A Reckless Match Read online

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  To my Mum and Dad, Ron and Jan Bateman; I told you I’d write a book set in Wales! Cymru am byth! And for the Marvelous M, Monsters #1, #2, and #3, and Monty—scourge of squirrels and destroyer of socks. I love you all.

  We say it’s exhausting to compete,

  But we shine for each other.

  It’s still our favorite game.

  —ART GARFUNKEL (ON PAUL SIMON)

  The Legend

  It started with a pig.

  According to the Montgomerys, the pig was stolen. According to the Davies clan, it got lost.

  Whether the pig was stolen, or simply wandered across the much-disputed boundary between the medieval Davies and Montgomery domains, very much depended upon which side of the feud you happened to be on.

  The Montgomerys demanded it back. The Davies clan had already eaten it. The Montgomerys stole another pig in retaliation. Things escalated from there.

  Some said it wasn’t a pig at all, but a woman—and that she’d run off quite willingly with her forbidden lover—but whatever the truth of the matter, centuries of bad blood ensued.

  Scarcely ten miles separated the Davieses’ monstrous Welsh castle from the Montgomerys’ equally large English manor, but the lush fields and green valleys between the two estates became the most contentious border in Britain, and probably in Europe too.

  A decent-sized river provided a natural division, and since the bridge that spanned it was so narrow that only a single horse and cart could cross at a time, large-scale attacks from either side were impossible. Individual instances of murder and mayhem, however, were rife.

  It was occasionally suggested that the two families should build a wall, like the Roman one Hadrian had constructed between England and Scotland, but both sides strenuously disagreed. A wall would spoil the fun.

  Finally, King Henry the Seventh, tired of the bloodshed between two of his most powerful houses, and inspired by tales of similar warring factions—the Medici and the Borgia in Italy—devised a truly Machiavellian solution: a royal decree that bound both houses, on pain of death.

  A strip of no-man’s-land was delineated between the two estates, belonging to both families, equally. Every year, on the day of the spring equinox, one representative from each family had to present themselves on the dividing bridge and shake hands in a gesture of goodwill. If either side failed to send a representative, ownership of the land would default to their bitter rival.

  The thought of losing to the opposition was a powerful motivation. What was death, compared with shameful defeat? Neither side ever missed a meeting—although most of the handshakes were accompanied by muttered threats of obscene violence.

  With open warfare thus actively discouraged, the two families devised new and creative ways of boosting morale, since baiting each other was everyone’s favorite occupation. If the Montgomerys supported one particular faction, the Davieses, naturally, supported the opposition, and the mutual animosity survived years of upheaval and strife. Catholics and Protestants. Tudors and Stuarts. Roundheads and Cavaliers. They became experts at political backstabbing, sneering across crowded meeting halls, and fleecing one another at dice and cards.

  By the late seventeen hundreds both sides considered themselves fairly civilized; now they traded sarcastic barbs in opulent ballrooms, stole one another’s wives and mistresses, and met in the occasional hushed-up duel.

  Montgomery males went to Oxford. Davies men attended Cambridge. And while both sent sons to fight Napoleon, the Montgomerys chose the cavalry, while the Davieses joined the fusiliers and the navy.

  And still the spring equinox deadline endured …

  Chapter 1

  The Spring Equinox, 21 March 1815

  “Nobody’s coming.”

  Madeline Montgomery squinted down the empty road as a thin bubble of hope—a foreign sensation of late—rose in her breast. She checked her silver pocket watch. She hadn’t mistaken the day. It was six minutes to noon on the spring equinox, and the road was deserted. There wasn’t a single, dastardly, devilish Davies in sight.

  “Galahad!” she whispered incredulously. “Nobody’s coming!”

  Her ancient gray mount twitched his ears, completely indifferent to the historic significance of the moment. Maddie sank onto the low stone parapet of the bridge. She hadn’t felt this optimistic for months, not since her father had made his shocking revelation about their “unfortunate financial situation.”

  “It’s a miracle!”

  Galahad began to crop the dandelions at his feet. Maddie lifted her face to the sun and pushed back the brim of her bonnet. She’d get even more freckles, but who cared? Experience had shown her how fragile life could be: She’d once been struck by lightning out of a blue sky just like this. It had been a freak accident, a one-in-a-million chance, the doctors said. But now an even more unlikely event was about to occur. Five hundred years of history was about to be swept aside. The proud and illustrious name of Montgomery—and, by extension, Maddie herself—was about to be saved!

  By an unkept appointment.

  Excitement tightened her chest. Sir Owain Davies, the old Earl of Powys, would never have given her father the satisfaction of ceding the land. Baiting each other had been their main source of amusement for over fifty years.

  But Sir Owain had died last summer, and the new earl, his eldest son and heir, Gryffud, hadn’t set foot in his ancestral home since he’d returned from fighting Napoleon six months ago. He’d stayed in London, busy—according to the scandal sheets—setting the ladies’ hearts aflutter and enjoying every possible pleasure offered by the metropolis.

