Stealing the Bride (9 page)

“From the sounds of it, the lady has the situation well in hand,” he said, as he turned toward the window, dragging Diana with him.

“Let me go!” she protested, now starting to fight him in earnest. “This is madness. This is insane. Botheration, if you wanted me to go with you, all you had to do was ask.”

Temple spun around, shaking a finger under her nose. “Listen, I didn’t want any part of this. None, mind you. But now I haven’t got a choice. You’re coming with me, but just until I can get you to safety, so don’t get any ideas about what it means, because I’m only doing this just this once.”

Mrs. Foston screamed again, but this time there were no telling protests from her infamous and well-used cane. Then her protests ended in a muffled bevy of complaints.

Temple heaved a sigh of relief and then added a few curses. They’d finally found a way past the lady, but hadn’t harmed her. Yet. At least Marden possessed some morals. Still, if they’d apprehended Mrs. Foston, that could only mean they now knew Diana wasn’t in the chamber.

He hadn’t the time to be standing around just waiting for them to come looking for her.

His gaze shot across the room, taking in the meager furnishings, hoping to find something that could help slow down their pursuit, but the landlord’s thrifty sense went beyond a lack of locks for the serving classes. Just the low cot, a poor excuse for a chair, the woven seat more hole than weave, and a tattered set of curtains hanging on a cord across the windows.

Nothing! Not even a small trunk or wardrobe to shove against the door, for there were just hooks on either side of the door for hanging up clothes.

He glanced once more at the window, then the door.

“It’ll have to do,” he muttered, reaching up and wrenching the curtains from the wall.

“Temple! What are you doing? I’ll not pay for damages because you’ve gone mad.” When he began yanking the cord free from the draperies, and then tested its strength with a tug between his hands, she stumbled away from him until her back hit the wall. “Wha-a-a-t do you intend to do with that? Temple, I told you I’d go quite willingly.”

At first her words made no sense, until he realized what she was thinking.

He almost grinned. Serve the chit right to be trussed up and tossed out the window like a stolen Christmas goose.

Lord knows, she tied him up in knots at every chance she got.

He considered explaining what he intended to do, but discarded the notion. It wouldn’t hurt her to be a little afraid of him.

He tied a quick loop in one end of the rope and hung it over the first hook. Pulling it taut, he twisted the middle portion around the door latch and finished by tying the end of the rope to the hook on the other side of the door.

Taking a step back from his handiwork, he eyed it and hoped it would buy them enough time to get ahead of the French.

Out in the hall, the commotion was coming closer. The French agents were going room by room searching for their prize. Since the inn was all but empty, they weren’t meeting with much resistance to slow their progress, or finding any success.

“Who are these men?” she asked. “Friends of yours?”

He shook his head. “Hardly. Business associates of your betrothed.”

“What? Did he lose again?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Temple told her. The pounding of boots continued to grow louder. “We haven’t much time,” he said, crossing the room and throwing open the other shutter. Thankfully the innkeeper was also rather lenient in keeping his stable yard cleaned up, affording them the perfect means of escape.

Without a second glance, he tossed her bag into the yard.

“What are you doing?” Diana protested. “Those were my clothes!”

“Good,” Temple told her. “I’d hate to have to travel tonight with you in just that sheet.”

“Travel? Just where do you think I am going?”

“At present,” he said, taking a deep breath and steeling his nerves as he caught her up in his arms, sheet and all, “you are going out the window.”

She stared at him, her eyes wide, her mouth falling open.

He’d never thought he’d see the day that Lady Diana Fordham found herself speechless. Yet here she was gaping and sputtering as if there were no words to be found.

For a moment she stared into his eyes, her gaze a mix of confusion, fear, and anger.

The first would subside when she realized what he was going to do with her. The last might well be his undoing.

“How are we to get out if you’ve barricaded the door?” she asked. “Fly?”

“Exactly,” he said, tossing her out the window. The sheet rippled in the air, and then there was a soft
thump
.

Her sputtered complaint told him she’d landed safely.

