The Rogue Steals a Bride

by Amelia Grey

  Ignoring her sister’s complaining, Mae said to Sophia, “I should like to come with you and help pick out what to wear this afternoon, if you don’t mind.”

  Sophia smiled. “I’d love the help, and from you too, Aunt June, if you’d care to join us.”

  June lifted her chin defiantly. “Of course I’ll come. If you are going to this trumped-up outing, I want to make sure you are properly dressed.”

  Fourteen

  There is no instinct like that of the heart.

  —Lord Byron

  Matson stood on the bank of the Serpentine, watching the carriage pathway that led down to the man-made lake that was fed by the River Westbourne. A brisk wind carrying a late-afternoon chill whistled past his ears, but the waters of the lake had remained relatively calm. The solid wall of gray sky threatened rain, though so far not a single raindrop had fallen.

  He hadn’t paid any attention to the weather outside when he’d penned the hastily written note to Sophia this morning. Coming on the heels of his win off Lord Hargraves, the only thing that had been on Matson’s mind was that he wanted to see Sophia. This ruse was the best he could come up with to get her alone for a few minutes.

  He’d been elated when he’d received her response, saying that she would come. It was never easy getting past Double and Trouble.

  He didn’t carry a pocket watch, but he guessed Sophia was already about ten minutes late. Her aunts may have decided they wouldn’t chance the rain. He could hardly blame them. The dreary weather and chilling wind had already driven most of the people away from the park. A few hearty ones sat on blankets, enjoying their picnics, and there were at least three rowboats still on the water.

  Not far from the shore, Matson’s footman had spread a blanket and placed a basket in the middle of it. His cook had filled it with bread, cheese, and preserved apricots. Matson had added a tankard of hot chocolate with a little sherry added to it, as well as a flask of spiced tea. On either side of the basket he’d placed two low-back chairs. He wanted to make sure the Misses Shevington were comfortable and happy while he enjoyed Sophia’s company.

  The minutes ticked by. Matson looked down the lonely-looking pathway again. He was fast losing hope of Sophia arriving when, much to his relief, he saw a landau making its way down the stretch of lane toward the bank. He strode over to the carriage and greeted them as it stopped. He helped the Misses Shevington down first, and then reached for Sophia. Even through her gloves and his, he felt her warmth. Just touching her made him feel good inside.

  “Oh, my, it’s dreadfully windy out here.”

  “You shall be fine for an hour, Aunt June,” Sophia said. “You have on a heavy cloak with a hood, and you have your umbrella.”

  “Of course we will be fine,” Mae said. “Go enjoy yourself, Sophia, and don’t worry about us.”

  “Miss Shevington,” Matson said, looking at June, “I brought chairs for you and extra blankets and refreshments to help keep you warm while you wait.” He pointed to the blanket he’d spread out for them.

  “You did all that for us?” Mae asked.

  “The day hasn’t turned out as sunny as I had hoped. I wanted to make sure you would be as comfortable as possible.”

  “Thank you,” June said in a more conciliatory tone. “That was very thoughtful of you, Mr. Brentwood. All right, go, off with you. Sir Randolph’s footman will help you get Sophia in the boat.”

  “I’d like to do it alone, Miss Shevington, if you don’t mind,” Matson said. “No one will be allowed to help us on May Day Fair Day, so we need to do it on our own today as well.”

  “All right, he can help us get settled,” June said. “Now, the sooner you get started, the sooner you can get back and we can be on our way home.”

  “Yes, Miss Shevington,” Matson said.

  Matson and Sophia walked down to the water’s edge, where the rowboat sat half-in and half-out of the water.

  “You look very fetching today, Miss Hart.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Brentwood.”

  He studied her for a moment, looking her up and down. “But…”

  “But what?”

  “But I’d like to make some suggestions on how you should dress for the May Day Fair Day.”

  Sophia’s arched brows lifted. She looked down at the skirt of her muslin dress. Most of it was covered by her heavy black cloak, but the ruffled flounces with neatly tied bows on the hem showed where her cloak parted.

