Stealing the Bride (30 page)

“She was such a beautiful woman,” he said, continuing his story. “So lively and fair, just as you are. Every man sought her company, but she knew the vagaries of the French court too well to give in to some mild flirtation.” He let out a long breath. “But obviously one doesn’t say no to a king. How it happened, I know not, only that afterward, Louis sent her away before the Queen heard the rumors.”

Diana shook her head. Temple could see that as much as she wanted to know the truth, it was a devastating moment. Everything she knew about her life was a lie.

Lamden must have seen her anguish as well. “I loved your mother with all my heart, and married her in secret so you’d have the protection of my name. Before you even arrived, wee little thing that you were, I never thought of you being anything but
my
child.”

She sniffed at the tears welling up in her eyes. “Oh, Papa,” she whispered. She rushed to his arms and hugged the man who was in truth, though not deed, her father. After a few moments, Diana tipped her head back and looked at him. “How is it that I bear the King’s mark?”

“Louis knew the child Arabella carried was his, and when she went into labor, he arrived in secret at our Paris rooms. He had with him his confessor and a young novice as witnesses. I believe you have met his novice.”

There was a tense moment of silence, before Temple interjected, “Marden.”

Pymm nodded. “He left the church before he was ordained, just as the Revolution was beginning. He’s been a thorn ever since.”

“Still, Papa,” Diana said. “Why did you let him mark me?”

“It was your mother’s wish. The midwife had given up hope that she’d live, and she was in so much pain and so desperate to see you safeguarded. She thought that there might be a day when you would need the King’s favor and that mark would be your savior.”

“Who would have thought it would almost lead to your demise, my lady?” Pymm had the poor sense to add. “And now it will mean a wedding for you. So who is the lucky groom to be, Lord Harry or Baron Nettlestone?” He rubbed his hands together, oblivious to her devastation, solely focused on seeing England protected.

She glared at the man and looked about to finish what Temple had started earlier.

Temple took her hand in his and answered for her. “Neither of them. As I was saying before, Diana will be
my
bride.”

She spun on him, her face drawn, her mouth set in a hard line. Snatching her hand free of his grasp, she said, “Please, no more of your false offers. I heard you quite clearly at the door.
A fool’s errand
. That’s what this all was to you. And fool that I am, I thought you came after me to save
me
, not to save your position with
him
.” She pointed her finger at Pymm as one might an unwanted and undistinguishable pile left by an ailing cat.

“Diana,” he began, “it wasn’t like that—”

“Like what? I heard what was said. You came after me because you had to. Because you wanted an assignment to the Ottoman Empire. Learning the language so you can hire a Persian servant indeed! You lying, conniving, wretched louse. I never want to see you ever again.”

She whirled from the room and left in a flash of muslin.

Temple tried to follow her, but his grandfather stepped in his path. “Bad business, this. We should be away. Let Lamden see her married off. Think of our legacy. You’ll be the Duke of Setchfield one day. You can’t have a bastard for a wife.” The duke dismissed it all as if he’d just sent back a plate of beef that tasted off. “Consider yourself saved by this turn of events.”

“Saved from what?” Temple said, his voice rising above even the duke’s infamous roar. “Living the rest of my life with the woman I love? I think not, sir.” He pushed past his grandfather and headed for the door.

“If you marry her, I’ll…I’ll…” the duke began to threaten.

Temple whirled around. “You’ll what? Cut me off? You’ve already done that, and I have yet to starve. Cut me off from your affections? You haven’t any. If I don’t marry Diana, I stand to end up as lonely and empty as you. And that is one deficiency the Setchfield legacy will not endure.”

“I won’t hear of it,” Lamden complained. “I won’t have an idiot for a son-in-law.”

“Glad to hear that Nettlestone is out of the running then,” Temple replied. “I’d hate to have to kill both him and Penham.” He strode from the room, determined to make things right with Diana. Yet as he entered the common room, about to ask which way she’d gone, a round whirl in orange came dashing up to him.

