The Stolen Bride

by Jo Beverley

  She looked at him, frightened and unsure.

  He smiled ruefully and released her. “Roll the dice, Elizabeth.”

  Relieved to return to the mundane, Beth did so and rolled a nine. “There.”

  “Good. A main of nine. Now roll the chance.”

  “And I don’t want two or three?” He nodded and Beth concentrated and threw a five and a one. “Is that good?” she asked.

  “Fair. The main is nine and the chance is six. Now you throw again. You don’t want a nine. A six will win.”

  Beth threw seven.

  “Very good,” he said. “Seven is now main. A seven or an eleven will win. Two or three will lose. You keep rolling until you win or lose.”

  “What a silly game,” said Beth and threw two ones to lose. “And to think people risk their fortunes and their homes on this.”

  “Indeed they do,” he said and marked his win.

  “It should be against the law,” she said.

  “It is,” he replied and grinned at her. “Don’t you feel delightfully wicked?”

  Beth did, but it wasn’t the dice which were the cause. Discounting the casual meeting at Jane’s wedding, she had only known this man for a few days. How could she have come to this pass? For Beth had to acknowledge that she was falling in love—with a man who could bring her nothing but heartache.

  Like all lovers through time, however, she pushed aside common sense, determined to grasp her few brief moments of madness.

  For all that she called it a silly game, those fictional guineas became real to Beth and she watched the score sheet avidly, rejoicing when she won, fretting when she lost. She had no sense of the passage of time and was startled when Burbage, the groom of the chambers, came in to check the room.

  Beth felt herself color and would have leapt to her feet apologizing, but Sir Marius took her hand in a firm grip and she stayed seated, quivering at the thought of her poor lost reputation. She found that though she did not need it, habit made it precious to her.

  “It’s all right, Burbage,” said Sir Marius easily. “We’ll lock the windows and extinguish the candles.”

  “Very good, sir,” said the august servant, ruler of the household, as he bowed out.

  “He won’t gossip, you know,” said Sir Marius, still holding her hand. “He’s far too self-important for that.”

  “But what will he think?” asked Beth.

  “Who cares?”

  “I do,” said Beth. “You were right, Sir Marius, I am a little bourgeoise.” Her bubble of happiness had been popped. Beth only wanted to get away and forget what a fool she had been.

  She rose to leave but as she walked past he tugged her into his lap. “Sir Marius!” she protested vigorously.

  “Calm down,” he said, folding his arms around her. “I’m not going to do anything too terrible but I can’t kiss you standing up. It would be dashed uncomfortable.”

  “Kiss me?” Beth queried, feeling like a child snuggled against his chest.

  “Well, I had it in mind to wait a few days, but after that fright with Burbage, you might start avoiding me. This seems too good an opportunity to miss.”

  Beth could feel her heart galloping, and strange, forgotten, dangerous sensations stirring up deep within. “And what if I object?” she whispered.

  “Do you?”

  Beth smiled at him. She felt ridiculously safe. If she said yes, he would let her go ... but her madness was back in all its glory. There would surely not be that many more occasions in her life to be kissed. She needed something to remind her of this brief, insane delight. “No,” she said.

  His lips came down, soft and warm upon hers. She felt shy and awkward. It had been a long time and she had only ever kissed one other man. Slowly, though, she relaxed and let her instincts take her. Her hand traced his strong whisker-roughened jaw and crept up into his short, wiry hair. Before he demanded any such thing her tongue slipped between her teeth to lightly brush against his lips. She felt him first tense then relax as he deepened the kiss in response. She shifted to settle more comfortably against his big, solid body and surrendered to all the gloriously swimming sensations ... Until she became aware of his wandering hand.

  Shocked back into her senses, she pushed frantically at his chest. Immediately, he let go of her and she scrambled off him.

  They stared at each other as the guttering candles threw mocking shadows on the walls.

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I didn’t mean ... I didn’t think ...”

  Beth ran from the room.

