The Stolen Bride

by Jo Beverley

  “Are you all right?” Randal asked. “I thought I saw you in the crowd.” He flashed a guarded look at Verderan and Sophie knew even he was suspicious about how she had got into such a state.

  “Verderan took care of me as you predicted,” she assured him. She tightened her hands on his, letting the knowledge that he was safe seep into her and drive out that terrible panic. For the first time Sophie wondered how she would cope with being a soldier’s wife. How could she endure seeing him ride off into battle?

  “You look upset all the same,” he said.

  “I was frightened for you,” she confessed.

  “For me? Why?”

  “I don’t know.” She looked up at him. “Do take care of yourself, Randal.”

  His lips twitched in a wry smile. “I thought you wanted a life of high adventure, minx.”

  Sophie swallowed her anxiety. Despite her fears, she must never tie him down to the safe paths. “Of course I do,” she lied firmly. “I won’t mind any danger as long as we’re together. What happened here?”

  “Fireworks in the cow byre,” he explained, “and this poor gentleman didn’t move quickly enough. He’s banged his head and cracked a few ribs. We’re just arranging to get him to his home.”

  Sophie became aware of yelps and howls from within the crude barn and looked a question at him. He grinned. “I suspect a pair of young hellions won’t sit for a week. Have you had enough rustic excitement, Sophie? I think it’s time we took our leave.”

  Verderan came over and gave her bonnet to Randal and again Randal looked at him thoughtfully. Sophie saw the coldly furious look the Dark Angel gave her and bit her lip. What could she say? If everyone was suspicious despite her assurance, it was because of his dubious reputation.

  8

  BECAUSE OF the heat, that evening the Stenby party ate on the west terrace of the Castle, joined by Randal and Verderan. Dusk was falling and lamps were set around to give extra light. There was potted shrimp and salad, grouse from Scotland and lamb from Wales, rabbits shot by Sir Marius, and a fine pike caught that morning by Frederick. For dessert there were custards and ices and the earl’s favorite damson pie.

  There were wines to drink, but in the heat the most popular refreshment was effervescent lemon.

  Sophie sat by Randal on her best behavior, planning her strategy. Tonight, one way or another, she was going to get him alone and push him a little further. She had set the stage by asking her brother’s secretary, Walter Carby, to arrange a treasure hunt for after supper. If Randal could arrange events to suit himself, so could she.

  It was hard to sit still with anticipation bubbling inside her more fiercely than the juice in her glass. It was almost impossible to eat. She tried hard, though, for Randal was sure to notice a poor appetite and be suspicious. It wasn’t as if she really doubted him, she thought, aware of every breath he took beside her, of the warmth of his body so close to hers.... It was that she had to be sure if she was to have any peace of mind.

  It was like waiting for an expected letter. It wasn’t enough to know it was coming—it had to be received. Lost in her plans she was quite oblivious to the others.

  Not so Beth who was aware of the tension between Lord Randal and Mr. Verderan all, no doubt, because of Sophie’s antics. For all that he hadn’t seemed to pay attention, Lord Randal had been tight as a strung bow during Sophie’s absence that afternoon with Mr. Verderan and her return so disheveled, no matter how reasonable the explanation, had hardly helped matters.

  After all the excitement was over, Beth had seen him and Verderan go apart. It hadn’t been a heated discussion—that was not the style of either man—but Beth had seen the one cold glance Verderan had shot at Sophie afterward. She wouldn’t have crossed the man now for a fortune.

  After the meal Sophie announced her entertainment. It was agreed to enthusiastically and she went off to check matters. Everyone else wandered about informally, waiting for the event to begin. Beth definitely wanted to avoid Lord Randal and Mr. Verderan, but Jane and her husband were having a tête-à-tête near the fish pond and Frederick Kyle had gone off to assist Sophie. Beth found herself with Sir Marius, aware this was entirely too much to her liking.

  Everyone had displayed their fairings on a table and they went off to admire the spoils. Sir Marius inspected the crocheted jacket Beth had won in a lottery when she had merely been attempting a charitable donation to the alms-houses.

