Broken Vows, Mended Hearts: A Bouquet of ThistlesPaying the PiperBattle-Torn Bride

by Gail Ranstrom

  “Your leg,” she murmured. “You’ve reinjured it.”

  “Believe me, Chloe, that is the least of my problems at the moment.” He scooped her up, placed her on the bed and came down beside her.

  “But I had no idea your injuries were so…fresh. I should be careful of you.”

  He laughed and gathered her into his arms. “I’m the one who needs to be careful, my dear.”

  “Oh,” she sighed as he kissed her. The heat of his body against hers was so seductive, so encompassing, that she could not think of anything else. She was still a little dizzy from the wine, and the taste of it on his tongue made her hunger for more. She tightened her arms around him, wanting to drink him in through every pore.

  He stroked the length of her back, causing her to arch against him and moan. With her head thrown back, he bent to kiss the hollow of her throat, running his tongue along her collarbone to the dip beneath her ear. She shuddered with the pure deliciousness of the sensations that caused, and she became aware of a throbbing and a growing dampness between her thighs.

  “Oh!” she gasped, wishing now that she knew his name.

  He groaned as he inched downward. He circled her nipple with his tongue, causing her to shiver with delight as the peak hardened to a small pebble. And still, he gave it attention.

  Seeking to be closer, to somehow meld into him, she lifted one leg to straddle his hip. The shift afforded her the opportunity to push her mons against his and suddenly his shaft was pressed to her entrance. She should be shocked, but she only wanted to deepen that contact, so tantalizing that she could scarcely bear it.

  He took a deep shuddering breath and released her. “Not yet, Chloe. Not yet. I want you writhing with your need to have me inside you. I will not take you if you are trembling in fear. I want all your doubts dispelled, all your fears vanquished.”

  “But—”

  “Shh! Let me savor this moment. Let me sear you into my memory so that I will carry you with me always.”

  Tears stung her eyes and she squeezed them shut. Yes. That is what she wanted, too. To keep this moment in her heart, to make it a part of her, private and untouched by the world, so that in the long cold days ahead, she would have something to give her comfort for having gone back to Litchfield to do the right thing.

  She fell deeper into a world of his making, a world of sensual pleasure. His exploration dissolved the memory of Marianne’s tears. How could anything so delightful, so sweetly undeniable, cause pain? There was, shockingly, no part of her forbidden to him, no part he left untouched, unknown, unkissed or untasted. And, when he was done, he knew her more intimately than she knew herself.

  At last content that he’d discovered all of her, he returned to her breasts and settled himself between her thighs. She tangled her fingers through his hair and held him to her, too overcome with emotion to speak. The lump in her throat prevented it. She was tingling all over and gooseflesh rose on her arms when he moved lower again to lap at her core.

  A trembling came upon her and she could not stop. She was burning up. She had stopped breathing and was now gasping with every stroke of his tongue and every touch of his hand. “Please,” she begged at last, “please…”

  He moved upward again and covered her with his body. She drew her knees up to enclose him. At the first tentative prodding of his shaft, she moaned. Yes. That was what she had been waiting for. He pushed gently again and she was ready. She lifted her hips to meet him and something burned deep inside her as his thickness invaded her. It was both pain and pleasure. Innocent and erotic.

  He withdrew and came into her again, establishing a rhythm that ached and aroused, propelling her forward, sending her careening into a sudden heart-stopping burst of pleasure that left her shattered.

  “Chloe, Chloe,” he whispered into her hair as he shuddered against her. “I always knew you’d be heaven.”

  Chapter Ten

  Anthony winced as sunlight penetrated his eyelids and urged him to roll over. He reached out for Chloe and found only tangled sheets. She must have gone to the privy, or be making breakfast.

  He sat up and blinked to focus. He’d lain awake long into the night, watching Chloe sleep and making plans. He had thought he loved her before, but that was a pale imitation of what he felt now. She was his heart and soul, his very reason for being. He was not naive, nor inexperienced. He’d been with women before, but none who engaged him as she had.

