Blackthorne's Bride

by Shana Galen

  Jack glanced at Nick, but it was too late. Nick stepped forward. "Love to, Duke, but I don't apologize to rapists."

  Bleven's face went crimson, and he lunged for Nick. Jack had to admit the old man was quick. Nick was quicker, though. His brother grabbed a chair and shoved it in Bleven's path.

  Jack closed his eyes and wished he'd left his brother to fend for himself. Damn his parents, and damn their misplaced sense of honor. Why hadn't they taught him to be a coward?

  Jack stood. "Look, Bleven, perhaps we can come to some sort of agreement. Perhaps my brother can ... write a letter of apology."

  Nick gave him a horrified look, and Bleven burst into loud cackles.

  "Oh, he will apologize, Blackthorne. You both will. I've been waiting for this day." He motioned to his men. "Catch them and put them in my coach. I'd like a private meeting."

  The six men, armed to the teeth, advanced, and Jack exchanged a look with Nick. Jack wrapped his fingers around the back of the chair he'd been occupying, and Nick did the same. As the first two men came forward, brandishing pistols, Jack stood still, waiting. The men, smiling at their easy victory, raised their guns.

  Then, with a howl, Jack raised his chair and threw it. It hit one of the gun-carrying men in the shoulder, glanced off him and thwacked the club-toting man in the temple. Nick's chair took out the other man, then landed on the floor and skidded to a hard stop against Bleven's shin.

  Bleven wailed, "Get them!"

  One of the gunmen fired a wild shot, and Jack felt it whiz by his ear. He stumbled back, grabbing Nicholas in the process.

  "What now?" Nick said, crouching in anticipation of the next shot.

  "Now, we run!"

  * * * * *

  "Ashley, get out of the coach," Maddie said. "This is my elopement. You're not invited."

  "Nevertheless, I'm coming," Ashley said, and Maddie knew that stubborn look in her cousin's eye. "You're not the only one who's allowed to have an adventure."

  "But it won't be an adventure, Ashley. It will be boring, I assure you."

  That was unless Ashley insisted on coming along.

  Maddie glanced at Mr. Dover, seated beside her. He looked agitated and impatient. In his hand, he held a pocket watch. "We are now precisely eleven minutes behind our scheduled departure," he said.

  Maddie massaged the bridge of her nose and tried to be patient.

  And optimistic—an act that was becoming increasingly more difficult every time one of Mr. Dover's precious seconds ticked away. "Ashley," she pleaded. "Get out."

  "No."

  Maddie was about to leap across the coach and forcibly evict her friend when Dover raised his hand. "As time is of the essence, might I suggest an alternate solution?"

  Ashley shook her head. "Where did you find this ... man?"

  Dover sniffed. "As I was saying—or about to say"—he gave Ashley a reproving look—"it might be more expedient to allow Miss Brittany to travel with us."

  Maddie stared at him. "Come with us?"

  He removed his spectacles and began polishing them. "Yes. After all, what is the harm in her coming?"

  "You obviously don't know her very well," Maddie grumbled. Ashley could find trouble in a nunnery.

  "Well," Dover said, looking at his watch again. "Perhaps she could be our chaperone. We didn't think to bring a chaperone."

  "That's because eloping couples don't have chaperones!" Instantly, Maddie felt guilty for raising her voice. Especially as Mr. Dover had turned his reproving look on her. "I'm sorry for that outburst, Mr. Dover. I'm extremely agitated at the moment."

  "I think Mr. Dover has a splendid idea," Ashley said with a smile for Maddie's fiance. "I would make an excellent chaperone."

  Maddie would have laughed if she didn't feel like crying. They really did not have time for this. Any moment her parents were going to realize she was missing and begin searching for her. It wouldn't be long before they or one of the servants discovered the note she'd left on her pillow.

  "Ashley, please," Maddie begged. She never begged, but she was at her wit's end. "My father will be after us, and if we don't leave soon, we won't get away."

  Ashley, who by all appearances had settled into her seat permanently, said, "Then by all means, tell the coachman to drive on."