  Not that Maddie had been keeping track of his whereabouts, of course. Gryff Llewellyn Davies was her nemesis, and had been since they were children.

  An echo of his wicked laughter trickled through her memory, and she fanned herself with her hand, then untied the ribbons of her bonnet and tugged it off, along with her gloves. Her hair, always too heavy for its pins, surrendered to gravity and fell in a messy cloud around her shoulders.

  If the thinly drawn references to Gryff’s exploits in the papers had caused an annoying, burning sensation in her chest, it was certainly not yearning, or jealousy, or anything else remotely emotional regarding the awful man. She didn’t give a fig what he did. Truly. He was an irresponsible rakehell who’d neglected his duties and the affairs of his estate for far too long. Indeed, his debauchery was about to work to her advantage. While he was enjoying himself in any number of disreputable ways, here she was, virtuously saving her family from ruin.

  A small, anticipatory smile curved her lips. There was simply no way he’d remember to get back here in time to shake her hand. Hadn’t the Gazette reported his involvement in an illegal duel only last week? He’d probably been shot dead by some angry, cuckolded husband.

  Maddie expelled her breath in a huff. No, she’d have heard if the wretch was dead. More likely, he was celebrating his undeserve
d victory with a glass of brandy and a thoroughly unsuitable companion.

  She checked her watch again. “Three minutes to go.”

  Galahad, intent on his dandelions, ignored her. She sent another glance up the deserted road, hardly daring to hope.

  Neither of the other three Davies siblings could possibly be coming. Rhys and Carys were both with Gryff in London, and the youngest brother, Morgan, was away at sea.

  As the blue steel hands of her pocket watch crept toward the number twelve, Maddie choked back a giddy feeling of euphoria. She glanced around at the peaceful green valley and repressed the urge to leap about and twirl like a madwoman. Neither Davies nor Montgomery had ever owned this piece of land outright, so its natural riches had remained untouched for centuries.

  “There’s coal under here, Galahad. Maybe even gold! If we mine for it we’ll have money again and I won’t have to go anywhere near that awful Sir Mostyn—let alone marry the old letch!”

  The horse wrinkled his whiskery nose and Maddie let out an incredulous laugh.

  “And you know what’s even more amazing? I am finally going to get the upper hand over that insufferable Gryffud Davies!”

  Galahad flattened his ears and bared his teeth, as he did every time her opponent’s name was mentioned. Maddie nodded approvingly.

  “Do you think Father will let me write and tell him he’s forfeited the land? Just imagine the look on his face!” She sighed in anticipated rapture.

  The symbolism of having this meeting on the spring equinox was not lost on her. Equinoxes only happened twice a year, when the tilt of the earth’s axis was inclined neither away from, nor toward, the sun. They represented equality. Day and night: twelve hours of each. A reminder that the Davies and Montgomery clans shared this strip of land between them, equally.

  Her stomach gave an excited flip. Not after today! Today was the start of a glorious new—

  A gust of wind snatched her bonnet from the low wall of the bridge. She made a desperate dive for it, missed, and the hat went sailing down into the river below.

  “Oh, blast!”

  Galahad lifted his head and snickered. And then his ears swiveled toward the rise in the road and Maddie turned to see what had caught his attention. She listened, praying it was nothing, but then she heard it too: the unmistakable drumbeat of approaching hooves, like distant thunder.

  “No!” she groaned.

  A lone horseman appeared on the crest of the hill, a plume of dust billowing in his wake. She shielded her eyes with her hand and squinted. Perhaps it was one of the village boys—?

  But of course it wasn’t. That broad-shouldered silhouette was unmistakable. Horribly, infuriatingly familiar.

  “Oh, bloody hell.”

  Galahad’s whinny sounded a lot like a laugh. Disloyal creature.

  It had been almost four years since she’d set eyes on Gryffud Davies, but nobody else in three counties looked that good on a horse, as if they’d been born in the saddle. And who else exuded such arrogant, effortless grace?

  Maddie’s pulse began to pound at the prospect of a confrontation. Perhaps, if she was lucky, he’d have lost that unholy appeal, that teasing glimmer in his eyes that suggested she was the butt of some private joke. Gryff Davies always looked as if he couldn’t choose between strangling her or ravishing her. She’d never quite decided which would be worse.

  Her stomach swirled with excited dread, but she smoothed her suddenly damp palms against her rumpled skirts and set her face into an expression of polite indifference.

  He rode closer, and she cataloged the changes three years had wrought. It was worse than she’d feared; he was as sinfully good-looking as ever. Curling dark hair, straight nose, lips that always looked on the verge of curving up into a smile, but usually hovered in the region of a smirk whenever he was looking at her.

  And those wicked, laughing green eyes, which never failed to turn her knees to water and her brain to mush. They still held that fatal combination of condescending amusement and smoldering intensity.

  Maddie clenched her fists in her skirts and lifted her chin to a haughty angle, choosing to ignore the fact that her hair was doubtless a windblown mess, and her hat was floating off downriver. She didn’t care what Gryffud Davies thought of her.

