The Rogue Steals a Bride

by Amelia Grey

  Sophia felt a sense of relief. It appeared Sir Randolph was going to let her do what she wanted. “Whatever it is, I assure you no one has a more delicate hand with correspondence than I do, Sir Randolph. I can help you word the letter so there will be no offense.”

  “I’m not so sure of that.” He walked over and sat down in his chair, suddenly looking tired. “It’s the Brentwood twins who have leased Shevington’s building at the docks.”

  “Oh, my,” she whispered softly and retook her seat too. The handsome Mr. Matson Brentwood came easily to her mind. “Yes, I can see where this might be more delicate than I imagined.”

  “It could be. That remains to be seen. I know the twins, for obvious reasons, never wanted to lease from me, and as I said, I’ve heard they have continued to look for alternative space.”

  “Why did they lease from you?”

  “They had no choice at the time. Nothing else was available to them, and quite frankly, at the time, they didn’t know I had anything to do with Shevington Shipping. I’ve heard they are still trying to obtain space from the Duke of Windergreen, which would make this work well for all of us. They should now be able to lease from the duke, since his daughter married their older brother.”

  “Yes, I remember reading about the wedding. I met him last night.”

  “Viscount Brentwood?”

  “No, one of his brothers, Mr. Matson Brentwood.”

  “Ah,” he said softly as he watched her face intently. “He must have arrived after I left. I didn’t see him.”

  “He did, but I’d met him before. I just didn’t know who he was.”

  His eyes narrowed, and his lips tightened. “How? Last night was your first ball.”

  “He’s the man who helped us that day with the footpad. When he tried to introduce himself to us, Aunties snubbed him and shuffled me away, as if they were afraid I might get the plague. Remember, we told you a stranger helped us, but only last night did I find out who he was.”

  “I see.” Sir Randolph’s eyes narrowed, and his voice softened. “What did you think of him?”

  Sophia tried to sound natural, even though talking about Mr. Brentwood made her heartbeat speed up, her breathing increase, and her stomach quiver. “He’s very handsome, and as I told you that day, he’s a very engaging man.”

  “Yes, you said as much, Sophia. You don’t fancy him, do you?”

  She smiled, hoping it didn’t look as false as it felt. “It would do me no good. He is not titled, and I am committed to keeping my vow to my father. But that is not the only reason he would not be the man for me, Sir Randolph. I remember the things I heard about the Brentwood twins when Papa and I were in Baltimore for his lung treatments.”

  He continued to look intently at her. “What exactly did you hear?”

  “That the brothers used the scheme of good-twin and bad-twin to their advantage in business dealings. Mr. Iverson Brentwood would take on anyone and everyone, remaining firm on his stand, arguing his point, and sounding tough and as strong as the hull of the ships they built. He would ask for more than they wanted. He never budged an inch on whatever the issue was at hand. Mr. Matson Brentwood would then come in behind him in a conciliatory and approachable way, willing to compromise for something less than his brother had insisted on. Papa said their strategy had worked to get exactly what they wanted almost every time.”

  “I heard that too.”

  “And that is why he would not be a good match for me, even if I hadn’t made the vow. With his business shrewdness, I can’t see him ever allowing his wife even to look at a ledger, and certainly not look over terms of a contract.”

  “You are probably right. I’ll work on the letter to terminate the lease later today or tomorrow, and then let you take a look at it. Right now, you run along. I’m going to get out of the house so you and your aunts can finish your dressmaking duties in peace.”

  Sophia thanked Sir Randolph and walked out of the book room and promptly leaned against the wall in the corridor. She didn’t know why, but her legs were weak. She closed her eyes and remembered the light brush of lips across hers and the scent of shaving soap that clung to Mr. Brentwood’s hands when he caressed her cheek.

  Her abdomen tightened. She’d told Sir Randolph the truth. There was no use in thinking about Mr. Matson Brentwood. He was not the man for her to marry, but knowing that didn’t keep her from daydreaming about him and wishing they’d had time to have that second kiss.