  And now he knew the depth of her fears, and the courage she’d possessed to oppose her stepfather. She’d said nothing, and only hinted at it in passing, but ugly bruises, faded to greenish yellow now, marred her creamy back. When she’d said she had defied her stepfather, he hadn’t realized what that had cost her. And now he realized why Chloe feared marriage. If all she’d seen of it was scorn and occasional brutality, then it was no wonder that she would not want to risk worse at a stranger’s hand. The devil she knew… But whatever she decided, whichever future she chose, he would see to it that Mr. Hubbard never again touched his stepdaughter.

  He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, wrapping the tangled sheet around his waist. The sight of the clothes he’d discarded the night before draped over the back of a chair brought a grin to his face. That little act of domesticity warmed him.

  The chill morning air drew his attention to the broken window. He would have to fix that today, before he put Chloe on the coach to Litchfield. Then he’d go home, pack a bag, collect his father and follow in his own coach. And tomorrow—

  A folded sheet of paper tented on the bureau and bearing his name caught his attention. He retrieved it with an uneasy feeling. A line or two penned in delicate script. He glanced at the bottom.

  With Regret, Miss Chloe Faraday

  He sat in the overstuffed chair. Bracing himself for the worst, he read from the top of the sheet.

  My Dear Mr. Rush,

  Forgive me for leaving this way, but I could not bear to say the word “Goodbye.” I shall miss our arguments and, even more, our friendship.

  You have made me see that I was a coward in running away from my problems. Now, because of you, I am ready to face them. Alas, this means I must leave you.

  With Regret, Miss Chloe Faraday

  With regret? Good God! After what they’d done, she could just walk away from him? Had it meant so little to her? Well, he’d find her and bring her back. He’d make her listen to his name, and they’d damn well get things straight this time.

  He dropped the sheet and started for the hatch, but a small stain of blood on the snowy linen stopped him. Her blood? Or his? He glanced down at his leg to see the raw wound. He’d lost the bandage somewhere in the night. Had Chloe seen the lesion? Is that why she could turn her back on him so easily? Lord, she’d grown used to the scar on his face, but his leg had repulsed her.

  Damning himself for pointing out the south path to the road, he went down the ladder, ignoring the sharp pain slicing through his thigh. That would heal eventually. It was Chloe who had to be dealt with now.

  Still weary from the coach ride that had brought her back to Litchfield last night, Chloe stared at her reflection in her dressing table looking glass. There were violet smudges beneath her eyes and no blush to her pale cheeks. Her mother stood behind her, twining a rope of pearls through her dark hair. She looked more like a cold marble statue than a breathing being.

  “This is too much trouble, Mother. A complete waste of time. I am not marrying the man.”

  “So you say, Chloe, but I think you must. Mr. Hubbard is set upon it.”

  Mr. Hubbard. Papa Charles. Her stepfather. How could her mother refer to her husband, with whom she had certainly shared many years of trials and intimacy, the same as any stranger would? But then she thought of Mr. Rush, with whom she had shared—no, she couldn’t think of that now. She’d only cry. She pinched the bridge of her nose to prevent tears from forming.

  Her mother cupped her shoulders. “Dear, please do not cry. It will make yo
ur face all puffy.”

  “I must see Mr…. Sir Anthony Chandler before the nuptials.”

  “Mr. Hubbard has forbidden it. He believes you will offend the man or beg off. He says it is a miracle that Sir Anthony has agreed to proceed, given the unfortunate circumstance of your kidnapping. Sir Anthony may be your last chance of a respectable life and a home of your own. Please be reasonable, dear.”

  Her last chance for a home of her own? That was a sobering thought. Without a home of her own, would she ever be free of Papa Charles?

  She stood and watched in her mirror while her mother lifted the ivory silk gown over her head and laced the bodice up the back. She looked wan and frightened to her critical eye, and when her mother added a small lace veil, she fought her tears. “I want to talk to George,” she said. “He will listen to me.”

