Stealing the Bride (28 page)

But as he picked it up and turned it over, he discovered much to his chagrin that Diana’s captors were more discerning than he had given them credit for.

They’d left behind her wretched volume of Billingsworth.

He was about to cast the toady little travelogue into the hearth when he stopped.

He glanced at the book, recalling something Diana had said days earlier. Frantically, he started thumbing through the pages until he found the entry he was looking for.

Temple grinned. No wonder Nettlestone had found them. They must be close if not already on his lands. And if the baron was smart, he’d have gone straight home and tossed Diana into a traveling coach before making the final dash to the border.

If he knew his goddess, she’d have Pins and Needles dancing in circles, either with her antics or by turning them to bickering.

She had a talent for sowing strife, his goddess.

And for once, he was happy she did.

Temple wasn’t too far from the mark regarding Diana’s manipulation of her erstwhile suitors. She’d set them against each other before the gig had jolted its way down to the main road.

She sat back in her seat. “I’ll have you know I’m being chased by a French agent who will think nothing of killing you both in order to steal me away.”

Both men glanced over their shoulders, and then burst out laughing at her statement.

“Lady Diana, who would have thought at your age that you would be capable of such a tarradiddle,” Nettlestone said.

“French agents, indeed!” Lord Harry scoffed. Then the pair of nitwits began laughing again as if they’d never heard such a jest.

Vexed, Diana didn’t say anything more. Serve them right to run into Marden and find themselves with their toes up in the dust. Especially after what they’d done to Temple and Tully.

“What makes you think I’ll marry either of you?” she asked. “I won’t, you know. I won’t marry either of you.”

Nettlestone and Penham exchanged looks that said they hadn’t considered that option.

But the baron, used as he was to the scorn of Society, came up with a solution. “You’ll be married. With or without your consent. I’ve a cousin in Gretna who’ll do the job. No questions asked. He owes me a favor or two, for all I’ve done for him.”

Diana doubted the tightfisted Nettlestone had done anything for this cousin, but she had no illusions that the baron wasn’t capable of bullying someone into granting him this boon.

But Harry didn’t appear so convinced, and at this, Diana smiled.

“Lord Harry, would you force me to marry? Marry another man?”

The young man blushed and sputtered. “I-I-I hadn’t looked at it, I mean to say, I-I-I never thought of it, my lady.”

She let him muse on those thoughts for a few miles. She was furious with both of them for leaving Temple unconscious in the middle of the countryside. She knew he lived, as well as Tully, for she’d set up a huge ruckus after Temple had fallen and refused to stop her caterwauling until Penham had checked both the marquis and the dog to assure her of their welfare.

That Temple lived had given her reason to hope.

After a time, they came upon a farmer with a wagonload of goods. Diana started in the moment they got within earshot.

“Help, please sir, help me,” she cried as plaintively as she could. She tried for tears, but had never been much of a thespian. Instead she held up her bound hands and begged further. “These villains have stolen me from my husband and children, please sir, call the magistrate, call for the local guard.”

Instead of being rightly horrified, the man ignored her, respectfully doffing his hat at Nettlestone and moving his wagon aside to let them pass.

“Well, of all the…” she muttered after they’d passed and she’d cast a scorching glance back at the farmer.

“You won’t find much help from my tenants,” Nettlestone said. “The families on my land go back generations, most since before the plague. That’s because while the sickness raged all around these parts, none of the Nettlestone villeins suffered.”

Diana held her tongue as to her theory on that supposed miracle. Much hadn’t changed for the Nettlestone family since the fourteenth century—like the
ton
of today, not even the plague sought out their company.

“Aye, our loyal tenants come in quite handy,” he continued, his chest puffed out and his nose in the air. “Yes, indeed. In fact, it was one of my good fellows who spotted smoke coming out of that deserted cottage and sent word that someone was encroaching on my lands.”

That explained how Penham and Nettlestone had been able to find them so easily, Diana realized. They’d had the entire population of Nettlestone tenants working for them. In truth, it had rather shaken her faith in their general incompetence to think that they’d come across her and Temple by use of their own wits.

