A Convenient Bride

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  This was the perfect time to escape. She’d not be noticed missing for several hours.

  She adjusted her borrowed clothing. She’d found the blue skirt and soiled white shirt in a bin meant for charity, and she’d altered the skirt into a crude pair of trousers with scissors and two rows of crooked stitches.

  A coach ambled down the street, and she pressed herself against the house. She breathed again only after the conveyance made a turn at the corner and faded off into the distance.

  Thankfully, her father hadn’t posted guards. She felt guilty breaking his trust but hoped that if her adventure went well, all would be forgiven when she returned.

  Like a thief, she lowered the window behind her and crossed the small garden. The gate squawked when she pushed it open and stepped through. The groom from the house next door stood just outside the gate with her horse, Brontes, saddled and waiting.

  Once she’d decided to run off, a quick trip into the mews after supper, and a brief search of the row of small stables, found her the perfect conspirator. The groom had no qualms about thievery for the right price.

  “Yer late,” he grumbled, and scratched his ear. He was a slovenly fellow of undetermined age, whose stained clothing smelled offensively of manure and ale.

  “I overslept.” She nuzzled the mare’s white nose and smiled as the horse returned the nuzzling. “Were there any problems collecting her?”

  He grinned, showing a missing tooth. In the dim light, he appeared a menacing character. Thankfully, Brenna was within screaming distance of several houses, should he decide to collect more than the agreed-upon payment.

  “Not a one. The stable is not well watched. Only a fool does not guard ’is horses.”

  Brenna glared. “Lord Harrington does not expect anyone to steal from him.” She scanned his unpleasant face. “You promised to speak about this to no one. I ask you now to renew that promise.”

  He shrugged and stuck out his calloused hand. “Yer reasons fer stealing the nag are no matter te me.”

  She showed him his payment. “You left the note?” At his nod, she pressed her ear bobs into his open palm. He grinned again, licked his lips, and ambled off.

  Father would be livid when he received the note and realized she’d taken Brontes. Worse, that she’d fled the courtesan school and thwarted his orders. If this plan did not end as she hoped, it would be the convent, or Chester Abbot, for her. Either made her shudder.

  Shaking off growing reservations, she quickly made certain the stirrups were at the right height, then wrapped the reins around Brontes’s neck. With the skill of an experienced rider, Brenna mounted and settled into the saddle.

  Riding astride was not difficult. As a child, she’d raced bareback around the fields with her brothers on whatever grazing horses they could catch. She knew this ride would take her some distance and hoped her disguise would keep her from recognition should she stumble upon someone she knew.

  The saddle, her odd clothing, and the fact that she was traveling alone would be ruinous if she were caught.

  Adjusting her hooded cloak to partially obscure her face from view, she made her way from London.

  By the time she reached the outskirts, though still early, the road west was already filled with travelers. She waited until a pair of coaches passed her, heading in the right direction, and fell in behind them for safety.

  If she kept up the brisk pace, she’d be at Beckwith Hall in about two hours. If her plotting came to fruition, she’d return in a day or two, none the worse for wear.

  With a husband in tow.

  Chapter Four

  The inn was raucous, the sound of ribald laughter spilling from open windows and into the darkened yard.

  Brenna slowed as she neared the squat and ramshackle building, her eyes and ears alert to possible danger. After discovering through his butler that her quarry, the now missing viscount, had left his home a half day earlier on a ride north to find his sister, she knew the simple trip to find her future husband had gotten much more complicated.

  This was the third inn she’d stopped at today, and both she and Brontes were nearing the end of their stamina. If she did not find Ashwood here, she could be in serious trouble.

  Clearly, by the looks of it, the inn was no place for a lady. Worse, the darkness that now shadowed the roads held all sorts of dangers to unwary travelers. A woman alone would be easy pickings for highwaymen and other scoundrels.

  There was nowhere else to go. She’d have to take her chances with the inn and pray for luck to finally turn her way.

  She’d not expected to have to chase down the viscount on muddy roads and through bouts of both blinding sun and brief showers. She longed for home and a bath to ease her aching muscles and clear travel grit from her hair and skin.

  “Can I take yer ’orse from ye, Miss?” A small boy with dirty cheeks and mussed hair peered up at her in the dim light spilling from the inn.

  Brenna nodded. “See that she is fed and watered.”

  “Aye, Miss.” The boy took Brontes and the proffered coin and ambled away. Brenna pulled her hood low to hide her face, traveled the short distance to the door, and pushed her way into the inn. Hers wasn’t the best disguise, but it would have to do.

  The smell of unwashed bodies and peat smoke assailed her senses, and she stumbled to a halt just inside the door. She resisted the urge to press a finger up under her nose. Showing weakness could encourage harassment from the coarse men seated around the common room.

  A few travelers glanced in her direction, as she swept her gaze around the packed space. Thankfully, there were a few women scattered about, though not enough to ease her mind.

  Quickly, so as not to draw more attention to herself than necessary, she sought out the innkeeper. She described Ashwood as she remembered him from their one brief encounter.

  “There are several men who match that description, Miss.” He shrugged and ran his gaze over her, his keen eyes taking her measure. “Maybe, if ye give me a moment to think on it, me mind will clear.”

