A Rogue to Avoid (Matchmaking for Wallflowers Book 2)

by Bianca Blythe

  His mother likely had had doubts about his father.

  Sympathy exuded from everyone’s faces.

  Was he being jilted?

  “Perhaps she was not what the Lord has in plan for you,” the archbishop said.

  “Ridiculous,” Gerard said, but the word didn’t come as strong as he hoped it would. He was behaving with a nervousness befitting a man half his age. He recollected that time when Lady Cordelia had saved him from Oggleton. She’d used her feminine wiles, quickly moving to flirtatious. What else would she have done, had the situation called for it?

  “Well, well,” Miles said finally. “Guess she wasn’t the right one after all. Quite all right. I’m sure it happens often.”

  “Yes,” the archbishop said nodding with equal vigor. “I’ve heard of it happening before.”

  “Heard of it?” Gerard raised his eyebrows. The archbishop’s hoary hair and wrinkled face did not say young to him.

  “When did you join the church?”

  “When I was but a lad of twenty.”

  “And how long have you been doing weddings?”

  “Since then,” the archbishop answered.

  “It seems you are the exception,” his brother said with forced cheerfulness. “You tend to be. What with being a marquess and all. Dashed odd that she wouldn’t marry you, but so it goes.”

  Pain scythed through Gerard’s heart.

  He’d been a fool.

  He’d been a diversion for her.

  She was no different than any of the other members of the ton. Worse, even.

  She’d had a reputation for manipulating people. She’d been engaged to three people before him. He’d known about her past. Even when the other men were lining up to dance with her last season, he’d been wary of her, and everything she represented.

  Now when her ice queen reputation had expanded, now when everyone knew her for the manipulator she was, he’d still managed to succumb to her charms.

  Bile threatened to rise in his throat, and for a moment, he was glad he was sitting down. The others continued to look at him with pity.

  This must be what relief felt like. At least now he knew the truth about her. At least now he didn’t need to succumb further to her dubious charms. At least now he could try to rid himself of his memories of her.

  But he didn’t feel relieved.

  And yet—

  He shook his head. He wasn’t prepared to lose the love of his life with a simple, “So it goes.” He loved the lass. And he’d been so bloody sure she loved him too.

  Energy surged through him, throttling with the speed of a charging enemy. Gerard didn’t waiver. He pushed open the doors of the cathedral and didn’t falter when they slammed shut behind him. His fingers formed fists, and he pounded over the tilestones. The birds that had seemed charming, continued to tweet. The flowers seemed garish: the red and blue blossoms too bold.

  The cathedral towers loomed behind them, and cast a shadow over the square, taunting with his earlier belief that he might marry. That he might find the happiness his half-brother had, even though his own father had died of grief when the woman he’d married, whom he thought had loved him, had abandoned him, expressing shock that the marriage might be anything more than a cold contract.

  He exited the grounds of the cathedral and scowled at any of the clergy brave enough to venture to meet his eyes.

  Heat invaded the back of his neck with the vigor of a Napoleonic flank, and he gave into the temptation to avert his eyes. He tore at his cravat, at the elaborate knot, only ridiculous now. His shoes, borrowed from his brother, were too tight, and the glossy fabric of his attire seemed flamboyant in the midst of the drab clothes the townspeople wore.

  Horses pranced on the cobbled street, pulling carts and gigs, chaises and hacks.

  Footsteps pounded behind him.

  “I say!” His brother’s voice melded with the throng.

  Likely the onlookers weren’t all staring at him.

  Likely he didn’t look like a man abandoned on his wedding day. He tugged the shiny tailcoat his brother had given him, the size not quite covering his muscular figure.

  I must appear ridiculous.

  He swallowed hard and kicked against the wall that separated the cathedral grounds from the market town. Pain seared through him, but that didn’t eradicate the emotions that tumbled through him.

  His brother clasped his hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off.

  “She wasn’t the one you were meant to be with,” his brother continued, rolling off platitudes.

