Lord Holt Takes a Bride

by Vivienne Lorret

  Poised above her head, her arms started to ache. When would Asher return? She was beginning to wonder what tree bark might taste like.

  Across the road, she spotted two elegantly dressed women in ermine-trimmed pelisses and broad-brimmed hats adorned with mountains of ribbons. They were leaving the inn, chatting and laughing together beneath the shelter of actual umbrellas.

  The men she’d seen a few moments ago had gone off in a fine carriage. And surely, if the inn hosted clientele such as they, there was nothing to fear.

  With her decision made in a snap, she hurried out from under the trees and dashed across the road as fast as her slippers would carry her.

  “Pardon me,” she hailed, repeating herself until she drew their attention. Umbrellas tilted and hats turned inquiringly in her direction. “Do you happen to know when the next stagecoach will stop?”

  “Sadly, we don’t know a thing about the next stage,” the one in the lovely red pelisse said. Her gaze scrutinized Winnifred’s cobweb-covered meringue. “But I must say that your dress is simply divine. You must tell me the name of your modiste!”

  The one in the peacock blue agreed with an eager nod. “So elegant. Quality simply oozes from every stitch.”

  Even though she felt a bit worse for wear at the moment, Winnifred thanked them with a gracious smile. “I should much prefer to wear something dry instead. Though I shall persevere until the next coach arrives.”

  Inclining her head, she turned toward the inn, prepared to wait inside and see if she could find Asher or perhaps a sympathetic owner with a complimentary tea tray.

  The women rushed around to block her path, shielding her with their umbrellas. It was only then that she spied the peculiar silken kerchiefs they wore beneath their collars, like loosely tied cravats. Perhaps it was a country fashion Winnifred knew nothing about.

  “Surely you’re not traveling alone.”

  “No, I’m with . . .” Winnifred hesitated, not wishing to say anything that would embroil her in scandal. Then again, she was wearing a man’s greatcoat, so it seemed reasonable that she should mention something to explain it. “My driver, of course. Although he . . . stayed behind with the carriage.”

  The two women exchanged a look, then turned their attention back to Winnifred.

  “Your driver wouldn’t happen to be a man about”—the woman in red stretched out a hand just beyond reach of her hat’s brim and lifted it by varying degree—“this tall?”

  Well, since her hand wavered anywhere between an inch and a foot, Winnifred nodded.

  “And wearing a pair of muddy boots?” the woman in peacock blue asked.

  Again, Winnifred nodded.

  “With . . . um . . . breeches? And a dark coat?”

  A sense of dread washed over Winnifred, leaving her light-headed. “Actually, yes.”

  The women exchanged another look, then clucked their tongues with pity. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we just saw him leave in a carriage that was waiting along the road toward the back of the inn.”

  “I believe he was headed to London.”

  Asher Holt had abandoned her? Of all the underhanded, lowdown, despicable nerve! First he kidnapped her and then he just simply left her standing in the rain while he jaunted merrily back to London?

  What a fool she was. All that talk of kidnapping must have alarmed him enough to think she would call upon the authorities. As far as she was concerned, that man deserved to go to gaol, and with his driver!

  “Oh, dear. You’ve had quite the shock, haven’t you?” Red pelisse put her arm around Winnifred and began to walk toward their landau. “And we cannot possibly leave you here to suffer because of some dreadful man. No, you must come with us. We’ll take you anywhere you wish to go.”

  “After all,” peacock blue added, “a woman in need should always be able to depend upon the kindness of other women.”

  “Oh, and be sure to lift your hem a bit higher, dear. Wouldn’t want the mud to climb up on any of those pearls. They’re all real, aren’t they?”

  Winnifred absently nodded and stepped up into the carriage, following Red. “My mother prefers embellishments.”

  “What a coincidence,” peacock blue said as she closed the carriage door. “So do we.”

  Her lips curved in a peculiar smile that made Winnifred wonder if she’d neglected to catch a joke. But the instant her gaze fell on the point of the blade being brandished by the woman in red, she realized that she’d missed a good deal more.