  Brenna frowned. She understood quite well what would clear his mind. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a coin. She held it up. “The man has a small scar under his left eye.”

  The innkeeper reached for the coin. Brenna pulled it back. “The information first,” she said. She wasn’t a world traveler, but she had the intelligence to know the man would cheat her, had he the opportunity.

  The innkeeper scratched his round belly under a soiled white shirt and snorted. “The bloke took a room upstairs, third door on the right.”

  Brenna tossed him the coin and retreated toward the staircase. She felt the heaviness of several pairs of eyes on her as she weaved through the common room and hurried up the staircase.

  The corridor to the indicated room was dark. Brenna shivered and pulled the hood of the cloak low over her forehead. She couldn’t let panic overwhelm her. If this man wasn’t Lord Ashwood, she didn’t think she’d make it back out of the building unmolested.

  Brenna paused outside the door and looked down at her travel-stained garments. She knew she smelled of horse and leather. Not the best condition in which to confront the man she intended to marry. Still, she had no choice but to forge onward.

  A sharp rap on the scarred panel brought a shuffle of feet from inside. Her heart raced. The door jerked open, and Lord Ashwood stood before her, his face weary and his clothing rumpled from hard travel.

  He grimaced. “I didn’t order a woman. Find another bed to warm, wench.”

  Brenna stuck her boot in the door before it slammed closed. “Wait.” He paused. She pushed back her hood. “I was not sent by the innkeeper, Milord.”

  It was impossible to guess whether it was the sound of her voice or the remembrance of her face that caused the look of utter surprise on his face. But she had only enough time for a short gasp as he grabbed her arm, jerked her inside the room, and slammed the door behind her.

  “Brenna.” His grip tightened, a
nd she tried not to whimper. “What in the hell are you doing here?”

  He left her no time to answer. He pushed her against the wall and pressed a hand over her mouth as muffled footsteps sounded from the corridor. Whoever the party was, he or she paused outside the room as if listening for…something. Low-voiced conversation followed. There were at least two men.

  Brenna felt Ashwood’s irregular breaths on her cheek as he pressed against her. Her heart raced, and her blood whooshed in her ears.

  “Where’d the wench go off to?” a gruff voice asked.

  “She has te be ’ere somewheres,” said a second man. They went silent, as if listening for clues to her whereabouts.

  Brenna pressed her face against the viscount’s neck to help muffle her breathing. He smelled of male and fresh air and slightly of horse. His arm around her confirmed he was no milksop but a man of sinewy strength. If the two men wanted trouble, she’d be well protected.

  After a moment, and several low curses, the men moved on.

  Ashwood held her thus for another minute or two before slowly releasing her. Thankfully, she’d found the viscount, or the men might have spent the evening violating her.

  Relief flooded through her.

  Dragging her farther into the room, he pushed her down on the bed. Leaning forward, he met her eyes. “Have you lost your senses?” he whispered, his tone harsh. “Do you understand how dangerous this place is? There are men below who would kill me to have you.”

  She shuddered. The image of the men taking turns on her was too much to bear. “I did not know.”

  He straightened and raked his hands through his hair. His face tightened. “You have one minute to tell me why you’re here.”

  It took nearly half of her allotted time to find her voice. Even then, with him glaring at her, it was low and thin.

  “I came to ask you to marry me.”

  Richard’s expression instantly changed from angry to bemused. He’d been shocked to find her outside his door, dressed like a waif in a soiled shirt and oddly altered skirt. That was nothing compared to this statement.

  “You have what?”

  She stood and walked a few steps away. When she turned back to him, there was purpose in her eyes. “Thanks to your note to my father, and interference, I have less than a month to find a marriageable man to wed me. He has decided I need a husband to curb my mischievous ways.” She met his eyes. “As it was you who set him on this unacceptable course, I have decided that it will be you who is the solution.”

  Weary from a long day of searching for Anne, it took him a moment to fully grasp her words. She wanted to marry him to satisfy her father’s command?

  Certain that she was crazier than he’d thought after their first encounter, he figured somewhere along her lineage was a Harrington who was completely mad. And that relative had passed it on to Brenna.

  “Any trouble you have gotten into was of your own doing, young lady. You’ll not use me as a pawn against your father.” He walked to the door and pressed his ear to the wood. Thankfully, the corridor was silent. The men had gone. “I will keep you here with me tonight, and in the morning I’ll send you back to London on the first mail coach out.”

  Richard glanced to the one chair the room possessed. He collected it, tested it for worthiness, and jammed the high back under the door handle. “That should keep them out should they return.”

  When he turned, Brenna’s arms were crossed over her curvy chest and her cloak was tossed on the edge of the bed. There was a stubborn set to her jaw. He braced himself for an argument.

  “You will marry me,” she said.

  “I’ll not.” He reached for the tankard of cheap ale and took a deep swallow. If he’d known she’d show up, he would have asked the innkeeper for a barrel of the stuff. “You need to find yourself another victim.”