Now she needed to put their arrogance and unfailing inanity to work for her.

“Oh, help,” she called out to no one in particular. “Someone do help me! I’ve been kidnapped, despoiled, ruined. Oh, help!” She set up a racket that had even the horses turning their heads to see what the fuss was.

“We can’t take her all the way to Gretna like this,” Penham pointed out. “Listen to her. The first town we pass through, she’ll have everyone in the village turned out.”

“More so,” Diana added gleefully.

“Then tie her gag back on,” Nettlestone said testily.

Diana leaned forward. “I’ll bite the first hand that dares.” She smiled, letting them both get a good look at her white teeth.

Penham shrank away from her. “She has us, Nettlestone. She’ll not do this willingly.”

“She’s not so clever, Harry.” The baron clucked at the horses and turned them from the road to a nondescript and overgrown drive that most would miss if they didn’t know it was there. After a few moments, a looming heap of stone came into view. Nettlestone nodded toward the pile. “Nettlestone Castle. Just awaiting its next baroness.”

“You haven’t won her yet,” Penham grumbled.

“Then we’ll settle this matter right here and now.” He nodded back at Diana. “We can lock her in the bridal suite and have a bit of luncheon in peace.”

Penham didn’t look convinced; he glanced first at Diana and then at Nettlestone. “Is the room secure? I mean, secure enough for
her
?”

Diana grinned.

“Quite,” the puffy little baron said. “You may find this surprising, but on occasion the Nettlestone brides have exhibited an inexplicable amount of reluctance at the idea of marrying into our esteemed family.”

Both men chose to ignore the inelegant snort that issued from the tiger’s seat.

“Let me assure you,” Nettlestone said, “the room can withstand any female’s trickery. Without it, our lineage wouldn’t have continued for nigh on these past eight hundred years.”

Such an illustrious and productive history seemed to satisfy Penham’s reluctance. “Then shall it be dice or cards?”

“Dice,” the baron declared. “I feel quite lucky today.”

Diana’s mouth fell open. “You mean to
dice
for my hand?”

Nettlestone glanced over his shoulder at her. “What would you have us do? Duel for you? I think not. Shabby waste of Penham’s life, you know. I’d kill him for certain.”

“I think we already decided I was the better shot,” Penham said. “Don’t you recall, we had that contest outside Buxton?”

“Ah, yes,” Nettlestone said. “I forget. My apologies, sir.”

“Of course,” the young man replied. He turned around to Diana. “That has been the vexing part of all this. Trying to find a competition where one of us doesn’t excel. Both of us are far too competent for just your average gentlemen’s wager.”

Diana glanced up at the sky and counted to a hundred. “Competent” was not a word she’d use to describe either of these lordlings, but she held her tongue.

As they rode closer to the castle, a monstrous hulk of stone and ivy, Diana viewed it with an eye for escape. But as Nettlestone had boasted, the place appeared a regular fortress. Though in truth it held none of the majesty of a great castle, no craggy heights, no great tower. Rather, it looked as if it had tumbled over a few centuries ago, and none of the Nettlestones had bothered to notice.

Penham and Nettlestone began a full-blown argument as to the rules for their dice match.

Diana considered pointing out that neither of them had the game correct, but said nothing. As long as they were occupied in their bickering over her hand, they wouldn’t be taking her any farther north.

“I’ll find a way to escape them, Temple,” she whispered to the wind. “Mark my words.”

Temple and Tully reached Nettlestone Castle by nightfall after four wrong turns and a sketchy set of directions from one of the locals. He stormed up the drive having come to three conclusions.

He’d find them still there and he’d retrieve Diana from their clutches by whatever means necessary.

Or, if they had already fled for the border, he’d steal one of the baron’s best piece of cattle and ride like the devil to beat them to Gretna Green.

But the one option that kept him walking with a stride full of purpose and frustration was that if anything had happened to Diana while she was under their unwanted protection, he’d kill them both outright.