  She looked back at him. “All right, I’m listening,” she said.

  “First, since it’s still a couple of weeks away, we will hope for better weather than we have today, so we won’t have to wear our cloaks. Your dress should be as plain as possible, with no bows, ribbons, lace, or ruffles of any kind that might get caught on something. That would cost us time to stop and free it. Your dress needs to have a fuller skirt and be at least two inches shorter than the one you are wearing today, so when you’re walking or running you won’t have to worry about tripping over it.”

  She smiled at him. “Understood, and I’ll take care of it.” She started to turn toward the boat.

  “Wait. There’s more. No slip-on shoes like the ones you have on today. They could easily fall off if you are running and cause you to turn your ankle or worse. You need to wear low-heeled, lace-up boots. Probably something similar to what most maids wear.”

  Sophia smiled at him again. “All your suggestions sound reasonable, Mr. Brentwood. You are full of information today, aren’t you?”

  This wasn’t his first fair day.

  He shrugged. “That is what a practice run is for. And, I don’t want you to get hurt. Just consider them helpful ideas. And, I should add, I intend to be the winner of the rowboat race or any other races I compete in during the day.”

  “I like to win as well, Mr. Brentwood. Now, help me get in the boat.”

  “One other thing.”

  Her brow lifted. “So there’s more?”

  He humored her with a slight grin. “I’m thinking that most of the ladies will not want to help their partners row. We can go much faster if you do, but of course, it’s up to you.”

  “I want to row. I’m strong.”

  “Good. That’s what I thought, so I brought an oar for you and an extra should either of us lose one.” He paused. “I’m sure if it’s a bright, sunny day, your aunts will want you to wear a bonnet with a much wider brim than you are wearing today, but don’t go so wide it will impair your vision.”

  She gave him a knowing smile. “You are stuffed full of helpful hints today, Mr. Brentwood. Have you done this sort of thing before?”

  “I might have done something similar when I lived in America and won one or two rowboat races.” He smiled guiltily for a moment and then continued. “Lord Tradesforke might be calling this event the kind of alfresco entertainment people enjoyed in London’s parks many years ago, but we had something similar many summer Sundays in Baltimore. I’ve raced a few boats.”

  “Did you usually win, Mr. Brentwood?”

  He grinned. “Quite often. Now, the boat will be just like it is today. You will step in and immediately step over the first seat and go to the second, sit down, and pick up your oar. As soon as I see you seated, I’ll push the boat as far out into water as I can and then jump in. You place your oar in the water on your right side. That’s where we’ll start.”

  “Simple enough.”

  “I will help you get in today, because of your cloak and your shoes.” She lifted her hand to him.

  And because I’m aching to touch you.

  Matson took her warm, gloved hand in his and helped her board the boat. “Leather gloves will protect your hands better,” he said, but was glad she had on cotton gloves today.

  She did exactly as he told her: stepped over the first bench seat, sat on the one at the back of the boat, and then picked
up her oar.

  He pushed the boat away from the shore, jumped into the boat, settled himself on the first seat, and looked back at her. “Follow my lead as I move my oar from right to left.”

  Matson was surprised they had no trouble rowing away from the shore, and once they got underway, he glanced at her, smiled, and said, “That was very good, Miss Hart. You learn fast.”

  “This is not the first time I have been in a rowboat, Mr. Brentwood.”

  “What?” His brows drew together. “Then why did you let me ramble on with instructions?”

  She laughed softly. “Because I knew it would make you feel good to think you were teaching me something.”

  “Then perhaps my idea of practice wasn’t even necessary for us,” he said, setting a course for the center of the lake.

  “I think this was an excellent idea. I enjoy being on the water. Besides, this will help me build up my muscles. Though I’m sure I’ll be quite sore from this tomorrow.”

  He laughed. “I’m quite sure of that too. Now, let’s see how fast we can row, Miss Hart.”