  In the firelight, her hair fell about her pretty face and shoulders in a tangle of dark waves, the mass having largely escaped the binding of her braid. Her expressive green eyes peered at him, heavy with defiance, and he knew he’d best settle in for a long night.

  She sighed but held her tongue, which in no way gave comfort. He suspected that Brenna was working a new argument through her mind, another way to convince him to sacrifice himself on the sword for her.

  If she expected him to give in to her demands, she was in for a very, very long wait.

  Damn, but she was fetching, despite her dishevelment. The split skirt followed the lines of her body almost to the point of being indecent. And there was nothing decent about his thoughts at the moment.

  He could still feel the fullness of her breasts where they’d pressed against him mere moments ago.

  Ignoring the surprising attraction for the chit, he sat on the bed, pulled off his boots, and removed his cravat. Giving consideration to her virginal sensibilities, he left on his shirt and breeches.

  Once comfortable, he walked over to stoke the fire and checked the chair. Satisfied he’d not have to fight other men for her tonight, he stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes.

  The only sound in the room was her soft breathing as she, he suspected, plotted a way to make him miserable.

  “You cannot expect us to share the bed?” she said finally. “A gentleman would take the floor.”

  He opened one lid and peered at her. She was clearly put out by his lack of manners. Good, let her stew. She should have stayed home. “A lady would not show up uninvited at the door of an unmarried man, with or without a chaperone.” He closed his eye. He did not need to see her face to feel her frustration. “I have a long day ahead tomorrow and need my rest.”

  Richard almost smiled at her low growl. “You are impossible,” she said. “You must marry me. If we are found together, I will be ruined.”

  Knowing he’d never be allowed to sleep until the matter was settled, he sighed and sat up. “You should have considered the consequences of your actions before you hunted me down and passed through a crowded common room to find me. You may have been recognized. You Harringtons are well known.”

  Defiance changed to worry. She bit her lip. “If I return to London without a husband, Father will kill me.”

  At that moment, he knew she’d finally realized the seriousness of her actions. He almost felt sorry for her.

  Almost.

  “Though you exaggerate, I agree, Walter will not be pleased that you’ve come to me or risked your neck, again, to defy him. Perhaps I can write him a note, explaining that you have not been compromised and your innocence is intact.”

  Like a feral cat caught in a cage, she hissed, “As if your note would soothe my outraged father. How would you convince him that you did not touch me? Once he discovers that we have spent the evening together, he will see us wed. You will be my husband.”

  Richard knew she was right. His stomach burned, and he pushed from the bed. “You little minx. You planned this from the start. You knew you would force this wedding the minute you decided to follow me into this inn.”

  “I did no such thing.” She lifted her hands as he approached her. Good, let her believe he’d strangle her. The girl deserved that, and more. “I swear I would not force you to marry me.” She darted around the bed. “A compromise is all I ask.”

  This stopped him. “And what do you have to offer that would entice me to marry you?”

  “I know you are searching for your missing sister. If I help you search for her, then you will agree to marry me.”

  A lock of hair slipped over her left eye. She pursed her deep pink lips and blew it aside. He went hard.

  “How will you explain your absence from Walter?” He shifted to hide the evidence of his interest.

  “I will tell him that I went off to Cornwall to visit my ancient aunt, Primrose, using the quiet of her country cottage to whittle down a list of potential suitors,” she said. “He will never know I spent a few days chasing off to Gretna Green with you.”

  Though the plan was thin, it would keep him from
damaging his friendship with Walter. He knew the hurt his old friend would feel knowing that he had a part in ruining his daughter, even if he was entirely innocent in the matter.

  “Won’t Aunt Primrose give you away?”

  “She is a sweet soul but a touch forgetful,” she said, shrugging. “It will not help him to ask her about my visit.”

  The exasperating Miss Harrington had an answer for every argument.

  “I do not need your help,” he said finally. “I have several men, loyal men, who are right now looking for Anne. You will only slow me down. Besides, what experience as an investigator do you have? What skills do you possess that will aid my hunt?”

  She swallowed. “Er, none.” A quick flash of panic crossed her face. The impulsive girl had clearly not thought this through. In her desire to thwart her father, she’d acted rashly—twice, if he counted the coach encounter. Perhaps her father was right. She needed a firm hand.

  It would not be his.

  He shook his head. “I think I shall take my chances with a note. You have nothing to offer that would make me willing to shackle us together for eternity.”

  For a long moment, she stood there, uncertain, and he was sure he could hear cogs turning in her brain.

  “Nothing I can say or do will change your mind?” she asked softly.

  “Nothing,” he replied, confident of his win.

  Then to his surprise, a slow smile crossed her perfect mouth, drawing him in and leaving him unable to turn away. He wasn’t certain of her intentions until she crossed the space between them, hips swaying, eyes alight with mischief.

  When she pressed her lush body against him and circled her arm around his neck, the soft scent of lilies and some other such flower teased his senses. He found that he did not even mind the hint of horse on her skin.

  He was frozen in place. All he could think about was her hand tangled in his too long hair and the feel of her breasts teasing his chest—well, that and the slight parting of her perfect lips.

  “Nothing?” she asked him again, in a breathless whisper, as she pulled his mouth down to hers.