The Rogue Steals a Bride

by Amelia Grey

“So Sophia is her name?” Iverson said.

  Matson realized his mistake as soon as he said her name, but it was too late to take it back. “This is business and has nothing to do with her.”

  “For you it’s business. I think it might be personal for him.”

  Matson remained silent, pondering what Iverson had said.

  “I hear you are her partner for Lord Tradesforke’s May Day Fair Day event,” Iverson said, picking up the conversation again. “Maybe Sir Randolph doesn’t like the interest you’ve shown in his ward. Maybe he doesn’t want you courting her.”

  Matson started to say he wasn’t courting her, but he was. He just wasn’t doing it openly. He agreed that Iverson had a point. A very good point. Sir Randolph was a clever and astute man. He certainly knew about seeing a lady on the sly. This shenanigan could be his way of telling Matson to back away from Sophia. If it was, Matson didn’t like it.

  Matson knew Sophia was bound by a vow to marry a titled man. He tried not to think about that. And he sure as hell didn’t want Sir Randolph trying to force him to stay away from her.

  Suddenly Matson swore under his breath. Ever since their time on the Serpentine, he had felt like she belonged to him. He had tried not to get involved with her. He’d tried to forget about her, but she was constantly on his mind.

  “I think I would be a little more satisfied right now, Matson, if you were to tell me you have no designs on Miss Hart.”

  Matson wasn’t in the habit of lying to his brother, so he ignored the references his brother made about Sophia and said, “I’ll go see the man and find out what he has up his sleeve. I never wanted to lease from him, but now that we have the space, I won’t have him trying to throw us out.”

  Iverson grabbed hold of Matson’s reins. The startled horse yanked at the tight hold, but Iverson held firm and stared into Matson’s eyes. “You’ve been with her, haven’t you?” Dash yanked his head again and pulled at the short, tight hold. “Speak to me, Brother.”

  Matson remained calm. “I’m not going to say anything about Sophia,” he said more cautiously than he intended.

  “You just did.”

  “Let go of the reins.”

  Iverson dropped the leathers. “Matson, you know she’s already had several offers for her hand, and from titled gentlemen.”

  An ache started in Matson’s chest. “She’s beautiful and wealthy. It’s expected she will get many offers.”

  “And her wealth and her beauty will insure that she can pick whomever she wishes, and the rumor is that she will choose a title—Hargraves, Bighampton, or Snellingly.”

  His brother wasn’t helping his feelings. Iverson knew how to lay it all out with no sweet talk to soften the blow. Matson tried to tamp down the frustration building inside him.

  “We both know that Londoners delight in believing rumor over truth. I’ll take care of the letter. You go take care of your beautiful bride.”

  Matson kneed Dash and sauntered away.

  ***

  Matson hit the doorknocker twice and waited. He never would have dreamed that one day he’d be a regular caller at Sir Randolph’s house, but ever since Miss Hart came to town, he found himself coming back to either the front door or the side of the house. He was in an unusually foul temper, and the only way he could think to change his composure was to set a few things straight with Sir Randolph.

  The housekeeper he remembered from previous visits opened the door. “Good afternoon,” he said, removing his hat. “I’m Mr. Matson Brentwood to see Sir Randolph.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” she said politely. “He isn’t in, and I don’t know when he’s expected back. Would you care to leave your card?”

  Matson smiled at her. “Thank you, no, but I would like to wait for a time, if I may, to see if he returns shortly.”

  She smiled at him. “Don’t mind at all, Mr. Brentwood. I remember you’ve been here a few times before.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” he said affably, though inside, he felt far from it.

  “Come in and let me take that hat and coat for you.” She laid them on a side table. “Follow me. You can wait in the drawing room for as long as you want. I’ll get you some tea.”

  “Please don’t trouble yourself,” he said, following the sturdy-framed woman into the drawing room.

  “No trouble at all, but I can get you a glass of something stronger, if you prefer.”

