From London with Love

by Diana Quincy

  He mounted, ready to pull away, when he heard someone call out to him. Sophie came rushing out of the house. “They’re keeping to the side roads on the way to Gretna.”

  He’d assumed as much. “What do you know about this?”

  “When I saw Worsely’s carriage pulling away with Miss Emilia inside, I sent the young groom to follow them. He has instructions to slow them down.”

  “Worsely kidnapped Emilia. He’ll think nothing of hurting a groom who tries to stand in his way.”

  “The boy knows how to keep himself hidden. Worsley might find himself slowed by a broken wheel once they stop to take refreshment or to change the horses.”

  He smiled when the meaning of her words sank in. The groom intended to disable the carriage whenever Worsely and whatever men he had with him were occupied. That would buy Sparrow an extra two hours at least to try to catch up to them. “Sophie, you never disappoint.”

  “No, I don’t,” she said matter-of-factly with a sparkle in her eye. As he pulled away, she called after him. “Also, there might be a problem with one of the horse’s bridles.”

  —

  Emilia forced her eyes open. They felt terribly heavy. In fact, it seemed as if someone had weighted her entire body down with bags full of rocks. It took all of her effort just to drag her hand up to rub her eyes. Her mouth felt like sandpaper and her head was pounding.

  When she finally managed to focus, she registered Edmund sitting across from her reading a newspaper. They were in a coach she didn’t immediately recognize. When the conveyance hit a bump, pain sliced through her head.

  “Ouch.” She endeavored to recall where they were going. “Why is this infernal ride so bumpy?”

  Edmund looked up. “You’re awake.” He folded the newspaper and set it down beside him. “Are you thirsty?”

  She licked her parched lips. “Yes.”

  He moved to set next to her and held a bottle up to her lips. “Here you go.”

  “What is it?” She sipped from the bottle. Lemonade. Somewhere in the back of her mind, something about drinking the tart liquid triggered an alarm.

  “Just a little more.” He encouraged her to keep drinking. “There’s a good girl.”

  Then she remembered. He’d put something in the lemonade. He had pretended to accept her decision when she’d told him the wedding was off, but now they were here in a strange carriage going…where? Alarm filtered through her. “Where are we?”

  “On the road to Gretna Green. Before long, you will be Mrs. Edmund Worsely.”

  “No.” Even as she croaked the word out, she felt herself falling back into a deep sleep. “The lemonade.”

  He shifted back to the seat across from her and picked up his newspaper. “Just a little something to help you sleep so you’ll be ready and refreshed for our wedding day.”

  —

  The next time she woke it was dark. This time, she remembered not to drink the lemonade.

  “Suit yourself,” he said easily when she refused the libation. “We’re almost there anyway. I can’t have my bride asleep on her feet.”

  “What time is it?” Her voice sounded creaky from lack of use.

  “Seven o’clock.”

  Her mind was still in a fog, but she did remember that he’d come to see her at around two o’clock Monday afternoon—five hours ago. “My parents will wonder where we are.”

  “They no doubt began worrying yesterday.”

  She didn’t understand what he meant. “Why?”

  “Because you have been gone overnight. You see, my dear, you’re already quite ruined. They’ll be pleased to know I intend to make an honorable woman out of you as soon as we get to Gretna Green.”

  She realized she was slouched on the carriage seat and straightened up. Maybe the change in position would help her think more clearly. “It’s Tuesday?”

  He didn’t look up from the open newspaper in his lap. “Indeed.”

  “I’m not going to marry you.” She tried to utter the words as firmly as she could, hoping he would not notice the shakiness in her voice.

  “You will. That reprobate Vale has turned your head. That’s all. Once we’re wed, you’ll see it’s for the best.”

  She studied him. “You cannot truly believe that. Abducting me and carrying me away to Gretna Green is no way to begin a marriage.”

  “You cannot return home unwed. You’ll be ruined. No one in decent society will ever accept you again.”

