Stealing the Bride (11 page)

Temple suspected Diana would take great joy in knowing that they were under the jurisdiction of the Sheriff of Nottingham. Then it hit him. Lord Hood. She’d christened him quite deliberately, and probably from her never-ending wealth of information from the now infamous Billingsworth.

If he didn’t know better, she was most likely upstairs organizing a tour of the notorious robber’s haunts.

A few moments later, a tall, red-faced woman, her graying hair tied back in a tight knot, came out of the kitchen carrying a large plate and set it in front of Temple.

“There you are, milord. Chicken pie.”

He stared down at the plate, the enticing aroma curling around his nose and setting his mouth to watering. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smelled anything so enticing.

He grabbed the fork and took a toothsome bite. The aroma hadn’t even begun to do the delicious dish justice. He took another bite as quickly as he could.

The cook chuckled. “Her ladyship said you’d like that. Said it was yer favorite.”

“Aye, it is. I just didn’t know she knew.” Temple took another bite, reveling in the thick chunks of chicken and sweet carrots.

The cook nodded, a sly grin on her face. “A wife always knows those things.”

Temple choked and stammered. “A wha-a-at?”

“A wife,” she said, nodding to the stairs leading up to the rooms. “She also saw to it that your man had a nice plate of ham and cabbage sent out to him.”

“She did all that?”

“Of course she did. She’s a right good one, looking out after you and your manservant. You picked out a fine wife.”

“My wife?” Temple ground out, setting down his fork.

“Yes, yer wife.” The lady shook her head. “An April gentleman, are you? Still not used to hearing her called that, I suppose. Me husband over there,” she said, nodding at the man behind the bar, “he still has a bit of a turn over the idea of being married. And him being twenty-three years past the parson.” She chuckled and went back to her kitchen.

His wife
. Oh, Diana had been busy all right. And he was going to put an end to it right now. She’d gone from slanted glances and come hither kisses to chicken pie.

He’d completely underestimated her resourcefulness.

Temple started to get up, but his stomach protested heartily, growling and complaining at leaving behind the flaky crust and a small river of hot, thick gravy. He stood for just a few seconds before settling back down and digging into his supper.

It wasn’t as if Diana was going anywhere. And it was his favorite meal.

As he took another heavenly bite, he wondered what other little lies she’d been telling the staff. If he didn’t put a stop to her immediately, by morning he’d be saddled with a fictitious brood of moderately well-behaved children, a manor house with a leaky roof, and a mother-in-law who vexed him entirely, all courtesy of one Lady Diana.

Not if he could help it. He’d put a stop to her shenanigans immediately. This wasn’t a game.

But as he ate the best pot pie he’d had in ages, washed down with his favorite French wine, Temple found himself imagining the quaint manor house and the clutch of children Diana was most likely describing to the enthralled upstairs maids.

Before he knew what he was doing, he found himself once again caught by her spell. For there on the well-manicured lawn of Hood Hall, he saw himself in that fine picture, playing with the two boys and a fair-haired little girl with bright blue eyes and a penchant for mischief.

Even as he tried to shake himself from such foolish musings, he couldn’t help wondering what names she’d given their children.

Temple went upstairs to find her right after dinner. He rapped on the door and steeled himself not to let any further fanciful musings steer him from his course.

“Come in,” Diana called out sweetly as a new bride might.

Hardly the anxious groom, he opened the door cautiously. “Are you decent?”

“Always,” she answered.

The door remained cracked only the barest of inches. “Diana, are you dressed?”

“Of course,” she said. “Come in and see our room.” She stood in the middle of the large, airy chamber. “Isn’t this a splendid place. I can’t believe we found it.”

He glanced around at the elegantly appointed chamber—fit for two with its large bed, tasteful furnishings, and large fireplace—and did his best not to view it as she did, a romantic hideaway, but as an expenditure he could ill-afford.

“
We
are not staying in it.” He glanced around again, his gaze sweeping only momentarily over the great, big, comfortable-looking bed. “You are. Alone.”

