The Mischievous Bride (31 page)

Cleo jumped onto her lap and nestled in the crook of her arm. “You are my only friend who won’t tell me what to do.” She put her cheek to the cat’s soft fur and sighed. “Oh, Cleo, what am I to do?”

The cat meowed.

“I agree. Stephen doesn’t have the right to choose my husband. And Marcus? Who does he think he is, telling me I’m too young? I’ll show him, won’t I Cleo?”

The cat purred.

“That’s what I think too. He has chosen Miss Canton! The rat! Well, I have chosen Lord Knightengale . . .”

The cat looked up at her with glittering green eyes.

“What? You don’t like my plan?” She sighed. “I agree. It’s a horrible idea. I could never go through with it. Lizzie would be so worried. It was a stupid, stupid scheme. Marcus would never come running after me. And Knightengale . . . well, it isn’t fair to him at all.”

She sniffed, burying her face against her cat’s soft fur. “Oh, Cleo, what was I thinking? I’m so miserable. I know, I’ve been impulsive and stupid. And it was heartless of me to even send Lord Knightengale that note. What will he think of me?”

She set Cleo on the floor and walked toward the window. The moon was low in the horizon, giving off an eerie glow.

Her cat jumped on the sill, staring out the window.

Milli leaned her forehead against the cool glass. “I don’t know what to do, Cleo. Oh, how I wish you could talk.”

Her heart gave a sudden jolt when she caught sight of a shadow moving about the gardens. “Oh, Cleo, it can’t be. It’s too soon.”

Milli opened her window from the second floor and peeked outside. “Are you out there Lord Knightengale?” she whispered, shivering as the cold air whipped about the room.

“Over here, my love.” The man stepped out from under a tree, his huge form wrapped in a multi-caped coat.

My love? Oh, dear.

“Don’t think about it, sweetheart. Don’t be a coward now.”

“I am not a coward,” she said, tipping herself further out the window. And when had she turned into his sweetheart? He had only kissed her once. Or was it twice?

She thought she heard a string of curse words. Well, he was a man, was he not?

“How am I to get down there?” she asked innocently. “Someone will surely see me if I go through the house?” That should help. He wouldn’t want her to break her neck.

She would have to halt this crazy plan. What had she been thinking? And now, the poor man was in love with her!

Oh, she knew he was fond of her, and yes, he had offered for her, but love her? Had he mentioned that before? She couldn’t remember. Goodness gracious. Perhaps Papa had known what he was doing with Lizzie after all.

“I thought you had this all planned?” he asked, stepping beneath the window.

“I thought you would give me at least another hour to figure it out,” she whispered.

“I have the carriage. I just need you, my sweet.”

Milli looked at the sheets on her bed as a possible rope. She didn’t want to embarrass the man. And she couldn’t truly tell him anything from up here. He deserved better. But if any of the Clearbrook brothers discovered Knightengale outside, ready to elope with her, they might hang the poor man from the nearest tree.

She could tell him to come to the front door to speak with her, but looking at his determined face right now, he didn’t seem like he was going to be civil about this.

She was beginning to realize that love could be quite foolish at times. Indeed, she was the most foolish of all.

The man deserved at least a conversation face to face. What a silly plan. Marcus wasn’t going to come after her. He was going to marry Miss Canton.

And this elopement was truly quite insane. Seeing Knightengale in such a frenzy, made her realize that she had been selfish and immature.

Well, drat. She would have to come down and explain things to him. It was the only way to save him from being flogged by the men in the house if they caught him.

She fingered the curtains. If she swung them outside the windows and hung on to the ends, Lord Knightengale could catch her.

She told him her plan.

His mouth twisted into a frown. “I thought you had a rope or something. You could hurt yourself. Even break your neck.”

“I won’t break my neck.” At least she knew he cared.

She stared at Cleo and wondered if she could hold the cat as she hung. Cleo made her feel safe.

“Hurry up, Millicent. Someone may see us.”

“Are you afraid?” she said, smiling from the window. Perhaps he would leave and this would be like a bad dream.

“I am not afraid. I am merely trying to put some time between us and the Clearbrooks.”

