Table of Contents
Cover Page
Excerpt
Dear Reader
Title Page
Books by Susan Spencer Paul
About the Author
Dedciation
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Copyright
It was too late
Sir Justin’s hand closed over Isabelle’s mouth just as her eyes flew open to see him sitting beside her on the bed, and the scream that naturally followed was thoroughly muffled.
“Do not,” he warned, his voice low and firm as he placed a cloth over her mouth and quickly tied it behind her head. Isabelle tried to strike him, but found that her hands and feet were already tied. “I mean you no harm, and I do not wish to hurt you. If you will but trust me a little, I vow, on my honor, that all will be well.” Then, picking her up, he carried her to the chamber’s one window, out of which a rope dangled. “I’ve wanted to tell you this past month, but never found the chance. I find you very beautiful.”
Isabelle had always been rational. Always. But in the wake of Sir Justin calling her beautiful, rationality disappeared, and he had tossed her over his shoulder and carried her all the way down the length of her uncle’s grand manor house before it even occurred to her that she should put up a struggle…!
Dear Reader,
In the third book of her medieval BRIDE TRILOGY, The Bride Thief, Susan Paul, writing as Susan Spencer Paul, tells the story of the youngest Baldwin brother, Justin, a delightful rogue who is being forced by his brothers to marry or lose all he possesses. Justin, however, neatly sidesteps the marriage that has been arranged for him and falls for his intended’s cousin instead, a woman much more worthy of his love.
A young woman puts herself smack in the middle of the investigation of her father’s murder, despite opposition from the local sheriff, who would rather she butt out, in 1996 March Madness author Lynna Banning’s second book, Wildwood, a terrific new Western. And in Tempting Kate, longtime Harlequin Historicals author Deborah Simmons returns to the Regency era for her heartwarming tale of a haughty marquis who falls in love with the penniless daughter of a local earl, after she shoots him by mistake. We are also delighted with the chance this month to introduce our readers to a new Western series from awardwinning author Theresa Michaels. The trilogy opens with The Merry Widows—Mary, the tender story of a marriageshy widow who opens her heart to a lonely widower and his little girl.
Whatever your tastes in reading, we hope you’ll keep a lookout for all four books, wherever Harlequin Historicals are sold.
Sincerely,
Tracy Farrell
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Harlequin Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
The Bride Thief
Susan Spencer Paul
Books by Susan Spencer Paul
Harlequin Historicals
*The Bride’s Portion #266
*The Heiress Bride #301
*The Bride Thief ‘#373
*The Bride Trilogy
SUSAN SPENCER PAUL
lives in Monrovia, California, with her husband and two young daughters. She started her first novel when she was in her early teens, but eventually put it aside, unfinished, in favor of more important interests…such as boys. Now happily married and— somewhat—settled down, she’s returned to her love of the written word, and finds it much easier to finish the books she starts.
Dedicated with love and gratitude to my wonderful mother-in-law,
Betty Joyce Liming.
Prologue
England, May 1426
It had been exactly nine years and seven months since Sir Hugh Baldwin, the earl of Siere, married the lady whom he then, as now, loved deeply and completely. She was, in his admittedly biased opinion, the most beautiful, charming, intelligent, witty and desirable woman presently alive on God’s earth, and he counted himself the most fortunate of men to have made her his. It was understandable, then, having spent the past several weeks abstaining from his conjugal rights while this same woman recovered from the rigors of birthing their fourth child, that the earl had eagerly anticipated this particular night, when Lady Rosaleen would at last be able to rejoin him in their marriage bed, and more understandable, having embarked upon that pleasurable encounter, that he should fly into a furious rage upon being almost immediately interrupted by his steward. The steward, who steadfastly remained outside his master’s chamber door despite the dire threats hurled his way, insisted that the earl attend to the missive that had only just arrived from his eldest brother, the venerable lord of Gyer. Fortunately for the steward, the lady Rosaleen found the situation thoroughly amusing, and sent her irate husband down to his working chamber to see to his sudden and unwelcome task, promising that she would repay him tenfold for his attention to duty when he finally returned to her.
“I’m very sorry, my lord,” said Robert, the steward, as he followed his master into his working chamber, “but it cannot wait. The lord of Gyer requires an immediate reply.”
“The lord of Gyer is making a damned nuisance of himself!” Hugh informed his stoic minion as he paced the chamber, dressed in nothing more than a velvet robe. “It’s the middle of the godforsaken night! He probably had a spy here for weeks, just waiting for the moment when Rosaleen and I would shut our chamber door before he sprang. What a pestilential lot of relatives I’ve got.” Swinging about, he pinned his steward with an angry glare. “Couldn’t you have taken care of it, Robert? Forged my name or something? You know how much I hate this sort of thing.”
Spreading the parchment missive flat upon his master’s “ working table, Robert gave a calm, long-suffering sniff. “Please, my lord. The lord of Gyer’s servant must be on his way at once with your reply.”