  “No, thank you.” He didn’t need courage from a bottle to take on Sir Randolph. “Tell me, are Miss Hart and her aunts home?”

  “The Misses Shevington went out earlier in the afternoon, something to do with having a new apothecary look at Miss June’s ankle, and they haven’t returned. Miss Hart is here. Should I ask if she’s available to see you?”

  Matson’s breathing escalated. “Yes, thank you.”

  Sophia was home without her guards. He bet that didn’t happen often. No wonder he couldn’t find her in the park this afternoon. Any other day, it would have thrilled him to have a few moments alone with her, but right now he was too interested in getting to the reason for Sir Randolph’s rescinding the lease. And though he couldn’t put his finger on why, he was upset with Sophia too.

  Matson stood in front of the fireplace and chuckled softly. Oh, no, he couldn’t lie to himself, even though he wanted to. He knew exactly why he was upset with Sophia. It was her vow to marry a titled man. When he’d first heard that she was bound by such a vow, it made no difference to him. He had no plans to marry her, no designs on her; but somewhere along the way of getting to know her and making love to her in the boat, things had changed. His resolve to befriend her, but not get involved with her, hadn’t worked. She was the most exciting and intriguing lady he’d ever met, and that included his long-ago desire for Mrs. Delaney.

  Maybe he did have designs on Sophia. And if he did, he didn’t want to be told he didn’t measure up because there was no title connected to his name. Perhaps because of Sophia’s beauty and wealth she deserved a titled husband. But a title would not make a man love her, be good to her, or watch over her fortune for her. If she wanted a title from England’s peerage, she had a fop, a scoundrel and card cheat, and a tired old boar to choose from.

  Matson felt like growling. He didn’t even want to think about her marrying any of those men. How could she have made such a foolish vow to her father? How could he have asked it of her?

  Matson heard a door close. If it was Sir Randolph, he would suggest they go into his book room. He didn’t want to take the man to task with Sophia present.

  “Mr. Brentwood,” she said, walking into the drawing room. “Mrs. Anderson told me you were here to see Sir Randolph.”

  Matson looked around, and his gaze fell on Sophia. She looked like an exquisitely hand-painted doll. Her lavish golden-red hair was pulled up on the sides and hanging in luscious curls down her back. Her pale lemon-colored frock suited her coloring perfectly.

  His body and his heart were telling him she was his, but his mind was telling him she could never be his, and that thought made his words clipped when he said, “Yes, but I found out he isn’t here, and neither are the Misses Shevington. I’m surprised they left you alone and defenseless.”

  Sophia’s eyebrows shot up defiantly. “You forget yourself, sir. I am not alone. The housekeeper is here, and I’m never defenseless.”

  “Ah,” he quipped. “That’s right, your aunts just treat you as if you were.”

  Sophia eyed him suspiciously. Matson knew he was sounding like a lout, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. It was her fault. Her connection to Sir Randolph and her vow were the reasons she could never be his.

  “That is their job,” she said calmly. “And mine is to allow them to do their job properly, and, as you know better than anyone, I sometimes acquiesce to their rules, and sometimes I don’t.” She walked closer to him. “You are t
ense. Something is wrong?”

  A hell of a lot is wrong.

  “I need to talk to Sir Randolph,” he said, sensing he needed to leave. He was fighting emotions for her that he preferred not to deal with at the moment. “I’ll go to White’s. Maybe I’ll find him there.”

  “You would probably miss him. He usually comes home about this time every afternoon to rest before he gets dressed for the evening’s parties.” She walked closer to him, concern etched across her face. “Matson, what has you in such a state?”

  He didn’t want her concern. “It’s a business matter, Sophia,” he said irritably.

  “Well, sir, I would have you know that I know more about business than Sir Randolph does.” She gave him a teasing smile. “It’s a good thing his father left him well set, because he doesn’t know anything about reading ledgers and looking over account books to make sure he’s not being cheated.”