  It was all her fault, she told herself as she rushed to the safety of her bedchamber. All evening she had known where it would lead and ignored the proddings of her conscience. Now he would think her a loose woman. He probably would offer her carte blanche. And the terrible thing was that she would have to say no.

  10

  THE NEXT morning Beth awoke to find the heat wave unbroken. A faint headache was tightening her scalp but it was not the sort that prostrated her. She played the coward, however, and lingered in bed until breakfast was over and the gentlemen had hopefully gone off in some activity. When she came cautiously down the stairs to find everything quiet, she took courage enough to peep into the library, scene of both ecstasy and disgrace.

  In the daylight it was simply a spacious and dignified room, walled by glass-doored shelves full of leatherbound tomes. How strangely magical and wicked it had seemed in the dark with just that pool of candlelight to break it. The room had been cleaned of course and there was no sign of their occupation. For all she knew Marius had himself returned the dice to the desk.

  But then on top of the desk she saw a piece of paper. When she went over she found it was their tally sheet. She smiled to see she had been winning rather substantially. Beginner’s luck—or Lord Randal’s lucky coin, perhaps—but if they had been playing for real money she would have been some five hundred guineas the richer this morning.

  It merely reminded her that she had no place in Sir Marius Fletcher’s world. On five hundred guineas she could live frugally for the rest of her life and yet to him it was a casual sum. Nevertheless, she gave in to temptation and folded the paper small to tuck it into the pocket of her day gown.

  She went to look for Jane, needing employment to occupy her mind. She found her in the ballroom, consulting with the housekeeper.

  “I have ordered flowers,” Jane said anxiously to Beth. “Gold and white. Do you think that will be enough or should we try for something more spectacular such as tents or trellises?”

  “I think flowers are always acceptable,” said Beth, finding wedding plans a little depressing at the moment. “And it is surely too late to change plans now.”

  “You are doubtless right,” said Jane with a sigh. “But this will be the first grand entertainment at Stenby in so long that I want everything to be perfect.” She looked at her friend closely. “Are you all right, Beth?” she asked. “I ... I didn’t really want to abandon you last night but ...”

  Beth moved to put an end to Jane’s embarrassment before she started probing. “I just didn’t sleep very well because of the heat,” she said. “Where is Sophie this morning? I am afraid she was somewhat upset last night.”

  “Yes,” said Jane with a shake of her head. “It reminds me of spring all over again. She was always plunging from ecstasy to the sloughs of despond. I’ll go and see if she’s in the dismals and persuade her down for some tea.” She gave orders for a tea tray and told Beth she would meet her in the Jonquil Salon.

  Beth had to ask for directions to this room but when she found it she could see why it had been chosen. On the north side of the house and with a tiled floor it was pleasantly cool. It was also small and intimate. If Sophie was in distress, it would be the best place to both soothe her and draw her out.

  The tea tray came and after a few minutes Beth gave in to temptation and helped herself, for she was desperate for a cup. It was quite a while before Jane arrived looking vexed.
“She’s ridden off to the Towers.”

  “Is that so very bad?” asked Beth. “She doubtless wants to see Lord Randal and there are plenty of people there to act as chaperone if he insists on it.”

  “And there’s Verderan,” said Jane with a frown, sipping her tea. “I don’t know what happened between them, but I’m sure something did. Beth, I’m sure it’s all a megrim—it’s probably just this hot weather—but could you possibly go over and keep an eye on her?”

  “Jane, what do you fear and what do you expect me to do?”

  Jane shook her head. “I have no idea. But I have this prickle of unease and I would feel better to know you are there. I would go myself except that I have the musicians to see about the dances for the ball, and an appointment with Burbage about the icehouse. Our supplies are low.”

  Beth reflected that at least the errand would get her out of the house and away from Sir Marius. “Of course I’ll go,” she said, feigning cheerfulness. “A drive will refresh me.”

  Jane hugged her. “Thank you. You know you don’t need to chaperone her precisely. Just make sure she’s not up to something disastrous.”

