A License to Wed: Rebellious Brides (21 page)

She responded by wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her body against his. “I know you now as a woman knows a man, not as an adoring young girl with stars in her eyes. I wouldn’t have thought it possible to love you even more than I did as a girl, but I do.”

“Is that a yes?” he asked

“It is,” she whispered, her breath warm in his ear. “A thousand times yes.”

He kissed her gentle and sweet, relishing her scent, her taste, her feel. He’d waited his entire life for this moment.

“Do you know that under this very tree many years ago I swore that one day you would be mine?” she said against his lips.

“I have always been yours.” He kissed her again, a longer, more passionate expression of his love for her.

“Will,” she whispered against his lips. “Make free with me. Here in our orchard.”

Had she always thought of the orchard as their place? “It isn’t wise,” he said, breathing hard, trying to hold on to some modicum of self-control. “I can’t dishonor your father’s hospitality again—”

She drew his hand to her breast, and he instinctively fondled the soft feminine flesh. “Make love to me. Please.”

He pivoted, reversing their positions, and pushed her up against the tree, pressing his body against hers. His blood rushed hard in his ears, and his body responded to hers in the most primal way. He kissed her, widening his mouth over hers, anticipating the moment he’d stroke deep into her warm, silky—

“Naismith?” An outraged masculine voice thundered through the air. “What the devil are you doing to my sister?”

“Cosmo!” Elle pulled away at the sound of her brother’s voice, elation soaring in her heart at the sight of him for the first time in six years. Will immediately stepped back from her and she dashed over to Cosmo and flung herself into his burly arms. “You’ve returned.”

His arms tightened around her as he lifted her off the ground and swung her around. “Elle.” His deep masculine laugh rang through the air. “I can’t believe it’s really you.”

She grinned. “It is. Now kindly put me down so I can have a proper look at you.”

He set her gently on her feet, allowing her to step back and take in the sight of him.

He had always been a mountain of a man and his dark hair was in its usual tousled state. But there was something different about him; he seemed more settled, calmer somehow. “I hear the rogue in you has been tamed by that wife of yours.”

“Mari definitely keeps me in check.” He took her hands and lifted them out to her sides so he could have a look at her. “You’re far too thin. Did they mistreat you? Aldridge says you’ve been a detainee for all of these years. Oh, Elle, I never thought I’d see you again.”

“I am very well. You’ve always said I’m nothing but a sack of bones. I suppose little has changed.”

“That is most definitely not the case,” Will interjected from where he stood by the tree watching their interaction.

Cosmo seemed to have forgotten Will was there. But now his expression turned thunderous. “You. Why were you groping my sister?”

Will remained calm, his stance at ease. “Lady Elinor has just agreed to do me the great honor of becoming my wife.”

“What?” Cosmo’s mouth gaped open. “How long have you carried a torch for my sister?”

Will held Elle’s gaze. “For as long as I can remember. I’ve just come from gaining Aldridge’s blessing to marry Lady Elinor.”

“You have?” Cosmo scratched his head. “I’ve certainly missed a great deal since I’ve been away. What did Aldridge say?”

“He gave his consent…if the lady is agreeable.”

“She looked most agreeable to me a few minutes ago,” Cosmo grumbled.

“Oh, I am.” Joy burgeoned in her chest, bursting from her throat in an exultant laugh, which peeled through the air. “It has always been my greatest desire to be Will’s wife.”

“It has? What of Laurent?” Confusion twisted Cosmo’s features. “I thought he was the love of your life.”

“No.” She walked into Will’s arms, her heart so full she thought it would burst. “I have only ever truly loved one man in my life.”

His arms tightened around her. “I am the most fortunate of men.”

“I shall marry you, just as I promised myself when I was a girl.” And not caring who was watching, she leaned in and sealed that vow with a very public kiss. “After all, we have a license to wed and it would be a shame to waste it.”

