Blackthorne's Bride

by Shana Galen

  Her cousin was already at the windows, pushing another open. She leaned out, resting her palms on the casement, and said, "Hello. Are you looking for Lady Madeleine?"

  Mr. Dover removed his hat, a scuffed beaver that looked like it had been run over by a carriage. Knowing how clumsy Dover could be, Maddie rather thought it had.

  "Yes, miss." He pulled out a pocket watch. "We have an appointment."

  Maddie rolled her eyes. Why didn't the man just announce it in Hanover Square? Hear ye, hear ye: Lady Madeleine and Mr. Dover elope to Gretna Green!

  "An appointment?" Ashley said, her voice oozing sweetness. "May I ask the nature of this appointment?"

  Mr. Dover considered, and Maddie waved her hands wildly behind Ashley's back.

  "Lady Madeleine," Ashley said without turning around, "please refrain from making hand signals to Mister ... ?"

  "Dover," he supplied.

  Maddie threw her hands down in frustration.

  "Ah, Mr. Dover."

  Maddie could hear Ashley smiling and knew the elopement was doomed. No man could resist one of Ashley's smiles. She closed her eyes and waited for the rising tide to surge over her head.

  "I'd rather not discuss the nature of the appointment with you, miss," Mr. Dover said, and Maddie gratefully clutched hold of this rescue boat. "May I speak with Lady Madeleine?"

  "Certainly." Ashley's smile was still in place, but it was tight at the corners. "One moment."

  Ashley left the window and advanced on Maddie, who tried to move past her. But Ashley blocked her way, backing her into a corner. "Now, Ashley"—Maddie gave Dover a look pleading for patience—"it's not what you think."

  Ashley raised one brow. "How do you know what I think?"

  "Good point," Maddie conceded. "Um, what do you think?"

  Ashley stomped to Lord Westman's desk, yanked the valise out from under it, and glared at Maddie. "I think you're about to run away with Mr. Dover."

  Maddie swallowed. "Oh, then I suppose it is pretty much what you think."

  "Maddie!" Ashley exploded. "What are you thinking? What are you doing?"

  Her boat was floating away, the water was rising again, and Maddie decided she might as well dive in and try to swim. "Listen, Ashley, I haven't much time."

  Ashley nodded. "Fine. I haven't much patience."

  "Well, believe it or not, nor do I," Maddie said, surprised at the exasperation in her voice. "I am tired, Ashley. So tired of fending off proposal after proposal. Every day it's another suitor, more bouquets, more flowery verses. I cannot take it any longer."

  "I understand your frustration," Ashley said quietly.

  Maddie knew she did. Ashley was so beautiful that she had garnered enough suitors to fill the seats of Parliament.

  "Men can be bothersome," Ashley agreed, "but eloping is not the solution. What about our pledge?"

  Maddie felt guilt wash over her, but reminded herself that if the matter weren't so desperate she wouldn't be breaking their childhood pact—though it wasn't as if Josie and Catie hadn't already broken it. "Ashley, I'm sorry. You know I wouldn't break my promise unless I absolutely had to. This is an emergency."

  "Emergency. Right." Ashley looked at the floor. "Everyone's had an adventure but me."

  Maddie shook her head. "That's just it, Ashley. I don't want adventure. I just want to do my charitable works and be left in peace. Mr. Dover won't try to stop me or control me. He'll be my partner."

  "And what about this—this Mr. Dover?" Ashley motioned to the window. "Who is he? What if his intentions are dishonorable?"

  The girls turned as one to peer at Mr. Dover. He had his glasses off, polishing them, and was squinting in near blindness. He looked helpless as a mouse.

  Ashley wasn't convinced. "Looks can be deceiving. How do you know he's not a murderer or a kidnapper? What if he takes advantage of you and then refuses to marry you?"

  Maddie smiled. "Mr. Dover needs a wife as much as I need a husband. He has two small, sweet children that require a mother. Imagine me, a mother!" The thought filled her with warmth, and she pulled Ashley into a hug. "Good-bye, my friend. I promise to call as soon as we return."

  When she pulled back, Ashley's blue-green eyes were filled with determination. Maddie had seen that look and knew it didn't bode well. She hurried to retrieve her valise and hand it out the window to Mr. Dover.