  Defeated, Maddie dropped her head in her hands. Mr. Dover, seeming to understand that a decision had been made, rapped on the roof of the coach.

  He rapped three times, waited, then rapped again.

  Nothing happened.

  Maddie lifted her head and peered up at the hatch, where the errant coachman should have appeared.

  "Where—"

  There was a loud crash on top of the coach. Maddie ducked, afraid the ceiling would fall in on them. The ceiling held, but the crash was followed by a scrambling sound. She stared at Ashley, who for once in her life looked frightened.

  Maddie almost groaned. The dreaded adventure was starting already.

  Mr. Dover reached for the hatch, but the coach lurched and he fell back. Maddie staggered against the window with a small squeal, then almost tumbled out the door when it was thrust open and a dark-haired man with a bloody nose and a coffee-colored stain on his buff breeches climbed inside.

  He barely got the door closed before the horses were whipped into frenzied motion and the coach pitched violently.

  The man practically fell into the seat beside Ashley. He pushed his dark hair out of his eyes, his gaze falling on each one of them. When his dark eyes met hers, Maddie gasped, unable to breathe. There was something feral and untamed about this man. The space between them seemed to buzz with heat.

  He gave her a wicked smile, and she swore she heard the hiss and crack of lightning.

  She tried to close her mouth or to make it function, to say something. Her mouth moved, but no words would form.

  The man settled in, stretching one booted foot out to rest beside her, and said, "So, where are we going?"

  Chapter Three

  The two women and the man stared at him as though he had three heads. Hell, he might. At this point, Jack figured anything was possible. He and Nick had run at least a mile, probably more, through London. They'd felt the hot breath of Bleven's men on their necks the entire way.

  There'd been several minor scuffles. Jack had taken out one of the thugs with a step into a lucky doorway and an equally lucky find of a loose board. Nick had managed to lose two of their pursuers by taking a side street and doubling back. But the men always caught up to them again.

  Five against two weren't bad odds. Jack had faced worse. But when the five had pistols and various other weapons, and the two had naught but bare hands, the odds changed a bit.

  Jack knew he and Nick could keep running, but he worried that eventually they'd take a wrong turn and find themselves looking down the barrel of a gun. That fear was confirmed when he and Nick rounded a corner and slammed into one of Bleven's thugs, who had managed to get ahead of them without realizing it.

  The next thug might not be so unprepared.

  That was when Jack had seen the carriage. The horses were harnessed and ready to depart, and while Jack watched, the coachman climbed off his box and stepped into an alley to answer nature's call. Jack couldn't believe his luck. Maybe it was turning after all.

  He motioned to Nick, who understood the plan immediately—there were some benefits to getting in trouble with one's brother—and Nick indicated that he'd take the coachman's place. Jack had the more dangerous task of subduing the coach's natives.

  His plan had been to throw them out and steal the coach outright, but one look at the blue-eyed, dark-haired beauty, and Jack felt the ground give out from under him.

  True, it might have been that Nick chose that moment to urge the horses into motion, but whatever caused the heady, falling feeling, Jack knew he was never going to toss that exquisite creature out on the road. If anything, he was going to pull her into his arms.

  He shook his head. The direction his though
ts were taking seemed to indicate the coffeehouse squabble with Nick had done more damage than he'd thought. When was the last time he'd allowed a woman—no matter how beautiful—to interfere with his plans?

  When was the first time?

  Never.

  And he wasn't going to start allowing women to run roughshod over him now. He'd toss the man, then the blonde, then the petite brunette.

  No, he'd start with the brunette.

  He gave her an ominous smile and prepared to reach for her. And then the chit had the audacity— the out-and-out gall—to turn those huge blue eyes on him. How was he supposed to toss her out on the street with those sapphire eyes practically begging him to help her? He didn't know what she needed help with, but somehow, he knew she needed him.

  And so, instead of tossing the chit out the carriage door, he found himself asking their destination.

  Not that he was going to help the brunette. He was done with helping damsels in distress—and that included his brother. Jack slipped his head in the noose for no man.

  Or woman.

  Not anymore.

  But that didn't mean he couldn't ask.

