Lady Thief (3 page)

A frown touched his brow.
“I see, and, before
we wed, will you not tell your husband—to—be why you have chosen
him?”

Marianne tensed and dug her fingernails
deeper into his hand.
His eye twitched but he did naught else.

“You know precisely why it has come to this,
my lord
.

She watched the irritation flicker across his
face and was pleased.
The twitch of confusion that came with it
prompted her to dig her nails deeper into him.

He knew
exactly
why they were in this
position.

With steel-like control, he closed his free
hand over hers and pried her claws from his flesh.

The service began.

Marianne lost all thoughts of anger and felt
overwhelmed with giddy excitement and happiness.

She did it!
She avoided her marriage to Sir
Ferdinand and was about to become Lady Gray, the future Countess of
Graystone.

Her father would finally see that he was
wrong to try and force her into a marriage with a man she did not
choose herself.
A man who caused prickles of unease to present
themselves along her flesh whenever he smiled at her in that
crooked, promising way.

She was so excited about the intelligence of
planning the abduction, the courage required to carry it out and
actually succeeding that she barely noted a slight err in Friar
Mitchell’s service.

“Wait.” She said, as it was now her turn to
speak her affirmative of the marriage.
All eyes turned to her as
she halted the proceedings.

Gray threw his head back and closed his eyes.
“Now what?”

She ignored him.
“Friar, did you say, Lord
William Gray?”

“I did.”

Everything inside of her froze.
“Not … Blaise
Gray?”

Her original intended and the man who sent
her such insulting letters.
If this meant what she thought it meant
then it could only be that the man standing next to her was—

“You think I am my son?”

Her hands flew to her mouth.
Lord Gray.
Lord
William
Gray, was now staring at her with something akin to
a predator’s gleam in his eyes.

“Oh, good Lord.” She turned and attempted to
flee but Lord Gray’s hands shot out, snatching her arms and pulling
her back with a painful grip that made her cringe.

The look on his face was hardly pleased.

“Forgive me, my lord.
I knew not who you
truly were.”

There was no forgiveness in his eyes.
“So
your plan was to force this onto Blaise, was it not?
My son?” He
gave her a little shake.
“I remember now.
He was to marry, but he
did not approve of the match.”

“My lord,” her men would not dare attempt to
help her, not now when they too knew that he was the true earl and
not merely the future one.
Everyone in the church was at his mercy.
“Please.”

“No.” The word was sharp and cruel on his
tongue.
“You wanted revenge, and regardless of Blaise, I am still
ultimately responsible as I agreed to let him call off your
marriage to him.
So let us be wed instead if that is your wish.” He
yanked her back to his side.

“Continue with the ceremony.” He barked.

Marianne sent a pleading look to Friar
Mitchell.
His returning look was apologetic.
“Will ye take the
honorable Lord William Gray of Graystone as yer husband?”

She could not answer.
She could not.

“My lady,” the tone was a warning as his grip
on her arm increased, his blunt fingertips pressing and digging
into her through her sleeve.

Marianne winced.
The press of his fingers
diminished, but barely.

“I will not leave here empty handed after ye
have humiliated me thus.
Say
yes
.”

She thought of the men behind her and the
situation she put them in.
They had handled a lord so
disrespectfully on her orders, and no doubt they would suffer all
the worse for it if she did not speak.
Marianne forced the word out
of her.
It would come no other way.
“Yes.”

Everything else became a blur of blessings,
and her hand being pressed down to sign a document that binded them
in every possible way.
She could hardly move.
Hardly think.

It would have continued on if not for the
strong hand that tangled itself in her hair, pulling her forward
until her lips clashed against the mouth of her new husband.

Marianne’s fists pounded his shoulders and
her feet scrambled for escape, but his arm around her body and
tangled in her hair prevented any movement.

She sucked air into her lungs until they felt
ready to explode.
Her eyes wide open as she stared into his blue
orbs while he caressed her tongue with his own.
Her eyes grew wider
when the hand that held her waist in place slid down and clenched
her bottom.

Helplessly, her cheeks heated, and she
suddenly knew what he desired from her.
The same thing Ferdinand
had wanted.
What she no longer wished to give.

When he released her Marianne could not stand
in the spinning room, and she blindly reached her hands out to the
priest to keep from falling to her knees.
He caught her and
dutifully allowed her to lean against him to catch her escaping
breath.

“Congratulations, my lord.” Friar Mitchell
said carefully.
“May you be blessed with many more children and
long life.”

Children.
Marianne would be expected to give
him children.
She would be sick.
Everything felt hot.

She ran from the altar, passed Archer and her
men and burst through the doors of the church.
The sharp chill in
the air only made her situation more real, more crisp, and she knew
she had to escape it.

She could vaguely hear Archer calling after
her but she refused to stop.
She ran for the horses, mounted, and
kicked off.

Miserable tears stung her eyes but were dried
by the whipping wind, and her race to safety was filled with self
belittlement.