  Gerard jerked his head in something he hoped his brother would see as a nod. He should acquiesce with his brother’s beliefs. He knew that. Truly he did. Doing that was reasonable and logical.

  But what he felt had nothing to do with logic. It had everything to do with long carriage rides, and the scent of vanilla beside him. It had to do with laughing under the stars and galavanting through the countryside. It had to do for grasping for survival and realizing there was no one he would rather do that with than her.

  Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. And it wasn’t the fact that Cordelia hadn’t shown up at their wedding. It wasn’t that his heart was breaking.

  No.

  This was about Cordelia. She wasn’t at the wedding. She hadn’t told him.

  And that meant she was in trouble.

  The air was hot outside, prickling his neck and spine. He sprinted toward the gate, and his heart thudded. He wished he’d never let Cordelia out of his sight. He shouldn’t for a moment have doubted her, for she was everything to him.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Dear Lord.

  Her father was here, and Gerard was at the cathedral. They were supposed to be marrying today. He expected her at the cathedral now.

  Her father would likely scoop her up in his carriage and take her back to Hampshire where she would be ensconced for the rest of her life.

  Her father wouldn’t want her to marry the man he desired to murder.

  “I have to go,” she said to Miss Carmichael.

  She forced herself to run, and her locks spilled from their chignon and tumbled down her back. They swept over her brow, and she brushed her hair aside. Men certainly were equipped with more practical hairstyles. And they also wore breeches they need not worry about accidentally trampling upon. She swooped up her hem higher.

  She was sorry to abandon the Duke’s sister. She seemed sensible, and Cordelia was certain Miss Carmichael could find her way to the cathedral.

  There was only one person important to her. And that person was half a mile away, and she had a feeling that she’d taken some wrong turns. The cathedral towers might jut up for the whole town to see, but that fact was not very helpful when she could barely see the sky due to the close placement of the buildings.

  Footsteps sounded behind her.

  Quick footsteps.

  Very quick footsteps.

  “Lady Cordelia!” The voice that came did not sound brusque or deep or any of those qualities she associated with her father.

  Rather it was high-pitched with a slight nasal twang that made Cordelia’s shoulders ease in relief.

  “Thank goodness it’s you,” she said.

  “Who else would it be?” Miss Carmichael’s voice verged on the outraged. “Are you going to explain your sudden decision to go scampering about Canterbury’s tiniest alleys?”

  “I’m afraid people may have overstated the wonders of England,” Cordelia panted. “I think America must be a far safer region.”

  “I gathered that,” Miss Carmichael said.

  “I meant—who are we avoiding? Who’s in that carriage?”

  “You really don’t need to continue,” Cordelia said, her breath rough. “It could be dangerous.” She thought about Lord Templeton and shivered. “Excessively so.”

  Lord Rockport must be waiting at the cathedral now. And if her father had spotted her here, alone, he might decide to pay a visit to the cat
hedral. And if he did, it wouldn’t be for an architectural perusal.

  Goodness. Lord Rockport practically had a target on him. And now he was at the cathedral, a landmark everyone knew about, and had not the least idea that his life would be in danger.

  “If I recount this experience, perhaps my mother will permit me to stay in Salem.”

  “You don’t want to find a husband to marry here?” Cordelia turned another corner and allowed herself to dart a surprised look at Miss Carmichael.

  The woman’s running skills did seem quite impressive. She was barely sweating. “Because really, with her brother’s status, you could marry very well.”

  “Phooey,” Miss Carmichael said, and Cordelia grinned at her Americanism. “The problem with England is its location. And honestly, all the men here seem the most frightful dandies. You’ve managed to find the only reasonable one.”

  Cordelia smiled. “I’ve been so lucky. Oh, lord. I just hope we get there in time!”

  “He’s in danger then?” Miss Carmichael asked gently.

  “Not if I can help it,” Cordelia said.

  A figure stood before her, and she slowed.

