The Bad Luck Wedding Night, Bad Luck Wedding series #5 (Bad Luck Abroad trilogy)

by Geralyn Dawson

  On those rare occasions when Sarah allowed herself to think about it, she suspected they just might be right.

  One of those moments when the annulment was very much on her mind occurred as she dressed one morning just a week before the wedding. Her gaze kept straying to the Pillow Book on the table beside her bed. Finally, she broke down and picked it up to read yet again Nick's entry from the night before. This one dealt neither with family nor seduction, and it touched her heart differently than any of the others.

  My Dearest Sarah,

  I spent an hour this afternoon playing ball with the McBride boys in the garden at Weston House. At one point, when young Bobby McBride overthrew his brother and the ball landed beneath a yew bush, they called upon me to save the day—something about trousers and dirt and their mother's happiness—by retrieving it.

  While down on my hands and knees reaching for the ball, my fingers brushed the round leather surface and I found myself contemplating the nature of a sphere.

  At first glance, a sphere is but a single entity—a ball, an orange, the moon in the sky. On closer study, one will see that it is, in fact, made up of an infinite number of circles. In life, those circles are home, family, friends, career... the list goes on. What those circles share is a midpoint. A common center. A common core.

  I closed my hand around the ball and dragged it from beneath the bush. I sat in the grass and stared at the ball in my hand and thought of you.

  Many circles make up the sphere of my life, Sarah. They have but one core.

  That core is you.

  Nick

  Sarah sighed as she gently closed the book and returned it to the table. What exactly was he trying to say with that letter? She had a suspicion, but she shied away from the little four-letter word. The ramifications were too great, and she didn't have time to deal with them right now. "I have a wedding to arrange," she murmured.

  And at last night's dinner party she'd learned of a little shop on Oxford Street that carried white grosgrain ribbon decorated with green four-leaf clovers, and she simply had to have it. She'd think of a way to use it somewhere, she felt certain.

  As she made her way downstairs, she heard the rumble of masculine speech coming from the dining room. She recognized Nick's voice, and the other sounded familiar, too, though she couldn't quite place it until she entered the room.

  "Good morning, Sarah," Nick said, rising from his seat at the table. "You remember Lord Kimball, don't you?"

  "Of course. Welcome to Weston House, Lord Kimball. I know my husband has been anxious to speak with you."

  "It's my pleasure to be here, my lady. Very much so. My trip to Ireland was..."—he paused, and his mouth twisted in a wry grin—"less than pleasant. I understand Lady Charlotte's engagement ball proved quite eventful."

  Alarmed, Sarah darted a glance toward Nick. Surely he wouldn't have told about their... encounter... in the garden.

  Her husband calmly poured her a cup of coffee and gestured for her to join them at the table. "I've been telling Kimball about your supper talk with Endicott."

  She all but sighed aloud in relief. "I signed my house over to him last week. He sailed for home on Monday."

  "Excellent. That leaves us with Lord Chambers as our only suspect."

  "If such a plot even exists," Sarah said, setting down her cup. "I truly don't believe Lord Chambers would be involved in something this wicked."

  Lord Kimball nodded. "You may be right, Lady Weston. My office is investigating this rumor from other directions, and as of now, we have failed to discover any information that corroborates the letter from Texas. However, in the case of bomb threats, I will pursue every warning, rumor, and whisper in the wind to its end."

  The conviction in his voice gave Sarah pause. Lord Kimball had a personal stake in the matter of bombings.

  His next words proved her suspicions true. "Six years ago I was slow to believe a threat that came across my desk, and as a result, a seven-year-old boy died in a bombing outside Salford Barracks. While this particular Texas connection to the Fenians is suspect, others are quite real. My recent trip to Ireland netted two criminals who admitted to a frighteningly similar plan. A third man died of wounds suffered in a knife fight with one of my detectives, who was also fatally wounded in the struggle. Until Lord Chambers is exonerated or proven guilty, he will be kept under surveillance." Turning to Weston, he added, "I trust you've taken measures to see to this?"

  Nick nodded. "I've hired the best private security available. Although, now that you're back, if you can spare a man or two of yours I'd be happier. I'm not confident in these men's ability."