“Temple! I do say, Temple!”

“Stewie!” Temple said, stunned at the sight him. If this continued, next he’d find Prinny walking through the door to wish him merry.

“My good friend,” Stewie effused, clapping Temple on the back and grinning profusely. “How could I live with myself if I missed your nuptials? Couldn’t let you come all this way, suffer so many deprivations, not to have a credible witness at your side. For who in their right mind would ever believe the Marquis of Templeton capable of stealing himself a bride. And a rich one to boot.” He bowed, his hand wavering in a grand flourish. “Consider me here to lend you the protection of my good regard if matters take a difficult turn. I am at your service.”

“Really, Stewie, you needn’t have bothered,” Temple said, meaning every word of it.

“Bother? Bother? Tut, tut! Not another word. We are the best of friends. I would have crossed the seven seas to stand up at this blessed event.” He pulled Temple aside, then rose up on his tiptoes to whisper, “I do hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the other reason I came is because I fear there is a sheriff looking for you.”

Temple was almost afraid to ask. “A sheriff?”

“Oh, aye. The Sheriff of Nottingham. It would be quite a lark, you being chased like some nefarious criminal by the Sheriff of Nottingham, if the man wasn’t so determined to find you. Some bad business about you assaulting him and murdering Cordell.” Stewie shook his head. “Not that Cordell didn’t deserve a bad end, but by your hand? Ridiculous! I told him straight out he was mistaken. My friend Templeton, I said, is no more capable of committing murder than he is of wearing last year’s waistcoat. Imagine, you murdering anyone?” Stewie blew out a loud sigh.

“Stewie, thank you for the warning, but I must be—”

“Nay, listen. There is more.” Stewie blocked his path. “I fear the good sheriff was quite insistent on finding you and I told him you had other business to attend to, what with eloping with the heiress to Gretna and all—”

“You told him I was here?”

Stewie cringed. “I fear so. He tricked it out of me, knavish fellow that he is. And I think you might want to consider getting on with your wedding and perhaps taking a long trip abroad, for he’s searching the town as we speak.”

“Here? In Gretna?” Temple asked.

The man nodded his head quite emphatically, threatening to send his tall, beaver hat toppling over. “I’ll do my best to keep him out of your way, but you might want to get on with the business at hand.”

“I intend to, Stewie. I have every intention of doing just that.”

“Oh, and Temple?” he asked.

“Yes, Stewie?”

“I hope the gel isn’t having second thoughts. I’ve got a lot wagered on her becoming your marchioness.”

First Colin, now Stewie. Temple wanted to groan. If he did pull off this marriage, he was going to make them both very rich men and beggar a good portion of the
ton
.

“I only ask,” Stewie was saying, “because I saw your bride leaving in quite a huff. Nerves, I suppose, but it wouldn’t do for her to call it all off now, you know what I mean?”

Temple ignored the financial motivation behind Stewie’s concerns and latched on to the real gem of information the man held.

“Which way did she go? Which way, Stewie?”

“A man in love, I do declare!” Stewie grinned and clapped Temple again on the back.

“Which way, Stewie?” he said, nearly rattling the mushroom out of his Hessians.

He pointed toward the door. “Out. She ran out the door and turned right, I believe.”

Temple followed his directions without a glance back, leaving Stewie to straighten his coat and fluff his ruffled cravat. “A man in love, and with an heiress to boot! I’ve always said there was more to Templeton than met the eye. I’ve always said it.”

And so he did to the empty room around him.

D
iana had stumbled out of the inn into the brilliant sunshine of a lovely June morning. The perfect day to be wed.

Yet all she could hear, instead of the chirping of birds and the greetings of passersby, were the stern words of the innkeeper’s wife.

I’ve seen too many of his kind pass through and the sorrow they leave in their wake. That’s the sort of man who can talk a woman into believing anything.

And Temple had. He’d talked her into coming to Gretna by a means most foul.

Her heart didn’t want to believe it, but everything Pymm had said made more sense than the tarradiddle Temple had been feeding her.