“Temple!” she howled. “You fiend. You tossed me into a pile of sh—”

She finished her protest with a word he highly doubted she’d learned at Miss Emery’s.

B
y the time Temple landed beside her, Diana was ready for him.

“How dare you toss me out a window…into this…this…this pile of…” Her mouth pursed, for she wasn’t about to repeat the word again. “I could have been killed,” she finally managed to say.

“What awaited you inside was far more dangerous than this, my lady,” Temple said in a manner so singularly unapologetic that one might have supposed he had purposely forgotten to claim her for an unwanted dance at Almack’s. Before she could sputter another complaint, he caught her by the hand and yanked her free from the mire in which she’d landed, pausing only long enough to stoop over and retrieve her valise as they went headlong across the yard.

His grip closed around her wrist with an unforgiving resolve. She wagered that she could fight him all she wanted, but in the end, Temple was going to have his way.

He’d just tossed her out a window, for goodness’ sakes.

Loose stones and cobbles bit in revenge against her bare feet—feet that wore only the finest slippers, boots of the softest leather, and stockings of the most whisper-smooth silk.

She could imagine what they looked like now gauging from the foul matter squishing between her toes.

Elton sat in his perch, the reins in his hands, the horses prancing about, looking ready and willing for a wild flight, as if all part of some madcap rescue Temple had decided to stage just for her benefit.

The marquis marched to the carriage, hauling her along, until he got to the open door, then he swung around to catch her once more in his arms.

Oh no
, she thought. Not into his arms. When he’d cradled her moments earlier in her room, she would have offered him anything. Her lips, her touch, her heart, her body—though certainly not if it meant being tossed out a window.

Then again, even that might be worth it to feel him catch her up one more time.

Just then, there was a huge crash from her former chamber.

“What was that?” she asked.

Temple didn’t reply. He swung her up into his arms and then tossed her inside the berline.

Scrambling to right herself, she shoved her chemise down over her knees and looked up only in time to catch her valise, which came flying in behind her.

Really, she was going to have to talk to him about his manners when it came to stealing ladies.

“What about Mrs. Foston?” Elton was saying. “We can’t leave her, milord.”

“There isn’t time,” Temple said. “Besides, the last I heard of the lady, she had matters well in hand.” There was another crash inside the inn, followed by shouts and cursing.

Diana stuck her head out the door. “We can’t leave Mrs. Foston behind. It wouldn’t be proper.”

Temple just looked at her as if he wondered if she truly knew the meaning of the word.

She did. When it mattered, that was.

“Mrs. Foston is in danger,” she pointed out.

“Aye, sir,” Elton chimed in. “Couldn’t we just—”

At the door of the inn, Marden came thundering out, a pistol in hand.

Temple let out a shrill, sharp whistle that sent the horses bolting in their traces. He dove headfirst into the berline, directly into Diana’s lap.

The wild start sent her reeling back, and for a moment, unable to issue any more protests as the carriage careened out of the stable yard and into the street, leaving her teeth chattering almost as loudly as the horses’ frantic hooves.

She tried to rise, but Temple held her pinned to the floor.

“Get off of me!” she said, struggling to get up. “I can solve all this by just giving these ruffians the money Cordell owes them. He obviously played too deep tonight.”

“About six feet, I’d say,” Temple muttered, holding her down, even as a shot rang out after them.

The carriage careened again, swaying dangerously from one side to the other.

She changed her mind about getting Temple off her and clung to him like an anchor.

What had Cordell been thinking, playing with such ruffians?
The fool
. Couldn’t he have waited just a few hours more before gambling away the money she’d promised him? Apparently not, as the report of another pistol echoed after them.

“Oh, this is ridiculous,” she said. “Tell Elton to stop and I’ll give them the money they are owed.”

Temple bounded up, pulling a pistol out of his jacket and leaning out the window. “They don’t want your money, Diana,” he said over his shoulder.

Not want her money? “Then whatever are they tearing about the inn searching for?”