  She took several deep breaths in hopes the increased oxygen would help clear her brain. She contemplated her choices. “So it’s either I marry you, even though you’ve proven yourself to be an unscrupulous blackguard, or face public scorn.”

  He finally looked up from his newspaper. “Something like that, yes.”

  “It’s no contest at all. I’d rather face public ruination than marry you, so you might as well turn this carriage around.”

  “No.” The expression on Edmund’s face hardened. “You are an impressionable young girl whose head has been turned by a libertine who, despite his title, is no better than a commoner. Vale beds everything in skirts—including, apparently, you. This is for the best; you must trust me on this.”

  “That’s just it,” she snapped. “I don’t trust you. And I will not agree to marry you when we stand before the clergyman. I’ll say no. I’ll tell him and everyone in the church that you abducted me.”

  “It is Gretna Green, my dear, where amorous couples run away to marry in secret. There is no church. It’ll be a wedding over the anvil with a blacksmith as priest.”

  Emilia had heard of such things. Years ago, her second cousin Annie had stolen away to marry a soldier against her parents’ wishes. Gretna was one of the first villages in Scotland after leaving England. It was where couples absconded to in order to wed before their disapproving parents caught up with them. In Scotland, a girl didn’t need parental consent or a special license to get married. Couples were simply required to pay any blacksmith who’d set himself up as a priest and the wedding would be legal. And binding.

  “I don’t care what kind of priest he is,” she informed him. “I still won’t say the words that make me your wife.”

  “If you really must be so stubborn about it, I’ll have to make certain to find an amenable blacksmith.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “For the correct amount of coin, I’m certain we’ll still find someone to marry us, even if the bride is a little bashful.”

  Her heart began to race. He truly meant to force her into marrying him. “Are you really so desperate for the money?”

  “Not at all,” he said smoothly. “I esteem you and wish to marry you and, in time, I believe you will see it is for the best.”

  “How far are we from Gretna?”

  “About three hours away. We lost valuable time because there was a problem with one of the horse’s bridles. We wasted more than two hours waiting on it to be fixed.”

  Thank goodness for that. Anything to delay Edmund from carrying out this ridiculous scheme. “I need to use the necessary.”

  He looked at her in a considering manner. “You think to run away.”

  “We are in the middle of nowhere. Where would I go?”

  He pounded on the carriage roof. “Halt!” he cried.

  The carriage came to a stop. The man who opened the door struck her as familiar somehow, but she couldn’t place him. When he helped her down, she was distressed to discover how weak and shaky her legs felt. This would not be the time to attempt an escape. She wouldn’t get far in her current condition. Deciding she needed to bide her time, she quickly saw to her needs and returned to the carriage. The same man opened the door for her and this time he smiled, revealing a rotted brown front tooth. Her blood ran cold. She instinctively turned to run from the man who had abducted her once before, the man she’d managed to escape by stabbing him with the knife Sparrow had given her.

  He caught her, of course. Wrapping his arms around her
from behind, he lifted her and carried her back to the carriage, her arms and legs flailing helplessly. Whatever they’d given her had made her as weak as a kitten. He dumped her back onto the carriage floor at Edmund’s feet, and she immediately scrambled up and back into her seat, which was as far away from both of them as she could get.

  Horror washed through her as she stared at Edmund through a new lens. “This is no ‘benign’ abduction of a wayward girl whose head had been turned by a handsome rake.” It was far more sinister.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “It was you,” she breathed, her heart pulsing in her ears.

  He regarded her cautiously. “What was me?”

  “The man riding with us, up next to the driver, he’s the one who abducted me. He works for you.”

  “Yes.” His eyes were like gray ice. “And if you hadn’t knifed him, this would all be over with.”

  Disbelief hammered through her. “Over how?”

  “We’d be long married and I’d have your dowry.”

  She shrank back from him. “No.” She’d known he was after her fortune, but this nefarious scheming was too terrible to contemplate. She swallowed, her throat dry. “Why?”

