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  Falcon could already feel the horsewhip biting into his back. His aunt was right. He had taken advantage of Belle's affection for him, but a forced marriage was harsh punishment. Still unwilling to admit to more than a kiss, he tried another argument. "How can I offer marriage when none of us is certain we'll survive the war? I don't want to risk leaving Belle a widow."

  Arielle promptly dismissed that objection. "I lost my first husband, but I'd not trade a minute of the joy we shared to be spared the pain of his death. Bernard's love will always be a part of me. We'd all be devastated if anything happened

  to you, but Belle would mourn you forever whether you were her husband, or simply her cousin."

  Alanna stepped aside and opened the door. "We'll not begin planning the wedding until Belle says she'll have you, but you'd best offer marriage before your father hears news of this and uses his fists to insist that you must."

  Falcon nodded, and considering himself lucky to have escaped any further interrogation, strode from the room. When he found Dominique waiting for him just outside the back door, he flashed a quick grin, but the seriousness of her expression stopped him cold. "Don't you start on me, too," he warned.

  Dominique took his arm and walked with him to make certain they would not be overheard. "This concerns a whole lot more than a kiss doesn't it, Falcon?"

  Falcon patted her hand, then slipped out of her grasp. "That's going to remain between Belle and me. Now excuse me, I've got to find her."

  "SheIs probably down by the river."

  Falcon already knew that, and turned away with a wave. He and Belle used to get up early and go fishing together. She had never been squeamish about slipping worms on her hook the way other girls were. They had sat on the dock and waited for the sun to come up on more mornings than he could count. She had been his best friend and the silence of dawn had never been lonely with her by his side.

  He had always thought she was awfully pretty, but he had been more impressed by the fact that she would hike up her dress and climb trees even easier than he could. She wore lace-trimmed caps, but they were always askew, and more often than not she had small twigs and dried leaves caught in her fair curls. He had thought her a swell friend, but usually had not even remembered that she was a girl.

  She had turned thirteen and he had been sixteen the year the war had begun. Wanting to fight with the Virginia militia, he had grown up fast, while she had remained at home

  —1

  WILD LEGACY 19

  to linger over the last joys of childhood. Well, after last night, there was no mistaking the fact that Belle was most definitely a grown woman. She had always been so independent he knew she wouldn't take to the idea of marriage any more than he had. At least he hoped she wouldn't. The only trick would be in convincing her to tell her mother that.

  Belle hadn't spent more than a few anguished minutes at the docks before going on to the Scott plantation, which bordered the Barclays' on the south. Falcon's elder brother, Christian, had married Liana Scott, but that had worsened rather than healed the twenty-year rift between the two families. When the colonies had declared their independence, Ian Scott, a staunch Loyalist, had freed their slaves and taken his wife and two sons home to England to wait out the war.

  The land surrounding the once-prosperous plantation lay fallow, but Liana went home every week to check the house, so Belle didn't feel as though she were trespassing when she crossed over onto Scott land. She followed the trail along the river, and while sorely tempted to keep on walking clear to Florida, she turned off on the path leading up to the house. A Georgian mansion as imposing as her own home, she thought it a shame it had stood vacant so long, but today she was glad for a place to be alone.

  She sat down at the top of the marble steps and looped her arms around her knees. The day was beautiful, warm and bright. A ladybug landed on her hand, and she shooed it away.

  When she had come downstairs that morning, she had actually believed she could pretend the day was like all others. Then Falcon had walked into the sitting room carrying half the garden in his arms and the pretense had not only become absurd, but impossible. He never stayed home

  for long, and she would strive to avoid him, but she did not even want to be home the next time he returned.

  There were hospitals in desperate need of nurses to care for injured soldiers so she could provide service to others, but her heart would never mend. Not after last night, it wouldn't. She wiped her eyes on her apron and took a deep breath, but when Falcon came around the corner of the house, she was so sick at heart she quickly looked away.

  "How did you find me?"

  Shocked by the pain he had glimpsed in her eyes, Falcon drew to a halt several steps away. "Fm a scout," he reminded her proudly. "I could track you down anywhere."

  Still not looking his way, Belle smoothed the damp wrinkles from her apron. "Why would you want to?"

  Grateful she was speaking to him, Falcon sat down on the bottom step and turned toward her. He could see she had been crying, and it had made her blue eyes all the more vivid. "I won't give you the sorry excuse that I was drunk last night," he began with the sincerity he wished he had shown in their last conversation, "because I was still responsible for my actions."

  Belle could barely stifle her anger. He had been drinking, so nothing that happened had mattered to him, while every caress had been precious to her. That wasn 'tfair! "The last thing I want to hear are excuses. Please go away."

  "No, not until you hear me out."

  Belle got up, walked right on by him, and started down toward the river. Not about to leave things in the dreadful mess they were, Falcon refused to let her escape him again and went after her. "You may have gotten away from me last night, but there's no use trying to outrun me now," he called. In a few quick strides he caught up with her. He reached out to catch her elbow and turn her back toward him but the instant his hand brushed her arm, a jolt of pleasure shot clear through him.