He said nothing for a moment, then said in a tight voice that sent shivers down her spine. “
You.
”

“Me? Cordell wagered me?”

“In a matter of speaking.”

“What sort of man would wager a woman?”

Temple snorted, as if the answer was obvious.

She flinched, for she’d known what kind of man Cordell was when she agreed to this business with him. The bastard would probably wager away her virginity if he thought he had a willing taker.

“So who are these men?” she asked.

“They aren’t just men. They’re French agents.”

French agents. In Geddington?
Now it was Diana’s turn to snort. Why, it was ludicrous.

“Temple, are you in your cups? Because if this is some jest of yours, some prank for those jinglebrained mullets you call friends back at White’s, I’ll not let you sully my name for the sake of your gadabout reputation.”

Temple’s mouth set in a hard line that belied any evidence of his foppish fame. “You sealed that matter, my lady, when you decided to parade about the countryside with the likes of Cordell.”

Her hands balled up into fists. “I wouldn’t have had to if…if…”

If you hadn’t held me at arm’s length all these years.

She huffed and sat back on the floor, clinging to the seat as Elton continued to drive as if the entire militia was after them, not just Cordell’s angry creditors.
French agents, in
deed!
What did Temple take her for? Some green girl straight out of the schoolroom dreaming of romantic adventure?

Honestly, she’d always dreamt of a knight-errant carrying her off in some gallant rescue, vowing his undying love, while fighting off her thwarted suitors.

But the hard-edged man across from her didn’t leave her breathless. He frightened her.

Elton had given the horses their heads, and they ran down the pitch-dark road at a reckless pace.

“Temple, tell him to slow down. I doubt Cordell will pursue us this far.”

“You’re right about that,” Temple said, once again in that vexing manner of his, as if he knew far more about her life than she did. He turned back and leaned out the window, but she tugged his jacket hard enough to spin him around.

“You tell me what is going on! I don’t believe for a minute these ruffians are some nefarious agents of Boney out to stop my elopement. Besides, what do you know about continental intrigues and spies?”

“Never mind what I know. Believe me, they are French and they want you for something,” he said, shaking himself free and peering into the darkness, aiming his pistol down the road.

“Temple, you
are
in your cups. I think these men are just some of Elton’s former associates you hired for the evening to give me a good scare.” She shook her head. He was just testing her, to see how much she knew of his life. “Quite a fine jest, but enough is enough. If you wanted to carry me off, you could have saved your money and just knocked on the door.”

“I certainly didn’t ask for
this
,” he said.

“Then you shouldn’t have come after me,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I didn’t have any choice,” he said. “And furthermore—”

The report of a pistol ended his harangue.

Temple cursed and shoved her back down on the floor. “Stay down. If Elton followed orders, they won’t be after us for long.”

She ignored him and poked her head up anyway. “Temple, really, this is starting to be ridiculous. Would you just tell Elton to stop? I will pay these men the money Cordell owes them, and they will stop shooting at us.”

“I told you, they don’t want your money.”

“Not want money? That is all the viscount has ever wanted.”

“No longer, Diana. Cordell has no use for your money.”

“Are you telling me he’s given up gambling?” She shook her head. “Not even I’m so innocent as to believe such a reversal will ever happen.”

“Oh, believe me, Cordell made his last wager tonight.”

“I suppose he lost,” she muttered.

“As a matter of fact, he did.”

“How much this time?” Really, she had been very specific when she had entered into this arrangement as to how much she would reimburse him for his services, and if he thought he could chisel her out of a few hundred pounds more, he could go straight to the devil. Still, she had to ask, “How much did the viscount lose?”

“Everything, Diana.” Temple turned and looked at her. Even in the meager light of the carriage, she could see the stern set of his jaw, the determined line drawn across his forehead. “Cordell lost everything tonight.”

A frisson of worry niggled down her spine. This was no jest. No lark Temple had arranged merely to frighten her, to punish her for dragging him out of his comfortable London confines.