  It was Oggleton.

  She’d been so intent on fleeing her parents, that she’d not thought that he might be there too. That he might have told her parents.

  Cordelia grabbed Miss Carmichael’s arms and marched in the opposite direction. She furthered her strides. Perhaps he hadn’t seen them. Perhaps it would be fine. Perhaps—

  “Hullo, Lady Cordelia.” Oggleton’s voice drawled a greeting, and she raised her chin.

  He was here. Right before her.

  The mourning veil was suddenly too thin, and she shifted her legs.

  “You know him?” Miss Carmichael asked.

  “Don’t talk to him,” Cordelia murmured under her breath.

  “I know it’s you,” Oggleton said slowly.

  “I don’t know who you’re speaking about,” Lady Cordelia said.

  He grabbed her veil and pulled it from her head.

  “Get away from me,” she said.

  “Now why would I do that?” Oggleton leered. “See, the thing is, I think you’re just perfect for something.”

  “Don’t touch me,” Cordelia said.

  “Oh, I ain’t gonna touch you,” Oggleton said. “I ain’t gonna get in trouble. I’m just gonna use you as bait!”

  Miss Carmichael’s eyes widened, and Cordelia’s heart tumbled downward. She shouldn’t have ventured into Canterbury. She’d endangered not only herself but someone else. Someone spirited and intelligent, even though she’d thought bad things about her when they’d first met.

  “Now,” Oggleton said calmly, and removed a pistol. “I know you know what this thing ‘ere is.” He nodded at Miss Carmichael. “Last time I saw her she was firing this ‘ere weapon at me.”

  “You weren’t hurt,” Cordelia said defensively.

  “Good thing too,” Oggleton said. “If I were hurt, it might be tricky for me to capture you. It might be tricky for me to tell you to follow me. And it would be tricky for me to catch the marquess.”

  “Excuse me,” Miss Carmichael called out. “You are not allowed to take her.”

  Oggleton frowned. “You brought a guard, Lady Cordelia?”

  “She brought a friend,” Miss Carmichael said outraged.

  Cordelia blinked at the word. And even though Oggleton was threatening her, even though that pistol might go off at any moment, the word still caused her heart to warm. She’d never had anyone call her a friend before.

  And perhaps that was just in the woman’s gregarious American nature, but something like happiness still surged through her.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Cordelia.

  Gerard needed to find her. He gazed around. Lanes jutted from the square, and he stared at the uneven rows of half-timbered medieval buildings.

  Ach, he didn’t know this town.

  And he certainly didn’t know how he was going to find the lass.

  His chest tightened, and heat from the sun prickled his neck. He would do anything for a nice comfortable Scottish drizzle now. No squinting into the sun necessary.

  “Wait!” Miles called out behind him, and he turned to see his brother running toward him. His hand was pointed before him. “That’s the driver. And the carriage! They’re here!”

  Relief surged through Gerard, and he exhaled. “Thank goodness.”

  “See,” Miles said, his demeanor once again jovial. “What did I tell you? Ladies are sometimes just late. Probably shopping. You should see how much my opera singers and actresses spend.”

  Gerard smiled. He’d once taken pride in his roguish adventures as well. “You’ll change!”

  “Some of us are firm in our convictions,” Miles called out, and Gerard laughed.

  The carriage halted, and Gerard rushed toward his bride. He swung open the door to see—

  Nobody.

  Nobody at all.

  Lady Cordelia wasn’t inside, nor was Alfriston’s sister.

  Footsteps shuffled behind him, and when he turned, the driver stood behind him. The man’s shoulders were sloped in a definite downward direction. “Beggin’ your pardon, my lord, but I was hoping they had made their own way to the cathedral. I—I don’t suppose the ladies are here?”

  “No.” Gerard knew it was polite to keep the outrage out of his tone, but he didn’t care if he was completely unsuccessful.

  “Well—” The driver’s face reddened, and he fixed his gaze on the cobblestones.