How could she be so stupid?
Archer and his
men kidnapped the wrong man.
She’d
married
the wrong
man!

Chapter Three

William peered out
of the arrow loop
in his tallest tower.
A caravan resembling a stream of ants
approached his castle on a brown ribbon of road.

One of those ants was his new bride.
From his
position she would not see him watching as she came closer.
He
didn’t want her knowing, yet, of his eagerness to have her.

At last
.
The thought brought a vicious
smile to his lips and made his hand clench into a fist.
Now that
she had come she would know the humiliation he suffered at her
hands.

His footman knocked and entered the bare,
drafty room.
This tower room was only useful when enemies
approached and he needed to survey every available space around his
castle and lands.
But the last attack had been when he was barely
able to ride his first horse, and now he used it to think quietly,
and watch for his wife.

Adam, a young man with hair and eyes matching
the mud on the road outside was one of the few still loyally
willing to jump and run at William’s commands.
“Milord, they are
arriving.”

William kept his eyes on the road, his hand
scratching his neck where the scratch from the blade recently
healed.
“Aye, I see them.”

“Shall I prepare the servants to greet
her?”

William half turned his head to tell him not
to, but thought better of it.
Her father would be escorting her,
and he would not want to give reason to insult the man, even though
he
had
raised an impudent daughter.

“Yes, do that.
I will be down shortly, and
Adam?”

Adam turned when he called.

William’s eyes were sharp.
“Be sure that my
son is not among the greeters.”

Adam cast him a curious glance before he
scurried back down the spiral stone stairway to do as he was
bid.

William turned back to the scenery of grey
skies, wet landscape and fresh winds, a sharp change from the
cheerful weather outside the withering church on his wedding
day.

His palms were flat on the damp stone window
as he leaned forward to watch the ants turn into small men, horses,
and pack mules.

For a split second in that church he felt a
swell of respect for the woman.
The moment he discovered she had
erred, did not even know his true identity before marrying him, it
disappeared like the sun in those miserable grey clouds
outside.

She throttled his head with the club of
stupidity.

He should have known better, really.
Perhaps
boredom could be blamed for his own faulty judgment that day.

William’s fingers twitched.
He wanted to go
down there and teach his new wife a few lessons about her brash
personality, something he craved since their wedding a fortnight
ago.

That thought in mind, William descended the
stairs to greet his bride.

***

‘Twas finally happening.
Now was the time to
reap what she had sewn and face her victim.
Face her
punishment.

Her husband.

The entire ride Marianne twitched, itched,
and waited for the journey to end so she could put herself at
ease.

Her father was no comfort to her apprehension
as he remained silent the whole way.
Hardly sparing her a glance
but to tell her with his eyes what a disappointment he thought of
her.

Marianne clutched her father’s hand as he
helped her descend from her mare, and when her feet were safely on
the squishing ground, she did not let him go.

Regardless of her bundled nerves, her eyes
were not on him, they were on the line of servants at the front
doors waiting to greet her.

Maids with their hands clasped together in
front of their worn gowns and men with their hands behind their
backs, all with their heads respectively bent, and none with the
air of delight at her arrival.

They were just recently brought from whatever
task they had been doing.
She could tell because some of the boys
had dirt smudges on their faces and bits of straw poking out of
their clothes.

Occasionally they snuck their heads up,
enough so they might inspect their new mistress.

Marianne could not see
him
anywhere.
Though which
him
would displease her more, Blaise or William
Gray—her husband—Marianne was not sure.

She lifted her head to stare at the tall,
gray stone towers, matching the sky so well that for a moment she
thought they stretched into each other and became one.
Would her
new husband lock her into one of those stone towers?
She
shivered.

Her home had never been a truly merry place
since the death of her final living brother, but ‘twas familiar and
held memories dear to her.
This place, this castle that towered
above her like a prison, was hardly calling for Marianne to enter
its doors with a smile.

She turned her eyes back to the servants and
saw them moving apart to give Lord Gray space to descend the
steps.

He was the same man she had met and married
in that church, she knew, but his eyes were different, holding the
triumphant air of a man who had just been given what he wanted
most, but dark with anticipation for when he could play with it, or
break it.

Marianne quickly lowered her face before he
could lock eyes with her, and her cheeks heated.
Her shame too
great to challenge him just now.

Her eyes pointing down, Marianne saw there
was something amiss about his step, a happy spring that had not
been in his eyes.

The heat in Marianne’s face left her and she
was instantly alert.
Something was not right.
Happiness did not
exist in him at this moment.

He had something planned.

Her husband called out, but not to her.
“Sir
Guy Holton,”

Her father opened his arms to him.
“Lord
William Gray.”

Marianne watched with her mouth dropped as
the two men bowed to each other quite formally before embracing
like brothers, and much back slapping ensued.

Marianne tried to mask her disgust with her
father’s behavior.
‘Twas difficult, however, so instead she
pretended that if she refused look at them, they would not see her.
Her attempt was unsuccessful.

