Blackthorne's Bride

by Shana Galen

  So, with firm determination, she clapped her hand into his, hard, and allowed him to help her up behind him. But all the while, she was imagining when and how she would force him to apologize and beg her forgiveness.

  The horse wore no saddle, and when she was behind Blackthorne, it took a moment for her to adjust. She was still finding her balance and attempting to seat herself comfortably when Blackthorne spurred the horse forward. She almost did a Mr. Dover.

  Maddie was forced to clutch the marquess around the waist and hang on tightly. The act of touching him was agony and ecstasy all at once.

  Increasingly, she disliked him and his rude, selfish, I-stick-my-neck-in-the-noose-for-no-one behavior. And increasingly, she found herself imagining him touching her and kissing her.

  Touching him again made her forget how much she despised him, and it brought those unwanted, disloyal feelings of desire rushing back.

  She could be grateful, at least, that he had donned his tailcoat when he returned from chasing the men of the village. She didn't know how she would have survived if she'd had to hold onto that muscular chest with only a thin layer of linen between them.

  The group once again began the long trek to Gretna Green. Maddie and Lord Blackthorne led the procession, followed by Lord Nicholas and Ashley, the packhorse on leading strings, and, in the rear, a wobbily Mr. Dover.

  Blackthorne began at a brisk pace. It might be dark, but he intended to make good time. Maddie worried that the speed might be too much for Mr. Dover's weak horsemanship skills, but when she looked back, she saw that her fiance was still seated. Thank the Lord for small favors.

  She twisted forward and stared at Blackthorne's back. She couldn't see a thing over his shoulders.

  "Comfortable?" Blackthorne asked.

  "No," she answered immediately, not caring that it sounded rude. He was so uncouth, she didn't think he'd even notice.

  She felt rather than heard the low rumble of laughter in his chest. "You don't like me much, do you?"

  She wanted to say no, that she didn't like him at all. Not in the slightest. But she couldn't be that impolite. She had standards. "I don't wish to discuss my feelings for you," she retorted. Her mother had always told her that if she had nothing pleasant to say, she should say nothing whatsoever. She was following that advice.

  "But you liked kissing me, didn't you?"

  Maddie inhaled sharply and stiffened. Then, aware that Blackthorne could probably feel her reaction, she tried to relax and pretend his question hadn't concerned her.

  "I don't wish to discuss that earlier incident," she said coldly, and felt Blackthorne chuckle again.

  "I'll bet you don't."

  Maddie shot daggers into his back with her eyes. "What do you mean by that, sir? Are you implying that I want it to happen again? Because I assure you that kissing you is the furthest thing from my mind."

  There was a long pause, then, "Actually," he said, voice full of amusement, "I wasn't implying that you were dreaming of kissing me again. I only meant that you probably don't want your fiance to find out."

  Maddie opened her mouth and shut it again. "Oh," she said weakly.

  "So kissing me is the furthest thing from your mind, eh?"

  She wanted to say, Absolutely. I haven't given it a second thought. But she was afraid he'd know she was lying. She'd never been very good at it, and always felt guilty later and confessed.

  But she couldn't tell him the truth—that she hadn't stopped thinking about kissing him. And now that she was pressed against him, it was every bit as horrible as she'd anticipated. The heat of his body seeped into her. The feel of his heartbeat was steady against her fingertips, and the smell of his hair was clean and fragrant. With all of that assaulting her senses, she really couldn't stop thinking about kissing him.

  The appalling fact was that she was no longer thinking about kissing him solely on the lips. The more time she spent inches from the back of his neck, the more she wondered what the flesh there would taste like. What if she touched her tongue to that spot where his black hair ended and the bronze flesh began—

  "Thinking about kissing me again?" he said.

  Lord, the man sounded arrogant.

  "I do not wish to discuss it," Maddie said through tight lips. She forced her gaze away from his neck. The trees were very pretty at night.

  "I don't want to discuss it either," Blackthorne told her. "But that doesn't mean I don't want to do it."

  "Sir!" Maddie smacked him in the chest, then grabbed hold again as she lost her balance and tipped to the side.