  Such as a secret tryst with the Dark Angel, supplied Beth silently as she went to collect her bonnet and parasol.

  Sophie was indeed involved in a tryst, of sorts, with the Dark Angel, but it was very proper.

  She had ridden over mainly to see Randal to tell him she understood. If she had only realized before that her idiotic brother had put a sort of condition on them both, they could have treated the whole thing as ajoke. Then she wouldn’t have read doubts and indifference into his attempts at good behavior.

  But first she had to see Verderan. She had to put things right and make sure he didn’t say a word, ever, to Randal about her shameful behavior. She just wasn’t quite sure how she was going to arrange to be alone with him.

  Luck was on her side. When she inquired after Randal she was told he was out. That wasn’t good news in the long term but it was better in the short. Further inquiries produced the information that the duke was engaged and the marquess was off on estate business.

  Carelessly, Sophie asked, “I wonder if Mr. Verderan is about? I have a message for him.”

  “I’ll inquire, my lady,” said the footman and showed her into a comfortable reception room.

  Remembering the look in Verderan’s eyes when she had seen him last, Sophie paced the room nervously, rehearsing soothing words. When he walked in she knew she would need them. He looked as if he’d like to take a switch to her, or a blade more likely. He came no further than the door and was icily polite.

  “You have a message for me, Lady Sophie?”

  “Do you expect me to shout across the room?” she demanded, irritated despite her good intentions.

  “You don’t want to know what I expect from you,” he said and it was like a slap in the face.

  It took all her courage but Sophie walked a little closer and raised a hand. “Don’t shoot yet,” she said. “I’ve come to apologize.”

  He raised a brow skeptically but she thought he relaxed a little.

  “Really,” she said quickly. “I was in the wrong, Mr. Verderan. I’ve been wrong about a lot of things, as it happens, though I don’t feel it was all my fault. But in your case I was mischievous and unfair. I beg your pardon.”

  He looked at her steadily. “You surprise me, Lady Sophie. I’ve rarely heard such a handsome apology and I’ve heard many. One does, you know,” he added idly, “when one has a reputation as a deadly opponent. But since I don’t suppose you think even I would go so far as to call you out, I must be impressed. I wonder if I can match it.”

  He left his defense post by the door and strolled into the room but kept his distance. After a moment he said, “Do you know, I really don’t think I can. There is no excuse for my behavior. I had taken you in dislike, you see, decided that you were quite unworthy of Randal. I even toyed with the idea of seducing you into unfaithfulness but my damnable temper got the better of me and I attacked you instead. I cannot expect your pardon, or that you will ever trust me again, but I have to say that it would be much wiser not to mention the matter to Randal.”

  Sophie needed no such warning. “I have no intention of saying anything to him,” she said. “I ... I was concerned you might.”

  “I?” he said in genuine surprise. “You think me suicidal?”

  “But it was all my fault.”

  “I don’t think that would weigh with Randal for a moment,” he said with a glimmer of a smile and turned as if to go.

  “You do have my pardon,” Sophie said quickly. “And I ... I hope that you will call me a friend. I will not come between you and Randal.”

  He turned back and his smile grew and became singularly sweet. “Well, you are bound to, you know. Many of our ... er ... activities are likely to be incompatible. But I thank you for your kind intentions. I would be very pleased to consider myself your friend. In fact, I think I may be able to evidence it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you are looking for Randal, I know where he is.”

  “Alone?” asked Sophie with interest.

  “Very. He has taken a rod to a place he called the Magic Pool. Does that mean anything to you?”

  Sophie grinned. “It does indeed.” Deliberately she walked over and extended her hand. “Thank you, my friend.”

  He took it and after the briefest hesitation carried it to his lips. “Good hunting, Sophie.”

  So when Beth rolled up to the Towers in the landaulet a few moments later she found Sophie had just left. The footman assumed she had returned to the Castle. Beth had not passed her but the girl doubtless knew all kinds of shortcuts and there was no point in chasing her.