  “It must have been Lord Randal’s Spanish coin,” she said, and at his query, she explained.

  “Fancy him giving up that piece,” he remarked. “But look at the rewards. You will look charmingly in it, dear lady.” Despite his attempts, his lips were twitching with amusement.

  “It was the top prize,” she reminded him, “and it is very fine work.”

  “Wonderful,” he agreed. “The way those ... er ... pink ruffles have been worked down the front ...”

  “Very clever,” she said firmly.

  “Perhaps you should put it on so we can judge the better,” he suggested blandly.

  Beth tightened her lips. “It would hardly go with the green of my gown,” she said.

  “Do you think not?” he queried. “But there is some green in it.”

  Beth gave in and chuckled. There was everything in it. The spencer was a coat of many colors with ruffles down the front and roses worked on top of the cuffs. It was dreadful.

  “I intend it as a gift for my sister-in-law,” she said firmly.

  “Lucky lady,” he said with a cough. “But if we are establishing a tradition of passing on our fairings, I think I will gift you with these,” he said and took up some handkerchiefs. They were fine Indian cotton exquisitely embroidered white on white and edged with tatted lace.

  “Sir Marius, I couldn’t possibly accept,” she protested. A gift of handkerchiefs was not outrageous, but it was his tone of voice that was sending warnings to her brain. “They are too beautiful,” she said firmly.

  “You mustn’t put your value so low,” he said teasingly. “Anyone worthy of that jacket ...”

  “But the jacket is for my sister-in-law,” said Beth sharply. He could surely have no interest in her and yet ... Did he think because she was a widow she was of lax morals?

  “A gift of handkerchiefs is hardly an assault on your virtue, Mrs. Hawley,” he retorted. “To imply otherwise is to insult me.”

  He was genuinely angry. “Oh, good heavens,” said Beth in distress, looking away. “I am making a fine botch of everything. There will scarcely be a person left willing to talk to me.”

  His large hand came over hers. “What have you been about, my dear?” he asked gently.

  They were virtually alone on the terrace now. Aware of that endearment and his hand warm on hers, Beth looked up at him doubtfully.

  He frowned. “I do wish you would stop looking at me as if I were an ogre, Mrs. Hawley.”

  “Aren’t you?” she asked and then could have bitten her tongue off. She leapt to her feet. “Oh, I never realized how unnatural we were at Carne Abbey. Never meeting strangers, certainly not gentlemen. I am full of admiration for Jane for surviving her Season. Here I am, plunged into Society and going from one catastrophe to another!”

  “Hardly that,” he said comfortably, drawing her back down beside him. “You did very well with Verderan, as it happens, but that was three-quarters luck. I wouldn’t try it again. Especially not now.”

  “He’s in one of his tempers, isn’t he?” she asked. After being largely silent throughout the meal, the Dark Angel had gone to stand alone on the far end of the terrace.

  “Not precisely,” Sir Marius said. “He hasn’t smashed anything yet.”

  Beth looked at the solitary figure with impatience. “A man his age should have more control.”

  “I didn’t say he didn’t want to smash something, dear lady. So who else have you offended? I suppose it must be Randal.”

  Beth nodded. “‘Fools rush in where angels fear to tread ...�
�” Then she looked down at Verderan and a laugh escaped. “That could almost be a very poor pun.”

  Sir Marius winced at the thought. “Let us change it to Shakespeare then. ‘The world is grown so bad that wrens make prey where eagles fear to perch.’ I think the birds fit well.”

  “A wren?” Beth queried, rather hurt.

  “A charming, gentle bird, said to bring leaves to cover those benighted in the forest. Yes, dear lady, I see you as a wren. You deserve some credit for trying to talk sense to Randal. It’s more than anyone else has been brave enough to do.”

  “He’s the son of a duke,” Beth said in despair, “and I ... Well, he said I was encroaching and it was all too terribly true.” She put her hands up to her flaming cheeks. “Why can I not learn to mind my own business?”