“Alone? I hardly see how that will lend any credence to our story.” She plopped down on the bed and patted the spot next to her.

“Your story, madame. Not mine.” His felt his brow crease into a hard line. That wasn’t the only thing getting hard at the sight of Diana on the splendid bed. “The reason I came up here is to discuss the matter of your elopement. Or should I say staged elopement?”

“Staged?” she said, acting the veriest of innocence. “I had every intention of marrying the viscount.” She sniffed a little. “At least until his unfortunate demise.” Sighing, she looked up at him. “That is, unless I can find someone else.”

Temple ground his teeth. “Don’t look at me, Lady Hood. I have no intention of being your next victim.”

She flinched, and he knew as lightly as she might dispense with Cordell’s fate, she carried the guilt of it. She blamed herself for the man’s death.

“I need to know the details of your agreement with Cordell. How long have you been in league with the man? Was there anyone else who helped him secure the carriage or who he mentioned would aid your plans?”

Diana cocked her head and stared at him. “Why, Temple? Why does any of that matter to you, of all people?’

“Because the viscount was involved in some very shady business, and I mean to get to the bottom of it.”

“Cordell played too deep. He probably cheated. You practically said as much last night.” Her eyes narrowed, and she said, “What more do you want me to tell you? That he was part of some great French conspiracy?” She edged off the bed and walked over to where he stood. “Temple, tell me, what do you know of French intrigues? French fashions, yes, but Boney’s plans? I daresay that hardly seems in
your
realm.”

Temple shifted. She might know about chicken pies and wines, but she didn’t know all his secrets. She couldn’t.

“While we’re discussing mysteries, do you mind if I ask where were you last winter?” She pressed her finger to her lips. “I don’t recall seeing you for two, perhaps three months.”

He’d come up here to confront her, to set her straight on who was in charge, but she was pulling the rug from beneath him and launching a swift counterattack that left him grappling for answers.

“My bills got a little tedious,” he said, backing away. It was his favorite excuse for why he went missing for months at a time, and one everyone readily believed.

“Hmm,” she mused. “Is that so?”

For the first time he saw someone doubt one of his lies and knew that he was facing his most dangerous enemy. If anyone could unravel his house of deception, it was Diana.

What he needed to do was get this conversation back on track.

“Of course it is so. I often have to leave town quickly.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

“Lady Diana, this isn’t about my travels, it’s about yours,” he said, wresting control of their discussion. “And until we know the lengths to which those men who chased us last night are willing to go, I believe discretion is the better part of valor.”

“And you know this based upon your experiences of, shall we say, running from your bill collectors?”

Temple grasped onto her offering with both hands. “Exactly!”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Then I’ll defer to your superior cowardice and skill at prevarication and play along for now.”

Temple bowed and left her, and as he closed the door to her room he realized she’d just called him a coward and a liar.

And she’d been right on both counts.

“Oh, bother,” Diana muttered as she watched Temple flee. That hadn’t gone well at all. Perhaps she shouldn’t have told everyone they were married. But it was a fine sight better story than some dreary tale about a merchant and his spinster sister.

Why did she always have to be cast into the role of the pitiable spinster?

No longer. Never again
, she vowed, even as she recalled his stony insistence that he would not stand in Cordell’s shoes. Not that she blamed him. Her betrothal to the viscount certainly hadn’t ended as she’d planned.

She went over to the door and considered seeking Temple out. But in truth, she knew him well enough to surmise that she’d only drive him higher into the hills, deeper into his own stony resolve.

His resolve she knew only too intimately. Like an old friend.

Ever since that day on Bond Street, when she’d discovered Temple’s deception, she’d made it her mission to learn everything she could about him.

She’d taken to noting his comings and goings from Society. Enlisting Mrs. Foston’s aid, the lady having always had a fond regard for the marquis, the two women had discreetly followed his travels from the gossipy sidelines of London’s fashionable ballrooms and salons.

