A License to Wed: Rebellious Brides (22 page)

Would Edmund have carried her as effortlessly on their wedding night, if at all? With every pound she’d gained, she’d noted the glimmer of disapproval in her betrothed’s eyes and yet that silent censure seemed to make her indulge all the more. Her mother always said she was a contrary girl. Perhaps Mama was right.

Sparrow settled her atop the colossal silver stallion. She didn’t dare squirm now. She wasn’t much of a rider and being on the back of the enormous beast meant she was entirely too high off the ground for her comfort. Sparrow leapt up, landing in the saddle behind her. His warmth and proximity sent a shiver up her spine.

The young boy cast a worshipful look up at his master. “Will that be all, m’lord?”

“Yes.” The horse started, but Sparrow got a firm handle on the beast, quieting him almost immediately. “Return to Berkeley Square now. And Joe.”

The boy whipped around. “Yes, m’lord?”

He tossed him a coin. “Not a word to anyone. As far as you know, I attended the wedding.”

“Aye, sir.” Joe grinned wide and snatched the gleaming coin out of the air before scampering off. Sparrow urged the horse into motion.

Every muscle in her, even ones she hadn’t known she had, tensed as she gripped the saddle to keep from plummeting off the massive moving pile of horseflesh. “Am I to know where we are going?” she asked stiffly.

“To safety.”

“And where, pray tell, is that?”

“I’ll be sure to let you know when I puzzle it out.” Holding the reins, his arms encased her from behind, he urged the beast beneath them into a trot, an occasional jolt from the cobblestone back streets bringing their bodies into contact.

She realized she’d never been so close to him before, not even during their betrothal. Back then he hadn’t even tried to kiss her. Her cheeks burned with humiliation at the remembrance of just how distasteful he must have found her.

And yet here she sat—fool that she was—acutely aware of Sparrow’s powerful form behind her when she should be at the altar exchanging vows with Edmund. Instead, she breathed in the scent of bergamot and male exertion like it was oxygen, her heart slamming against her ribs with the same force as the mount’s hooves struck the cobblestone street.

She wanted to whack herself in the head—if she dared loosen her death grip on the saddle—to shake the idiot romantic thoughts from her head. She had a willing bridegroom waiting for her at the altar. The man behind her, whose body occasionally rubbed up against hers, triggering unladylike sensations deep in her belly, had jilted her. He was no Prince Charming. More like Prince Misery-and-Disappointment, at least when it came to her happiness. She’d do well to remember that.

She focused on where they were going. He turned down Park Street and, up ahead, Portman Square came into view. It was empty of people and as they approached, she eyed the iron enclosure around the grassy lawn, which was dotted with trees and manicured high bushes. When they were near enough, she saw her chance for escape. Before she had time to overthink the haphazard plan, before the fear of falling consumed her, she seized her opportunity and threw herself off the mount and over the perimeter fence, landing hard on the softer grassy surface.

“What on earth…?” Irritation quickly supplanted the concern in Sparrow’s voice from atop the giant mound of horseflesh. “Bugger! What the devil do you think you’re doing?”

She shot up, stumbling over the folds of her gown, her dratted bonnet impeding her vision. A sharp pain shot up her left leg. “Ow! Judas! My ankle.” She hopped a little in her once-snowy wedding slippers.

Anger blazed in his blue eyes. “What did you expect considering how you jumped from my stallion in such a careless manner?” He was off the horse and leaping over the fence with his long, well-built legs before she could plan any kind of effective escape. “You could have impaled yourself on the iron spikes. What were you thinking?”

“What was I thinking?” Her ankle throbbing with agony, she wobbled back away from him. “Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps I was reflecting upon the bedlamite who kidnapped me on my wedding day and ruined my chance at happiness.” Her voice rose in a combination of fury and frustration, edged with hysteria. “Maybe I was thinking if, by any wild stretch of the imagination, I do manage to find my way back to St. George’s that maybe, just maybe, Edmund will still have me!”

He watched her with an odd gaze, as though she were a scientific specimen he hadn’t quite puzzled out. “Come away with me, Emilia. I promise to explain everything.” His tone softened. “What choice do you have, really? If you are seen alone in public with a strange man in your bedraggled state, your reputation will be immeasurably tarnished.”

She skewered him with a furious look. “And whose fault is that?”

“I’ll fix everything.” Speaking soothingly, he stepped closer and took her arm as she imagined he might gentle one of his skittish mounts. “I give you my word as a gentleman.”

Something cracked in the air. It took her a moment to comprehend what it was, but Sparrow seemed to know immediately because he practically tackled her to the ground, covering her with his large, taut form. “Stay down,” he hissed. His weight pressed down on her, his muscles rigid with alertness, the unique virile scent of him blanketing her as surely as his body.

“Listen carefully,” he said in a harsh whisper in her ear. “When I get up, you are to move under the cover of the bushes. Do you understand?”

“Was that a gunshot?”

“Just do as I say.” His breath was warm on her cheek. “And wait here for me.”

“You’re leaving me alone?” she whispered incredulously into the ground.

“I’ll be back directly.” Then the reassuring weight blanketing her lifted and she saw Sparrow running toward the fence in long, purposeful strides. He drew something from his jacket that glinted in the sun. A pistol. Why was Sparrow carrying a weapon? Where was he going?

Staying low, she scrambled toward the bushes and plunged into them, her skirt catching on a branch while another bit of foliage scratched uncomfortably against her cheek. Perspiring and breathing erratically, she scooted back against one shrub, and hugged her knees to her chest, wondering, not for the first time, how she had come to be in this frighteningly ridiculous predicament on her wedding day.

Footsteps stomped toward her, the bushes in front of her rustled. She held her breath. Then Sparrow came into view and, because he wasn’t some random footpad, relief spiraled through her. This time when he reached out a hand, she took it immediately and allowed him to pull her up.

“Let’s go.” The words were brusque.

She stumbled behind him, pain pulsing in her ankle, as he pressed on toward his waiting mount. “What happened? Did you locate the person who fired the shots?”

“Yes,” he said grimly. “I found him.”

“And?”

Her breath caught as he swept her off her feet and onto the mount. “Let’s just say he won’t be a problem anymore.”

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