  “Why?” He repeated with a bitter laugh. “Because a man without coin is nothing. No worthwhile woman will have him. Rupert, the man you recognized as your erstwhile abductor, was meant to steal you away to Gretna Green, where we would be married.”

  It made no sense to her. “But we were still betrothed at the time. Why abduct me when we were going to be married in a matter of weeks, anyway?”

  “I knew the viscount had turned your head.” His mouth twisted with disdain. “I could not risk your publicly crying off. I’ve come too far to let you destroy my plans for happiness.”

  “Forcing me into marriage could hardly bode well for the future.”

  He contemplated her. “Want to know it all, do you?”

  The way he said it, with undisguised malevolence, caused an involuntary shudder to ripple through her. Gone was the accommodating, attentive suitor, and in his place sat a stranger who seemed to bear nothing but contempt for her.

  “I want to marry Mrs. Dubois,” he announced. “In fact, I’m quite desperate to make her my wife. But she won’t have me because she desires a man of wealth. Marrying you solves that problem.”

  “I see. Once I become your wife, you’ll be able to shower your mistress with expensive trinkets.”

  “No.” Something dark gleamed in his eyes. “You don’t understand. Marie wants to marry. She’ll accept nothing less than being my wife.”

  “But you will already be married…” The words died on her tongue as the unimaginable truth rammed into her.

  His brows rose. “Finally putting it all together, are you?”

  Nausea churned in her stomach. “Graves. You hired him.” It was not a question.

  “Yes, but the bloody fool disappeared. He was to follow us to the Lake District on our wedding trip.”

  “And then what?”

  “After we’d consummated the marriage, a tragic accident was to befall you.”

  Everything began to make terrible sense. “Were you also responsible for the gunpowder in the box that exploded?”

  “I suppose there’s no reason to deny it. With your father gone, there’d be far more wealth for you—and by extension, me—to inherit.”

  Anger kindled in her chest. “My mother could also have been grievously injured or even killed. Did you think nothing of her? Or poor Aunt Agatha, an innocent old lady?”

  “I did think of them.” He shrugged. “The old lady’s useful years are clearly behind her. Where your mother in concerned, with her gone, all of the St. George fortune would have been yours.”

  She felt numb. It was too horrible to contemplate. Edmund had tried to murder her entire family. “You had it all worked out.”

  “Yes, that quick-thinking maid of yours is an annoyance, and you’ve proven surprisingly stubborn. You were a mousy, biddable thing when we became betrothed, but you’ve become far too outspoken and hardheaded for my tastes.” It all seemed unreal. She watched his lips flap together as he talked, but the words seemed distorted to her mind. “You’ve far more intelligence than I’d originally credited you with.”

  She tried desperately to think, despite the fog encasing her brain. “What is your plan now?” she managed to ask.

  “To get you to Gretna Green and make certain we wed. Although I won’t have to bother with consummating the marriage since Vale has taken care of that for me.” At her look of surprise, he added, “I did see the drawing. You’re obviously on very intimate terms with the viscount. Not a bad likeness, that sketch, although you are clearly prone to exaggeration.”

  “It was no exaggeration, I assure you,” she said dryly, hoping to wound him in some small childish way. “Sparrow is generously built in every way.”

  “Perhaps I misspoke about your intelligence.” His mouth twisted with contempt. “You really are a fool if you think Vale is anything more than a rake. You are one of many women he’s bedded. I doubt he’ll mourn your passing. I’m sure Amanda Harrington will be happy to help him grieve.”

  “You don’t have to kill me,” she said, thinking fast. “Ransom me. My father will pay any price for my safe return and then you can flee to the Continent. No one will ever find you.”

  “Nice try, my dear, but I have no intention of fleeing to anywhere. I intend to take my place in society with my beautiful wife by my side.”