He’d traded her heart for Pymm’s mission to the sultan’s court.

Well, she knew where she’d like to send the pair of them, and it was a fair shade hotter than some distant Eastern land.

Though in truth, he hadn’t lied to her. He hadn’t come after her because he didn’t want to see her wed to another man. He’d come after her because he’d been forced.

Oh, as much as he had told her true, that he hadn’t come after her because he cared, she’d never quite believed his denials.

Not until now.

Diana felt sixteen all over again, standing at the Fosters’ ball, tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks as Temple denied her the first time.

Botheration, her dangerous gamble had failed. Failed horribly.

She continued her tear-blinded course down the street until a pair of strong arms caught her.

“Lady Diana, are you well?”

The concerned voice came from none other than Lord Harry Penham. Boring Harry. Harry with the harridan mother.

True Harry.

It mattered not. Not anymore.

“My lady, I’m sorry for the way we stole you away yesterday. Believe me, it was all Nettlestone’s idea. I would never have harmed Templeton intentionally. I was taught to respect my elders, not brawl with them.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and pressed it into her hand. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Diana laughed, a little hiccup of a sound. “Yes, Lord Harry, there is. Marry me.”

His mouth fell open. “But I fear Nettlestone won that honor. Trounced me soundly.”

“Nettlestone cheats. Besides, I want him not. I want you.” She caught his hand and began towing him toward the church that Temple had pointed out as they’d ridden into town just a few hours earlier.

Had it been just this morning? It felt like weeks ago.

“But…but…” Penham stammered in protest.

“Oh, do be still, Harry,” she snapped at him.

Harry wasn’t the second son of a domineering woman not to know when to shut his mouth and do what he was told.

So off they went, hand in hand toward the church.

But neither of them noticed the dark, scowling man following in their wake.

Temple’s search for Diana ended at the inn’s front door. He barreled into Nettlestone, and for the moment he forgot his vow to kill the baron.

“Templeton, glad to see you,” Nettlestone breathed. “You’ve got to come with me. That knave Penham has got her. Saw him with my own eyes stealing her away to the church. Should have known he’d never honor our agreement. I won the lady, fair and square, I did. Now I’ll have to demand satisfaction. I’d be glad to have you as my second.”

“Your what?”

“My second. I’m going to kill Penham and then take his widow. I suppose I’ll have to let her mourn him. What would be an appropriate amount of time in these circumstances, an hour? Mayhap two?”

Temple wasn’t listening. “Where are they?” he thundered.

“Why, in the church,” Nettlestone told him. “He took that annoying Frenchie with him as a witness. And after all our days of friendship, I would have thought he’d at least ask me.”

Temple’s blood ran cold. “Frenchman?”

“Yes, the one from Buxton.”

Temple uttered an ugly curse. “A Frenchman? With Penham and Diana?”

Nettlestone took a step back and nodded. “Well, if you want to stand up for Harry, you can have the spot, no need to lose one’s temper over such a trifling matter.”

Temple caught hold of the baron. “Do you still have my pistols?”

Nettlestone paled in the face of Temple’s uncharacteristic fury. “Now, there’s no need for violence, Templeton. If you want the chit, she’s yours.”

“Give me my pistols,” Temple ground out.

The baron reached inside his jacket and produced the pair. “Demmed twitchy things. Not at all reliable.”

Temple wasn’t really listening, he was checking to see that they were loaded, and then glanced once at the church. He took the baron by the arm and shoved him toward the inn. “Go inside and fetch a man named Pymm. He’ll be with Lord Lamden. Tell him Marden is here.”

“Martin, yes, indeed. I’ll convey the message,” Nettlestone said, his teeth practically rattling as he tried to steady himself.

“Not Martin. The man’s name is
Marden
.” Temple let out an exasperated sigh. “Make haste, man; there isn’t a moment to lose.”

Nettlestone frowned. “Templeton, you make this Marden fellow sound as if he is attempting to single-handedly topple England.”

