A Convenient Bride

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  Once the Bow Street Runners concluded their investigation, it would take some time to put the clues together. Clive’s crimes were spread over many years. Brenna suspected that George had been correct. Clive had killed the maid in Dover, when George was there, and Clara, here, to make it look as though George had done the murders. That way, he could keep George under his control.

  Much about Clive’s life, and his connection to George, would always remain a mystery.

  There’d been some worry that the caretaker, Mister Crane, had been done in by Clive, but he was found to have been visiting a certain widow two villages over and thus had missed the turmoil of the investigation.

  George was sent back to his family to be buried. At Brenna’s insistence, his death was determined to be accidental. Clive was arrested and sent to London for trial. With the gallery of witnesses against him, there would be no doubt of the outcome. He would be executed for his crimes.

  “There you are,” Richard said. Brenna looked up from the crib and placed a finger to her lips. James had been fussing, and it had taken almost an hour to get him to sleep.

  She led Richard into the sitting room. “Did you get Miriam settled?” It was determined that Miriam had been duped by Clive. When she became suspicious of his activities, he’d kidnapped and intended to kill her. Once she’d recovered her sensibilities, Richard, with her in agreement, decided she would best be suited for a pious life.

  “She is not certain she will become a nun but should find peace at Newbury Abbey,” Richard said. “She will work in the kitchen until her injuries fully heal.”

  “I wish her well.” Brenna slipped into his arms. “Have I told you today how much I love you?”

  “You have now,” Richard said. He looked deep into her eyes. “I love you as well. Who knew our marriage of convenience would turn into a love match?”

  Brenna ran her hand down his chest. “I knew.” She smiled and brushed her lips over his. “I am happy to have our lives settled. I look forward to returning to our quiet existence here, among the sheep.”

  Richard lowered his head and nuzzled her ear. “It will be quiet once I run off your family. They are a raucous lot.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” Brenna scolded, laughing softly. She reached back to remove his hand from her right buttock. “You will have to wait until later to slake your needs. I am expected downstairs to ride with Mother, Laura, and Noelle into the village.”

  He grumbled against her neck. “We’ve had very little time alone over the last few days. Everywhere I turn, I trip over a Harrington. How can I seduce my wife when she tends to everyone’s needs but my own?”

  Brenna eased out of his grip and gently slapped away his exploring hands. “Then you must get creative, love. I am positive there are dark corners somewhere in this manor for private romantic trysts with your wife.”

  She flounced away, leaving the challenge lingering in his mind. She wanted seduction, too. However, between James and her family, she usually dropped exhausted into bed at night.

  Romance had fallen aside, in favor of sleep.

  Brenna was on the stoop, awaiting the other women, when she heard the sound of pounding hoofbeats coming around the house. On the back of a chestnut gelding, bedecked in a dusty coat and carrying a pair of pistols in his waistband, Richard tore up the drive, scattering dust as he came, and drew the horse to a skittering stop before her.

  She gasped and waved away a cloud of dust, her heart skipping a beat. He looked exactly the way he’d looked when they’d met: handsome and dangerous.

  “What is the meaning of this?” she asked.

  “Some months ago, a highwayman was propositioned by a tart-tongued chit with green eyes, who asked him to compromise her.” He sent Brenna a salacious grin. “I think it long past the time when he should take her up on her offer.”

  Brenna’s lips parted, and her eyes danced. The women could find their way around the village without her today. She stepped forward, taking his outstretched hand. “Certainly you do not intend to take me here, in the mud, Milord highwayman.”

  “I do not.” He swung her up behind him. “I know a much better place for a compromise than a muddy drive.”

  With carefree laughter and a heart full of love for her dashing highwayman, Brenna clung to Richard’s coat as he spun the horse around and kneed him in the direction of the dower house.

  And Brenna’s very thorough compromising.

  Read on for a special preview of

  the next School for Brides romance

  The Wife He Always Wanted

  Coming soon from Berkley Sensation!

  Sarah squelched the scream racing up the back of her throat. The man standing before her was unshaven, dressed in some sort of fringed garment, and was so dusty that he looked as if bathing was an unknown concept. However, what truly made her knees knock and her body tremble was the fact that he loomed over her like some mythical beast.

  The man could easily crush her with just his two hands.

  She instinctively knew to show no fear. Alone in the cottage, with neighbors too distant to summon for help, she’d be vulnerable should he attempt something nefarious. So, as calmly as she could manage, she reached toward the hook beside the door where her hat hung and fingered the item until she found the hatpin. Then very carefully, so as not to give away her intention, she clasped the pin between her thumb and forefinger. She was about to slide the weapon free when he spoke.

  “You are Sarah Louise Palmer?” he asked, the harsh timbre of his voice giving her no ease. When she did not, or rather could not answer, he stared. “Albert did not tell me you were mute.”

  Albert? Her lips parted and what came out was a breathless gasp. Knowing that she’d just all but confirmed his assessment that she was mute, she shook her head to clear her mind and regain some control of herself.

  “How do you know my brother?” she asked, and slowly let loose the hatpin. She could not imagine any circles in which Albert and this man would ever converge.

  He pulled off his rumpled hat and ran a hand through his abused brown locks. “We are, or were, friends.” He drew in his breath and twisted the hat. “It is sad tidings I bring you, Miss Palmer. Your brother is dead.”

  Sarah frowned. “You are a bit late with the news, sir.” She tried to imagine her brother friendly with this unkempt savage. The idea was absurd. “I have known of his death for over a year.”

  “How? I came here straightaway.”