  "Have you acquired a coach, Mr. Dover?" she asked.

  "Yes, Lady Madeleine. We are ready to depart."

  Maddie nodded and prayed all would go smoothly She wanted an uneventful elopement. No more adventures!

  Sitting on the edge of the window, she gave him her hand. "Then what are we waiting for?"

  And she fell into his arms.

  Chapter Two

  John Phillip Charles Martingale, Marquess of Blackthorne, did not look up from his copy of the Times when he heard the commotion.

  He was used to commotion. One might even venture to say that commotion followed him.

  Jack also recognized his brother Nicholas's voice, rising above the din. And though Jack wouldn't think of hiding from anyone, friend or foe—his brother being a bit of both—he wouldn't have minded if Nicholas passed through the coffeehouse without ever seeing him.

  "There you are!" Nicholas bellowed, arrowing straight for Jack's table.

  Clenching his jaw and turning another page, Jack noted that his luck wasn't what it had once been. Of late, it seemed bad luck was around every corner, in every coffeehouse, at every—

  Nick sat down.

  At every table.

  "I have been looking for you everywhere," Nick said, sounding out of breath.

  Jack began reading an article on the many varied uses of corn.

  "I looked in at your club, then Tattersalls, then Gentleman Jackson's."

  Amazing, Jack thought. He had not realized corn husks could be used to make clothing. He wondered absently if they would make good muzzles.

  "No one had seen you," Nick prattled on. "So finally I stopped by your town house. Ridgeley told me you had a habit of coming here. Good man, that Ridgeley."

  Jack set the paper down, extracted a pad of paper and pencil from his coat, and began to write.

  "What are you doing?" Nick asked.

  "Making a note to release Ridgeley from my service."

  "Release your butler!" Nick laughed. "Whatever for?"

  Jack gave his brother a hard look, lifted the Times and turned the page. Suddenly, the paper was whisked out of his hands, an article on naval strategy superseded by Nicholas's smiling face.

  The fact that his brother was smiling was not half so annoying to Jack as seeing that smile on a face that looked so much like his own. Not for the first time, he wished his brother resembled him more in personality and less in appearance.

  The two men were of a similar height, which in Jack's opinion was rather more average than tall, and they shared a similar athletic build. Both had hair so dark the ladies called it blue-black, and bronze complexions from extensive time spent outdoors. Their eyes differed, Jack's being dark and Nick's a sky blue. And that summed up their divergent personalities as well.

  Jack had a reputation for being dark and brooding, while Nick was all sunshine and blue skies. It wasn't that Jack was never happy. He had been ...

  Once or twice.

  It was more that when he was near Nicholas, say within a hundred miles or so, he fell into a perpetual scowl.

  Jack felt the scowl take hold of his facial muscles now, even as Nick continued to grin. Wrapping his hand around his coffee cup, Jack pretended it was his brother's neck.

  "I'm in a bit of trouble," Nicholas said, and Jack gripped the cup tighter.

  "You don't say."

  "This is no time for sarcasm, Blackthorne." Nick signaled a waiter to bring him a cup of coffee. "I need your help."

  "I'm shocked. Truly."

  "You will be when you've heard what I've done. Well ... what we've done."

  "What we've done?"
Jack growled. Was it him or did Nick have a target painted on his forehead? Where was one's archery set when one needed it?

  "You are going to be proud this time. I, your inept younger brother, have restored our family honor."

  "Was it lacking?"

  Nick dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. His coffee arrived, and he took a moment to stir in sugar before tasting it. "I have managed— single-handedly, mind you—not only to rescue a damsel in distress, but to humiliate the Duke of Bleven in the process."

  Jack felt his face turn red, felt his hands begin to itch and his throat close up. "Did you say the Duke of—" The tightness in his throat choked off his voice, and Nick gave him a concerned look.

  "You should take care with that cup. You're holding it rather—"

  "You humiliated the Duke of Bleven?" Jack managed to squeeze out. "Our enemy?"

  Nicholas shifted in his chair. "He deserved it."