  “Hand over the dress, Miss Pearls.”

  * * *

  What Asher discovered when he crossed the road did not ease his mind. The men standing by the stables were armed. And instead of cravats around their necks, the garments looked more like the kerchiefs worn by highwaymen.

  He kept to the side of the Spotted Hen to avoid notice and made his way to the back, where a narrow lane wove in an arc toward London. He was sure he’d find Portman waiting for him, or turning the horses around.

  Regrettably, he didn’t. What he saw was much worse.

  Asher stopped short, spotting the same henchmen from outside the jewelry shop, having a row inside their curricle.

  “What are you doing, idiot? Holt isn’t here,” Mr. Lum railed, trying to take the reins from his wiry cohort, whose long-limbed reach outspanned the barrel-chested man’s. “They could be all the way back to London by now. And Shettlemane won’t be none too happy with us for letting him slip through our fingers either. Especially now that he’s got that heiress.”

  Shettlemane? Asher felt a shock jolt through him. So his own father had sent Seabrooke’s henchmen after him? They must be working together. Honestly, he didn’t know why he was surprised by this news. His father would do anything to remain friends of those with money—even throw his own son to the wolves.

  “But how do you know Holt’s going back?” the younger man with the pockmarked face asked. “I’d wager he’s taking her all the way to Gretna Green. That’s what I’d do. Make sure I’ve got her fortune, right and proper.”

  “Proper.” Lum scoffed. “Jamey, you’d have nicked her maidenhead in the carriage, afeared she’d get away.”

  Sneering, Jamey puffed out his sunken chest. “Wouldn’t have needed to, would I? Everyone knows the bloke at the Spotted Hen will turn a blind eye to whatever might happen in the room upstairs. I’ve heard tale of all sorts of doings there.”

  “If that’s true, then Holt could have done the deed before taking her back to her rich father to demand a king’s ransom. Mark my words, Holt’s standing in Waldenfield’s study right this moment.”

  “You say London, but I still say Gretna Green.”

  Lum spat into his palm and held out his hand. “I’ll take that wager.”

  Asher felt a chill roll through him as he watched the curricle turn around toward London. Then he headed back to Winn.

  He wasn’t sure how he’d tell her, but there wasn’t any way they could go back now. Not with her father’s house being watched.

  The Marquess of Shettlemane would have dozens of men on the lookout for any sign of his return. More than likely, he’d tell half the ton about the kidnapping, thereby forcing a wedding between Winn and Asher. And then Shettlemane would have half of Waldenfield’s fortune spent before the ink was dry on the marriage license. Within a year, he’d be in over his head and the wheel of gambling, debt and manipulation would keep turning. For years and years to come.

  No, Asher thought. He refused to let that happen. This time he was going to do whatever it took to free himself of this constant burden once and for all.

  Both he and Winn would have to forge a careful plan to proceed, of course. He just hoped she wouldn’t prove to be too stubborn.

  Yet as he stepped across the road and through the line of trees, he realized her willfulness was the last thing he needed to worry about.

  Because she was gone.

  Chapter 9

  Asher was going out of his bloody mind. Hal
f an hour had come and gone since he’d begun his search, but it had been longer since they’d parted ways. And for the time being, Winn was his responsibility. So where the devil was she?

  He rubbed his fist against the unfamiliar tightness in his chest and knew he never should have left her alone.

  Wondering if she might have gone back the way they’d come, he retraced their steps, racing down the road like a wild dog. But she was nowhere in sight.

  Dimly, it occurred to him that one of those highwaymen he’d seen in the stable yard could have taken her . . . carried her into the room upstairs and . . .

  At once, he was plunged into panic. But the feeling wasn’t like being submerged in a frozen lake. It was like being bathed in volcanic fire. Boiling fury coursed through his veins as he sprinted back, ready to rage through the inn and tear the place apart.