For Zach, for always making your mother proud and for still wanting to go to the movies with me

I have to thank so many of the behind-the-scenes people who helped make this book happen: Sue Grimshaw, Gina Wachtel, and all of the folks at Penguin Random House for taking a chance on this story; Julia Maguire for her insightful editing suggestions and Crystal Velasquez for a crazy-good copyedit; Erika Seyfried, Ashleigh Heaton, and all of the people in marketing who work tirelessly to ensure that readers discover the Rebellious Brides books; and Carrie at Seductive Musings for the gorgeous covers she’s created for this series. I’m also tremendously grateful that my agent, Kevan Lyon, has been with me every step of the way.

Some books are easy to write, others are a challenge. Without my friend, Megann Yaqub, this story might have been abandoned, but she insisted on learning what happened to Elinor so I had to make it work. Joanna Shupe was incredibly generous with her time, reading this manuscript more than once. Tina Gabrielle helped make sure my plotlines stayed consistent between the related books in the series. Michele Mannon can always be depended upon to come up with the perfect name for a series or book. J. B. Schroeder, Maria K. Alexander, RoseAnn DeFranco, and Jaye Rome provide much-needed friendship and general writing support.

I love my family—my husband and two sons—for putting up with me when writing consumes so much of my time and attention. And thanks, as always, to you, the reader, for spending some time with me via my books. I’ve enjoyed it. I hope you have, too!

Spy Fall

A License to Wed

D
IANA
Q
UINCY
is an award-winning former television journalist who decided she’d rather make up stories where a happy ending is always guaranteed.

Fans of Madeline Hunter, Lisa Kleypas, and Sabrina Jeffries will love her Regency world of dashing dukes, irresistible rogues, and the headstrong women who capture their hearts.
New York Times
bestselling author Grace Burrowes says Diana Quincy’s writing is “Sweet, steamy, and thoroughly enjoyable.”

Growing up as a foreign service brat, Quincy visited many countries and is now settled in Virginia with her husband and two sons. When not bent over her laptop or trying to keep up with laundry, she enjoys reading, spending time with her family, and dreaming up her next travel adventure.

Quincy loves to hear from readers. You can keep up with her at:

dianaquincy.com

Facebook.com/diana.quincy.10

@Diana_Quincy

Looking for the next romance that’ll give you the feels? Our fantastic selection of books will definitely satisfy.

You’ve never read bedtime stories like the sensual forbidden fairy tales in Sharon Lynn Fisher’s Loveswept debut,
Before She Wakes
. And speaking of debuts, don’t miss
New York Times
bestselling author Kelly Elliott’s
Searching for Harmony
—a gut-wrenching story of a love that transcends all odds. Vonnie Davis’s
Her Survivor
welcomes readers to Wounded Warrior Falls where beating the odds is what it’s all about, while
Bound Beneath His Pain
kicks off a deeply sensual new series from Club Sin author Stacey Kennedy
.

Diana Quincy continues her Rebellious Brides series with a tale of forbidden love between a socialite and a scholar in
A License to Wed.
Wedding bells are ringing—and tempers are flaring—as Marquita Valentine’s Take the Fall series continues in the sweet and sexy
Hard to Fall.
The Brothers of Mayhem MC ride again in Carla Swafford’s explosive novel, Full Heat. Ashley Suzanne follows up
Raven
with the next round in her scorching Fight or Flight series,
Cutter.
The third book in Beth Yarnall’s Recovered Innocence series,
Reclaim,
is brimming with angst and sensuality. And don’t miss the next book in Stacey Lynn’s deeply emotional Fireside series,
His to Protect
. Or the story of a war hero fighting to remember the love he left behind in Serena Bell’s emotionally charged
To Have and to Hold.

Then Shawntelle Madison’s seductive
Surrender to You
follows two career-oriented friends with benefits. And finally, we have a cold case that leads to blazing-hot temptation in Kathy Clark’s romantic suspense
Almost Forever.

Until next time ~Happy Romance!

Gina Wachtel

Associate Publisher

by Diana Quincy

For the second time in five years, Hamilton Sparrow ruined Emilia St. George’s wedding day.