“He is,” Temple said. “But not with my bride.”

Diana stood before the vicar knowing she was making the worst mistake of her life. It was one thing in a fit of anger to drag a willing man to the altar, but quite another to utter the words that would bind her to him for the rest of her life.

Lady Harry.
Diana shivered. Oh, wouldn’t Temple be laughing up his sleeve. Oh, truly, she didn’t care a fig what that double-dealing bafflehead cared or said.

Oh, but she did.

“Do you, Lady Diana Fordham, take Lord Harry Penham to be your lawfully wedded husband—”

The door of the church flung open, a ray of sunshine racing up the dark aisle.

Diana turned, a blazing smile on her lips.

Temple!
He’d come to stop her. He’d come to tell her it was all a great misunderstanding.

“Sir?” the vicar called out. “Can I help you?”

The tall, dark figure strode into the church, closing the door behind him. Once again he was cast into shadows until he began walking up the aisle, his arm outstretched.

Diana continued to smile until she saw what he held.

A pistol.

“Temple!” she hissed. “Don’t shoot him.”

Then she looked again, and realized the man there to stop her wedding wasn’t Temple.

“So sorry, mademoiselle. But I can’t let this travesty continue. Not when your true groom awaits you in France.” Then he nodded his head, and two men slipped from behind the altar, one catching hold of the vicar, and the other, Lord Harry.

“I do say,” Diana’s momentary groom muttered. “I won her fair and square.”

“Bah, you English,” Marden scoffed. “Your sense of honor and love makes me ill.” The man raised the pistol and pointed it at Harry.

Diana stepped in front of Marden’s next victim.

“You’ll have to kill me to kill him, sir.”

Marden smiled. “If you serve France with half as much heart, mademoiselle, you will have made my exile here in England worth every loathsome moment.”

Marden’s men had tied up Penham and the wide-eyed vicar quickly and efficiently, then begun the arduous task of dragging a protesting Diana down the aisle.

“Your Highness,” Marden said to her, “quit struggling. When you are Empress of France and the world is at your disposal, you will thank us.”

“I’ll not marry that bandy-legged toady of yours anymore than I would have Lord Harry.”

Penham made a muffled protest from behind his gag.

Marden ignored them both. “You’ll enjoy being an empress. You were born to the role. You may not be legitimate, but I have a cousin in Rome working on that issue right now. I believe there is some ancient precedent that we may be able to use to see you declared a rightful heir.”

“I believe the word you mean is ‘coercion.’I’ve no more a right to the French throne than you.”

“I beg to differ,” Marden said, his mouth narrowing to a ratlike smile. “That mark on your back was left there by your father. Louis. He wouldn’t have put it there unless he intended to ensure that you rose to a place of preeminence at his court. You are of noble blood. French blood.”

“My father is the Earl of Lamden,” she shot back defiantly. “And I am English.”

Marden caught her by the forearm and twisted her limb until a shock of pain ran through it. “I won’t mark you, Your Highness, but I do have some persuasive means by which to gain your cooperation, which I intend to have.”

Tears filled her eyes, but she refused to give in to him.
Never.
Never would she be drawn into this man’s insane plan.

The door to the church bounded open, and a single figure stepped into the shaft of light.

“Let go of her, Marden, and I’ll let you live.”

Temple!

Diana’s heart thrummed to life. As much as she was thrilled to see him, she also realized he was no match for three armed men. He was resourceful and capable, but three armed men were too much even for a dragon slayer.

“Let her go,” Temple repeated, a deadly calm filling his words, his order drifting up to the saintly choir above.

Marden laughed, a wicked howl that rose into the rafters of the church like a devil’s keen. “I think not. I’ve chased her this far, and as you well know, I’m not averse to killing for my prize.”

The man’s confidence brimmed over as he pointed his pistol at Temple. “Monsieur, I believe we have met before, and I don’t mean at that wretched assembly in Buxton.” His eyes narrowed. “Yes, I remember now. You called yourself Verdier and were bandied about court as Josephine’s long-lost cousin.”