  The wife he referred to was clearly Marie Dubois. And not her. She looked around for anything that could serve as a weapon. She needed to protect herself, to plan her escape. If only her head didn’t feel so heavy and her limbs so shaky.

  The carriage suddenly jerked to the right, lurching awkwardly to the side as they came to an abrupt halt. Violent cursing sounded from the driver’s perch.

  Obviously aggravated, Edmund pounded on the carriage roof and called to the men outside. “What the devil is the matter?” Why have we stopped again?”

  “Something’s wrong with wheel. We’ve got to check it out.”

  —

  “Come along.” Several hours later, much later than Edmund had hoped had the carriage wheel not broken practically in half, requiring a long wait on the road and then a longer wait at a coaching inn, they stood in front of a large inn. For all of its notoriety, Gretna Green was a small enclave, with a few clay houses, an old stone parish church, and the inn in front of which she now stood with Edmund and his two ruffians.

  “This isn’t a blacksmith’s shop,” she noted. They’d made a few stops after arriving in Gretna, with Edmund alighting, she presumed, to inquire about a quick wedding, but always he’d returned and thrown himself into the carriage seat opposite her, seeming more cross and agitated with each stop. But finally they’d come to the inn.

  “The blacksmiths haven’t proven to be as amenable as I’d hoped,” Edmund said irritably. “But I’ve an anvil priest who will marry us within the hour.” They entered the dining room of the inn, where a large, beefy man stood waiting for them.

  Edmund urged her forward but she refused to move, her insides stretched tight with anxiety and fear.

  “Move,” he hissed under his breath.

  “No.” She would not make it easy for him.

  “If you don’t, I swear on my mother’s grave that I will go back to London and kill Vale myself.”

  Fear slid through her. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Rupert will put a bullet between the man’s eyes. That reprobate has bedded enough women that someone will assume a cuckolded husband did away with him. Now move.”

  The breath left her lungs. She forced one foot in front of the other, but she had no intention of going meekly to the grim future Edmund hoped to mete out to her. The image of Sparrow, warmth flashing in his impossibly blue eyes, came to her. No, she had no intention of dying, especially not when she had so much to live for.

  The man wh
o was to marry them looked awfully fearsome to be a priest, but she remembered hearing that just about anyone could set himself up as an anvil priest in Scotland.

  When they reached him, he ceremonially held up an iron blacksmith’s hammer that she supposed was part of Gretna Green’s infamous anvil marriages and intoned: “Does you, Edmund Leigh Worsely, takes this wench, Emily Elizabeth St. George, to be—”

  “It’s Emilia,” Edmund corrected.

  The priest burped. “Emilia, strange name that.”

  Beside her, Edmund shifted restlessly on his feet. “Could we get on with it?”

  “Of course. Does you take this lass to be your lawful wedded wife until death parts you?”

  “I do. Yes,” Edmund replied quickly.

  The priest directed his attention at her. “Does you Emily…er…Emilia take this cull to be your lawfully wedded husband until death parts you?”

  She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words that would make her Edmund’s wife. “No.”

  The priest’s eyes widened. He even looked a little amused. “No?”

  “She’s just nervous and overwrought,” Edmund said. “As we discussed, I shall pay you handsomely to finish this.”

  But the priest’s focus was on her. “Why not? He looks healthy enough to me and seems to have all of his teeth.”

  “He’s forcing me,” she said. “I don’t love him. I love another.”

  Out of nowhere, she heard Sparrow’s voice. “And he loves you.”

  She spun around. There, miraculously, stood Sparrow, who, despite his unshaven face and unkempt hair, was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. “You do?” she asked. “Love me, I mean.”

  He stepped closer. “With all of my heart.”

  “That’s good enough for me,” the priest said. She turned in time to see him bring the iron hammer in his large fist down hard on Edmund’s head, knocking him out flat.

  She made a sound of surprised alarm, and Sparrow was there immediately, wrapping his arms around her. “Don’t be afraid. Rufus here is working for me.”

  “Who’s…Rufus?”