The Star-Crossed Bride (3 page)

She wondered briefly if Valentine's marriage had been as poor a match as her upcoming one. She still did not know the name of his wife, even though she had scoured the London papers without her mother's knowledge, looking for any news of Valentine and his bride. No, she had missed the announcement, since it had happened right after her father's death, when her mother had forbidden the paper to enter the house for three months. And she would not wish him a poor bride. He deserved a good wife. He was a good man, no matter what her parents thought.

Valentine would help her, she was sure. With new decision, she stripped the coverings from her bed and set about making a rope from her bedsheets. Something that was much harder than it had ever sounded when she read it in a novel. After a few false starts, she had created something sturdy and-hopefully-long enough to reach from her window to the ground below.

Quickly she packed a bundle of belongings and tossed them to the ground. So that her mother's maid, Letty or her own maid, Nancy would not sound the alarm should they check on her in the night, she replaced the covers on her bed, arranging the pillows to serve as her own sleeping shape. Carefully she settled her collection of porcelain dolls back on the left half of the bed.

The dolls, with their pretty painted faces, had kept her company since she was a child. If she could have fit them into her bag, she would have taken them with her for companionship as she traveled.

"Goodbye girls," she said softly patting the head of the nearest doll, Clarissa. Once at the window, she leaned out and looked down. It was quite a distance and the pit of her stomach twisted at the thought of falling. She looked at her locked door. There was no one in the house who would unlock it without her mother's permission. And she did not dare find herself forced to the altar, now that her mother knew she did not want to marry Lord Granbury. She did not know if she would have the courage to refuse.

She let out the rope, and squinted down to see where it reached. It didn't reach all the way to the ground, but was it ten feet too short? Five? Courage, she told herself, you have jumped farther than that climbing field gates.

Even with the locked door to remind her how awful her future was, she hesitated on the sill. If she fell . . . She'd just have to make certain that she did nothing so silly as fall. Holding her breath, Emily began to climb down. When she had reached the end of the makeshift rope, she dared a hasty peek down to see how far away the ground was. It seemed, at this point, to be much farther away than she had thought.

For a moment she hung there, her arms aching, her eyes closed against her damnably vivid imagination. Would the countess cry to see Emily's broken body upon the grass tomorrow? Would they assume she had tried to kill herself? She shivered at the thought of being buried in unhallowed ground.

Would it be better to climb back up? Could she climb back up?

Courage, she reminded herself, and released her grip on the bedsheet. She dropped farther than she expected. However, her landing was not on solid ground, but rather into a pair of strong and encompassing arms, which clasped her against a broad cloth-covered chest.

For a moment she thought she was caught and would find herself an unwilling bride before morning, and then her captor released her with a little push and a familiar voice whispered, "What are you doing, you reckless little fool?"

She turned and faced the man who had held her so tightly for but a moment, and then let her go free.

"Valentine. "

"Lady Emily" His face was familiar and strange all at once. She knew his features by heart, but three years had changed him. His once ready smile was tucked away and he had only a stern look for her.

Still, he was here, just when she had determined to go to him for help.

She could not seem to break her gaze from him. Or to speak. All she could think of for a moment was that her longing, her need, had conjured him from London to her side in a flash of witchcraft. He couldn't be real. But he was. With no thought to her resolution of minutes before to expect nothing, with no thought to his wife, she threw herself at him, arms tight around his neck, and kissed him full on the mouth.

* * * * *

Her lips were as soft and sweet as on the day they had parted. Valentine could not keep himself from wrapping his arms around her. Hard travel with sparse food and little rest had left him too exhausted to fight his need to hold her. His worry as she inched down the makeshift rope had drawn the tension to a tight point inside him, leaving him defenseless against the sensual assault she was making upon him.

But almost as soon as he began to return her kiss, he came to his senses and pushed her away. "We have no time for this, Emily. You must climb back up at once, before someone finds you missing and cries out an alarm."

She stepped away from him, a blush creeping up that he could see even in the moonlight. "How did you know I needed you?"

He shook his head, trying not to laugh at her expression of wonder. Emily had always been most enthralled when Miranda told one of her fairy tales. "I did not. I had news to give you. Urgent news."

"What news? Is Miranda hurt?" Her smile disappeared into a worried frown.

"No. Miranda and the duke are fine." He looked away realizing for the first time how bold he was, coming directly to her. "I have discovered some information in London that I thought you should know. The marquess of Granbury is…" No. Emily was an innocent. He could not tell her the man she planned to marry was a cold-blooded murderer; torturing and strangling female servants for sport.

"Lord Granbury has some unsavory business in his past which could do you harm should you marry him."

She smiled at him, as if he had complimented the color of her eyes. "And you have come all the way to Scotland to tell me so? I do not deserve a friend so loyal. Not after the way my family treated you."

He could not let her believe that. "I am responsible for your-" He glanced at the castle tower, the window with its makeshift rope trailing down. " — your imprisonment. It was my foolish attempt to elope with you that has put you in this predicament. I do not think you should count me a friend as much as a penitent soul who needs to make amends for the damage I have done you."

She blinked away tears and he fought the urge to comfort her. "And am I so innocent? You did not carry me away bound and unwilling, after all."

The memory her words conjured was a blow. Emily, smiling, chattering about the future, about their daughters, their sons. "I knew I was not good enough for you, Lady Emily." He remembered again why he was here whispering in the dark with her. "And, I am afraid, neither is Lord Granbury.”

As if she sensed that he had returned to business because he did not want to force an unwanted intimacy upon her, she straightened and said sharply "I have no intention of marrying him . . . that is why I must run away. I thought to seek you out, but fate has placed you here on my doorstep‚ — or windowsill as you will. You will help, will you not?"