  “George is with Sir Anthony at the inn, Chloe. He will not be back until it is time to escort us to the church.”

  She glanced at the clock on her dressing table. In less than an hour, the vicar would be waiting at the altar. And so would Sir Anthony Chandler! Her stomach churned. Would she have to refuse him at the altar?

  Anthony arranged the triangular points of his collar and the folds of his cravat as he watched George Faraday in the mirror. He repeated George’s question. “What happened at the cottage? I wish I knew how to answer that. We got off to a rocky start, but then I thought we had reached an accord on certain things. I certainly believed we had got to the bottom of her dislike of marriage and had forged a friendship. But then, yesterday morning, she was just gone. No explanation. She left a note thanking me and saying she would miss our friendship. That is all.”

  “Miss it? But she has been railing against you ever since she walked through the door last night. She has renewed her insults and says you must be a crashing bore.”

  Anthony squirmed. “If it is Chandler she is cursing, then it isn’t me. If it is the gamekeeper she loathes—then I will have to own it. I never had the chance to tell her who I am. She thinks my name is Mr. Rush. I intended to tell her the truth yesterday, but she was gone before I was awake.” He sighed and shrugged into his navy-blue tailcoat. “I wonder if there is any point in going to the church.”

  “I cannot say what Chloe will do at the altar, but I am certain she will arrive at it. Our stepfather will see to that.”

  Anthony combed his fingers through his hair and sighed, a feeling of loss coming over him. “Well, I suppose I cannot leave her standing there alone, even if it is to reject me. Is there any chance at all of having a private word with her in the vestry before the ceremony?”

  “None, I fear.” George went to glance out the window at the church across the green. “The doors are open and the vicar is sweeping the steps. Sorry, Anthony.”

  “Bad enough to be rejected, but to be rejected before witnesses…well, we did our best to smooth this out, George. No regrets, eh? You were right. It was worth the risk.” At least it would be a small ceremony—not too many people to witness his humiliation. He retrieved a large square box from the end of his bed and handed it to George. “Give this to Chloe, will you?”

  “Oh, George!” Chloe buried her face in her hands as the coach started the short distance to the church. “Why, when I have wanted so badly to do the right thing, has everything gone awry?”

  “That’s the way of it, dearling. The gods never make it easy to do the ‘right’ thing.”

  “Nothing has gone right since that wretched man returned from the peninsula. You were with him mere minutes ago, were you not? What does he say?”

  “That he is looking forward to taking you home. I gather his house and servants are waiting for a mistress.”

  She groaned. “Did you tell him the truth of my supposed kidnapping?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “So that he would know the lengths to which I have gone to avoid this day.”

  “And yet you are the one who has come back for it. Why is that, Chloe? I thought you planned to stay away until after the wedding day had passed.”

  She heaved a sigh and looked up at her brother. “Oh, George. The gamekeeper you hired…was quite extraordinary. He had been wounded in the war, you know. Fighting in the trenches when men like Sir Anthony were likely directing the fight from afar. He has such integrity, such courage. He quizzed me almost daily and made me see how cowardly I’d been. When I learned what he had done, all he had risked, for his comrades…well, I was inspired to emulate his courage. Whatever sort of scoundrel Sir Anthony Chandler is, he deserves better than to be abandoned at the altar without so much as an explanation.”

  George laughed. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that, puss.”

  “Yes, but he was kind enough not to abandon me when I was ‘kidnapped.’ I cannot marry him, but I have no wish to humiliate him.”

  George’s eyebrows shot up and a skeptical smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Did you like the gamekeeper, puss?”

  Heat rose to burn her cheeks. How telling! She did not need to speak for George to know the truth.

  “Then why did you run home? You could have stayed with him.”

  “Oh, George! You know what that would mean.” Such a shocking event would shame her mother, disgrace George and even her stepfather. She’d been headstrong her whole life, thinking only of what she wanted and not what was best for the ones she loved. If she followed her heart, society would tar her family with the same brush they used for her because they had failed to “control” her. Could she do that to them?