  While Nick and the spymaster discussed the surveillance operation, Sarah checked the time displayed on the ormolu mantel clock and waited for a pause in the conversation. "If you will excuse me, I've some wedding business that needs tending."

  The men stood, and Nick walked her to the door. "What are your plans for this evening?"

  She thought a moment. "Lady Pratt has asked me to attend the Wainscott musicale. A cousin of hers has come to town for the wedding, and she wants to introduce us. Is there something you needed?"

  "You." He smiled ruefully and gave his head a shake. "I'd like to have dinner with you tonight if at all possible. A simple meal and pleasant conversation for just the two of us. I feel the need for one peaceful evening before all the wedding madness commences."

  "That sounds lovely."

  "Eight o'clock?"

  "I'll be here."

  Sarah floated all the way to Oxford Street. She found the ribbon and bought the shopkeeper's entire stock. Then, with her dinner appointment preempting the upcoming wedding in her mind, she recalled a perfumer she'd visited last week, and decided she could spare the time for one more call.

  Halfway between the ribbon shop and the perfumers, she spied a familiar figure peering at the silks and plushes displayed in Marshall and Snelgrove's side windows. At least, she thought he was looking at the fabrics. The way he moved his head made her wonder if he were actually primping in his reflection in the plate-glass windows.

  Trevor Chambers always had been rather vain about his appearance.

  Though her natural inclination was to greet him and exchange pleasantries, Lord Kimball's warnings of the morning caused her to hesitate. She was glad she did when, seconds later, he turned sharply away from the window and bolted toward a nearby alley. "Well," she murmured aloud. "That was certainly odd."

  His motives became clear when she realized a street vendor had hurried after him. Trevor had spotted Nick's surveillance person.

  His reaction bothered Sarah. Why would an innocent man act in such a manner? Maybe he wasn't as innocent as she thought. However, he could be acting guilty for a reason other than involvement in a plan to kill the queen. Maybe he was seeing a married woman, and he thought her husband was on his trail.

  Sarah could certainly attest to the fact that he didn't mind courting married women.

  The urge to follow the men was strong, but Sarah recognized the foolishness of the idea. If by some chance Trevor were guilty of the nefarious plot, and spying the spy had tipped him off that his secret was revealed, her former beau could be dangerous. It would be better for her to turn around and hurry home and tell Nick what she'd seen.

  But she truly did want that new perfume.

  Nibbling at her bottom lip, Sarah decided she wouldn't follow them. She'd simply continue on her way to the perfume shop and maybe glance down the alley as she walked past. She probably wouldn't see a thing, since they'd probably be gone by the time she reached them.

  Justifications in place, Sarah resumed her walk. She made it halfway across the opening of the alley when the crash of an ash can and a human yelp of pain drew her gaze like a magnet down the passageway's narrow, murky length. At first she spied nothing more than spilling shadows, then as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, what she saw made her gasp in shock.

  Trevor and the man were wrestling on the ground. Over a knife.
They rolled in the muck, both of them grunting with exertion, turning the air blue with their curses and the cobbles beneath them red with blood. Sarah couldn't tell which man was wounded. Maybe both were.

  Her heart pounded. What to do? She opened her mouth to scream for help when suddenly the other man spotted her. "Lady Weston," he ground out. "Run."

  After that, everything happened in a flash. Trevor's head whipped around, and the other man took advantage of his distraction and grabbed the knife. "Have you now, you blighter," the stranger growled. "I'll not—'"

  He suddenly gasped, groaned, and rolled off Trevor, his hand covering his privates as he curled into a ball. Trevor bounded to his feet and rushed toward Sarah. She backed away. "Help!" she cried, even as she turned to run.

  He caught her from behind, one hand wrapping around her waist, the other muffling her mouth. She struggled, twisting and kicking and even trying to bite as he pulled her back into the shadows of the alley. The metallic scent of blood wafted up to assault her nostrils, and the harsh sound of his labored breaths against her ear sent shivers down her spine. She was frightened clear down to the bone.

  "Hell, Sarah. Why did it have to be you?"