  It was the blonde who answered him, and once Jack got a good look at her, saw who she was, he wasn't surprised.

  "We're going to Gretna Green," she told him. "Without you. Get out."

  Jack blinked at her forceful response, though he shouldn't have been surprised. "Miss Brittany," he said easily. "Why am I not surprised that you are eloping to Gretna Green?"

  The blonde exchanged a look with the brunette, then spat, "Obviously my reputation precedes me, sir. And you are?"

  "Not impressed by you."

  Jack glanced at the couple across from him. The man would be no threat. He wasn't a fighter by nature. By the way he watched the events unfolding in the carriage, Jack knew the man was an observer. He reminded Jack of his professors at Cambridge.

  Dismissing the professor, Jack directed his attention back to the brunette.

  "Now, you," he said, allowing his gaze to caress her pink cheeks, her ripe mouth, her slender neck, and—

  Jack took a shaky breath.

  —her other ample charms.

  He was in more danger than he'd anticipated. "You impress me."

  He extended a hand, which she didn't take.

  "Jack Martingale, Marquess of Blackthorne."

  The blonde took in a sharp breath—which was the usual response when he met a young lady— but the brunette showed no sign of knowing who he was.

  "I do not mean to impress you, sir," the brunette said, and her voice was rich and velvety, like her long, chestnut curls. "I only mean to get to Gretna Green. Mr. Dover and I hope to marry as soon as possible."

  The punch Jack felt in his gut was as real as any his brother had given him in the coffeehouse. Only it hurt like hell. It hurt as bad as that time he'd been in a dockside brawl and one of the sailors had knifed him in the ribs then twisted it just to hear him scream.

  Jack hadn't given the sailor the pleasure. It had been that man who'd screamed in the end, but Jack never forgot the pain of that knife blade. He felt it now.

  The brunette and the professor?

  He couldn't stop himself from glancing down at those ample charms again. Perhaps it was a good thing the professor had a claim on her. Jack didn't think he could be responsible for his actions otherwise.

  "Lord Blackthorne," Ashley Brittany was saying.

  Jack looked back at her. She was a lovely girl. A classic beauty who had turned the heads of all his friends. He didn't know why she didn't turn his head as well. Perhaps because she was too perfect.

  Perfection bored him.

  "I don't know what you are doing here, but you are going to have to leave."

  "I don't think so," Jack said.

  "Sir, I am afraid I must concur with Miss Brittany," the professor said. "This matter does not involve you. Unless ..." He exchanged a glance with the brunette. "Speak up now, sir. Were you hired by Lord Castleigh?"

  Jack blinked. "Castleigh? Why the hell would I be working for that old frump?"

  The brunette sat forward. "Perhaps because my father suspected I might run away and wanted to keep an eye on me."

  "You're Lord Castleigh's daughter?"

  The brunette gave him a quick nod. "I'm the frump's daughter. Lady Madeleine."

  Brilliant. He finally met a woman who took his breath away, and he began by insulting her father. Not that it mattered.

  She was eloping and would never be his.

  Which was a good thing.

  He didn't want her.

  Very much.

  "So let me get this straight," Jack said. "You, Lady Madeleine, only daughter of the Earl of Castleigh, are eloping with him?"

  The professor bristled. "I'm Conlan Dover, and I happen to be the world's foremost expert on dog breeds and—"

  Jack waved a hand and addressed Lady Madeleine. "And this is your ... ?" He glanced at Ashley Brittany.

  "Cousin," Miss Brittany supplied. "Well, actually, I'm her cousin's cousin."

  "I see." He didn't, but no matter. "Your cousin's cousin is coming along as well because ... ?"

  "We need a chaperone," Lady Madeleine supplied.

  "Of course," Jack said. Who didn't need a chaperone when they eloped? "You're right. I don't want to be in this carriage. I'll order my brother to stop immediately."

  A quick look out the window confirmed that they were well away from the center of London and should be free of Bleven's thugs.

  Jack rapped on the coach's roof.

  "Your brother?" Miss Brittany asked, her voice sounding strained.