  Yet as he neared the Spotted Hen once more, voices from inside a departing carriage caught his attention and he stopped in his tracks.

  “. . . pearls on her dress, too. We’ve never nicked anything so fancy from those posh coaches we’ve robbed.”

  A cackle of laughter cracked through the air. “And she made it too easy, the poor lamb. Believing us about having been left alone to fend for herself.”

  “We did her a service leaving her in the cooper’s shack instead of tossing her into the stables with the lads. And she didn’t even thank us.” They laughed again.

  As the carriage rolled away, Asher squinted off in the distance and spied a little sloped-roof shack that looked one breeze away from toppling down. He didn’t waste another moment.

  Out of breath, pulse hammering at his throat, blood rushing in his ears, he arrived at the door and shoved it wide, the bottom digging into dirt floor. “Winn?”

  He didn’t see anything at first, only the dark interior. And for an endless minute, there wasn’t any response. He didn’t know what other fate had befallen her.

  But then he heard a sniff, and a soft voice say, “Asher?”

  A wave of relief washed through him so powerful that he staggered from it and gripped the door for support. She may be a spoiled, pampered bit of baggage, but she was his spoiled, pampered bit of baggage.

  At least, for the time being. “Aye. It’s me, sweets.”

  “I . . . thought you’d left me.”

  “I wouldn’t do that to you,” he said, meaning every word as he peered toward the far corner, seeing only barrels and shadows. “Are you hurt?”

  She hesitated. “Only my pride and . . . well . . . my slippers have seen better days.”

  “That doesn’t matter. We’ll get you new slippers as soon as we’re far away from here. Come on, then. We need to get a good foot under us.”

  “I . . . I can’t.”

  “What do you mean? If your slippers are ruined, then I’ll carry you out of here. Hell, I’ll even let you wear my boots.”

  “That’s quite gallant,” she said without a drop of venom. “But I couldn’t leave you stocking-footed after they took your greatcoat.”

  Damn. He’d liked that coat. And that meant they wouldn’t have any protection from the rain. “Rotten luck, but we’ll make do without it.”

  “Well, you see . . . they took something else, too.”

  Asher waited for her to continue. He didn’t expect her to emerge from the shadows, her eyes downcast, hair disheveled, and her dress . . . gone. Otherwise he might have been able to school his reaction.

  As it was, all he could do was stare at the lush curves on display, barely concealed by her gusseted corset and snow-white petticoat. His hands tingled at the memory of those full, round hips and that nipped-in waist from when he’d tried to help her from the carriage. And seeing her with all the elegant frippery stripped away, she was a fantasy brought to life. The kind that entered a man’s mind on drowsy mornings with a good stretch and tug beneath piles of warm bedclothes. Then lingered in his thoughts all day, waiting to flood his mind again that night.

  Realizing his mouth was agape, he closed it with a snap and swallowed down the saliva pooling beneath his tongue. Thankfully, a sense of chivalry took over and he shrugged out of his coat as he walked to her.

  He never expected her to rush into his arms either. A full-body collision of curves.

  Yet when he felt her tremble, the frantic dread that had coursed through him moments ago returned tenfold. He couldn’t stop himself from cinching his arms around her. And he held her so tightly that he could feel the harried beat of her heart match the conflicted rhythm of his own.

  “I can’t believe I was so stupid,” she sobbed wetly, burying her face in his cravat. “I should never have trusted those women. I’d actually thought for a moment that members of my own sex—and strangers no less—would see me as more than a sack of money to be picked apart. Oh, I’m certain they had a grand laugh over the gullible debutante falling for their trick. And I said the day couldn’t get any worse.”

  “You’d best not say those words in the future . . . just to be safe.” He forced himself to speak with a teasing air as if they could now look back on it and laugh. As if the ordeal she suffered wasn’t his fault.

  But it was.

  Pressing his lips to the top of her head, he drew in her berry-sweet scent before he moved apart from her. He settled his coat over her shoulders and lifted her half-tumbled hair free of the collar.