  She spied the glint of the knife in his hand, then something else. A small bottle. She renewed her struggles, and he shifted her in his arms. For a moment his hold on her eased, and she had the wild idea that she might just get away.

  Then a handkerchief in Trevor's hand came toward Sarah's face, and suddenly she saw no more.

  White satin slippers tied to the newlyweds' luggage bring good luck.

  Chapter 19

  Nick had met Trace and Tye McBride at the Turf Club for lunch when a Weston House footman tracked him down to tell him of an emergency at home. The three men rushed back to find a Mr. Tom Parnell sitting in Nick's kitchen, his various scrapes, scratches, and one vicious-looking knife wound on his meaty arm being tended to by the housekeeper.

  "A wily fox, that one was," he said, dabbing at the cut on his mouth with a damp rag. "Never expected him to ambush me like that. Still, I held my own until your lady showed up. I fell trying to protect her, I did. You shouldn't have let her go off on her own, milord. These modern ideas will lead a woman into trouble every time, if you ask me. Why—"

  "Where is my wife?"

  "That's what I came to tell you. He disappeared with her. There I was rolling on the ground, me nuts smashed all the way up to me throat, and me vision in a haze when I saw him grab her. Got up, I did, hardly able to move, but it was too late. She collapsed, went boneless as bread pudding, and he carried her oft By the time I hobbled meself to the street, they'd disappeared."

  The old saying about killing the messenger had never sounded so good. Nick eyed a kitchen knife with the thought of finishing what Trevor Chambers had begun. It helped his temper not at all when his three worried sisters rushed into the kitchen, the three McBride Menaces and two McBride wives on their heels. He didn't need to deal with hand-wringing women right now.

  A second look revealed that none of them were wringing their hands. Every last one of them held a weapon of one sort or another. "Aurora, where in the world did you get a bull-whip?"

  "I bought it for your birthday gift, but I decided I might need it now."

  Claire McBride expertly checked the chamber of a pistol, then tucked it in her skirt pocket. "What can we do to help, Lord Weston?"

  His mind in a whirl, Nick glanced around at the people Sarah loved and admitted, "I don't know. I don't know where to start."

  Fear was a living, breathing monster inside him, and only his training and experience kept him from surrendering to the beast. He turned to the McBride brothers. "Do you have any suggestions?"

  Tye McBride rubbed the back of his neck, then suggested, "Well, first I'd send word to your friend Lord Kimball at the Special Branch. Then I think we should put men in every club Chambers is known to frequent."

  Charlotte turned a worried gaze on Nick. "London is a terribly big city. How can we hope to find her?"

  "I'll find her," Nick said grimly. "I promise you, I'll find her if I have to search every building in London."

  Having said it aloud, he suddenly believed it. He strode toward his office, gesturing for the others to follow. "Ladies, I appreciate your willingness to join the search, but what I need most at the moment is your penmanship. I need to send notes around to a number of different people, and the sooner they're written and dispatched, the sooner we'll be able to begin our search, and the sooner we'll bring Sarah home."

  Five of the girls and the McBride wives headed immediately for Nick's office, but Charlotte hung behind. The teary guilt in her eyes stopped him. "What is it, love?" he asked.

  "It's all my fault. She wouldn't have gone out today if Lady Pratt hadn't gone on and on about the ribbon. This wedding business has gotten entirely out of hand, and it's all my fault. I wanted a special wedding, and now Sarah is in danger because of it. Why didn't Rodney and I just elope! If something terrible happens to Sarah, I'll never forgive myself."

  Nick gave his sister a quick, hard hug. "Nothing terrible is going to happen to Sarah. I won't allow it."

  "But how are we going to find her?"

  "I'm the Marquess of Weston, sweetheart, and I will use every bit of power and influence that position has to offer. I'll tear this town apart to find her."

  She sniffled and wiped away a tear. "You must bring her home, Nicholas. I love her."

  "I love her, too, Charlotte. I love her, too."

  And by God, he'd tell her so himself before this day was done.

  Sarah awoke with a pounding head and a queasy stomach. Slowly the events of the morning came trickling back, and alarm gave her the energy to lift her eyelids.