  Jack raised a brow as the hatch opened and Nicholas poked his head inside. "Have you met Lord Nicholas Martingale?"

  Maddie stared at the dark-haired man with his head through her carriage hatch, taking up the space where her coachman should have been.

  "What have you done with my coachman?"

  Lord Nicholas looked taken aback. "Your coachman? Never touched the man. He abandoned his post. Blackthorne and I simply filled a need."

  "No you didn't," Ashley said. "We had a coachman, and therefore had no need of one. You stole our coach!"

  "I resent that imputation of my character," Lord Nicholas said.

  "What character?" Ashley cried. "You're a rogue."

  Maddie blinked at this new information. She told herself she had to start reading the papers on a regular basis. First, she had no idea who the notorious Lord Blackthorne was, and by Ashley's reaction to the revelation of his name, Maddie knew he must be very wicked. And now, apparently, this Blackthorne's brother was equally scandalous.

  Lord Nicholas bristled. "You'd better be careful with your unfounded accusations, Miss Brittany. You, of all people, shouldn't be the first to throw stones."

  Ashley reddened, and Maddie's mouth fell open. Ashley was never embarrassed. Had something happened between Lord Nicholas and Ashley that she was unaware of?

  "It's not unfounded, Lord Nicholas," Ashley said.

  "Do you have proof?" he demanded. "You know I do."

  "Then, by all means, expose me for the scoundrel I am."

  Maddie watched as the two locked gazes. Amazingly, Ashley was the first to look away.

  Lord Nicholas disappeared for a moment, presumably to check on the horses—an action for which Maddie was profoundly grateful, as careening along London's streets without a driver was not her notion of an ideal elopement—then reappeared.

  "So where are we going?" he asked his brother.

  "We are going no further," Lord Blackthorne told him. "Stop the coach."

  "Done." He disappeared again.

  Maddie peered out the window and didn't recognize a single building. She had no idea where they were, but by the looks of their surroundings, it wasn't Mayfair. And the smell ...

  "Oh, no," she said. As much as she wanted these crazed men out and her calm, adventure-free elopement back, this wouldn't do. "We're not stopping here."
<
br />   "Not my concern," Blackthorne said, without taking his eyes from the dingy gray shacks they passed.

  She glared at Blackthorne. "It should be. You cannot think to abandon us here without a coachman."

  He frowned at her. "As I said, that's not my concern."

  "Take us back to our coachman," Maddie said, but Mr. Dover was already shaking his head.

  He consulted his trusty pocket watch. "According to my calculations, we are now twenty-two minutes behind schedule. We haven't time to go all the way back, find the coachman, and then start again. That would put us approximately ..." He looked as though he were tabulating in his head.

  "Your point, sir?" Ashley said impatiently.

  "Lord Castleigh might already be looking for us."

  Maddie knew he was right, and poor Mr. Dover had more cause to worry than anyone else.

  If her father caught them, he was well within his rights to shoot Mr. Dover for absconding with his daughter.

  She didn't want to believe that her father would act so monstrously, but undoubtedly he would take a different view of the situation. He wouldn't hesitate to shoot Mr. Dover.

  Maddie sighed and stared at her clenched hands. All she had wanted was to marry and then pursue her charitable causes unfettered, as she and Mr. Dover had agreed. And now it seemed she couldn't even elope without trouble. She was a failure at adventure. A miserable failure.

  She glanced up. Everyone was looking to her expectantly. She couldn't afford to be pessimistic now. The coach was slowing, and her friends needed her.

  Her gaze locked with Lord Blackthorne's, and she steeled herself for opposition. "I am afraid, my lord, that I have to insist you drive us to Gretna Green. At least until such time as we can acquire another coachman."

  Blackthorne raised a black eyebrow. "You can insist all you want, Lady Madeleine, but I'm not going anywhere close to Gretna Green. Especially not with two unattached females in tow."

  Ashley snorted. "As though either of us would marry you!"

  "Oh, the feeling's mutual, Miss Brittany. But I'm not taking any chances. You know my reputation. Throw Gretna Green into the mix, and you would be compromised. And don't think I'll marry you out of some misguided sense of honor."