A Flame Run Wild by Christine Monson

had something to do with this marriage. On top of her lies, she had enjoyed him as a lover, gotten rid of him and acquired his horse, all at no cost to herself. One thing she'd told him rang true: she wanted no marriage with Alexandre de Brueil. And last night, Alexandre de Brueil had behaved like a swain smitten with his first love. Well, until he took her measure, she was not going to get the upper hand with his ring on her finger. And by damn, he would have his horse back!
    With shaking hands Liliane reined in the stallion. If Jean had a brother, he was Alexandre de Brueil. Brueil was finely clothed in a crimson tabard embroidered with his leopard and unicorn device over a gold chainse; his long horseman's legs were encased in olive-green hose with tawny ankle-length boots. His neatly trimmed, auburn curls glinted in the sun. He was also clean-shaven. Despite his rich clothes, he was Jean's twin—or was he? Could even brothers have the same vivid blue eyes, that irresistibly reckless smile? And then she saw the difference in the smile: Alexandre de Brueil's was tight-lipped, as if he had swallowed a rusty horseshoe.
    The mass of people in the courtyard were staring at her as she gaped at her bridegroom, and she suddenly realized that she must stop peering as if she'd been sold the wrong goods. "Count de Brueil?" she ventured hesitantly.
    "I am at your service," answered Brueil, his gaze hard. "'You are the Countess del Pinal, I presume."
    Liliane saw no trace of recognition in his expression. He surveyed her coldly, then glanced about as if to look for her missing retainers. She saw that Jacques's eyes narrowed in irritation and Louis looked as if he would like to strangle her. He and Jacques must have searched for her all night before they had given up and come to make excuses to Breuil for her lateness. They must have feared that she would not come at all. Good! She'd had her first tiny ounce of revenge against them. She enjoyed thinking of their unease among so many armed castellans in an enemy camp. Six burly guards had intercepted her a short distance from the castle and escorted her across the narrow drawbridge into the cobbled courtyard. The Messieurs de Signe must have been received by a large complement of guards. Castle de Brueil was a tidy fortress and the castellans on the ramparts were sharp-eyed. The Signe party, shorn of their escort beyond the moat, must have squirmed for many an hour.
    "We meet at last, Monsieur le Comte ," she murmured, watching Brueil. His uncanny resemblance to Jean still made her uneasy.
    "I trust your journey was pleasant," Alexandre replied with a bland smoothness that only made her more uneasy. Why should he be annoyed unless he had been prepared to dislike her on sight? Was he piqued because she was late or . . . because he was Jean . . . because she had fooled him? But how could it be? How could he have come so far afoot in time to dress and greet Jacques and Louis?
    "The journey was pleasant," she replied with feigned lightness, "so much so, I fear I dawdled. I do apologize for being late." She extended her hand to Jacques. "Uncle. Cousin." She did not bother to look, at Louis.
    Jacques, obliged to help her down from the saddle, wheezed slightly as he lowered her to the paving! "Dear Liliane. We were a little concerned at your tardiness. But, then"—he patted her hand—"we were sure that once you realized the time, you would ride as if your life depended on not offending the count."
    Easing her hand from Jacques's, Liliane glanced up at Alexandre de Brueil. "I came on the wings of Jove and a very fine horse, Uncle. We Signes are great romantics, Count, particularly Louis. Sometimes I really believe he would kill for love ... if he could just find the right girl."
    Louis gave her a venomous look. She flashed him a bright smile.Then as if he were not worth her attention, Liliane turned to scan the de Brueil retainers standing three deep behind the Signe party. Brueil could not