By all outward appearances, the occasion was proceeding as expected. St. George’s Church Hanover Square was filled almost to the galleries with spectators eager to witness the grand society wedding of an untitled heiress to the much-admired grandson of a duke, a promising diplomat who charmed everyone he met from the boulevards of Paris to the bazaars of Casablanca.

Emilia stared down the long church aisle, past the grand Corinthian columns, until her gaze found the elegant man to whom she would soon be bound for the rest of her natural life. Her intended, the Honorable Edmund Worsely, stood upright by the altar, his lithe form framed by the soaring stained glass windows behind him.

But it was the image of another man that flashed before her, another groom, with laughing blue eyes and sharp-edged features, who always made her insides feel like a warm Christmas pudding. The old pain throbbed in her chest again. I’m sorry, Emilia, he’d said the morning they were to be wed, but I cannot marry you. And she’d pretended to understand even as her heart shrank, withering until it was nothing but a shriveled black currant inside her chest.

Blast Hamilton Sparrow! He wasn’t even present, and yet he was still managing to ruin her wedding all over again. The specter of the man seemed to hover above, a lone devilish presence among the angelic spirits floating high up in the church rafters.

She exhaled, loud and sharp, determined to shove Sparrow’s memory out of her mind and into the past so she could truly focus on her husband to be. Edmund looked fearsomely dignified in pearl gray suit topped with a navy tailcoat, his posture impeccable as always, his expression suitably serious for the auspicious occasion.

Her stomach turned over.

You can do this. The affirming chant repeated over and over in her head. She told herself the uneasiness slithering through her gut was due to normal wedding-day nerves and nothing more. All brides must have them.

It was true that, at times, Edmund did seem to forget that she existed, not willfully or maliciously, of course, but almost as though she were an afterthought. But in other instances, he gave her his full focus, regaling her with stories of travel and discovery, mesmerizing her with the promise of the adventures they would soon share.

Emilia might not love Edmund, but she was enchanted by the life he could offer her. This alliance would give her everything she wanted: the chance to escape her humdrum country existence, to keep her promise to Grandpapa, to study and copy the greatest artworks ever created…and to avoid the prospect of a long and lonely spinsterhood.

She stretched her neck from side to side, attempting to be discreet as she tried to ease the tension knotted there. She ran a hand along the décolletage of the white satin gown her mother had selected for her. The fine Belgian lace trim was itchy, the irritation causing her fair skin to become splotchy and uneven. To make matters worse, the lace lining of her matching oversized bonnet—which was intended to hide the ridiculous shade of her hair—rubbed uncomfortably against the nape of her neck.

Edmund and the guests had yet to note her arrival, because she stood alone in the shadows of the vestibule. Her excited mother and chattering cousins had just left her to slip inside and take their seats before the ceremony began.

It was time.

She drew a fortifying breath and stepped forward on the black-and-white marble floor, toward where her father stood a few feet away, waiting to escort her down the aisle to her future as Mrs. Edmund Worsely, to life as a woman married to a man she respected and admired but did not love.

“Pssst.”

She paused.

“Emilia.” The voice was low, masculine.

Chills shot down her back. She knew that voice. It had invaded her dreams for the past five years. But it couldn’t be. Sparrow wasn’t even in London. Last she’d heard, he was in Paris romancing his tarty mistress.

She peered into the shadows, fearful that wedding-day nerves had morphed into hallucinations. “Sparrow?”

“Come here.” The urgent words vibrated through her. “Now.”

It was him. Her temper flashed. Who was he to order her about? “In case you hadn’t noticed,” she snapped, “I’m a bit occupied at the moment.”

He stepped forward, emerging from the shadows. When the light illuminated his face, her heart dropped, and then soared, all at the same time. He was as beautiful as she remembered. His coal-black hair highlighted an impossibly blue gaze and emphasized the precise cut of his cheekbones. A perfectly tailored deep blue tailcoat brought out the compelling shade of those eyes.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“You mustn’t go through with it.” His gaze was hard and intense, absent of the humor that usually sparkled there. “I cannot allow it.”

