Rushed to the Altar

Acclaim for the novels of
New York Times
bestselling author JANE FEATHER

A HUSBAND’S WICKED WAYS

“A consummate storyteller, Feather rises to new heights in her latest Wicked novel of intrigue and desire. Her utterly engaging characters and suspenseful plot combine to hold you spellbound.”

—Romantic Times

“Filled with recurring quirky characters, truly evil villains, and a fearless heroine who is definitely an equal to her hero.”

—Booklist

TO WED A WICKED PRINCE

“Enchanting and witty . . . sizzling.”

—Publishers Weekly

“A poignant love story . . . strong characters, political intrigue, secrets and passion . . . it will thrill readers and keep them turning the pages.”

—Romantic Times

A WICKED GENTLEMAN

“Will enchant readers. . . . filled with marvelous characters—and just enough suspense to keep the midnight oil burning.”

—Romantic Times

“Intriguing and satisfying. . . . The captivating romance is buttressed by rich characters and an intense kidnapping subplot, making this a fine beginning for Feather’s new series.”

—Publishers Weekly

Rushed to the Altar
is also available as an eBook

Also by Jane Feather

A Husband’s Wicked Ways

To Wed a Wicked Prince

A Wicked Gentleman

Almost a Lady

Almost a Bride

The Wedding Game

The Bride Hunt

The Bachelor List

JANE
FEATHER

The sale of this book without its cover is unauthorized. If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that it was reported to the publisher as “unsold and destroyed.” Neither the author nor the publisher has received payment for the sale of this “stripped book.”

Pocket Books A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc. 1230 Avenue of the Americas New York, NY 10020 www.SimonandSchuster.com

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2010 by Jane Feather

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

First Pocket Books paperback edition July 2010

POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

For information regarding special discounts for bulk purchases,
please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-866-506-1949
or [email protected].

The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your
live event. For more information or to book an event contact the
Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our
website at
www.simonspeakers.com
.

Cover design by Lisa Litwack. Illustration by Alan Ayers.

Manufactured in the United States of America

10   9   8   7   6   5   4   3   2   1

ISBN 978-1-4391-4524-1
ISBN 978-1-4391-5549-3 (ebook)

RUSHED
TO THE ALTAR

Prologue
 

London, 1761

The air in the room was thick with the smell of incense from the candles burning on every surface. The fire was built so high the heat was almost suffocating and the three men standing within the curtains at the foot of the great canopied bed were sweating. The candles threw long shadows onto the ornately papered walls, the dark carved moldings echoed in the carvings of the bed and the heavy furniture. Thick velvet curtains at the long windows deadened the sounds from the street below and the heavy Turkey carpet muffled the footsteps as one of the three men moved backwards out of the stiflingly close confines of the bed curtains.

“Where’s Jasper?” The querulous voice coming from the high-piled pillows at the head of the bed was a thin thread in the heat and the gloom. Immediately one of the two men still beside the bed hastened to his side. He wore the plain black clothes of a lawyer or man of business.

“Where indeed?” muttered the man who had moved away from the bed. He was tall and lean, the candlelight reflecting off a head of golden hair, drawn smoothly
back from a wide forehead and fastened at his nape with a black velvet ribbon.

“He’ll be here, Perry.” The speaker bore a striking resemblance to the golden-haired man. He stepped away from the bed to join him. “You know Jasper. He’s never in a hurry.”

“If he doesn’t get here soon he’ll be too late, and we’ll all be the sufferers,” Peregrine stated, his voice still low. “The old man won’t settle anything without Jasper, Sebastian, you know that as well as I do.”

Sebastian shrugged. “So be it,” he said, casting a quizzical glance at his twin brother. Physically they were alike, but temperamentally a world apart. Sebastian was troubled by little, regarding the vicissitudes of life with a cheerful insouciance. Peregrine took everything seriously, to the point of obsession on occasion as far as his twin was concerned.

“I don’t need the damn leech, Alton. I need my damned nephew, damn his eyes.” Irascibility lent strength to the voice from the bed and an outflung arm swept dismissal at the black-clad figure hovering at his head. The face on the pillows, framed in thin locks of white hair, had the yellowish cast of infirmity and age, the skin creased and brittle, the blue eyes pale and blurred with cataracts. But nothing diminished the sharp intelligence of their expression. The long, skeletal fingers of a blue-veined hand twitched restlessly over the ivory beads of a rosary.