Her father put an arm about her shoulders and
forcefully pushed her forth, even as she resisted by digging her
heals into the rocks.
“But of course you already know my lovely
daughter.”

The warm, confident grin with which Lord Gray
greeted her unsettled her deeply.
She had to avert her eyes and
giving him a proper curtsy, one much more deep and polite than the
rude thing she’d performed back at the church.
Back when she
thought he was Blaise.

The humiliation was nearly unbearable.

Then it occurred to her.
After weeks of
brooding over her foolish choices and the day when she would come
here she had not once thought of Blaise, and the color drained from
her cheeks.

Blaise would be here.
She would have to greet
him and behave as a lady towards the one responsible for her
current state.

She wanted to blame him for everything, all
her misfortunes since she first heard his name and even the ones
before then, even though the fault was entirely hers.

Because of her, she was married to a lord and
put everyone she involved in her plot in danger.
She did not even
know what Blaise looked like so she could not make a point of
ignoring him.
What if Lord Gray had regular guests to his castle?
She could not snub everyone in proper dress just because there
would be a possibility that it was Blaise.

Turning her head ever so slightly, she caught
sight of Archer, struggling to help the other servants remove the
luggage and other things she was to keep at Graystone.
She wondered
if his wife had time to put any salve on his back, and her face
softened apologetically.
He was too occupied with his task of
lifting heavy trunks to pay her any mind.

The look did not go unnoticed by Gray, whose
eyes shot towards Archer and noticed him for the first time.
Another dark eagerness flashed in their blue depths.

Marianne froze, her heart picking up speed as
she waited for him to speak, but Gray did not draw attention to
Archer.

Marianne stood tall but struggled to breathe
as she wondered whether or not he would keep his promise.

Her father spoke.
“My lord?”

Just as quickly, William’s attention was
focused solely on her.
They had both forgotten his question.

“How could I ever forget such a vision?” His
arm flew out, captured her hand before she could pull away, and
drew it to his lips.

Marianne’s face became hot at the lie that
fell so easily from the lips that gingerly kissed her hand.
He
spoke softly and his manner was gentle, but his eyes bore hard into
hers.
She saw the angry soul hidden within.
It consumed her like a
hissing fire she could not escape, suffocating and destroying her
hope.

Finally Marianne jerked her hand away and
stepped back, only to realize the servants were still watching.

Lord Gray acted as if naught was amiss and
continued to smile at her, though despite the glow it emitted she
could never believe it to be genuine with his inflamed eyes.

He rested his palm on the small of her back
and drew her forward, she did not put her heels into the ground
this time, and Marianne realized that she still had to go through
the horrors of being introduced to the servants.

She nodded and smiled to them and they bobbed
and bowed in return.
Their smiles were as nervous as hers, and just
as false as her husband’s.
Marianne knew why.
A new mistress could
change the way the entire household was run.
They thought she could
make their lives miserable, but Marianne knew she would never be
able to utter a word to them.

William would never allow it after what she
had done.

William hesitated, one side of his lip
upturned.
He was enjoying her torment.
After a long moment he
clapped his hands and called for attention.
“Return to your work,
we have much to do before tomorrow night!
More guests will be
arriving any minute now!”

“Yes, yes!
The party!” Sir Holton said with
much enthusiasm.
“We must celebrate the wedding of the earl and his
new countess!”

Despite the commanding tone in William’s
voice and Holton’s excitement, Marianne took curious note of how
the servants hesitated, looked at each other, and slowly made their
way back to their respective chores.

Marianne opened her mouth to question the
behavior, but thought better of it.
Her precarious situation
stilled her tongue.

Her father grinned gleefully with the
circumstances now, but before he had been livid with her,
roam-around-the-room, screaming-furious.
At least the only good to
come from forcing marriage onto the wrong man was that she had
married someone above her station who had already inherited his
title.
That alone had been enough to prevent Holton from throwing
her from his manor.

It was a double-edged sword, however.
On the
one hand she brought a title to her name, but on the other she
might possibly have brought the wrath of an earl on her house.

Guy Holton had been convinced William Gray
would demand blood for her foolishness.
Only time would tell what
kind of price he expected to be paid for her actions.

William separated himself from her and
addressed her father loudly enough so that she might hear as well,
though the air of brotherly acquaintance was gone from his voice.
“Sir Holton, before I have you settled into your room, would it be
possible to speak a word with you and your daughter, alone?”

A bead of sweat rolled down Marianne’s
forehead, and the accompanying swallow felt as painful as a
fist-sized rock traveling down the inside of her neck.

Her father seemed to be swallowing rocks of
similar size as he adjusted his cuffs and grinned with beads of his
own sweat accumulating on his face.

“Of course, milord.”

It seemed they would be discovering the price
of her stupidity sooner rather than later.

***

Marianne and Sir Holton were made to stand
while William sat behind his writing table.
The room was made warm,
nearly welcoming with rushes under their feet and a fireplace with
a roaring fire on their right.