The Clearbrooks! The thought of anyone catching them in the midst of an elopement made her shiver in dread. She would never hear the end of it. She needed to put a halt to this crazy plan of hers at once.

“I am thinking that perhaps we should not do this,” she called down to him.

A taut silence hung between them.

“If you do not come down, I am coming up,” he snapped.

She frowned. The man was insistent. “But if you would only listen, I—”

He grabbed the vines and started climbing. “I’m coming up to get you and won’t take no for an answer.”

“Well, for goodness sakes. You are going to break your neck. Don’t come up. I’ll come down.”

The man was almost as stubborn as she was. They would never agree on anything. It was a good thing she never meant to marry him. She swung her leg out the window and clasped one hand onto the curtain. It was a long way down.

“I’m here. Jump. I’ll catch you. Hurry.”

She let go and tumbled on top of the man, barely making him stagger.

He clutched her in his arms and smiled down at her. “You’re a feather, sweetheart.” He let her slip to the ground.

She took in a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. She could not believe she had just jumped out the window. Of all the stupid things she had done, this was the worst!

She looked into his beaming face and frowned. “We need to talk.”

“Not now. We have to move along.”

He grabbed her hand and yanked her away from the house, around the maze and toward his carriage.

“Lord Knightengale. Please, stop.”

He didn’t pay her any attention.

She dug her heels into the ground, but he continued to drag her past the evergreens and toward the lane in back. “I have something to say, and I must say it now.” Didn’t he realize she wasn’t even wearing a wrap?

Nothing.

She swallowed. The man was purposely not listening to her! She was made of better stuff than acting like some simpering female, trying to runaway.

And getting married, or even pretending to get married, to spite Marcus, was something a child would do. She was no longer a child, but a woman. And this was no play to be acted out. This was life.

“Lord Knightengale, please, listen to me!” She yanked at his hand, finally grabbing his attention.

He turned, his mouth taking on a hard edge. “What the devil is wrong now?”

She was a bit stunned by his language. “I don’t even know your first name.”

His face lightened. “Harold. My name is Harold, my sweet.”

He tugged on her hand, but she pulled back with all her might. He spun around, his expression angry. “Don’t dawdle. That’s my carriage. Ten more feet and we will be on our way. “

Her eyes fell into two slits of anger. “I am not dawdling. I have reconsidered. And am asking your forgiveness for being such a peagoose. Didn’t you notice? I don’t have a trunk or even a valise! Or even a wrap!”

“WHAT?” His face became a diabolical mask of rage.

This was not the face of the gentle man she knew. She wondered if dinner hadn’t agreed with him.

She lifted her chin and met his furious gaze with determined grays eyes. The wind was picking up and she was freezing. “I am sorry. But a woman has the right to change her mind, and I have changed my mind.”

“You do not want to go to Gretna Green?”

“No, I do not.”

What man would not be angry if a woman had teased him along like she had? Truly, she could not blame him at all.

“You want a wedding in the Abbey?”

“No.”

“Are you saying, you have no wish to marry me at all?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I am saying. Forgive me. I led you on. Marcus was right. I am a flirt.”

His eyes turned an ominous black. “Too bad, sweetheart. The moment you jumped out that window, you were mine.” Two powerful hands seized her waist and deposited her into the carriage as if she were a bag of wheat.

She sank on the seat with a plop. Shock rippled through her. Her hip hurt from his apelike attitude. He wasn’t listening to her at all.

She looked up, furious. The lantern from the carriage illuminated his huge form, making her shiver. But she had started this, and she would finish it. She would try another tactic. “I can see how you might feel slighted, and I cannot blame you at all.”

“Slighted? Hell’s teeth, woman, keep quiet.”

She stiffened. “How dare you—”

“Shut up!”

She blinked as he dove into the carriage and yelled for the driver to move.

“How dare you talk to me that way. I won’t have it! I won’t have you!” She rose to alert the driver to stop when Knightengale flung her back into the seat.

Her eyes widened at the violence of his actions.

“I don’t think you understand, Miss Millicent Shelby. You are going to marry me. You are going to be my wife, and we are going to Gretna Green, whether you want to or not.”