  Blackthorne chuckled again.

  "You mustn't say things like that," she scolded. "I am engaged to Mr. Dover, and you—you are to marry my cousin."

  "I thought she was your cousin's cousin."

  "What does it matter? You are not free."

  "Well, when you say it like that, I can't help but get excited."

  "You're not supposed to be excited," Maddie lectured. "You are supposed to enter into the union of marriage soberly and pensively. It's not something to be taken lightly."

  "My dear Lady Madeleine, have you been attending church again?"

  She sighed. "Obviously, there's no talking with you."

  "Oh, you can lecture me all you want. I'm good at listening to lectures," he said. His voice sent small vibrations through her, tickling her and making her chest feel warm. "But I don't like hypocrites."

  "What?" She almost slapped him again but remembered what had happened the last time she let go for a moment. "Are you calling me a hypocrite?"

  "Do you call eloping to Gretna Green sober and pensive?"

  "I resent that!" she said, loud enough to attract the attention of Ashley and Lord Nicholas.

  "Everything all right, Maddie?" Ashley called.

  "Fine," Maddie answered over her shoulder, trying to sound cheerful. She even smiled, though she doubted Ashley could see her face in the darkness.

  She turned back to Blackthorne's hair. "I have given this marriage much thought. In fact, it's all I've thought about. You have no right to imply that I am behaving rashly."

  "Have you thought about what the reaction will be when you return to Town?"

  "Of course. It will be difficult at first—"

  "Ah, so then you are returning to Town. Where will you and Mr. Dover be residing?"

  Maddie opened her mouth to answer and realized she had absolutely no idea. Where did Mr. Dover live? She'd never even thought to ask.

  Jiminy, she hoped it wasn't somewhere like Chelsea or Cheapside. That would be most inconvenient—

  Stop it! she berated herself. Where you live is not important.

  Blackthorne seemed to read her mind. "I'm sure Mr. Dover can't afford to reside in Berkeley Square, next to Papa Castleigh. Hell, I can't afford it."

  "Where we live isn't important."

  "Right."

  They came to a fork in the road, and he guided the horse to the left. Maddie could see no road sign, and she hoped this was the right way to Gretna Green.

  "Then let's talk of what is important," Blackthorne said. "Why are you eloping? What's the hurry to marry?"

  "That, sir, is none of your affair."

  "Are you—what is it you ladies say?—indisposed?"

  "Sir!" This time she did smack him in the chest. She'd rather fall from the horse than allow that comment to go unpunished. "You are the most impudent person I have ever met."

  "Am I? Well, you'd best get used to it. Not everything is gilded and polished below the lofty heights of Berkeley Square. Someone might actually tell you something you don't want to hear."

  "Oh, and I suppose you think you have sage advice for me."

  "It doesn't take a sage to see that your marrying Dover is a mistake."

  "I knew you were going to say that."

  "And?"

  "And, you don't know the first thing about it."

  "Don't I?"

  The tone in his voice cut off Maddie's next retort. Why did he sud
denly sound like he did understand? Impossible. He couldn't see into her mind or her heart.

  "You think the unmarried daughter of a wealthy earl and a bachelor marquess have nothing in common? How many proposals do you receive a month—no, a week? Just the average."

  "Three," she said quietly.

  "Three? That's it? I would have thought at least five before you'd take such drastic measures." He gestured to Mr. Dover.

  Maddie huffed. "I knew you wouldn't understand. How can you? Women don't propose to men. They don't corner them in libraries or garden benches and pledge their undying love."

  "No, but their mamas do. It got so bad that I couldn't even take a piss—forgive my language— without some desperate mother sneaking up behind me to tell me how lovely her daughter was and how many sons she'd birth me."

  "No!" Maddie could not believe it. She'd heard stories, but never imagined anyone would be so shameless.

  "Oh, yes. The widows are worse."

  Now she knew he was exaggerating his trials. "As though the attention of a widow is bothersome." She had heard far too many stories about widows who had bevies of lovers. She'd even had such women pointed out to her.