  “Are you telling me that my new bride, the love of her life, has been abandoned by her driver on her wedding day? You know, some women claim that this day is the happiest of their lives.”

  “Well, probably not what she’s going to say,” the driver said.

  Gerard’s eyes narrowed, and the man had the good grace to blush. He scratched the back of his head. “Begging your pardon, my lord. I—I did look for them. I swear I did. They entered a shop, and then just never actually exited.”

  “What’s this?” Miles joined them.

  “She’s gone,” Gerard said miserably. “They both are.”

  “I did go into the shop to ask, but the shopkeeper was no help. They’d decided to leave from the back.”

  Gerard closed his eyes.

  This was the worst thing that could possibly happen.

  “Perhaps she really did do a runner,” Miles said. “Sorry. But we can always drown your sorrows in one of these public houses.”

  “We are not going into a public house,” Gerard said.

  “What are you going to do?” Miles asked, his voice somber. “Wait for her?”

  Gerard grinned. “I’m going to rescue her.” He nodded to the driver. “My turn to drive.”

  The driver’s eyes widened, and Gerard clambered onto the driver’s seat.

  “I’m coming with you,” Miles called, and Gerard grinned.

  They squeezed into the perch of the seat, leaving the driver gazing at them in the street, and Gerard urged the horses forward.

  “It’s going to be fine,” his brother said reassuringly, but his brother didn’t know the trouble that Gerard had been in. Miles didn’t know that their mother had taken on absurd levels of debt from Cordelia’s father, and he didn’t know that Cordelia’s father had ordered Oggleton to kill him.

  Lord, if only he’d shared that. Maybe then Cordelia would have had more protection when she went shopping. The coach bounced up and down as it jostled over the cobbled streets. People looked surprised to see two such well-dressed men driving the coach.

  “Now please tell me what is happening,” Miles said sternly.

  “It’s better you don’t know,” Gerard said.

  “I have never seen you so distressed. I am your brother. What on earth is going on?”

  Gerard gritted his teeth. “The answer will not please you.”

  “Tell me,” Miles said.

  “Our mother took on a great dea
l of debt from Belmonte shortly before she died. And the debt was due last month, and I—” Gerard shifted his teeth. “Well, I’ve been struggling to pay it.”

  Miles frowned. “I wasn’t aware that our mother had done something like that.”

  Gerard smiled tightly. “You don’t know everything about her.”

  “I know more than you think,” Miles said. “Now what does Mother’s debt have to do with Lady Cordelia and her sudden tardiness?”

  “She never planned to elope with me,” Gerard said miserably. “She only intended to warn me that her father intended to have me . . . harmed. And now her father’s henchman, or perhaps her father himself, may have taken her. And it’s all my fault.”

  “You idiot,” his brother said. “You utter, utter idiot.”

  Gerard hung his shoulders. “I deserve that. I should have been able to pay. Perhaps if I had not insisted on keeping the servants on—”

  “Not that,” Miles exclaimed. “You should have told me. You should have told Marcus! We would have figured something out.”

  Gerard blinked. “But you were so close to Mother. I didn’t want to tarnish your memory of her.”

  “And you are our brother.”

  “Half-brother,” Gerard corrected.

  Miles’s eyes flared. “Brother. You are our brother, our older brother, don’t forget that.” Miles squeezed Gerard’s hand. “You do not keep secrets from us, no matter how much you want to protect us.”

  “Oh.”

  “I can’t believe that you sacrificed your chance for happiness in order to maintain a childish illusion that our mother was perfect.”

  “But—”

  “You are a wonderful big brother,” Marcus said. “And now you just need to stop being an idiotic one.”

  Gerard shifted his legs. “Perhaps I was foolish—”

  “That is an understatement,” Marcus muttered. He smiled and then slapped Gerard’s back. “But I forgive you.” He leaned closer to him. “And I think you’re wrong in thinking that Lady Cordelia does not want to be your wife.”