  “Believe me, I won’t,” she said, her cheeks colored with embarrassment. Keeping her face averted, she lifted a shaky hand to wipe away the wet tracks.

  “There’s a handkerchief inside my coat pocket.”

  “Thank you,” she said, reaching for it and cleaning tears and smudges from her face. “You wouldn’t happen to have a dress in there, too, would you?”

  “Afraid not.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a grin, glad her wry humor was left unmarred by the episode.

  It could have been so much worse. And the more he thought about it, the more he had the impulse to take her in his arms again.

  Asher clenched his fists instead, a dark anger shuddering through him. He was tired of knowing that there were so many self-serving prigs in the world, who simply took whatever they wanted.

  And yet . . . hadn’t he done the same? Wasn’t he just as bad as all the others?

  “I managed to steal a button,” she said, breaking into his thoughts. Unfolding her bare hand—clearly, they’d taken her gloves as well—she revealed smears of dirt and a small tarnished disc lying in the center of her palm. “It’s all I have left of the dress I once hated, but now wish I had more than anything.”

  “Is that silver, by chance?”

  She looked up at him, eyes brightening with understanding. “Do you think we could hire a coach with this?”

  Leave it to an heiress to have no notion about the price of common services. To her a pearl necklace and a silver button were on equal footing. And Asher wondered how many people had taken advantage of her without her even knowing.

  The thought made him angry. Both at himself and the rest of the world.

  “A coachman would want at least a guinea, but that’s only if we’re going back to London.”

  She stared at him steadily. “But I’m not.”

  “No,” he said after a breath. “We’re going to your aunt’s.”

  “We? Do you mean to say that you’re taking me?”

  “I am.”

  Her eyes narrowed with skepticism. “This isn’t some plot to marry yourself an heiress, is it?”

  He shook his head. Unable to resist the urge, he reached out and tucked a lock of bedraggled hair behind her ear. He’d already made this decision when he’d overheard the henchmen plotting.

  Besides, Asher believed he’d still have time to make it back to London before the ship sailed, Wednesday next.

  “No, Winn. I wouldn’t do that to you. It’s my fault we’re in this predicament, and I’m not going to let you gad about the countryside by yourself.”

  She paused for a moment, scru
tinizing his countenance, her head tilted at an angle.

  “It’s on the tip of my tongue to refuse,” she said, “but even I’m not that obstinate. To tell you the truth, the thought of going alone is somewhat terrifying. As I was leaving the church, I’d imagined for an instant that either Jane or Ellie would be with me, sharing something of a grand adventure. It seems a foolish notion now.”

  He thought of his own plan to board a ship and sail off toward buried treasure. “I don’t think it does. And you’ll still have your grand adventure. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “You’re being awfully kind, considering the inconvenience my friends caused,” she said sheepishly. Then she cleared her throat. “Of course, my aunt will pay you whatever monies that were . . . misplaced.”

  Asher arched an ironical brow at her obstinate refusal to speak the word stolen. She shrugged, a half grin toying with her lips.

  “Then we have a bargain.” He held out his hand and, without hesitation, she slipped hers into his.

  A peculiar shock tunneled through him as they shook, flesh to flesh. The delicate warmth of her fingers sliding into his palm caused a visceral reaction that pooled heavily in his gut.

  Instantly, he wondered if this was all a mistake. Perhaps he needed to come up with another plan.

  Instead, his fingers tightened reflexively. So did hers. Then her eyes widened as if he wasn’t the only one who’d felt something.

  She hastily withdrew. Pressing the flat of her hand to her midriff, she cleared her throat, spots of scarlet dotting her cheeks. “And afterward, we’ll end our acquaintance without anyone the wiser.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said, surreptitiously curling his fingers toward his empty palm.

  He told himself that all he had to do was escort her to her destination. All he had to do was focus on his ultimate goal.

  It would be simple . . . as long as he didn’t allow anything else—like an inconvenient, passing attraction—to distract him.