  He pulled her hands gently down. “You care,” he said simply. “If he gave you his doubloon it was probably for that very reason. Among the great there are all too few who really care, my dear. Don’t stop.”

  She looked up at him and something moved in the world, everything shifted and changed. Her senses became heightened and she could hear a cricket and a distant nightingale; could smell the musky evening perfumes from a nearby flower bed. “I’m going to get a crick in my neck,” she said helplessly.

  He laughed but she never found out what he would have said to that because Sophie bounced out onto the terrace. “We’re all ready!” she announced.

  “We’re to go in three teams,” said Sophie, “each with a list of things to collect.” She looked around at the scattered people—Beth and Marius up at one end of the terrace; Jane and David by the pond just beingjoined by Frederick; Randal near her by the door. “I think we’ve pretty well established our teams. Verderan, you had better come with Randal and me.”

  There was a heartbeat during which everyone seemed to hold their breath, but then the Dark Angel sauntered across to her. “Of course,” he said and took one of the lists. “Saltpeter?” he queried drily. “Do you really think you need extra explosive power?”

  There was a flush on Sophie’s cheeks when she came over to give Beth the list for her and Sir Marius. Her and Sir Marius! Beth realized and looked up at him.

  “We’re bound to win,” he said with a twinkle. “I can reach the high places while you do the low.”

  Beth surrendered to moon madness. She hadn’t felt like this for so many years. She wasn’t sure she’d ever felt like this before. With Arthur there had been none of this danger and excitement, the thrill of the forbidden. Nothing lasting could come of this but, goodness, it was fun. She resolutely put the unholy triad of Sophie, Randal, and Verderan out of her head. She and Sir Marius went off across the dusky garden to find a rose hip, the first item on their list.

  Jane looked away from Sophie and the two men and up at her husband. “Do you think ... ?”

  “I think they’re all old enough to cope,” he said firmly. “If it comes to pistols I’m willing to lock Verderan in the dungeons till after the wedding, but short of that they can manage for themselves. Let me see that list. A pinecone? At this time of year? Come on.”

  “Well?” said Sophie brightly to Verderan. “What’s first on the list?”

  “A switch,” he said.

  She grabbed the piece of paper. “What? That’s not ...” She looked at him and across to Randal who, damn him, looked amused.

  “I’d leave you to your own devices, young lady,” said Verderan with an edge on his voice like a blade, “which is doubtless what you want. But that would offend Randal’s virginal modesty. I give you his advice, though. Behave yourself.”

  The startling thing, thought Sophie, edging toward Randal simply for protection, was that Verderan might well beat her. He was in a rage, she saw, though he had himself well in hand. If she crossed him he doubtless would put her over his knee. And she hadn’t even had any such Machiavellian thoughts as his abandoning them; she’d just hoped his proximity would stir a little jealousy in her husband-to-be.

  “We,” said Verderan tightly, “have to find an earthworm and you, young lady, are going to carry it.” He set off toward the kitchen garden with his long fluid stride, leaving Sophie and Randal to follow.

  “Don’t involve Ver in this game,” said Randal softly but firmly as they walked behind. “He can’t afford the stakes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Rightly or wrongly, his reputation has him living on the edge of an abyss, Sophie. I honestly don’t know if he cares if he falls or not but I wouldn’t like to see him pushed.”

  “It’s you I’m pushing, Randal, not him,” said Sophie desperately.

  “I think you may have it in mind to use him as a prod. Don’t.”

  “Is that an order?” she demanded, realizing that with Verderan a few yards ahead in the tricky half-light this was as close to privacy as they’d had since that night in her bedroom.

  “If you like,” he said and put his arm around her waist, but only to hurry her after his friend.

  They easily found a worm, and Sophie carried it, though she insisted in putting it in a flowerpot full of earth so it wouldn’t die. Verderan was nonplussed by the need for a seashell until the local pair showed him a bank of earth full of them.

  “The scientists say this land was underwater once,” said Randal as he picked out a smooth, pink shell. “Next?”