Fool that she was, hope—warm and radiant—welled in her chest like a rose flowering in the sun. He meant to stop her wedding. Did he intend to finally claim her for himself?

“Whatever do you mean?” She held her breath and her heart beat faster as she waited for his answer.

“This is no time to talk.” He spoke brusquely. “Come.”

As she stared at his ungloved hand—powerful and long-fingered with square blunt nails—long-simmering outrage, first kindled on their disastrous wedding day five years before, began to burn in her lungs. “Go away. I’m not about to let you ruin another wedding for me.”

A shadow passed over his eyes. “Emilia.”

The church organ began to play, its majestic strains reverberating off the church’s plastered walls. She didn’t recognize the musical piece. Edmund had chosen it.

“There isn’t much time.” His probing gaze landed on the space behind her as if assessing something. “We have to get you out of here.”

She adjusted her giant bonnet. “The only place I am going is down the aisle to marry my betrothed.”

He did not reply. At least not with words. He simply stepped forward, scooped her off her feet, and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Sparrow hadn’t meant to ruin her wedding day.

He’d come as a guest, invited by her father. But there was nothing to be done for it. The moment he spied Pierce Graves among the eager spectators outside the church waiting for a glimpse of the wedding couple, he’d known something was amiss. He could think of no good reason for the hired killer to attend a Mayfair society wedding.

A cheer had gone up among the crowd when Emilia emerged from her carriage minutes earlier, a mammoth bonnet shielding her face. The way Graves’s unwavering gaze tracked the bride until she entered St. George’s, made Sparrow’s blood ice over. He’d worked with Graves before, in another life, and recognized all of the signs of a professional planning his next kill. But why Emilia? He’d ponder that later, after he got her to safety.

“Put me down, you cretin!” Hanging upside down over his shoulder, Emilia wiggled her bottom, the slippery satin of her gown making it deuced difficult to keep a firm grasp on her.

Walking in long, purposeful strides, he slapped her bum and hissed, “Be still before I drop you on your head.”

“Ouch!” she yelped. “One of us has clearly already been dropped on his head.” She squirmed and kicked even more vigorously. To keep from losing his grip on her, he clamped a hand hard over her hips, which were fuller and far more womanly than he would have thought. The Emilia he remembered had been a narrow slip of a girl. “I swear, if you don’t put me down I shall bite you.”

Considering the hot outrage vibrating from her, he wouldn’t put it past her to take a chunk out of his arse, especially given that her face wasn’t far removed from his nether regions.

“What happened to you?” he asked her, at the same time sensing Graves coming up behind them. “You used to be quiet and biddable.” As he spoke, he swung around to plant Graves a facer. Caught unawares, the other man went down with a grunt, but Sparrow knew Graves well enough to know he wouldn’t stay down for long.

“What did you do?” Emilia shrieked, twisting her body for a glimpse of the injured man. “You hit him!”

“Indeed I did.” To make sure Graves would stay down, Sparrow slammed the point of his shiny Hoby boot into the man’s gut. Graves crumpled to the stone floor.

“What is wrong with you?” Emilia’s voice rose in alarm as she struggled to get down, kicking her legs below where his forearm gripped her across the knees. “Why are you accosting my guests?”

“I doubt you would have appreciated the gift he had in mind.” He scanned the vestibule for the quickest escape. Going out the front with the bride slung over his shoulder wouldn’t do. Spotting a door at the west end of the corridor, he ran toward it, his heart laboring hard under the burden he carried. Emilia had more meat on her than he recalled.

He reached the door and tried the latch, breathing a sigh of relief to find it unlocked. Pushing the door open, he stepped inside, closing and bolting it behind him before scanning the space. It was a meeting room of sorts, containing an oak table flanked by several ladder-backed chairs. Sparrow eyed the lone, stained glass window on the opposite wall.

“Put me down, you oaf.” Emilia straightened her body like a board in an attempt to get him to lose his grip.

With a stifled curse, he bent forward and set her down on her feet. “Don’t move,” he warned.