  He probably wouldn’t even recognize her. She hardly resembled the skinny, freckled eighteen-year-old she’d been when he’d left for war. Perhaps he’d mistake her for one of the village girls.

  Please God.

  He slowed his mount as he neared the bridge, his eyes raking her in a thorough, devastating inspection that dashed any hope of staying incognito. Maddie straightened her spine and glared at him.

  Those lips of his widened in a smile of pure devilry.

  “Well, well. Maddie Montgomery. Did you miss me, cariad?”

  Chapter 2

  Gryff gazed down at the gorgeous, angry woman on the bridge and felt his spirits soar. Madeline Montgomery, the infuriating, tart-mouthed thorn in his side, was glaring up at him with murder in her eyes. It was a marvelous sight.

  Her delicate brows twitched in obvious displeasure. “Don’t call me that.”

  “What? Cariad?”

  “No, Maddie.” Her tone was decidedly prim. “My name is Madeline. Or better yet, Miss Montgomery.”

  “Cariad it is, then.”

  A muscle ticked in her jaw, and he just knew she was grinding her teeth.

  “Not that either. I’m not your darling.”

  “Admit it. You missed me,” he teased. “You’ve been pining for a good fight ever since I left. Did none of the locals oblige you?”

  Her bosom rose and fell in silent indignation and Gryff bit back a delighted chuckle. The world—so long off kilter thanks to the madness of war—settled into place like a dislocated shoulder clicking back into its socket.

  “Of course I didn’t miss you.”

  She muttered several more things under her breath; he definitely caught the words “insufferable ass” and “blockhead.” He bit his lip and tried not to laugh as a fierce sweep of exhilaration burst in his chest. The world beyond these valleys might be unrecognizable, thanks to Bonaparte’s limitless ambition, but some things never changed. Miss Montgomery’s antipathy toward him was blissfully undimmed.

  What had changed—in the most delightful way—was her appearance. Years of playing cards had granted him the ability to mask his expression, but it was still an effort to conceal his shock at the changes that had occurred in his absence.

  Three years ago he’d been an arrogant twenty-three-year-old, desperate for glory and adventure. She’d been a skinny tomboy with barely any feminine curves. That hadn’t stopped him from fancying her, of course. His youthful self had found her quick wit and unladylike temper utterly irresistible.

  The fact that they were sworn enemies had only added to the charm; it was only natural that her flashing eyes and tempting lips should have been the stuff of his filthy, moon-drenched fantasies.

  Despite what the gossip rags said, he wasn’t a rake, but he had ample experience of the female form. And while he’d spent countless hours wondering how she might have blossomed in his absence, the reality far outstripped his feverish imaginings. Maddie Montgomery was magnificent.

  A pink blush stole across her cheeks as he inspected her, and he suppressed another chuckle.

  Her face hadn’t changed much. The freckles that had peppered her nose and cheeks had faded, but he could still make out a few stubborn survivors. Not surprising, considering she still didn’t seem to be in the habit of wearing a hat. She’d scorned them at eighteen too.

  Her hair was the same wild mass: riotous waves, the color of newly shelled horse chestnuts, shot through with a hint of rose-gold. Her lips were a luscious pink that made him think of the inside of seashells, and her eyes were that striking shade of not-quite-blue, not-quite-gray that pierced his soul.

  But God help him, her body. She’d been a scrappy hoyden before, all elbows and knees. Now s
he was a goddess—albeit an enraged one. His fingers itched to trace the inward curve of her waist, the rounded perfection of her hips. It took everything he had not to vault from the saddle and touch her face to make sure that she was real. To seize her in his arms and kiss her until they were both breathless and panting and glad to be alive.

  He shouldn’t be goading her, of course. It could only lead to trouble. But teasing her was a pleasure he’d missed out on for three long, miserable years. The memory of her face was something he’d fallen back on when times were particularly hard. Wounded, exhausted after battle, he’d often reminded himself to stay alive, if only to spite her. To tease her just one more time.

  To do more than tease.

  To taste.

  No. Bad idea. The worst.

  He took a calming breath and lifted his brows in a manner he knew would drive her to distraction.

  “My goodness. Whatever happened to the filthy little hoyden I used to know? The last time I saw you, you were covered in mud from head to toe.”

  “Because you and your dreadful brother had pushed me into the stream and—”

  With a visible effort, she bit her lip and subdued her fury. The breath she took expanded her chest and made her breasts swell within her formfitting riding habit in a way that Gryff approved of immensely.

  “No,” she said, exhaling slowly. “We’re both adults now. We can be civil. I refuse to let you rile me.”

  “But it was always such fun.”

  Her stormy gaze met his. “Do you really want to know what happened to me?”

  He nodded.

  She crossed her arms over her delectable bosom. “Very well. I was struck by lightning.”

  She hoped to shock him, of course, but he’d heard all about her accident as soon as he’d arrived back in London. The whole world knew a Davies would want news of a Montgomery misfortune, and the ton had gleefully provided him with the details.