  Matson had no doubt that she was smarter than the old man. He saw no harm in telling her what a scoundrel Sir Randolph was, so he said, “He sent a letter canceling a lease agreement my brother and I have with him.”

  Her eyes widened a little. “Oh, is that what this is about? I can help you with the lease on the dock space. What do you want to know?”

  Matson frowned. “You know about it?”

  “Yes,” she said confidently. “The company is actually owned by my father—that is, by me now. Sir Randolph handles everything as my trustee and guardian. It’s logical that anyone would assume the company is his.”

  “But we are not leasing from Shevington Shipping. We would have recognized that name,” Matson said, trying to make sense of this new information.

  “My father had companies in many different names. Shevington is the largest and came from my mother’s family.”

  Matson’s ire grew. “My brother and I are leasing our warehouse space from you. You knew this and didn’t tell me?”

  A worried expression settled on her face. “I only learned that you had the lease after I found out who you were.”

  His eyes narrowed, and he took a step toward her. “And you didn’t think that was information I would like to know?”

  “I don’t understand why you are upset about this,” she said, lifting her shoulders a little higher. “How could I possibly know that you didn’t know or that it would matter to you?”

  “Did you know Sir Randolph was canceling our lease?”

  “I suggested it.”

  Matson was stunned. He hoped he’d heard her wrong. “What did you say?”

  “It was my idea. I don’t understand why you find this so shocking. London is my home now. I wanted to move my father’s company from Southampton to London. I knew we had the warehouse space to accommodate all our shipping supplies, so I talked with Sir Randolph about doing that.”

  This was incredible. “So you decided you’d just throw out Brentwood’s Sea Coast Ship Building and take it for yourself?”

  “No, it wasn’t like that,” she said, standing her ground. “Sir Randolph said that he thought you would be agreeable to canceling the lease, because you didn’t want the space. He said you had been looking for other accommodations ever since you leased it. He also added that you’ve put nothing in it.”

  “What does it matter to you or him whether or not there is anything in the space? We have paid the rent. Our ships have been in the harbor, waiting to be unloaded, and in fact, that started yesterday.”

  He saw her swallow hard. Matson knew he was being unreasonable, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He had expected something like this from Sir Randolph but not from Sophia.

  “I thought I would be helping you. If you wanted other space, I thought the kind thing to do would be to help you get out of your lease with us.”

  “You did this to be kind to us? You think we need your kindness? Did it dawn on you that the reason we haven’t moved is because we have been looking for other space but haven’t found it?”

  Sophia’s shoulders and chin lifted as her eyes narrowed. “I happen to know that there are plenty of other warehouses available to lease, Matson,” she said, her voice rising a little. “Perhaps you are just being too difficult to please.”

  Matson huffed out a laugh. If only she knew how many times they had tried to lease from someone else. If only she knew how difficult it was to find the duke.

  “So you think I am being difficult?”

  “Well, aren’t you?”

  “No, I’m not. And furthermore, we’re not giving up the space, Sophia. If you want to move your business to London, I suggest you lease one of the many spaces available.”

  Her eyes flashed brightly at him. “I’m happy to find other space, so I can show you just how easily it can be done.”

  “You do that, Miss Hart. No, wait, maybe your name isn’t Miss Hart. Maybe it’s Miss Heartless, or maybe it’s Miss Cold Heart.”

  Sophia gasped. Hurt mingled with anger and filled her eyes. Matson’s gut twisted.

  “You are absolutely right, Mr. Brentwood. I am not often called Miss Hart by gentlemen. I am usually called Miss Sweetheart. Now, I believe it’s time for you to leave.”

  Matson started to say he was sorry for suggesting she was heartless and coldhearted, but in the end, he simply walked past her. He picked up his hat and coat on his way out the door.

  It was better this way, he told himself as he hurried down the steps. Things had become too complicated between them. He knew Sir Randolph’s ward wasn’t the lady for him, and he should have stayed away from her.