She stared at him with big, incredulous green eyes, their shade as intense as the brilliant jade necklace he’d bought Marie from Russia. The unwelcome memory of his former mistress burned through his innards like acid. Emilia pivoted and tried to unbolt the door, prompting recollections of the past to fly out of his mind.

He slammed a palm hard against the wood, preventing her from opening it. “What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” She spun around, her eyes flashing, her cheeks coloring beneath the faint freckles fanning out from the bridge of her nose. “What am I doing? I’m trying to get married you big, fat idiot!”

“There is no call for a lady to use such language,” he said absentmindedly, his real focus on the window.

“There is when the man who ruined my life is back to do it again.” She struggled to pull the door open.

He kept a firm hand against it. “Ruined your life?” But he hardly registered the words. His preoccupation was with getting her safely out of the church. Catching her hand, he moved toward the window, dragging her with him.

Her white, satin slippers skidded along the stone floor as she tried to hold her ground. “Let me go,” she wailed. “What is wrong with you? I’m meant to be getting married today.”

“Shield your face and stay behind me.” Holding firmly to her hand, he lifted a chair and hurled it against the window, shattering the glass.

She jumped, startled by the action. “You’re mad.” She went very still, searching his face as though really seeing him for the first time. He registered the fear and alarm in her eyes. “Who breaks windows in a church?”

He placed both hands firmly on her shoulders and looked her straight in the eye. “Emilia, do not be afraid.” He spoke in gentle but resolute tones. “I have no desire to alarm you, but I must keep you safe.”

Her wary gaze held his. “Safe from what?”

“There is a hired killer out there.”

For a moment she just stared at him, digesting his words. Her face looked remarkably small surrounded by the huge lacey rim of her hideous bonnet. “A hired killer.”

He gave a sharp nod, impressed by her calmness. “Exactly.” Shrugging out of his tailcoat, he bunched it up and wrapped it around his fist, using it as a muffler to protect his hand as he punched away what little glass was left in the window.

“A hired killer here,” she said from behind him. “At my wedding. At St. George’s. In Mayfair.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Yes, and so we must be away from here post haste.”

“Are the magical fairies here, too?” A disbelieving snort escaped her lips. “Thank you for your concern, but I think I’ll take my chances.” She marched toward the door.

“Damnation!” Frustration pulsed through him. “We don’t have time for childish tantrums.” He could waste these few precious moments arguing with her, or he could save her life, whether she liked it or not. Without another word, he picked her up, walked over to the window, and chucked her out.

Emilia landed on her rump with an unladylike thud. She really should have gone easy on the teacakes during these last few weeks leading up to the wedding. Instead, she’d indulged all the more, as if it were possible to eat her nerves away. Tears threatened. How in blazes had she ended up sitting in the dirt with her once-pristine gown looking more like a dust rag than the finest French lace and satin?

Shiny black boots with swinging cream tassels landed with a hard thump beside her. Sparrow held out his hand. “Come.”

She shook her head, biting her lip to keep the tears from falling. “Please leave me be.” It was not as if he hadn’t already hurt her enough. But this, this was beyond anything she ever could have imagined. Suddenly, she brightened.

“Blazing bats in the belfry! This is a dream.” She spoke aloud more to herself than to him and nodded excitedly. “Of course, of course. It’s a bad dream.” She exhaled a long sigh of relief. “What else could explain Hamilton Sparrow being here?”

It had been a long time since he’d appeared in her dreams. In the months after he’d jilted her, he’d come to her often in the night, begging for her forgiveness, proclaiming his undying love before leaning in to give her a passionate kiss, but she’d always startled awake before his lips touched hers.

“This is no dream.” His expression was grave, his tone desert dry. “I assure you.” A horse came clopping up, led by a boy Sparrow seemed to know. “My thanks, young Joe,” he said to the youth.

“A nightmare, then,” Emilia mumbled to herself, getting to her feet with a sinking feeling in her belly. This was no dream. She could feel the sun on her face, the rawness of her behind where she’d landed on it, and the strength of Sparrow’s hands as he reached down and picked her up as though she hadn’t been inhaling every sweetmeat she could get her hands on since she’d become betrothed.