  “A piece of orange thread,” said Verderan. “Your department, Sophie.” She led the way back to the house and up to the sewing room.

  Having found the room she shrugged. “I don’t know this place any better than you,” she said. “Let’s all search.”

  All they found, however, was red and yellow. Sophie was also searching for some way to capitalize on the situation she had created. She didn’t find that either. She had intended to flirt a little with Verderan but in his present mood she simply didn’t dare.

  Her best tactic doubtless would be to get rid of him somehow.

  “We had better try Mama’s embroidery box,” she said and led the way swiftly to the far wing. Could she try to divide the party? Send Verderan for something. She tried to remember the list that he was carrying.

  “Hold on,” called Verderan as they passed through the music room. “We need catgut too. Will there be any here? If we keep tearing around like this I, for one, will be worn to a shadow.”

  “That’s what you get for a life of dissipation,” said Sophie pertly and he laughed. It wasn’t a very warm laugh but it was better than nothing.

  She went to some cupboards and soon found the catgut. She wound it round her finger into a tight little coil. “Who gets to carry this?” she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she went over to Randal and slowly tucked it into his jacket pocket.

  She heard his breathing change. He looked at her in a way that sent a shiver down her spine and raised her hopes sky-high.

  It was going to work if she could only get rid of Verderan.

  “What else do we need?” she asked him.

  “A luster from a chandelier, for heaven’s sake. Are we supposed to wreck the thing?”

  “Of course not,” said Sophie, heading for the blue drawing room. “You’ve obviously never had the task of washing them. They are hooked on. You’ll see.”

  The chandelier, hanging up near the cloud-painted ceiling, had to be let down with pulleys to be in reach.

  “How much does that thing weigh?” Verderan asked dubiously.

  “I think four men let down the one at the Towers,” Randal remarked.

  This situation should do very well indeed, Sophie thought. “We need a couple of sturdy footmen,” she said and placed her worm pot carefully on a piecrust table. She turned to Verderan to give him directions. “The bell would bring Burbage, but if you were to go—”

  A sound alerted her and she spun around to see Randal already leaving on the errand.

  “Damn that man!” she cried as her hopes came crashing down.

  Sophie’s own temper snapped. It was so b
loody unreasonable. He was like a nervous spinster—and to abandon her to the tender mercies of the Dark Angel ... She forgot his earlier words of warning. The complacent fool deserved everything he got.

  Sophie flung herself into Verderan’s arms and said, “Kiss me!”

  He was turning from watching Randal and off balance, so they both went sprawling onto the carpet. He instinctively caught her and rolled to take the worst of the fall. Sophie found herself sprawled on top of him inches from two of the most furious eyes she had ever encountered.

  Even as she scrambled to get off him and escape, he surged fluidly to his feet, carrying her with him. She tried to run but his hand shackled her wrist and dragged her against him as if she were floss. He locked her to him and backed her up against a heavy table.

  Terrified, Sophie tried to kick and bite but he controlled, as he had said he could, with one arm, and grabbed her chin with the other hand.

  “Oh no, you spoiled bitch,” he snarled. “You will get what you wanted from the Dark Angel!”

  He hurt her. His fingers pinched as he forced her mouth open. Their teeth clashed achingly and he thrust his tongue deep and ground his body against hers. Then he stepped back and threw her away so she bruised her hip against a corner of the table. She felt raped.

  “Randal will kill you for this,” she whispered, rubbing at her tender mouth with the back of her hand.

  The disgust in his eyes shriveled her. She couldn’t face him. She couldn’t face Randal just yet. Aware of tears gathering and that she would not give him the pleasure of seeing her cry. Sophie turned and fled from the room....

  Verderan was lounging full length on the long sofa when Randal returned with the footmen.

  “Where’s Sophie?”

  “Having been left with the wrong man,” said Verderan smoothly, “she took umbrage and abandoned me.” He swung to his feet and picked up a pot from the floor. “Fortunately she left the worm, so I had suitable company.”