shirt. In his hand he held two foils.

She gasped with surprise. “Julien, you don’t mean— you got us foils? One is truly for me?”

His eyes lit up at her evident pleasure, but she didn’t notice, her gaze being fastened on the foils he held.

“As I recall, you said you wanted to learn how to fence, it not being one of Harry’s sports. So I will teach you.” He walked to her and placed a foil in her hand.

“Oh, goodness, yes, oh, yes. You’re too good! Oh, my goodness.” She clasped the foil in sheer delight and bent it back and forth, testing its flexibility.

She looked up after a few moments of this pastime and said with wonder in her voice, “But I lost our wager at piquet, don’t you remember?”