  Six

  To climb steep hills requires slow pace at first.

  —William Shakespeare

  Matson couldn’t believe he was actually sitting in Sir Randolph’s drawing room, staring out the window and watching the late-afternoon sky turn grayer. It was ludicrous. He despised the man, yet here he sat. That he’d even set foot inside the Mayfair house was amazing. And he wouldn’t have had it not been for Miss Hart.

  She had intrigued him last night with her comment about his parents and Sir Randolph working together to send him and his brother to America. Because of all the gossip that had been spawned about the twins, he could see now that a visit was the civil thing to do. But Matson wanted to know what else Sophia knew. She tempted him in other ways, too, but considering whose house he was sitting in, he was trying to keep his thoughts away from those primal feelings. It was hellish enough that he found her attractive.

  He’d already crossed and uncrossed his legs at least a dozen times, and paced back and forth in front of the fireplace several minutes in the quarter of an hour he waited for Miss Hart or someone to make an appearance. He didn’t know exactly what he would say if Sir Randolph came in rather than Miss Hart. He’d never actually had a conversation with the man. What would be the purpose? Matson couldn’t very well ask him why he’d had an affair with his mother. That had an obvious answer he’d rather not hear.

  Matson knew there was the possibility he wouldn’t even be allowed to see Miss Hart because of who he was. He wanted only to ask her some questions. He was not foolish enough to get entangled with Sir Randolph’s ward. And, had he known who she was, there was no way he would have been foolish enough to have coaxed a kiss from her.

  Well…

  Maybe he would have.

  Probably.

  He would have.

  Damnation! She was just that enticing.

  The decor of Sir Randolph’s spacious drawing room surprised him. It was filled with dark wood furniture upholstered in embroidered silk fabrics of astoundingly vibrant colors and intricate patterns. The draperies covering the window were a bright shade of red. A statue of a gilt-covered lion stood in one corner of the room, and a tiger in the other. Life-size sculptures of Venus and Athena held up the marble mantel that graced the ornate fireplace. A gold-framed mirror, fashioned in the shape of a large pagoda, hung over it.

  Matson chuckled to himself. Had he nothing better to do than look at the menagerie of items in Sir Randolph’s home and pick them apart? Over the years, he’d done his share of waiting for young ladies when he called on them, but he’d never done it patiently. Today was no exception.

  No, today was even harder.

  At last he heard footsteps on the stairs, so he rose and looked toward the doorway.

  Matson remembered the two older ladies who swept into the room. They were a slim, refined-looking pair, wearing high-waisted dresses cut similar in style, though the one he remembered as being called June wore a dull shade of gray, and the one named Mae wore a much more fetching shade of sky blue.

  “Mr. Brentwood, I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced,” Mae said.

  Before he could comment, June said in a disapproving tone, “Sophia told us a few minutes ago that you were formally introduced by Lord Waldo Rockcliffe last night during our absence.”

  He bowed slightly. “Yes, madam, that’s true.”

  “Oh, we’re n
ot madams, Mr. Brentwood,” Mae said, a faint blush creeping up her pale cheeks, “we’re misses.”

  “Which is why proper introductions should always be made, Mr. Brentwood,” June cut in quickly and sharply.

  “Nonetheless, Mr. Brentwood,” Mae answered, “sometimes it’s simply not possible to handle everything as properly as it should be, is it? Of course we met on the street the other day but were not introduced. I am Miss Mae Shevington, and this is my sister, Miss June Shevington.”

  Shevington?

  Was it possible Sophia Hart was the heiress to the highly successful Shevington Shipping? Of course, it made sense now. Sir Randolph’s wealth came from his father’s shipping business; he would have known Sophia’s father well, and thus was asked to be her guardian. Matson hadn’t made the connection because Sophia had a different last name.