“Damnation,” Hugh muttered, falling with a thump into the chair behind the table. “I’m going to kill Alex the next time I set sight on him. What in the Fiend’s name does he want, anywise? I hate being a nobleman.”
“That’s not what you said last week, when Lord Farron was christened.”
The earl of Siere made a face of disbelief. “Of course I wasn’t unhappy with it while Farron was being christened. What man is going to be unhappy when hundreds of people are cheering at his newborn son? Are you going to tell me what Alexander wants, or must I read this damned missive myself?”
Straightening, Robert folded his hands behind his back. “It regards your younger brother, Sir Justin. The lord of Gyer is displeased with his behavior of late and wants you to find him a wife.”
“F-find him a wife?” Hugh repeated, choking over the words. He gaped at his steward. “By the rood! Why in God’s name does he want me to do it? Alex is t
he eldest in this family. Let him find Justin a bride.”
“But you’re the highest-ranking, my lord. The lord of Gyer was right to put the matter in your hands.”
“Highest-ranking,” Hugh said with a snort. “That’s as good an excuse for shrugging trouble onto another man’s shoulders as I’ve ever heard.”
“My lord…”
“Oh, very well.” Hugh took the document up and began to read it. “I’ve got better things to do than sit down here arguing. What’s Alex’s complaint, then? I thought Justin was doing well at Talwar. And he and Christian Rowsenly have made Briarstone profitable, have they not?”
Robert cleared his throat discreetly. “The lord of Gyer seems to believe that they’ve turned Briarstone into a brothel, my lord. He’s not very pleased with the reports he’s had.”
Hugh lifted his head. “A brothel? Have they, now? Well, what’s wrong with that?” His voice took on a defensive tone. “It was very nearly a brothel when I had the managing of it, before I married Rosaleen and got forced into becoming the earl of Siere. Nothing wrong with brothels, though you may not be in the habit of visiting them. I spent some of the best years of my life running in and out of brothels while I was naught but a soldier for King Henry, may God rest his soul.”
“Aye, my lord,” said Robert, staring calmly down his nose at his increasingly irate master. “I’m certain that’s true. But one of the duke of Gloucester’s closest advisors stopped at Briarstone to spend the night and was displeased to be asked by the guards at the gate how much money he wished to spend for his pleasures. Sir Justin drove him off at sword point when the gentleman refused to pay anything. Needless to say, he returned to London and complained to the duke, who in turn complained to your brother, Sir Alexander, who—”
“Who decided to shove the matter into my lap,” finished Hugh, more thoughtfully. “I can scarce believe Justin would do such a thing. He’s ever been most sensible, very like Alex. Surely there’s a better way to calm the lad down than by shackling him with a wife. Ever since that Feltingad wench turned him down—”
“Lady Alicia Sherringham, my lord.”
“Yes, her,” said Hugh, waving a hand about. “Alicia Sherringham. Dim-witted wench if I ever saw one. Justin had a lucky escape when she ran off with that furrier from Carstairs. I hear she chattered the man into an asylum before twelve months were out. I’d hate to see Justin end with a similar fate.”
“But Sir Justin grieved for her, my lord,” Robert reminded him. “Remember the tournaments he attended that first year after she left him?”
“Aye,” Hugh said grimly. “And during the three years after that. It was as if he courted death. He was none too pleased when Alex and I finally arranged to have him disqualified from such events. ‘Twas another year before he spoke to either of us, and even then he was bitter. Perhaps…” He fell silent, thinking. “It may be, Robert, that Justin needs a wife. Who have we got available in the way of brides?”
Chapter One
June 1426
Three days left. Only three. I wonder if she’ll ever forgive me?
The view from his chamber window did nothing to ease the tension that had shadowed Sir Justin Baldwin like a plague for the past month, since he received the missive sent by his brother, the earl of Siere. London, spread out before him like a crazily patterned tapestry, wasn’t the sort of inspiration that gave a man—any man—an overwhelming feeling of confidence. Of course, it didn’t help that he hated cities and towns. If he’d been home at Talwar, or even at Briarstone, everything would be different. With space to move and clean air to breathe, he might be able to think clearly enough to avoid his chosen course, but here, bound tight in London’s stench and madness, he could barely think at all.
She’ll forgive me. She must. If I had more time to woo her gently, I would. But with only three days left…
Pushing from the window out of which he had spent the past half hour gazing, Justin moved to stand before the polished steel mirror in his rented chamber. His dim reflection gave him little pleasure. His hair was overlong, he thought, frowning and running his fingers through the dark strands to smooth them. He should have had it cut—would have had it cut, if he’d had more notice. But with so little forewarning about the match that had been arranged for him, he’d been fortunate to achieve London as quickly as he had. Not that it mattered. The bride who’d been chosen for him had greeted him with less enthusiasm than Justin, himself, exhibited.