  Jack seethed. Of all the men in England, Nick had to choose Bleven to torment. The Black Duke had been a family enemy ever since their mother had spurned him to marry their late father. Bleven would relish a chance to humble the Martingale family.

  "I attended a ball last night and stumbled upon Bleven in the Earl of Wycliff's conservatory. He had some terrified housemaid backed into a corner," Nick was saying.

  "This is over a woman?" Jack barked. The handle of the coffee cup snapped off in his hand and the remnants of the container splashed over his buff riding breeches.

  "Bleven had her there against her will. What was I supposed to do? Stand by while she was assaulted?"

  Jack closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "What did you do?"

  Nick took a deep breath. "I might have gone a bit too far there."

  "What did you do?" Jack grit out.

  "I rescued the girl."

  "And?"

  "I might have publicly denounced Bleven."

  Jack stared at his brother.

  "I might have called him a rapist in front of half the ton."

  Jack closed his eyes. "Jesus."

  "And—"

  "There's more?"

  "Just a challenge. To a duel."

  "The devil you did! Nick—"

  "Shh!" Nick said, looking concerned for the first time that morning. Jack had no illusions that the feeling would last. "I don't think the duke will wait for the duel to attempt to kill me."

  "Well, yes," Jack said through clenched teeth. "That's the trouble with humiliating immensely wealthy men with enough power to amass their own private army. They come after you."

  "Don't look so smug, brother." Nick waved an arm at him. "They're after you as well."

  "And why in bloody hell are they after me?"

  A lady at a nearby table gave a loud gasp and rose to leave. Jack ignored her, focusing on his brother, who, amazingly enough, looked even more concerned than he had a moment before. Perhaps Nick sensed that his death was imminent.

  "I might have mentioned that you thought the duke was a filthy whoreson scoundrel. Something to that effect."

  Jack reached across the table, gripped his brother's arms and hauled him close. "And what the devil would possess you to say that?"

  Nicholas tried unsuccessfully to pull free. "It's the truth."

  "And the king is daft as a loon, but you don't hear me spouting it all over Town."

  Jack knew he was bellowing, and he knew the remaining patrons of the coffeehouse were staring at him. But he didn't care. Only one of the Martingale brothers was leaving this establishment alive.

  And it wouldn't be Nicholas.

  "I might have lost my temper and said too much," Nick argued. "But it was for a good cause."

  Jack slumped in his chair. How could he remain angry when the honor of a poor, innocent girl was at stake?

  "And," Nick said with a wink, "she was most appreciative."

  "That's it." Jack wrapped his hands around his brother's neck and pulled Nicholas to his feet. "We can cease worrying about Bleven. After I kill you, I'll be imprisoned in the Tower. Not even Bleven can reach me there."

  "After you—"

  Jack began to squeeze, cutting off Nick's words. Choking his brother felt wonderful for three seconds.

  Until Nick slugged him with a hard right hook.

  Jack stumbled back, regained his balance, then went down hard when Nick pummeled into him. Jack hit his shoulder on the table and it slid into the chairs. There was a crash, and then scalding coffee smacked him in the chest.

  Jack lay on the hard floor, his jaw aching, his shoulder throbbing, and his chest burning from the hot coffee. If he could have moved enough to retrieve his pocket watch, he would have taken note of how long it took his brother to cause mass chaos. He guessed that from the instant Nick entered the coffeehouse until this moment couldn't have been more than five minutes.

  Not a new record for Nick, by any means, but still impressive.

  Jack looked up and saw Nick coming for him. He tried to roll to the side, but a chair was in the way, and the full brunt of Nick's weight hit him like a charging bull. Jack had a moment to reflect that his brother was heavier than he looked, and then Nick's famous right hook came down again and pain exploded in his nose and eye. Jack groaned, and Nick pulled back.

  "Sorry," Nick said. "Are you all right?"

  But the pain had reignited Jack's fury. He shoved Nick off him and kneed him in the groin. Nick yelped, and Jack used the distraction to elbow his brother hard in the jaw.

  "I said I was sorry," Nicholas moaned.

  "I'm not."

  Nick went down on one knee, and Jack pounced. He got in a good blow to Nick's stomach before his brother clutched his face with one hand.

  "Just like old times, eh, Jack?" Nick said, sounding far too cheery for Jack's taste.