  Blackthorne shrugged, his movement causing her breasts to tingle. "Did your first few marriage proposals bother you?"

  Maddie bit her tongue. He had a point. But he couldn't really understand, not more than superficially, at any rate. Yes, the proposals had been bothersome and inopportune, but she was no dainty miss.

  She had seen the seedier side of London. She'd comforted lonely orphans, who cried themselves to sleep. She'd sat by the bedside of a dying colonel, wounded in the peninsular wars. She'd fed the hungry, tried to clothe the homeless, cried for bears who bled for sport, and hares, dogs, and bulls who died for entertainment.

  None of that proved she was not spoiled. She was, and she knew it. But the difference between her and the rest of the ton was that she appreciated her soft linen, her maidservant, and her full plate at dinner. In fact, it was because of the hardships she saw that she didn't expect her small luxuries. Instead, she cherished them.

  And she hated that Blackthorne thought her so weak as to assume that she could not tolerate the inconvenience of three marriage proposals a week. But it wasn't the proposals that wore her down. It was the insincerity.

  Above all, Maddie was an optimist. She had her dark moments and her doubts, like everyone else, but she always hoped for the best. Each time a new suitor approached her, she tried to keep an open mind. She hoped for the possibility that this man was the one she would fall in love with. This man was the one she would not be able to refuse.

  She'd watched two cousins experience this type of love, so she knew that it did exist. She hoped and prayed it existed for her.

  She wasn't supposed to hope for such things. She was a member of the Spinster's Club and not ever supposed to marry. But even as a child, she'd known their childhood pact exempted true love. None of her cousins would have ever begrudged her, or any of their club, true love.

  But one after another her false suitors began to extinguish even the notion of true love. Worse, the more they flattered her, the uglier and more repulsive she felt.

  Did no one care for her—the real her? Would anyone look at her twice if her father was not wealthy? Would anyone look past that wealth to try and know the real Lady Madeleine?

  Not one.

  Not even the most persistent of suitors knew even the most fundamental truths about who she was.

  They didn't care to know. Why would they? She wasn't beautiful like Ashley or so many other girls on display for the Season. She wasn't overly accomplished. She'd spent more time at Society meetings for widows than she had practicing her drawing or piano. She wasn't witty or a sparkling conversationalist. She didn't spend her time trying to think up clever bon mots.

  But Maddie knew she had other qualities— good qualities—if only one of those suitors had looked deeper. She was kind; she was nurturing; she was loyal.

  And when she'd finally looked to Mr. Dover, it was because she'd been in danger of losing all those good qualities. All the disingenuous proposals and declarations of love were turning her bitter and cynical. Where once it seemed her world was populated by happy couples, now she only saw philandering husbands and treacherous wives. Where once she saw the good in everyone, now she saw only artifice and corruption.

  She had to find herself again, and the only way to do so was to get back to what was truly important: helping those less fortunate. Only her good works could restore her faith in the world and drive the bitterness away. She might not love Mr. Dover, but their wedding would take her off the marriage mart and allow her to focus on what mattered.

  Then she could restore her faith in herself and in the essential goodness of man. She could be optimistic again and see love in the world.

  But not if she allowed Lord Blackthorne into her life. He was just as his name implied, and if she opened her heart to him even an inch, he would infect her with his poison.

  She'd been a fool to kiss him, a fool to make herself vulnerable. He was callous and selfish. She did not need him in her life.

  A tiny voice from deep inside her whispered, Perhaps he needs you.

  "No," she said aloud and shook her head. She couldn't save everyone. She didn't want to save Lord Blackthorne. Right now, she could hardly save herself.

  "No?" Blackthorne said, jolting her out of her thoughts. "So your first few proposals did not bother you?"

  "Actually, sir, I was saying no to this conversation. You and I have nothing in common, and I'm sorry to say that I am glad of it."

  He did not respond, and Maddie wondered if she'd hurt his feelings. She hadn't wanted to upset him, but she needed to distance herself from him.

  "Village up ahead," Lord Nicholas called from behind them. "Dover says it could be Stevenage. We should proceed with caution."