“I’m glad to hear you in such fine fettle, sir.” A new
voice, smooth and mellow with a hint of slightly caustic humor in its depths, spoke from the doorway. Sebastian and Peregrine swung around, looking towards the door. Jasper St. John Sullivan, fifth Earl of Blackwater, resplendent in a suit of deepest blue velvet, an amethyst glowing in the froth of Mechlin lace at his throat, came into the room, closing the door behind him.

“Sebastian . . . Perry . . .” He greeted his younger brothers with a cordial nod as he approached the bed, one gloved hand resting negligently on the hilt of the sword at his hip. “Ah, you’re here too, Alton.” He nodded at the black-clad man who had straightened at his arrival and was now fixing him with an anxious gaze. “I suppose the presence of my uncle’s lawyer means we are here to do business.”

“You know damn well why I summoned you, Jasper.” The invalid was sounding stronger by the minute, struggling up against his pillows. “Help me up.”

Jasper leaned over and propped the pillows against his uncle’s back. “That better, sir?”

“It’ll do . . . it’ll do,” the old man said, and then was convulsed in a violent coughing fit, pressing a thick white napkin against his mouth as his shoulders heaved. Finally the spasms ceased and he fell back against his pillows struggling to catch his breath. He looked at the faces around his bed. “So, the crows have come to the feast,” he declared.

“Hardly that, sir, since it was you who insisted upon our presence,” Jasper said amiably, tossing his bicorne
hat onto a nearby table. He was as dark as his brothers were fair. “I doubt any one of us would impose ourselves upon you had we not been obeying an apparently urgent summons.”

“You always were an insolent puppy,” the bedridden man declared, wiping his mouth again with the napkin. “Well, now you’re all here, let’s get on with it.” He drew the rosary up to his chest. “Tell ’em, Alton.”

The lawyer coughed discreetly into his fist and looked as if he would rather be anywhere other than where he was. His gaze darted from brother to brother and then finally came to rest on Jasper. “As you know, my lord, your uncle Viscount Bradley has recently returned to the bosom of the church.”

“A fact that lies between my uncle and his conscience,” the earl said with a touch of acerbity. “It hardly concerns my brothers and myself.”

“Ah, there you’re wrong, m’boy,” the viscount declared with a chuckle. His faded eyes had taken on a shimmer of amusement in which just a hint of malice could be detected. “It concerns all three of you most nearly.”

Jasper drew a japanned snuffbox from the deep pocket of his coat and flipped the lid, taking a delicate pinch. It was hot as Hades in the chamber, but much as he longed to fling a window wide onto the cool night air of early autumn he refrained. “Indeed, sir?” he said politely.

“Aye.” The old man’s smile was almost smug. “You
want my fortune, and you shall have it, three even shares, if you abide by my conditions. Tell ’em, Alton.”

The three brothers exchanged glances. Jasper leaned back against a carved bedpost, his arms folded. “You have our attention, Alton.”

The lawyer coughed again and took up a sheaf of documents from a table beside the bed. He began to declaim. “It is so stipulated in Lord Bradley’s will and testament that his entire fortune be divided equally among his three nephews, Jasper St. John Sullivan, fifth Earl of Blackwater, the Honorable Peregrine Sullivan, and the Honorable Sebastian Sullivan on condition that before Lord Bradley’s death they each have taken to wife a woman who is in need of salvation, and that by bestowing on that woman their name and fortune, they are the means of said woman’s conversion to the paths of righteousness.”

There was an instant’s stunned silence, then Peregrine demanded, “What in heaven’s name does that mean?
In need of salvation? Paths of righteousness?
” He turned in bewilderment to his older brother.

Jasper’s shoulders were shaking with silent laughter. “Sir, you have outdone yourself,” he stated, bowing with mock humility to the figure in the bed. “I expected something out of the ordinary, but never in my wildest dreams could I have come up with this.”

“Then, nephew, I shall eventually go to my Maker well satisfied,” the viscount declared, his fingers busy on his rosary, although his eyes still retained the gleam of
amusement. “You are a trio of reprobates and you shall see not a penny of my fortune until you have each taken to your hearts and reformed some poor lost soul. It is my fervent hope and prayer that in the process you will find your own reformation.”