  Jack grasped Nick's wrist and attempted to pull Nick's hand off his face before his brother could gouge out his eyes. "And like old times," Jack wheezed, "I'm going to win."

  Nick shoved his hand hard, clipping Jack on the ear. For a moment all Jack heard was ringing, and then Nick was scrambling away and pulling Jack up beside him.

  Jack shook his head to stop the ringing, succeeding only in making it worse. Somewhere through the clanging he heard his brother shout. Something about eleven ...

  Jack shook his head again. Eleven? What the hell?

  Nick grabbed him by the shoulders, and Jack prepared for another blow, but Nick only yelled, "Eleven! Eleven's here!"

  Jack glanced over his brother's shoulder and out the window. There, stepping down from his sleek black coach and four, was the Duke of Bleven, a veritable army of thugs on horseback surrounding him.

  "Bleven's here," Jack murmured.

  "I know! Run!"

  Jack grabbed his brother's shoulder and yanked him back. "We're not going to run. We're going to face this thing."

  "Face it?" Nicholas motioned toward Bleven's thugs, one of whom carried a club that resembled a medieval torture device. "If we get in that guy's way, we won't have a face left."

  "Stand your ground," Jack ordered.

  "You're only saying that because you want me to die," Nick moaned, but Jack noted that his brother braced his feet and stood straight.

  Outside the now-empty coffeehouse, Bleven amassed his troops, placing the men so they stood in a solid wall behind him. The duke was tall and thin, handsome for an older man. His raven black hair and the silver streaks that flanked his temples even gave him a distinguished look. But Jack had known the duke for more than two decades. When he was a child, his father had pointed Bleven out and warned him to stay away from him. He had heeded the advice, never exchanging more than a cursory hello with the duke. But over the years, Jack had been close enough to look into the older man's eyes.

  There was no warmth in Bleven's gaze. His eyes were predatory. The man was cold as a hawk, and when he attacked, just as deadly.

  "I do want you to die," Jack said to Nicholas as Bleven and his men moved forward. The m
an with the club pulled the coffeehouse door open. "Problem is, I'm the only one allowed to kill you."

  "I don't think our friend knows your rules."

  Bleven stepped through the door, followed by his men, and Jack assumed a casual stance—as though standing in an empty coffeehouse, dripping blood on the floor from the nose his brother had pummeled, was an everyday occurrence.

  He gave Bleven a stiff nod. "Your Grace."

  "Ah, the Martingale brothers," Bleven said, his characteristic high-pitched voice contrasting with his otherwise formidable demeanor. "I've been looking for you."

  "We're not hard to find." Jack reached down, righted a chair from the floor and sat backward, crossing his arms lazily over the chair's top rail. Nick followed suit, taking an extra moment to swipe a full coffee cup from an abandoned table.

  Anyone who walked in at that moment would have thought that the two brothers owned the shop, which was precisely the impression Jack wanted. "Take a seat," he said to Bleven. He motioned to a table of abandoned cups. "Coffee?"

  Bleven's men fanned out on either side of the duke. Jack counted six—all large men who looked as though they had no aversion to violence.

  "Let's forgo the chitchat, Blackthorne. You know why I'm here."

  Jack shrugged. "I've always thought chitchat the mark of a civilized society."

  Bleven gave him a thin grin. "I'm not feeling particularly civilized at the moment."

  "Haven't felt that way for the past several years, from all accounts," Jack countered.

  Bleven's face darkened. "Lord Blackthorne, your presence grows tiresome. If you leave now, I'll spare you today. It's your brother I want at present."

  "That makes two of us. What's he done to you?"

  "He has challenged my honor."

  Jack glanced at Nick as though this accusation was a complete surprise. Nick shrugged. "Impossible," he said.

  Jack raised a brow as Bleven's men moved closer.

  "The duke has no honor," Nick added.

  "You shall pay for that," Bleven said, removing his gloves and slapping them in his hand.

  Jack held up a hand. "There must be another way to settle this."

  Bleven's gloves slapped his hand again. "Certainly. If you boys get down on your knees, beg forgiveness, and admit you are the whoreson scoundrels, I'll consider merely maiming you."