  "My God," he moaned, but he didn't release her. He

  couldn't. Why hadn't he noticed how long her lashes were, or the way the pretty pout to her lips invited kisses? Why hadn't he noticed that his best friend had become a desirable woman long before now? Dominique had taken his arm, but he hadn't felt anything even approaching the excitement that filled him now.

  "I had intended to do a better job of apologizing for last night, but now that I've found you, the only thing I regret is that you stopped me."

  Astounded by that remark, Belle could only watch as he lowered his head. She knew he was going to kiss her, and even fearing she would be no more than a casual diversion to him, she couldn't turn away. His lips met hers in a tentative caress, but as the tip of his tongue traced her lower lip, she opened her mouth to welcome his kiss as wantonly as she had last night. The same delicious magic flowed through him as before, and Belle drank it in before finally finding the courage to pull away.

  "No, stop," she begged. She took a step backward, but he moved forward and the distance between them remained much too close. "Please, let's not repeat last night's near-tragic mistake."

  Falcon groaned in frustration. "My only mistake was having too much to drink before I got home, not what happened between us after I got there."

  Belle turned her back on him, but he was standing so close she could still feel his heat radiating clear through her. "The last time you were home, you didn't kiss me like that. Apparently I didn't appeal to you until you saw me through a haze of spirits."

  Falcon had not kept count of how many women he had slept with during the course of the war, and while he had certainly enjoyed every one, none had ever affected him as strongly as Belle. He wanted to hold her and never let go, but left his arms hanging limp at his sides. "I don't even remember the last time I was home, but I'm sorry if I dis-

  appointed you. I don't want you doubting me, Belle, so I'll make you a promise I intend to keep. I won't touch liquor ever again," he swore.

  Belle chanced
a glance over her shoulder, and when she found Falcon's expression as pained as her own, she turned back toward him. "Had you been sober last night, what would you have said when I asked you to say that you loved me?"

  Falcon reached out to touch a curl that peeked from beneath her snowy cap. It was the color of sunshine and he remembered how beautiful her hair had looked last night tumbling loose over her shoulders. "I wanted you so badly, I would have said anything you wanted to hear." Too late, he realized how awful his confession had sounded. "What I mean is—" He saw Belle raise her hand, but knowing he deserved it, didn't try to dodge the resounding slap she whipped across his cheek.

  "You bastard!"

  Again she tried to run away, but Falcon was too quick for her and caught her around the waist. He pulled her back against his chest and crossing his arms over her bosom, held her wrists so she couldn't scratch or hit him again. "Do you have any idea what I do when I'm away?"

  "It's enough that I know what you do when you're home!"

  Falcon knew he deserved that insult, too, but he kept after her. "Listen to me! I don't serve with the regular militia anymore. I fight with guerilla bands that strike the British from ambush. We steal supply wagons, weapons, ammunition. When I'm not doing that, I take my rifle, get as close as I can to the enemy's camp, and start shooting the officers. I'm the best marksman in Virginia, and I can shoot a man in the heart from 200 yards. If I'm just as dangerous when I get home, I can't help it."

  Belle closed her eyes, but she couldn't shut out his stirring words, or the fiery warmth of his embrace. She leaned

  her head back against his shoulder, and remembering last night, wondered why he thought he was the only one who could be described as wild.

  affection last night, and had become far more cautious as a result. "Would you have come looking for me this morning if I hadn't been in the study last night?" she inquired softly. " Would you have still said you thought of me if you weren't burdened by guilt?"

  Falcon had already admitted he would say whatever it took to please her, and he was disgusted with himself for being so tactless. "I'm cold sober, so there's no reason to doubt my words. I'm sorry you had to prompt me last night. I should have said that I love you a long time ago."

  Belle closed her eyes to savor his vow, but was it spontaneous, she agonized, or had she merely coaxed it from his lips a second time? Sadly, she feared she had. Apparently he had not loved her until they had chanced to cross paths while he was at a weak moment. "Perhaps I should have waited up for you in the study last year."

  Tightening his hold on her waist, Falcon yanked her around to face him. There wasn't a trace of affection in his expression now. "Don't laugh at me, Belle. I'll readily admit I didn't behave as a gentleman should, but are you going to forgive me, or am I going to hear about it every single time you're cross with me for the rest of our lives?"

  His eyes had narrowed to menacing slits, and it was all too easy for Belle to imagine him picking off British officers with a cold precision. He had been eager to make love to her last night, but wouldn't any warm and willing woman have inspired the same response in a weary soldier? Again, the answer was all too clear. Overcome with sadness, she shook her head.

  "No, I think we'd both be better off if we forgot last night ever happened." She forced a smile, but it trembled on her lips. She offered her hand. "Agreed?"

  For a long moment, Falcon simply regarded Belle with a forbidding stare, but then, overcoming his anger, he at last took her hand and drew her close. He didn't want to make another costly mistake, and phrased his proposal with

  the care it deserved. "Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

  Belle drew in a sharp breath for there was nothing she wanted more, but not like this. "You've apologized, Falcon. You needn't offer marriage, too."