  Beth’s headache had not been improved by the drive—to the contrary it had worsened to an alarming degree. She knew she needed to be back in her bed and yet could hardly face the return drive. She was standing rather helplessly in the cool, tiled entrance hall when Mr. Verderan walked out of a small room. She noted that for a wonder, he seemed to be in a good mood.

  “Mrs. Hawley,” he said with a smile. “Dare I hope you have come to bear-lead me? Randal’s gone angling and I abhor handling fish. I find myself devilishly bored.”

  “I came to bear-lead Sophie,” she said tightly. Bright lights were flashing at the edge of her vision.

  “Well, she has left and I doubt she will need you for a while,” he said, strolling forward. Then he said more seriously, “Are you unwell, ma’am?”

  Beth swayed slightly, or perhaps the world really did tilt. “I think I am,” she said. “My head ...”

  She was swung up into strong arms and hazily heard crisp orders. After a little while she was put down on a soft bed in a darkened room. Her bonnet was removed and someone put a wonderful cool cloth on her forehead. She was moved slightly and fingers started to undo the buttons on the back of her gown. She opened alarmed eyes but found her attendant was a middle-aged maid, who murmured soothingly.

  Beth saw Mr. Verderan over near the door. “Time for me to leave, ma’am,” he said. “I hope you are soon feeling more the thing.”

  Beth tried to thank him but only the word angel came out.

  He laughed softly. “Don’t place any dependence on it,” he said and left.

  The maid stripped Beth down to her chemise and gave her a dose of laudanum. Beth tried to worry about Sophie and what she might be up to, but she could only welcome the creeping oblivion when it came.

  Jago Haines, Lady Hever’s trusted servant, trotted his dun cob along the road whistling a contented little tune. Ten thousand pounds Lady Hever had offered for the killing of Lord Randal Ashby and it seemed finally it was as good as his.

  Down at the Three Bells in Setterby he’d struck up an acquaintance with the head groom at the Towers, Mick Zoun. Today he’d taken up Mick’s invite to look over the horseflesh there and who should come wandering into the stableyard calling for his favorite mount th
an Lord Randal Bloody Ashby himself.

  Very obligingly, the young rip had chatted to his groom, telling him his plans. Off to a quiet spot on the river to fish, was he? Then that was the place for Jago Haines too.

  Just lately he’d been cursing himself for a fool for not taking his chance when the young lordling and his friend had been out with their guns. He’d spotted them and followed, trying to decide what best to do. As they were walking back to the big house he’d had the libertine in his sights as clear as a blackbird in the snow but he’d held his fire. Lady Hever wanted it to look like an accident and that would make his own escape simpler, too.

  He was ready to give up on the accident idea, though. What sort of accident does a healthy young nob have? If he’d go swimming maybe Jago could drown him; if he’d stand at the edge of a cliff he could push him. Beyond that, nothing came to mind.

  Now, however, things were definitely looking up. For the first time Ashby was away from the house alone. An “accident” might still be possible and if not Jago would just kill him and make himself scarce. Round here he was Mr. Squires, with red hair and an old-fashioned way of dressing. Give him an hour’s start and he’d be clear for sure.

  “Something tells me,” he said to himself, “it’s a funeral not a wedding they’ll be having round here next week. And a nice little party for the Haines family, to celebrate.”

  He turned his horse off toward the river, planning the use of ten thousand pounds.

  Sophie cantered along the well-known paths until she was close to the bend in the river that had always been known as the Magic Pool. There were all kinds of stories to account for the name but the unromantic boys such as David and Randal said it was because one could always find fish there, even in the most unpromising weather. For Sophie the name reminded her that this was the spot where she had first realized her love for Randal.

  She tethered her horse a good distance away, intending to creep up on her beloved. Apart from anything else, she had few illusions about men and knew he would be annoyed if she scared the fish. She picked her way carefully along a rough path until she saw him.