From her vantage point, Diana marveled at Temple’s skill. She’d even gained an unlikely ally in her mission, someone who cared for Temple like a son and shared her fears that some harm might befall the marquis. As she learned the depth of Temple’s commitment to his cause and missions, she fell in love with him all over again.

Then last year, he’d gone missing for over seven months and Diana nearly went mad with worry. She’d all but ordered her carriage to Whitehall and demanded an accounting of Temple’s whereabouts, if only to discover if he still lived. Then to her delight and chagrin, he’d reappeared a fortnight later at a ball, the same gadfly Temple the
ton
loved.

Yet to her critical and well-trained eye, he looked thinner, strained and worn out from whatever dangerous task he’d undertaken. Oh, how she’d ached at the sight of him—and it was all she could do not to race across the crowded room and launch herself into his arms.

The reasons that had restrained her then seemed only too foolish now.

Ladies, Miss Emery would have admonished, never make a public display of their emotions. Propriety, especially when it concerns a gentleman, must always be observed. A lady is never forward in an effort to gain the attention of a man.

Bah!
Diana thought. She’d spent too many years bound and frightened by what would happen if she crossed that ridiculous line. Bound as well by her own fears of what would happen if she did declare herself to Temple—that he would reject her once again.

Oh, the sting of his denial, one horrid night during her first Season, had been enough to keep her properly seated and waiting for him to make the first declaration all these years. Despite it, there had been times when she’d spotted him glancing in her direction, as if he were reconsidering his own course of action—a dark, fleeting hint of passion, of the love they’d shared so long ago.

Those fires still burned in his heart as they did in hers. And all she needed to do was to discover how to get them to blaze to life once again.

She flounced down on a chair, crossing her arms over her chest and kicking her feet out in front of her in a most unladylike manner.

Her slippers met something solid, and when she tried to kick it out of her way, it would not budge. Absently, she glanced down to see what was in her way.

Temple’s valise.

The boy, in his enthusiasm, must have brought up all the bags in the carriage, not just hers.

She smiled and scrambled out of her chair to kneel before the bag.

Her fingers went to the buckle but stopped. Ladies do not pry into concerns that are not their own, she could hear Miss Emery say.

Diana doubted Miss Emery had ever been kidnapped and taken to an inn by a man trying very hard not to seduce her.

Convinced that her sins weren’t that grievous, she freed the latch holding the leather bag closed and opened up the sum of Temple’s life.

At first there wasn’t much of interest. A spare neck cloth, the small volume on Persian he’d been reading the day before.

Persian servant, indeed
, she thought as she thumbed through the pages.
Temple, you can barely afford Elton, let alone some exotic servant.
She tossed aside Sir John’s learned tome and dug deeper into the bag. A piece of thick vellum rustled beneath her inquiring fingers.

Hmmm
, she mused.
This might prove interesting.
Unfolding the paper, she glanced at the first line emblazoned across the top and felt as if the very floor had dropped out from beneath her.

A Special License for Marriage…

Dear God, he had come to marry her. Quickly, she began to scan the lines below, but found her joy short lived. There under the description of bride was her full name and age, but the same couldn’t be said of her groom.

That space was blank.

No groom…Why, that meant…

She gasped, Elton’s words from earlier in the day tolling through her thoughts.

Marry her off to Pins or Needles…

Elton hadn’t spoken out of turn. With this paper, Temple could marry her off to Boney, with the blessing and approval of the archbishop himself.

How could he? Diana swiped back the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. He hadn’t come after her to save her from herself. He’d come after her to see the job done. But not the one she’d thought.

Oh, this was terrible.

Drat you, Temple
, she thought, glancing up at the candle and at the paper in her hand.
I’ll not let you do this to me. To us.
She’d burn this wretched piece of paper and thwart his idiotic plans.

Yet even as she went to touch the corner to the flame, something stopped her.
He’ll not do it. He’ll not marry you to Penham or Nettlesome or any other man, for that matter.