“I owe you for this, Hugh,” Justin said aloud, softly. “I most assuredly do. Could you not at least have chosen a willing lady for me?”
A knock fell on his chamber door, and at his spoken invitation, it opened.
“Good day, Chris,” he said in greeting as Sir Christian Rowsenly, the lord of Briarstone, made his way into the room, dressed in finery that equaled Justin’s.
“Almost time,” said Sir Christian. “Are you ready?”
Ready? Justin thought silently. Oh, yes, he was ready, whether he wished to be or not. If he failed in this final attempt, everything he had spent so many years working for would be taken away. Lost to him completely. All for the lack of a bride. Thus the duke of Gloucester had commanded, at the earl of Siere’s bidding, and thus it would be.
“Yes,” he said, bending to pick up his light dress sword. With a sure movement, he sheathed the beautiful weapon, which had been skillfully fashioned by his own hand. “I’m ready. ‘Twould not help our cause to keep Lady Evelyn waiting. My friend,” he said as he approached Sir Christian, setting a hand upon the other man’s shoulder, “I thank you for all you have offered to do to aid me in this matter. Only promise that you will take every care this day. If Lady Evelyn or her father should discover our intent before we have done, I will not want you sharing my rightful punishment.”
Sir Christian’s smile was fully amused. “You don’t think I’ll let myself be caught? Come, Justin, be serious, I pray.”
“I know you’ll be your excellent self, as you ever are,” Justin replied with a weary sigh, “but as everything that could have gone wrong with Lady Evelyn has, I fear I’m not optimistic about the rest of this unhappy venture.”
“Never fear,” Sir Christian said reassuringly, motioning for Justin to proceed him through the open door. “All will be well. You set your mind and skills toward charming the lovely, stubborn Lady Evelyn, and I’ll dedicate mine toward taking care of the rest. Depend upon it.”
An hour later found both men bowing, by turns, over the hand that Lady Evelyn smilingly offered.
“My lord, Sir Justin,” she said. “How kind of you to visit me again, so soon.”
The words had their intended effect, despite her gentle manner, and Justin inwardly cringed. He felt like a damned dog, sitting by her door night and day, and could only imagine how Lady Evelyn felt—probably like some prize calf at a fair being handed away to the highest bidder. She’d borne the matter admirably, and much more kindly than he would have done. Finding herself so suddenly betrothed to a complete stranger by the duke of Gloucester’s command must have been, for a beauty of her renown, quite an unpleasant shock. Until now she’d held court to an impressive assemblage of admirers, every one of them more suitable as a husband than Justin knew himself to be.
She was beautiful, educated, intelligent. At least Hugh had done that much in choosing a wife for him. And yet, Justin wondered if Lady Evelyn knew what she would lose if she married him. Talwar, with its simple comforts that appealed to Justin’s own nature perfectly, was like a stable compared to the grand wealth of this home where Lady Evelyn had been raised. Was that why she so firmly resisted the match? He was afraid it was only a small part of the reason.
“Thank you for receiving us, my lady,” he said, adding to her father, Baron Hersell, Sir Myles, “and thank you, my lord, for your long suffering in this unusual matter.”
Then, aware that the action would probably be viewed as extraordinarily rude, Justin walked past Lady Evelyn and Sir Myles, fully igno
ring their surprise, and strode across the room to where another lady, dark-haired and plainly dressed, sat at a small table behind a stack of large leather-bound books. Seeing his approach, which she’d clearly expected even less than Lady Evelyn and Sir Myles, the girl flushed brightly and clumsily slammed shut the particular book in which she’d been making entries.
“Lady Isabelle.” Justin took the cold fingers she shakily proffered. Her heavy skirt caught beneath her chair as she awkwardly attempted to stand, causing her to stumble forward. Justin set a hand upon her waist to steady her, and the girl’s color became a fiery red.
“Sir Justin,” she murmured with what sounded like horror, her sapphire eyes wide.
Justin bowed over her hand. “It is a pleasure to see you again. I hope this day finds you well?”
“Oh, yes. Yes. Thank you.”
“Will you have a glass of wine, my lord?” Lady Evelyn asked behind him, displeasure clear in her tone.
Justin smiled into Lady Isabelle’s worried eyes. “Will we have the joy of your company, as well, this day, my lady?” he asked, holding fast the fingers that she attempted to tug free.
“Oh—I don’t think—”
“I fear that my niece is too occupied with her work to join us, Sir Justin,” Sir Myles stated over Justin’s shoulder. “Isn’t that so, Isabelle?”
“Isn’t she always?” Justin murmured, too low for anyone but Lady Isabelle to hear. He released her and stepped away, turning to Sir Myles with a pleasant smile.
“Have you received the satisfaction you sought from the duke?” he asked as they walked together toward the table where Lady Evelyn was filling golden goblets with wine.
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