  A set of beady black eyes stared back at her from a narrow, furry face, black but for the line of white running down the center.

  Oh, my heavens. Is that a...?

  Trevor Chambers spoke up. "You're awake."

  "Skunk?"

  "It's Trevor, Sarah."

  "It's a skunk," she repeated.

  He patted her face with a cool, damp cloth. "I know it may seem that way to you now, but you have to understand that I tried to protect you. That man had a knife."

  She tore her gaze away from the animal pacing in a cage a short distance away and focused on the man she once considered her friend. He knelt on one knee in front of her in torn and bloodied shirtsleeves. "You had a knife."

  "I took it away from him. After he cut me. Look." He pulled aside the tear in the white linen and showed her a long, oozing slice in his skin.

  She shut her eyes, tried to concentrate and clear her head. "Where are we? What happened?"

  "That man attacked me. He followed me and I caught him at it. I only thought to confront him. I never expected him to try to kill me."

  Sarah struggled to sit up. Her head reeled and her stomach threatened to revolt, but she gritted her teeth and waited for the worst of it to pass. "You hit me."

  "No, I did not!" His voice rang with offense. "I anesthetized you. The warehouse was on my itinerary for the day, so I was carrying a bottle of chloroform for the skunks."

  So those spots before her eyes—or stripe, in this case—weren't a figment of her imagination. "The girls and I have talked about this. England doesn't have skunks."

  Trevor's eyes twinkled wickedly, and he grinned. "They do now."

  At that point, Sarah attempted to stand. She realized she was bound at both wrists and ankles, and she began to struggle. "What is this? Why am—"

  "Wait. Be still. You're making her nervous. She's beginning to pace, and that's a warning sign."

  He lifted Sarah into his arms and carried her away from the cage, which she now realized was one of two. The smaller of the two held one skunk; the larger a mama and two little babies. No fool, Sarah quit struggling until he attempted to set her down a good fifty feet from the cages. She wondered if it was far enough. "Where are we?"

  "St. Katheri
ne's Docks. I told the landlord I'm exporting antiques to Texas. There's a pleasing view of Tower Bridge I'll show you later if possible. First, though, I need to fix a bed for you. I wasn't expecting guests." He hesitated, frowned, and said, "I don't know quite what to do about all of this, Sarah. I never intended to involve you. What a piece of bad luck that you saw me. I should not have followed you, I know, but I saw you in Oxford Street and you looked so beautiful, so happy. It was quite a blow."

  Incredulous, Sarah could do no more than stare at him.

  He continued, "All these months, I have carried a torch for you. I didn't want to believe that our relationship was over. I thought once your legal tangle was solved, you would turn to me once again. Then I watched you at Charlotte's engagement ball and saw how you sparkled with Weston and I began to doubt. Today when I saw you walking in the street, your happiness a beacon in your smile, the spring in your step, the glow about you, I finally realized I had lost. You're his. I was following you, realizing this, when I noted the man following me." He exhaled a heavy sigh and added, "And then you had to see us. What am I going to do now, Sarah?"

  "Let me go."

  "I cannot do that, I'm afraid. It would ruin everything."

  "What's everything?"

  His gaze traveled from her to the skunks and he smirked. "Just a little surprise I have planned for the jubilee."

  She gasped. "Trevor, no. Nick was right. You're part of the Fenian dynamite war."

  Trevor drew back. "The Fenians! I should say not. They're killers. You wouldn't believe the shocking information about them that came my way. Do you remember Shaun Gallagher who worked for the Triple C Ranch out toward Weatherford? His cousin from Chicago was part of that group. I met him one night in Hell's Half Acre. After we spent a few hours drinking and disparaging Britain, he approached me about joining his cause and told me about a truly ghastly scheme the Fenians were planning."

  He shuddered at the memory, then continued, "I reported what I knew—anonymously, of course—and two days later Gallagher was found murdered in his bed. I think the Fenians killed him for speaking out of turn. The only reason I'm still alive is that I pretended to have been too drunk to recall meeting Gallagher, much less the plot. It's true that as an American I can sympathize with the Fenians' cause, but I don't condone killing."