Temple nodded. “You have a good memory, monsieur.”

“I would not suggest returning,” Marden told him. “For I fear your reception would be quite different.”

Glancing down at his fingernails, Temple said in a droll voice, “Lawd, sir, why would I want to do that? In truth, I found the company in Paris quite an ignorant and unrefined lot. But what do you expect of a people who agree to be led by an upstart peasant?”

Marden growled something low and menacing as he aimed the pistol at Temple’s heart.

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” a deep voice said from behind Temple.

Diana glanced up to see the doorway filled with others, crowding in behind Temple—his grandfather leading the charge. The duke shouldered an ancient musket, probably a leftover from the Jacobite rebellions and borrowed from the innkeeper. Her father claimed a large, deadly-looking pistol.

At either side of her, Marden’s wily cohorts loosened their grips as they were obviously losing interest in their portion of whatever reward they had hoped to gain by taking her to France.

Diana shook free of them.

But Marden was not so easily deterred. He caught her by the wrist and yanked her in front of him, using her as a shield, then laid the muzzle of his pistol against her forehead. “I’ll not leave without her. She is intended for France. Are you all fools? She will be an empress. The mother of emperors.”

To her surprise, Stewie, of all people, poked his head around the duke. “I do say, don’t you think she’s a little long in the tooth to be casting off as Boney’s bride? Surely there’s some young Italian bird who would suit quite nicely rather than some London spinster?”

Everyone turned and glared at the little interloper, and he shrugged and retook his position well hidden behind the duke’s towering figure.

Diana cringed. Though he made her sound as ancient as Methuselah, right now she’d be willing to claim she was the devil’s twin sister if only to convince Marden to let her go.

“Her age is a concern, but she has other attributes,” Marden admitted, hauling her deeper into the church. Diana knew he was going to try to effect his escape out the back door. He probably had horses and more men at the ready. “Besides, the priest who was at her birth is willing to remember the year a little more favorably.” He smiled at Diana. “You are now only two-and-twenty.”

There was a whistle in the back of the room, probably from Stewie, that mocked such an attempt to deny her age.

Deny her age…Deny her age
…

Diana realized her age was one thing, but there was something else not even Marden would be able to undo.

“The day of my birth may be easy to change, but the fact that I’m not a virgin can’t. I doubt your emperor will be all that pleased with any of you for bringing him a despoiled bride.”

“Not a virgin?” stammered one of his henchmen.

She shook her head.

That was enough for Marden’s compatriots. They shot out the back of the church, the sound of the door being nearly ripped off its hinges echoing like the toll of a church bell in their hasty scramble to distance themselves from this debacle.

“It cannot be.” Marden shifted from one foot to the other, his eyes glancing wildly about the room as his brilliant plan crumbled before him.

“Oh yes,” Diana said quite cheerfully over her shoulder to him. “I’m ruined. Utterly and completely.”

“You worthless bitch,” he said, seething with anger. “Don’t you see what you’ve thrown away?”

“Yes. Marriage to a man I despise. And I would do it again and again. And I intend to. With the man I love with all my heart.”

Her gaze met Temple’s, but instead of an acknowledgment of their shared heart, she saw only horror in his eyes. Then she realized why.

In taunting Marden to gain her freedom, she’d gone too far.

But what she hadn’t foreseen, Temple had. And with instincts honed from years of service, he leapt forward, even as the Frenchman began to pull the trigger. Temple caught his arm and wrenched it upward, just as the gun fired. The bullet went aimlessly into the ceiling, sending down a shower of plaster and splinters.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Temple slammed his other fist into Marden’s face, sending the man careening into the aisle, out cold before he hit the stone floor.

The sheriff rushed forward.

Temple pointed at Marden. “Sir, there is the man you seek. This is the man who murdered Viscount Cordell.” He bowed slightly. “And please accept my sincerest apologies for our earlier encounter.”