  He was glad she had vowed to marry a titled man. That was just what she needed. In fact, he’d see what he could do to help her with that.

  Twenty

  Some persons do first, think afterward, and then repent forever.

  —Thomas Secker

  Matson stood in Lord Snellingly’s drawing room, looking out the window. How could twilight look so beautiful when he felt so wretched? He had to do this. There was no other way.

  He couldn’t believe that Sophia was the one who really owned the warehouse space, and that she had wanted to kick them out of it. He had to hand it to her. She had more nerve than most men. He had ignored his gut feelings for Sir Randolph because she was so charming.

  Matson sighed heavily. It was downright hellish how attracted he was to her. But he’d known from the moment he found out she was Sir Randolph’s ward that he needed to stay away from her. He’d allowed himself to be fascinated with her. He had been lured by her sweet innocence, and compelled by her broken past. Ever since that afternoon in the rowboat, he’d been haunted by the feeling that she was his in a way that she would never be another man’s. He was the first for her, and he couldn’t forget that.

  He’d gone to Timsford’s Square nearly every day for weeks trying to recover her brooch. And how had she rewarded him? By wanting to throw him out of the warehouse. Matson shook his head and chuckled ruefully. His abominable temper wasn’t because he’d learned she owned the warehouse or that she had written the letter. It wasn’t even really because of Sir Randolph. It was her vow to marry a title. That was her oath, her honor. He couldn’t fight that and win. Life had to be lived by a set of principles. Matson believed a person was only as good as their word.

  Getting her completely out of his life was the right thing to do. The faster the better.

  He thought he could handle his feelings for Sophia the way he’d handled his feelings for Mrs. Delaney all those years ago. The problem was that Mrs. Delaney played by the rules. Sophia did not. She tempted him in ways that Mrs. Delaney hadn’t, and he hadn’t been able to resist Sophia.

  Right now, this was the only way he could think of that would make her want to turn away from him. He couldn’t give her up willingly. He had to have her help, and this was the way to get it. He’d see how she liked rowing the boat while Lord Snellingly read po
etry to her. She’d probably be the one pushing Snellingly in the wheelbarrow too. And she would probably never speak to him again.

  “Mr. Brentwood, this is an unexpected call, but I’m always delighted when anyone cares to visit. How are you this fine spring day?”

  Matson turned away from the window. “Good, my lord. You?”

  The earl picked up several sheets of writing from one of the chairs and sat down. Matson hadn’t noticed when he first walked into the drawing room, but it was littered with papers strewn over the settees and chairs. Quills and open jars of ink sat on every table.

  “Splendidly good, sir. Sit down, sit down. I’ve asked my housekeeper to see that tea is brought in for us. I can put a spot of something stronger in it for you.”

  “Tea will be fine,” Matson said, knowing that he really needed a brandy, but would wait until he returned home. “I have a favor to ask of you, Lord Snellingly.”

  “Well”—he sniffed into his lace-edged handkerchief—“I must say that doesn’t surprise me. People often want favors from me, you know. I’ll tell you what I tell them all. You may ask, but I make no promises about what I can do for you.”

  What a fop.

  “I understand that, my lord, and you will get no argument from me if you are not agreeable.”

  “Perfect, then, go ahead and ask.”

  The man sniffed again, and Matson couldn’t help but think the man would breathe easier if he wouldn’t wear his collar and neckcloth so high and tight on his throat. Matson had never paid much attention to the earl, and hadn’t noticed how much Lord Snellingly looked like a baby bird who had its neck stretched out and its mouth opened wide to receive food from its mama.

  “Not long ago you asked if I would exchange partners with you for the May Day Fair Day that Lord Tradesforke is hosting in Hyde Park.”

  “Yes, of course I remember. Quite well, in fact. You told me that you had no desire to give up your lovely partner. I completely understood. I wouldn’t have done it either.”

  “That’s how it was at the time, but now I find that I need to change partners with you. Does your offer still stand?”