  While his initial reaction was immense relief, his heart was swiftly flooded with numbing disappointment. He had never proposed to another woman, and it had not even occurred to him that Belle might turn him down. He took it as a grave insult.

  "What you're really saying is no, isn't it? Why? If you hadn't stopped me when you did, I'd have no choice about marrying you."

  Before the war, Falcon had been easygoing rather than hot-tempered, but Belle refused to make any allowance for what he must have suffered when he had just made it abundantly clear he was thinking only of himself. She yanked her hand from his and stepped back. "But I did stop you, and I want us both to have a choice."

  Falcon was half a foot taller than Belle, and when he moved close she was forced to crane her neck to look up at him. "You've forgotten something," he insisted darkly. "I may have had too much to drink last night, but you knew precisely what you were doing. You were all over me. How can you pretend what happened between us doesn't matter?"

  He had tied his hair at his nape that morning, but when he had kissed her last night it had been loose, and spilled over her face with the sensuous warmth of black velvet. Recalling an even more provocative caress with an embarrassment laced with the moist heat of desire, Belle fought her traitorous body's shameless cravings and squared her shoulders.

  "I do care," she assured him proudly, "far too much to accept a proposal given out of a noble sense of duty or guilt if you believe you've tarnished my honor."

  Falcon responded with a rude laugh. "I did a hell of a lot more than tarnish it, Belle."

  His rebuke was an arrogant boast rather than an expression of regret, but she couldn't deny its truth. As memories of his intimate touch became increasingly vivid, her face grew hot with a bright blush. "Yes, I suppose so, but there will be no consequences, so neither of us has to suffer."

  Still enchanted by his elusive cousin, Falcon raised his hand to caress her feather-soft cheek. His mind might have been clouded by liquor last night, but he had a clear memory of how it had felt to nudge against the fragile barrier that had prevented them from becoming one. In another instant the tender flesh would have torn and he would have buried himself deep within her heated core. There would have been consequences aplenty then.

  If only she hadn't stopped him.

  "You weren't suffering last night, and neither was I. Far from it." He stopped there rather than insult her by telling her she'd been a better lover than all the other women he had ever had put together.

  What Belle saw in his dark gaze was a promise of many more such luscious nights, but he was wrong. She had suffered an unbearable anguish when she had discovered brandy was fueling his desire rather than love. "There's no rush."

  She had been so agreeable in the darkened study, and Falcon wished she would show him the same sweetness today. He ached with wanting her and tried not to sound as annoyed as he felt with her maddening distance. "What do you mean?"

  Belle toyed with the fringe on his sleeve, letting it dance through her fingers as she replied, "The next time you come home, ask again, and because you've given up drinking, there will be no mistaking your motives."

  That softly voiced taunt was more than Falcon could bear

  calmly. "Didn't you just give me your hand to promise last night would be forgotten?"

  Even frowning, Falcon was the handsomest man Belle had ever seen, but it still hurt to look at him and she dropped her glance. "Yes, but that doesn't mean I didn't learn a valuable lesson I intend to remember."

  Searching for a way to reach her, Falcon gazed off toward the river. When they were children, she had chased him along the muddy shore and the patter of her bare feet had echoed the rhythm of her laughter. All his childhood memories included her, and they were all happy. The war had dimmed those carefree years, but they came back to him now in such acute detail he could actually taste the wild blackberries they had picked and tossed into each other's mouths. His expression relaxed into a sad smile.

  With a light tap of his index finger, he tilted Belle's chin to force her to look up at him. "If this is the last time I'm able to come home, will you please remember that I swore I loved you, and asked yo
u to marry me?"

  Belle's heart skipped a beat. She had been up late last night, as she had on so many others, because she was worried sick about him. The Scott house beckoned invitingly and part of her longed to take him inside and find the softest feather bed. An equally compelling voice argued that she ought to make absolutely certain that he truly loved her before she lost herself in him again. She sighed sadly as she made the only choice her pride allowed.

  "Please help me find my combs." She plucked her cap from the grass, and waited for him to fetch the tortoiseshell combs from where he had tossed them.

  Discouraged that he had been unable to persuade Belle to his point of view, Falcon was quick to blame her rather than his own lack of eloquence. "You were a stubborn little girl. You know that? We spent most of our time together but you fought me every inch of the way. I'd hoped that you'd changed."

  He looked as depressed as Belle felt, but that only served to strengthen her resolve. She wound her curls into a thick coil she secured with her combs, then replaced her cap with a careless tug to restore the modest appearance she knew she no longer deserved. She turned away and started toward the path home.

  "You're the stubborn one," she called over her shoulder.

  Falcon watched her a moment. She didn't walk with Dominique's seductive sway, but with a long, sure stride that reminded him again of the saucy little girl who had been closer than his shadow. "Wait," he shouted, but she didn't slow her pace and he had to sprint to catch up with her. He was too angry to take her hand, and rather than argue, didn't speak as they walked home. It wasn't until he saw his aunt and mother standing on the front porch, their arms crossed over their bosoms, their expressions as suspicious as when he had left them, that he realized he and Belle should have agreed on what they wished to say.