  And, frankly, Mr. Rush hadn’t asked her to stay. Hadn’t even mentioned love or “forever.” The closest he’d come was to say, once, that if she left, he’d come after her. But he hadn’t. And now she was home, with nothing but her determination to stand between her and disaster.

  George took a deep wooden box from the seat beside him and handed it to her. “This is from Chandler.”

  She glanced at it and shook her head. “I cannot accept presents from him when I am about to jilt him.”

  “For heaven’s sake, puss, just see what it is.”

  She lifted the lid and gasped. There, nestled in white tissue, was a bouquet of fragrant pale lavender lilacs. Their stems had been wrapped in white ribbon and tied together in a beautiful bouquet. She caught her breath on a sob. “Oh! That man is infuriating! If he thinks he can make me like him, he is mistaken.”

  George raised a single eyebrow. “It’s only lilacs.”

  Only lilacs? “It is not that they are lilacs, George. It is that Sir Anthony Chandler presumes to know me. He is insinuating himself into my life with little gestures made too late. He will not worm his way into my affections.”

  George sat back, crossed his arms over his chest and regarded her with a weather eye. “Perhaps you are right, puss. The blackguard deserves to be left at the altar. What do you say we pay the coachman to take us to Glasgow where we can board a ship for Canada? They’ll never find us there.”

  She smiled in spite of herself. “Oh, George, how have I arrived at this day in such dire straits? I’ve stalled. I’ve run. I’ve tried to do what’s right. And still I find myself arriving at the church to marry a perfect stranger.”

  The coach pulled up in front of the church and George threw the door open and hopped down. When he turned to lift her out, she almost panicked.

  He knew her so well that he merely smiled and kissed her cheek as he set her feet on the ground and handed her the bouquet of lilacs. “It’s almost over, Chloe. A few more minutes and, for better or worse, you’ll have settled your future.”

  Yes, she would tell Sir Anthony she would not marry him as they stood at the altar. That was bound to be a very bad moment. Mama and Papa Charles would be outraged, Sir Anthony’s father would be incensed, and Sir Anthony, himself, would be either angry or hurt. How had one simple lie landed her in such a predicament? Captain Chandler? Yes, I remember him, Papa Charles. He was quite pleasantly presentable. Oh, if only she could take those words
back! Now, instead, she would have to say, No, Sir Anthony, I am sorry, but I cannot marry you. She would utter those words, then take the consequences.

  George offered her his arm and led her up the steps to the wide double doors, open in a welcome. Her heart beat wildly as she entered the vestibule and looked up at her brother for reassurance. He smiled and patted her hand where it lay across his arm.

  Glancing back down the long aisle, she noted a cluster of people standing at the altar in muted conversation. She recognized the vicar, her mother and her stepfather. Even Marianne and her husband had come—a reminder of all her fears. Two other men, taller than the rest, faced the vicar and turned slowly as the conversation hushed.

  Her step faltered. George steadied her and continued the slow walk to the altar. She couldn’t catch her breath and she felt light-headed. The brave scar slashing the handsome face was the dearest, most welcome sight she’d ever seen. How had she ever thought him frightening? And his eyes, when they met hers, spoke more eloquently than words. He had come for her.

  And then reality set in with a shock. Her betrothed and her brother had tricked her! She glanced sideways up at George and narrowed her eyes. “You will pay for this, George. And so will Sir Anthony,” she whispered.

  He grinned. “You left us little choice, puss, and he and I already agreed that it would be worth the risk. So what are you going to do now?”

  She turned back to Sir Anthony, remembering all the times he tried to tell her who he was, and remembering, too, all the unkind things she’d said about him to his face. She would marry him—there was no doubt of that—but he would have to give her satisfaction. And she would have a lifetime to see to it.

  And at last she knew who Anthony Chandler was. He was a hero. He was a man who’d risked all he was, all he had or would ever have, for strangers. He was a man who had placed his very life on the line to protect and defend people like her. He was a man who had faced unspeakable horrors for the good of civilization and to halt tyranny and aggression.