Something in his expression made her blood run cold. “I don’t understand.”

His laugh made her ill. “I admit you are a pretty little parcel. In fact...” His hard gaze wandered over her as if he owned her. “I do not believe I can wait until Gretna Green.”

She scooted into the corner. “D-don’t you touch me.”

But his large form hovered over her. His foul breath fanned her face. She winced. The man had been drinking. She could smell whiskey. That must be the reason why he was acting so horrible.

“I can touch you any time I want.” He snatched her and tossed her onto his lap. “And when you’re my wife—”

She slapped his cheek. The sound reverberated throughout the carriage followed by the clip clop of horses’ hooves that echoed against the horrible silence.

He swore and swung his arm upward, slapping her back. Her head snapped against the seat and exploded with pain.

“It won’t take much to break your pretty neck.”

Her stomach rolled. She closed her eyes as tears stung her lids. But anger soon replaced her discomfort as his hand trailed near her ankle.

“We have to understand each other,” he said softly. “When you are my wife, you will be my property. You will do anything I say. Anything.”

She opened her eyes and spat at him.

“You little brat!” He slapped her again.

She saw black and tasted blood. Her head drummed with pain.

“That was only a tap, sweetheart. If I wanted to hurt you, you would be out for days.”

She swallowed against the bile rising in her throat. A metallic taste filled her mouth. Her entire body ached. She scooted as far away from him as possible and curled up into a tiny ball. “I d-despise you.”

He released a wicked chuckle. “I suppose you do. But I think we will get along very nicely.”

“You did this for my money?”

“My, my, you do catch on fast, don’t you?”

Her eyes widened when a sudden thought occurred to her. “You . . . y-you killed my father. You were involved in some way, weren’t you?”

His jaw hardened. “I have no idea what you are talking about?”

She wanted to pummel him with her fists, but the man would certainly hit her again. “I thought you cared for me.”

“I do, Millicent. You are quite pretty. You have a nice figure.” His gaze traveled over her again. “Yes, you will do nicely as my wife.”

“Marcus will kill you!”

His dark laughter chilled her bones. “Ah, but I will kill him first.”

The notion that this man may have murdered her father kept repeating in her brain. “What about the man in London?”

His eyes narrowed. “What man?”

She bit her bleeding lip. “Nothing.”

He clamped a powerful hand about her neck. “I would hate to make any marks upon this pretty white skin, wife.”

She leaned toward the window. “I am not your wife.”

His hand squeezed. “What man in London?”

“The man who confessed to the crime,” she choked out.

“Crime?”

“Of murdering my father,” she said, pushing his hand away.

He swore, making a fist and hitting the seat beside her. “This changes things! I’ll have to make it look as if he did it by himself.”

“Who?”

He raised his brows and laughed at her. “My father, who else?”

“Your father killed my papa?”

“Since we will be man and wife, I suppose it doesn’t matter now. What you have will be mine.” He chuckled, skimming a finger over her cheek. “And what I have is yours, sweetheart.”

She wished she had told someone where she was going. She was stupid. She was a flirt. Marcus was right.

Defiance filled her as she glared back at him. “How do you know I won’t tell anyone about your wicked plot?”

His lips took on a dangerous line. “I have my ways.”

An icy shiver shot down her back. Knightengale seemed a bit insane. After he gained access to her money, would he kill her? But Marcus and his brothers would discover his ploy and go after him. Her mind reeled. A lot of good that would do! Because by the time they learned of her location, she would be dead. And even if they made it to Gretna Green, would a marriage even be legal without Stephen’s approval? She had taunted Marcus with the very idea. She felt sick.

Oh, what did it matter about legality or not? The man would probably throw her on a ship to America with him and ruin her.

Dear God, she prayed, leaning her head against the coolness of the carriage window. I know I’ve been selfish and immature, but please help me, God, please help me . . .

Chapter Twenty-Three

M
arcus strode into the Bath home and stared in the mirror, frowning as his black hair gleamed against the candlelight. The scent of lavender spiked his senses. He dropped his gaze and noticed a pair of lady’s gloves resting on the hall table. He picked them up, brought them to his nose and smiled. The little princess had forgotten them.