  Matson hid his surprise at this sudden revelation and bowed slightly again, hoping to, in some small way, win the ladies’ approval. “It’s my pleasure to meet you both, and I was hoping to see your niece, Miss Hart, as well.”

  “I’m afraid we can’t allow that,” June responded pointedly.

  “You see, Mr. Bentwood,” Mae added, “we aren’t allowing her to accept calls today.”

  “Last night was the first party she’s attended, and I’m sure you can understand that we can’t possibly allow every gentleman she met to call on her.”

  “Oh, no, that would be far too many. There wouldn’t be enough hours in the day. We must be very selective, per her father’s instructions—”

  “Before we decide who will be allowed to court her—”

  “And who will not.”

  “With her beauty, intelligence, and wealth, we feel she will surely make a match with a viscount, an earl, or perhaps even—”

  “A duke,” Mae finished.

  Matson almost chuckled out loud. It was amazing how the two ladies could follow each other’s sentences flawlessly, as if only one of them were speaking. But at least he knew it was the sentinels keeping Sophia from seeing him, and not the young lady herself.

  It was clear that Miss June Shevington was the more aggressive lady, and Miss Mae Shevington the more conciliatory of the two. He was very familiar with how the good-twin, bad-twin game worked. He and his brother had used it often and quite successfully.

  He would have liked to say good riddance to the two ladies, and be done with Miss Hart once and for all, but his fighting spirit was too strong. He wasn’t used to giving up so easily something he wanted. For all the blustering he’d done earlier in trying to convince himself otherwise, he wanted to see Sophia.

  He intended to see her.

  But why?

  That puzzled him. She was Sir Randolph’s ward, and he shouldn’t want anything to do with a lady who was under the watchful eye of the man who fathered him—no matter how desirable she was.

  “In any case, our niece is busy right now.”

  “Yes.” Miss Mae Shevington’s eyes lit up brightly.

  “Lord Snellingly wants to call on her and read his poetry to her. We want her to have something to read to him, too, when that happens.”

  They were going to allow that pompous dandy, Lord Snellingly, to call on Sophia? The man had to be at least twenty-five years older than she was. And obviously, she hadn’t heard the man’s poetry. He wondered how encouraging the sentinels would be after they’d heard him recite a few lines of his verse.

  “But of course we told him that she is not taking calls for a couple of more days. But she’ll be happy to entertain him soon.”

  “Yes, she’s in the back garden, working on her poetry right now.”

  “She’s quite good with rhymes.”

  “But stronger in verse, Sister.”

  “I’m sure she’ll write something lovely,” Matson said.

  “Though there is no way she could be as talented as Lord Snellingly,” Mae said.

  “I take it you haven’t read his work,” Matson said.

  “No, but he told us he’s quite good, so I’m sure it will be beautiful and inspiring.”

  Matson smiled. He would love to be around when Miss Hart heard a few lines of Lord Snellingly’s poetry. Whatever she was writing, it had to be better than that man’s efforts.

  Matson stared at the two rigid spinster sisters and decided he wasn’t going to let them get the best of him. He would win them over with a friendly chat. After all, he wasn’t without a little charm when he chose to use it. He’d learned early in life that twins were rare. He and his brother were always a curiosity to people, and he and Iverson were always inquisitive when they happened to meet another set of twins. He’d bet these two ladies were curious too.

  He relaxed his shoulders and his stance and asked, “Are you twins?”

  “Why yes, yes, we are,” June said, obviously flattered he recognized the fact.

  “That’s just what I was going to say,” Mae added, her lashes fluttering like a butterfly’s wings in flight. “We are twins, though we were born on different days and different months.”

  Matson’s brows drew together. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of that happening before.”

  “Oh, yes,” Mae said. “You see…”

  Matson listened to their singsong telling of their birth, which ended with Mae saying, “Everyone always seems to be fascinated by us.”

  “I can understand that. I’m a twin, too.”

  They both looked surprised, and in unison said, “Truly?”