  "Too late for that, Martingale," a voice said from the darkness on Maddie's right. "We 'ave you now."

  Chapter Eight

  Jack froze, and his first thought was for Lady Madeleine. Why had he insisted she ride with him? Now she was as much a target as he.

  "Come down off those 'orses, 'ands in the air," the man said.

  Jack didn't recognize the voice. It could have been one of Maddie's father's men, or someone from the last village, or—and he prayed this wasn't the case—Bleven's men.

  "You're wasting your time," Nick called from behind Jack. "We don't have any money or valuables. Go back and wait for a carriage."

  "Ah, but Lord Nicholas. It is Nicholas, isn't it?"

  Jack closed his eyes at this new voice. It was high-pitched, refined, and menacing. He'd know it anywhere.

  "Now that we have you," the Duke of Bleven continued, "our wait has been well worth it. Not wasted time at all."

  A man stepped out from the forest concealing the other men, his rifle pointed straight at them.

  Jack had no way of knowing how many other weapons were aimed at them.

  "Damn," he heard Nick swear. "Jack?" he said softly.

  "We're going to climb down," Jack told Bleven. If only he could see the duke or his men, then he could gauge the odds. As it was, he had no idea what they were facing. "We have two ladies with us. They have nothing to do with what's between us. You have to let them go."

  Bleven laughed. "I don't have to do anything, Lord Blackthorne. Now get on the ground before I shoot the lot of you."

  "Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" Dover called. "I can't get down. I'm tied on my horse."

  "I'll get you," Nick called.

  Jack had no choice except to lower Lady Madeleine first, making her vulnerable. But he swung down beside her as quickly as he could. He pushed her behind him, so he was protecting her from the front and the horse was at her back. If anything happened to her, he would never forgive himself.

  And he was quite good at not forgiving himself.

  In the filtered moonlight, Jack saw Nick lower Miss B
rittany, then pull her with him as he went to untie Dover.

  Dover promptly slid off his horse and crumpled to the ground, whimpering something about "hopelessly behind schedule."

  "How does that man know your name?" Lady Madeleine whispered in Jack's ear.

  Jack clenched his jaw. He'd been afraid she was going to ask him that. "We're old friends," he said vaguely.

  "Interesting friends you have."

  " 'Ands up!" Bleven's man called.

  Jack obliged. Why the hell hadn't he thought to bring a weapon with him? Of course, when he'd left his town house this morning, he'd only intended to have a cup of coffee and read the papers. No weapon required.

  Perhaps if he'd known his brother was in Town ...

  There was the hiss of flame, and then three lanterns illuminated the road, revealing at least eight men, including Bleven, moving out from the forest. Jack caught sight of his brother, hands in the air, and then one of Bleven's thugs stepped in front of Jack, blocking his view. The thug grabbed his arms and dragged him away from Lady Madeleine.

  Another thug went for her, but Jack growled, "Don't touch her."

  He was backhanded for his efforts, but he saw Lady Madeleine rush over to her friend. The two women stood huddled together.

  "Your traveling companions have improved," Bleven said, stepping in front of Jack and Nick, who had been brought before the duke. "But your manners haven't. Show some respect, boys."

  He snapped his fingers, and Bleven's men pushed Jack and Nick onto their knees. Jack didn't resist. He wanted Bleven to think he was docile and accommodating.

  Bleven looked down at him. "That's better. But not good enough."

  In a flash of black, his booted foot struck Nick in the jaw. With an ominous pop, Nick fell over.

  "Lord Nicholas!" he heard one of the girls call, but Jack saved his strength. When the blow came for him, he was ready.

  Bleven was a wealthy and powerful man. He was shrewd and cunning and ruthless. But he wasn't particularly creative. The duke moved to strike him exactly as he had Nick. Anticipating the move, Jack brought his hand up, caught Bleven's foot and pushed.

  Arms careening wildly, Bleven went down. As Jack expected, the duke's thugs—mindless bullies eager to please their master—rushed to help him. There was a moment of chaos during which Jack grabbed his brother, pulled him to his feet and yelled, "Run!"