That is, if Marden hadn’t already done him the favor.

The stable yard and front court of the castle were deserted. Temple guessed the servants were all at their evening meal, which meant he had little time to find Diana before the household set out to complete their final chores of the day. The front of the house was dark, no torches or lanterns to greet a visitor or cheery candles in the window to offer a beacon of welcome.

Moving around the house, lurking like a common thief, Temple tried one window after the other, as well as all the doors, only to find them barred.

“A trusting sort, eh, Nettlestone,” he muttered after once again finding his way impeded. Then from an open window just off to his left he heard two men arguing.

“I hardly say that toss was fair, milord,” Penham was complaining. “It wasn’t on the green at all.”

“’Twas so,” Nettlestone shot back. “Why, it was a fair throw and I’ll not listen to another word. Might I remind you it was your choice to dice for her hand?”

Temple stood stark still, waiting for Diana’s voice to chime in—he knew her well enough to know the lady would have her own opinion on the matter.

But her voice was remarkably absent as the bickering continued. Temple crept forward and surveyed the scene within.

Nettlestone and Penham sat opposite each other at a great oaken table, engaged in a game of chance. The large, sparsely furnished chamber echoed with their vocal rivalry. A few threadbare tapestries hung from the walls, and the sconces dripped and smoked with tallow candles.

Temple could see why Nettlestone was so determined to win a wealthy bride—his property needed the care and restoration that Diana’s fortune would surely provide.

As for Diana, she was nowhere in sight.

Hidden away, he surmised. Considering Nettlestone’s desire for her fortune and the lady’s nature, the pair had probably locked her up until they’d decided her marital fate.

And if they were smart, she’d be in either the castle dungeon or the tallest tower.

Temple glanced upward, scanning the rooms on the tower corners, thankful the Nettlestone fortunes had never been so great as to afford more than three floors.

And not far away, there was a room that glowed with a brace of candles. The only room illuminated on any of the upper floors.

It had to be where they were holding her.

Temple crept past the open window, where Penham was pouring the baron another measure of some potent liquor, as well as one for himself, and muttering a slurred comment about “double or nothing.”

If he was lucky, the two fools would be at it—drinking and gambling—all night. In the meantime, all he had to do was to find a way up to Diana.

As he crept closer to the window, Temple discovered his route.

Buried under the ivy, an old trellis leaned against the wall. Ivy and an ancient rose competed for the rungs that ended well past the window above.

As he tested whether it could hold his weight, the first rung crumbled in his hand. Cursing, Temple glanced upward once again. Since he couldn’t find an open door, he was running out of options.

So he prayed the next rung would hold him. It did. As did the next. The third one cracked and crumbled in his hands, but the next one only creaked. And so he climbed to the rescue of his ladylove, one rotten step at a time.

“Diana?” he whispered as he reached the illuminated pane of glass. He clung to the wretched trellis as it groaned and wavered under his weight. “Diana?”

Demmit, where was she? If she didn’t hurry up, the Nettlestone gardener would find him in a heap. There’d be no need for flowers or greenery for his funeral; he’d probably bring half the wall along with him.

“Diana, do you hear me?”

“Yes,” came the bemused reply.

His heart leapt at the sound of her voice. He’d found her. For a moment he forgot he was forty feet in the air and clinging for dear life.

Gads, he was good at this rescuing damsels in distress business. Perhaps if Pymm tossed him out of the Foreign Office, he could consider it as his new form of employment.

“Come to the window,” he whispered as loudly as he dared. “I’m here to rescue you.”

“I daresay that trellis won’t hold both of us.” Her reply came from someplace other than within the room beyond. “Besides, I already ruled out that method of escape as decidedly unsound. It was much easier to bribe the maid and make my escape down the backstairs.”

Temple glanced downward. Diana stood on the ragged grass below him, a grin from ear to ear, and in her hands the reins to two saddled mounts. His valise was tied to one saddle, her traveling bag to the other. Tully, his pointed tail wagging merrily, stood at her hem.