  “Yes,” he said, realizing there was no recognition in their faces of who he was. Could it be that these ladies didn’t know of the Brentwood twins and their connection to Sir Randolph, when Miss Hart knew so much?

  “I’m afraid our story is not nearly as appealing as yours,” he continued. “My brother and I were born on the same day of the same month.”

  Mae asked, “Do you and your brother attract attention wherever you go?”

  “Not as often as we used to. We don’t look that much alike anymore. But you lovely ladies certainly do. I’ve grown this.” Matson touched his chin. “And my brother’s hair is longer than mine. But I can assure you we caused quite a stir when we first came to London.”

  “Oh, we did too. We always do no matter where we go.”

  “Perhaps you’d like to stay for tea, Mr. Brentwood?” Mae asked suddenly.

  Her sister quickly gave her a reproving look. “I’m sure he’s quite busy, Sister.”

  That was the invitation he’d been looking for. Matson smiled. “No, no, I’m not busy at the moment. Thank you, I’d enjoy staying and hearing more about your lives as twins. I seldom meet other twins.”

  “See, Sister,” Mae said and then gave her sister a satisfied smile.

  Half an hour later, Matson walked out of the house with his hat and coat in hand. He thought surely, when the ladies invited him to stay for tea, Miss Hart would eventually come bounding into the house and he’d see her, but that hadn’t happened. Those two ladies certainly knew how to keep to their plan of not letting a gentleman see Sophia.

  He stood on the top step of the stoop and looked at his carriage, and then looked from one side of the house to the other. The skies had turned gray, and the wind had kicked up considerably while he’d been inside.

  The aunts had said Miss Hart was in the back garden, working on poetry. He hadn’t heard any doors open or shut while he’d been in the drawing room. It stood to reason that Sophia was in the back garden, and there was no doubt in his mind that he still wanted to see her.

  Matson wondered how high and how thick the hedge was on either side of the house.

  Only one way to find out.

  Seven

  In delay there lies no plenty; then come kiss me, sweet and twenty.

  —William Shakespeare

  Matson hesitated, shaking his head at
what he was pondering. Did he really want to go poking around Sir Randolph’s home? Just to get a glimpse of Miss Hart?

  “Yes,” he whispered to himself.

  Something about her kept drawing him. He was smart enough to know it was more than her red hair, her obvious beauty, and more than his desire to learn what she knew about his past. And he didn’t need to go over in his mind again all the reasons why Miss Hart was not a young lady he should consider pursuing. Right now, they didn’t matter. He was going to do it anyway.

  If he couldn’t see her by fair means, he’d see her by foul means. He looked both ways down the narrow street with its rows of closely nestled town homes, and didn’t see any carriage or pedestrian traffic nearby. He quickly walked to the right side of the house and looked toward the back. The wide, high hedge wasn’t yew, but a type of shrub with a bigger and fuller leaf. He casually walked to the other side and looked. A narrow path of less than three feet between the side of Sir Randolph’s tall hedge and his neighbor’s hedge formed a kind of tunnel effect. That was by far the better route to take to the back of the house in hopes of not being seen by anyone passing or by the servants.

  Matson walked slowly down the narrow path, carefully peeking through areas of thinning leaves for sight of anyone in the garden. When he was almost at the road that led to the mews at the back of the property, he found a spot big enough for him to move some leaves and peep through the hedge. The garden was small, but the abundance of lavish flowers, shrubs, and trees seemed to be well tended. In the center of the garden was a large fountain in the shape of a Cupid, with his head thrown back in laughter as he relieved himself into a vase. Water overflowed from the vase and into a birdbath. Near the back gate, a grouping of chairs and a table stood on a stone patio, but all the chairs were empty.

  There was no sign of Miss Hart. No doubt the minute the twin guards shut the door behind him, they had called her inside. Those ladies were double trouble for him too. He scoffed a short, soft laugh. Perhaps he should call them Double and Trouble.