  “By way of the moon?” she asked, sharper than she’d intended. The pain of her brother’s death was still fresh, despite the passage of many months. “He has been dead since a year ago last January.” She scanned his bearded face. “I thank you for coming to tell me this, and do not mean to be rude, sir, but I have a pot of stew on the stove and I fear it may be burning.”

  She intended to close the door, but a scuffed boot stopped it in mid swing.

  “Your stew will have to wait,” he said, and placed a flat hand on the panel. With a firm push, he slowly eased the door wide open.

  Heart thudding, Sarah stepped back and darted a quick glance at the hatpin. It was still within reach on the hook by the door. Thankfully, the man remained on the stoop.

  “There is more for us to discuss than Albert’s death. You see, as he lay dying, he made me promise to take care of you. That is a vow I intend to keep.”

  Sarah stared. “My brother has been away for ten years, with only a few letters to assure me he was alive. Now he decides on his death bed that he should show me some brotherly concern?” Her sadness dissipated and a fire burned in her chest. She’d loved her brother dearly, but he had not been the best caretaker for her. “I release you from your vow, Mister—?”

  “Harrington. Gabriel Harrington.”

  “Mister Harrington.” She stepped fully into the opening lest he see how shabby her living conditions were. After her aunt died two years ago and her tiny pension was cut off, Sarah’s funds had dwindled to an alarming degree
. She was within weeks of being penniless. Still, her pride would not allow her to accept help from a stranger. “I am quite capable of seeing to my own needs.”

  “As I can see,” he said, peering over her head.

  Sarah’s spine straightened and her neck prickled. “I do not care if you and Albert were as close as brothers, I do not need your help. Please go.”

  He grumbled under his breath and his face became a blank mask, as if he was pondering his next argument. Then he said, “I am more than Albert’s friend.” He sighed deeply. “I am your fiancé.”

  Gabriel watched her pretty mouth pop open. As quickly as he’d spoken the lie, he wished he could take it back. Guilt raced through his bones. He had promised to care for the chit. He had not promised to marry her.

  Find her a vicar or farmer to marry and care for her, Gabe, Albert had said. Keep her safe from rogues like us. She deserves a far better life than what I have provided.

  A second wave of guilt followed. Albert had been correct. Gabe was a woman-loving, adventure-seeking, irresponsible rogue; he didn’t have the stability to care for a wife. He was wrong to offer to marry Sarah. Albert would never allow the wedding if he were alive.

  Hell, if the chit had not been so eager to see him gone, he’d have asked her to come with him to London and left her in the care of his mother. However, the girl was stubbornly refusing his assistance, even as she clearly teetered on the edge of desperation. Now he’d all but proposed to her on impulse, and honor would not let him take it back.

  “We are betrothed?” Her face went white. He reached to take her arm, fearful she’d faint at his feet, but she brushed him away and whispered, “I cannot believe Albert would marry me off to a barbarian.” She turned and wobbled toward the nearest chair, dropping down onto the frayed surface.

  Taken aback by her insult, Gabe stepped into the cottage. The top of his head brushed the doorframe of the low door.

  “A barbarian?” He looked down. His buckskin was dirty, streaked with salt and dust and who-knew-what from his trip from America. He’d intended to change to suitable clothing after he boarded the London-bound ship from New York, but his trunk had disappeared somewhere between the wharf and the Lady Hope. By the time he noticed it missing, they had left port.

  This left him in buckskin, a second shirt from his pack, and the kindness of his fellow traveler Mrs. Johnson, and her lye washing soap to keep him from smelling most foul.

  No wonder Sarah thought him barbaric. He did look rather fierce.

  Chuckling softly, he examined her from her faded gray dress up to her stricken face. She was not unpleasant to look at—somewhat pretty really, albeit too thin for his consideration and dressed in the severe manner of a spinster, though she was not old enough yet to wear that title. Still, he could do worse in a wife. And since it was too late to withdraw the lie and the damage was done, he silently vowed to make her a respectable husband. Sarah, and Albert, deserved nothing less.

  “I assure you, Miss Palmer, I do not usually look so barbaric.” His attempt to reassure her did not stop her lower lip from trembling. “I do own a razor. Or I used to. I will shave as soon as we reach London.”

  The effort to calm her worries failed. Sarah lifted her sad eyes to his. There was hopelessness in the violet depths. She’d lost the flicker of spirit he’d first glimpsed when she’d tried to run him off.

  Truthfully, he couldn’t fault her dismay, or her tears. She’d been born and gently raised to a quiet life in this small village. And according to Albert, she had never traveled far outside its boundaries once she’d been secreted away here as a girl, thus limiting her experiences with strangers. He knew he must appear to her like the savage he’d been for the last three years he’d spent in the American West.

  “Come, Miss Palmer. With a shave and some decent clothing, some women find me quiet pleasing to look at.”

  The attempt to lighten the moment gained him no quarter. Her shoulders slumped forward. He tried again. “Would it help if I told you that my father is an earl and my family is well respected throughout England?” She remained as she was. “That we have more money than the Prince Regent?”

  That last seemed to rouse her a bit. She rubbed her eyes with her palms then lifted her gaze to peer around the dismal room. He could almost see the very last of her spirit flee.

  Even the poorest citizen would find the sparse accommodations somewhat lacking. He was certain she’d sold off whatever she could to survive, leaving only that which had no monetary worth behind.

  “I suppose I can do no worse,” she said after a long pause. She pushed from the chair. Then, without acknowledging him, she walked with a stiff gait from the room.