  They had been rowing up and down the Serpentine for the better part of half an hour, stopping occasionally for a rest and a bit of conversation, when Matson noticed that the wind had kicked up considerably and the air felt heavy. The water that had been so tranquil when they started was now choppy, causing the boat to rock up and down. They should go in soon. He stopped a good distance from shore and the watchful eyes of her aunts. Matson pulled his oar out of the water and laid it in the bottom of the boat. He swung his feet around on the seat and faced Sophia.

  She looked delectable. Wispy strands of hair had escaped the confines of her bonnet. They curled and blew attractively around her face. Her cheeks and nose had a ruddy glow, and her lips were invitingly pink. Matson had a desperate urge to untie the bow of her cape and remove it from her shoulders. He wanted to look at her. He didn’t want to imagine the swell of her breasts beneath her dress; he wanted to see it. He wanted to peel off her bonnet and take the pins from her hair. He wanted to see it flowing down her shoulders.

  Matson swallowed hard and wondered if she knew just how attracted he was to her. It wasn’t just her luscious red hair or her lovely face. He was attracted to everything about her.

  “You are beautiful, Sophia.”

  “I don’t see how that can be. I feel quite windblown.” She laughed lightly. “Rowing is hard work, Mr. Brentwood, but I do feel quite invigorated.”

  Suddenly his chest constricted. Matson wasn’t fooling himself. She was Sir Randolph’s ward. She planned to marry a title. Those were two very good reasons why he needed to keep his hands off her. Spending time with her like this would have to be enough.

  “Is there a reason you are looking so intently at me, Mr. Brentwood?”

  Matson cleared his throat. “I was thinking you look chilled. We should head to shore.”

  “No, not yet, please,” she said, placing her oar in the boat at her feet. “My nose is cold from the wind. Otherwise I am fine. I’m having such a wonderful time, I don’t want to go yet. Can’t we sit here for a few more minutes?”

  Oh, yes.

  “All right,” he said, easily giving in to her. “A little longer.” He withdrew a flask from his pocket and pulled the stopper out. “This is brandy and will make you feel warm inside. Have you ever had it?”

  She wrinkled her forehead. “Of course,” she said, taking the silver container from him. “My father allowed me to taste it a long time ago.”

  Matson chuckled. “Are you sure about that? Did he give you your first taste, or did you take it upon yourself to sneak a sip when he wasn’t looking?”

  “I believe you have gotten to know me too well in the short time we’ve known each other. I did have a sip once without his permission.”

  “I thought as much.”

  “My reason for doing so was natural curiosity as to what it was that gave Papa, Sir Randolph, and his other gentlemen friends such pleasure that they had to withdraw into the book room after dinner to drink it.” She laughed softly, and Matson could see a faraway look settle in her eyes. “You know, I never told my father I had tasted his brandy.”

  “I don’t think you had to. He probably knew.”

  She quirked her head slightly to the side and asked, “Do you really think so?”

  He nodded. “He knew you were an inquisitive child and eager to learn. And I bet you got more adventurous as you got older, didn’t you?”

  She looked down at the flask in her hand. “Yes. He would not have been upset if I’d told him.” She inhaled a deep breath and then took a drink from the flask. “Whew! Oh, my. That burns all the way down, doesn’t it?”

  Matson laughed. “Especially when you take a big swallow as you just did. Fine brandy is to be sipped like this.” He took the flask from her and took a small drink, letting the liquor sting his tongue before sliding down his throat.

  “All right,” she said. “Let me see if I can do this right.” She took the flask and sipped. “Mmm. Much better.” She sipped again.

  “Perhaps that is enough, Sophia. I don’t want the Misses Shevington thinking I plied you with brandy and then had my way with you.”

  “Aunt June will probably assume that anyway. Look, she’s standing on the shore, waving to us.” Miss Hart waved back and then took another small drink of the brandy.

  Matson twisted around and saw Sophia’s aunts on the shore. Something wasn’t right. They weren’t just waving. “It looks like they are motioning for us to come in,” he said.