He stared at her, trying desperately to absorb all that she was telling him. She'd had her own doubts about her future husband. She wanted to break the engagement. She had been running away . . . to him. Anger rose more swiftly than he could control. "Did our misfortune teach you nothing? You cannot run away, your reputation will be shattered."

He hardened his heart to the tears which started in her eyes at his sharpness, and to her whispered reply "My reputation is nothing compared to what will happen to me if my mother has her way and I marry that odious man."

"There is no need to run away. Simply refuse to marry. It is your right, after all."

"You don't know my mother if you can suggest that. Although I must confess I am surprised that she chose to lock me in my room tonight. I had not thought she would take my objections seriously until I broached the subject with Lord Granbury himself."

He thought of the countess as she had been only hours earlier. No doubt his own arrival, his own attempt to bring Lord Granbury's evil to the countess's attention had precipitated her concern for her daughter. "Then you must take the matter to your fiance. But running away is not your solution."

"Of course it is. Both my mother and my fiance are of like minds — and they are not reluctant to force others into doing what they believe best."

Valentine shifted nervously, only too aware of the night breeze and the danger they courted with every moment they remained here. He did not believe her mother intended a forced wedding tomorrow. No, she had simply taken the precaution of locking Emily in so that Valentine would have no opportunity to seek her out. However, were anyone to discover Emily out here with him, confirming all the countess's worst fears, the wedding might very well occur by dawn.

He examined her set face and remembered, belatedly, that she did possess a stubborn streak. How to convince her to stay? "Emily I must insist you return to your room immediately. The road is no place for a gently bred young woman."

Her lips pressed into a taut line and she moved a few steps away to pick up the bundle she had dropped to the ground before she climbed down herself. "With you or without you, I will quit this place tonight."

Stubborn or not, her bravery touched him and made him proud of her. But she was still as innocent as she had been when he first knew her. She did not understand what her life would be like were she to carry out her impulsive plan.

Not daring to touch her again, he grabbed hold of the bundle in her arms. "Climb back up to safety now and I will help you. I have already sent an urgent message to the duke. If anyone can change your mother's mind, it is the duke of Kerstone himself. I am certain that, between us, we can find some way to break your engagement that will not ruin you for polite society forever."

"You would do that for me?" Her surprise was obvious, and he realized how harsh he must have seemed to her after she had welcomed him so completely.

"I would do anything for you." As heat kindled in her eyes at his words, he realized belatedly how lover-like that sounded. "I meant nothing improper, I assure you." Her gaze turned from his. "I know how foolish I was and I know I owe you more than simple apologies."

She stood quietly, her eyes not leaving his face. He could not tell what was going on in her mind. Would she believe him? Would she kiss him again?

With a sigh, she dropped her bundle. She reached for the rope, but she was several feet short of grasping it. "I can't."

"Let me help you." He lifted her as high as he could, until she sat upon his shoulders, but still she could not reach.

"My fate is sealed." He could have sworn there was amusement in her voice as she slid down to the ground, warm against him in the chill of the night.

"You must help me run away, or I will be disgraced." He had thought himself a better man than to be tempted by such a prospect, and it took all his willpower to refuse. "Not until we try the kitchen door, my lady." He did not allow himself to show the slightest doubt — he had a feeling she would use it against him and they would both soon end up in ruins.

"Here." He took the bundle from the ground with one hand and her arm firmly in his other and marched her toward the back of the castle.

"If I do not run away tonight, I may be an unwilling bride tomorrow, don't you understand?" Her protests came in hurried whispers as he pulled her forward. "My mother is determined to see the match made." If it wasn't for the shadow-filled darkness he might have run, he was suddenly so certain he must return her to her room before disaster could befall them.

As he had suspected, the kitchen door was unlocked and guarded only by an exhausted and snoring scullery boy. However, the locked door to her bedchamber presented a unique problem. Fortunately, the countess ran an orderly household and the spare set of keys were soon located hanging upon the wall in their appointed place.

In less than fifteen minutes, Emily was once again safely in her room. She was not happy, although she had ceased her whispered protests and now simply stood at the window staring out into the darkness defiantly. He stopped, his hand upon the door latch as he realized that he might have to repeat this performance if he did not convince her to stay put.

"Emily."

She did not turn until he said her name a third time. "Have you not left? I thought you anxious to see me locked up once again." Her eyes were fierce with anger, but her lower lip trembled.

"I know it is difficult, but I promise, even if I cannot reach the duke in time, I will stop this marriage — without harming your reputation."

* * * * *

"How?" Emily wanted to believe him, even though he stood in the doorway so obviously eager to go, she knew all affection for her must have fled him long before he took a new wife.

"I don't know."

"I would prefer to hear at least a shadow of an idea, if you truly wish me to put my faith in you."

Her jab nettled him, she could see it in the heightened color of his cheeks.

Reluctantly, with a glance into the hallway, he closed the door and settled against it, as if he were afraid she would bolt if he left it unguarded. The truth was, she would stay here in this room, with him, as long as she could. Married or not, he still held the power to keep her by his side.

He sat nervously on the bed, but leaped up when she perched next to him. He looked so tense, so tired. She realized just how long a journey he had made in order to see to her welfare, and it warmed her heart. Her eyes settled on the cakes and posset that her mother had sent up.

"You must be hungry. Eat," she said, offering the plate to him. "Drink the posset if you wish, although it is altogether too sweet for my taste. Mother believes that if she feeds me enough of them they will sweeten me, but I'd rather toss them out the window than down my own throat."

He reached for the plate and cup, holding them almost as if they were a protective barrier between the two of them. "I have not eaten since morning, these will serve me well."

She smiled, watching him demolish the sweets to the last drop and crumb. Valentine was here with her, as she had always wished. just the two of them, as intimate as lovers. But they weren't lovers, and they never would be now.