by Diana Quincy
The giant grinned. “At your service.” He knelt and began tying an inert Edmund’s hands behind his back.
Sparrow stepped back and scanned her with an anxious eye. “Did he hurt you? The servants said you were ill when you left your father’s house.”
“I’m fine. Edmund put something in my drink that rendered me senseless but I feel quite well now.”
“Thank goodness. I feared I’d be too late.”
Rufus came to his feet. “What should we do with ’im?”
“Put him back in the carriage,” Sparrow said with a look at the unconscious Edmund that suggested he’d rather be spitting on the man’s grave. “His grandfather the duke and St. George wish to have a word with him. And I will take care of him after that.”
“How did you get here so fast?” Emilia asked. “How did you know what Edmund intended?”
“Graves told me. He told me everything.”
“Edmund intended to do away with me after the wedding.”
“He’ll pay the price for that, I promise you.” Then a stricken look washed over his face and he pulled her into his arms again. “I was so worried I’d be too late. That you’d never know how I truly feel about you.”
“And how is that?” she probed.
“That I love you absolutely and completely.”
Elation sparkled in every nerve in her body. “Truly?”
“I love you, Emilia. I was an idiot not to see it sooner. Will you consent to being my wife?”
She threw herself into his arms. “Of course, you silly man. You don’t even have to ask.”
He kissed her long and hard, apparently not caring who watched, before releasing her and turning to the burly anvil priest. “Rufus, will you do the honors?”
“What?” She stared at both men. “He’s a real priest?”
Sparrow smiled. “It’s Scotland, practically everyone is.”
“At least near the border,” Rufus added. “It’s a profitable situation.”
“What do you say?” Sparrow’s intent gaze met hers. “I’ve abandoned you at the altar, kidnapped you at the altar, and now I’d like to do what I should have years ago and marry you at the altar.”
Happy emotion made her throat swell. “Yes, oh yes.”
They turned to Rufus, who began, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God…” In a deep, gruff voice, he uttered the few words that made them man and wife.
When it was done, Sparrow took her into his arms and fused his mouth to hers. “Kissing my wife is indeed one of life’s greatest pleasures,” he murmured against her lips.
“And what are the others?”
“You’re about to see.” He swept her off her feet and into his arms, heading for the stairs. “Rufus, where is our chamber?”
“Upstairs, first door on the left.”
Putting an arm around her husband’s neck, she asked, “Whatever are you doing?”
“We’re wed now.” He took the steps two at a time. “It’s time to consummate the marriage.” Yearning glinted in his eyes. “I’ve a strong desire to explore London much more thoroughly.”
Rufus let out a guffaw of disbelief. “Only an Englishman! You’ve got a tasty-looking young bride your arms,” he called after them in his thick Scottish brogue, “and you’ve a hankering to take in the city sights?”
Sparrow stopped before the closed door. “I most certainly do.” He grinned wide, baring his white teeth, as his hungry gaze met Emilia’s. “If my wife consents.”
“Oh, I do.” From her position in his arms, she kicked the door to their bedchamber open. “I definitely do.”
He stepped inside and slammed the door behind them. “Then let’s get on with our exploration, shall we?”
For Amy, who is everything a sister should be
Acknowledgments
My sincere thanks go to Sue Grimshaw for believing in the Rebellious Brides series; to my editor, Julia Maguire, for her spot-on editorial guidance; and to Kathleen Fridella, for an incredibly thorough copyedit. And, as always, I never forget how lucky I am to have my agent, Kevan Lyon, in my corner.
My writing buddies—Joanna Shupe, Michele Mannon, and J. B. Schroder—helped make this book happen by hunkering down in a hotel room with me and hammering out the plot details. My friend Megann Yaqub’s influence is also on many of these pages, and I’m extremely grateful for all of the support she provides. Ditto for my husband, who is always there to encourage me and never complains about picking up the slack around the house when I’m on deadline.
And a special thanks to you, the reader, for spending this time with me. Without you, there would be no books!
BY DIANA QUINCY
Spy Fall
License to Wed
From London with Love
DIANA QUINCY is an award-winning former television journalist who decided she’d rather make up stories in which a happy ending is always guaranteed. Growing up as a foreign service brat, she visited and lived in many countries, including France, Bolivia, Panama, Peru, Egypt, Morocco, India, and Thailand. Diana is now happily settled in Virginia with her husband and two sons. When not bent over her laptop or trying to keep up with laundry, she enjoys reading, spending time with her family, and planning her next travel adventure.
Diana loves to hear from readers. You can keep up with her at:
dianaquincy.com
Facebook.com/diana.quincy.10
@Diana_Quincy
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