  “I suppose they think we have stayed beyond our allotted time.”

  “And we have,” Matson said, knowing he didn’t want the afternoon to end, but if he was to have any hope that Double and Trouble would let them come out again, he needed to get her to shore. He reached for the flask and popped the cork back into it. “We should head back, or they might not let us practice again.”

  “We certainly don’t want that,” Sophia said.

  He looked at the shore again and realized that Miss June Shevington was frantic to the point of jumping up and down. She was definitely trying to get their attention. He turned and looked behind him at the opposite shore. It wasn’t there. A thick wall of misty fog had completely covered everything in its way and was moving rapidly over the Long Water section of the Serpentine and straight toward them. They were about to be engulfed by the fog.

  Matson dropped the flask onto the floor of the boat and said, “Put your oar in the water and row. We have to hurry.” He swung his feet over the seat. He picked up his oar and said, “Row fast, Sophia, or the fog is going to overtake us.”

  He started slicing the oar through the water as hard and fast as he could, but within moments of starting, the eerie fog had caught them and silently washed over them, covering them with a heavy gray mist. Matson lost sight of the shore and the Misses Shevington within seconds.

  He stopped rowing and pulled his oar out of the water and told Sophia to pull hers out as well.

  He should have been more diligent. He knew the wind had kicked up, but he’d never seen fog roll in so fast. He turned and looked all around him. There was no marker, no light of any kind to guide them safely to the shore. He tried to remember where the other three boats were in connection to them, and he didn’t even remember how long ago it was that he saw them. He thought they were still on the water but wasn’t sure. He hadn’t paid much attention to their position. Had both gone in? Could he risk continuing to row when his visibility was diminished to the point he couldn’t see a blasted thing?

  “Damnation!” he whispered under his breath.

  “Where did you go, Mr. Brentwood? I can’t see you.”

  “I’m still here, Miss Hart. I have not jumped in the water and left you.” Matson looked back toward Sophia. He couldn’t see her either.

  Matson laid th
e oar on the bottom of the boat. It was foolhardy to keep rowing when he had no idea which direction he was going.

  “We have to stop and drift until the fog lifts or until someone on shore lights a lantern to show which way to go. I didn’t mean to strand you out here in the middle of the Serpentine. No wonder Miss Shevington was so frantic. She must have seen the fog sweeping across the water. I’m sure your aunts are not happy about this.”

  He wasn’t happy either. “They are probably swimming their way toward us right now,” he said. “Once at the harbor in Baltimore I saw the fog this thick, but I don’t remember that it came in so fast.”

  There was silence.

  “Are you all right, Sophia?”

  He heard nothing but the wind whipping around his ears and water sloshing against the boat. She hadn’t spoken since she said she couldn’t see him.

  Matson’s skin prickled. “Sophia.”

  He turned around in the seat but saw nothing but gray at the other end of the boat. “Sophia,” he said again, his chest tightening in alarm. “I really need you to answer me right now.”

  Fifteen

  What will not woman, gentle woman dare; when strong affection stirs her spirit up.

  —Robert Southey

  “Sophia.” Matson said her name louder and with more urgency than before.

  He heard movement, and the boat started rocking, dipping precariously from side to side. “Sophia, what are you doing? Don’t stand up.”

  “I can’t see you. Where are you?” she asked softly.

  Thank God she’d finally answered him. For a moment he feared she might have somehow slipped soundlessly into the water. Suddenly the boat tilted dangerously again.

  “No, Sophia, don’t move. You’re not standing up, are you? Sit down. You’ll tip us over.”

  Matson knew if she fell into the water wearing that heavy cloak it would drag her to the bottom of the river.

  “Do you smell smoke? I can’t find you.”

  Smoke?

  “No. Stay where you are.” Matson didn’t even smell fish or the sea. He certainly didn’t smell smoke. He quickly swung his feet over his seat and said, “I’ll come to you.”