“Everything? I hardly promised him everything…why, I was quite specific when we reached our agreement that I would—”

Another shot rang out; this time it hit the side of the carriage, sending a shower of splinters down around them.

Diana yelped and ducked back down. When she peeked up, Temple was taking aim and firing a shot at their pursuers.

She scrambled up and caught his arm, sending his shot wild. “What are you doing? You could kill someone!”

“I believe that is the point.” He aimed again.

“Temple, this is all just a misunderstanding, just a—”

Another shot rang out, and it found its mark right over her head, covering her in bits of wood and upholstery.

“Botheration,” she sputtered. “That one was just far too close for comfort. What is Cordell thinking? When I get my hands on him, I’m going to wring his wretched neck…I’m going to—”

“Diana, you’ll do no such thing,” Temple said, firing another shot and ducking back inside to reload.

“And why not? Is this one of those honorable things that only men can settle over a grassy meadow at dawn? Forgive me, but a lady has her honor as well, and I intend to see mine avenged.”

“Then you can thank the men behind us for taking care of your honor.”

His icy tone sent another flurry of concern down her spine. “What are you saying, Temple? What are you
not
telling me?”

“Do you really want to know?” he growled out at her.

“Yes!” What she wanted was to get to the end of this miserable ride and go back to the inn. If Temple wanted to make a point, he’d done so. She didn’t need to be shot at any longer to understand that her association with the viscount was foolhardy.

“That is not Cordell back there,” he told her.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because he’s dead. He’s lying facedown in a meadow outside that village with a bullet through his heart.”

Diana shrank back.
Dead?
Temple had to be wrong. The viscount had a reputation for playing deep, but she would have paid his debts. Well, up to their agreed-upon amount.

Now he was dead? How could that be? She shook her head, trying to find something to say.

“What, no tears for your lost bridegroom?” Temple asked.

She shook her head.

“Good girl. Don’t bother wasting a drop on the man. He was in the process of selling you when he went to his reward.”

First one saddle gave way, sending its rider toppling into the dust, and after the second one came flying loose, Marden brought his own mount under control with a sharp tug of the reins, then looked back at his fallen comrades.

Fargues and Dorat rose from where they’d landed, shaky but unharmed.

“They’ve gotten away,” Fargues, the younger of his compatriots, complained.

“I can fix these saddles,” Dorat offered. “We can be after them in no time.”

Shaking his head, Marden dismissed the suggestion. If he guessed correctly, their saddles were useless. No amount of repairs would save them.

For it was how he would have disabled his enemies if he wanted to make a quick and clean escape. Instead, he considered what to do next, his nimble, treacherous mind discarding one option after another.

“Who of our enemies, monsieur, would be so bold as to take the lady from us?” Fargues asked.

Marden had been pondering the same question since they’d left the inn and begun chasing the fleeing carriage. “No one,” he said. “At least, no one from France. No one knows of our quest.” He’d made sure of that before they’d left.

“I think our thief must be English,” he said slowly, as if trying to convince himself. “Another fortune hunter like Cordell has stolen our bride.”

The others nodded. It was the only likely explanation.

“And if he is English, he might be useful,” Marden said, a plan unfolding before him even as he spoke. Turning his horse around, he gave his orders. “We go back.”

“Back?” Fargues echoed. “But we cannot.”

“And why not?” Marden asked.

The man glanced uneasily at his compatriot and then at his leader. “Monsieur Cordell is still there,” he said in a tone that suggested perhaps their leader had forgotten the viscount.

“Ah,
oui
,” Marden said. “Monsieur Cordell. I think you will find he is going to be as much use to us dead as he was alive.”

Diana didn’t know how long she sat on the floor in stunned silence after hearing Temple’s news about Cordell, but obviously her grief had been overcome by exhaustion and she’d fallen asleep. When she awoke, the carriage was still moving, and she was curled up on the seat, a thick horse blanket thrown over her for warmth.

Someone had seen to her comfort, though she didn’t know why. She’d as likely get them all killed.

Just as she had Cordell.