My Favorite Bride Read Free Page B

the side of the road and went back to town.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œApparently he took offense at something I said.”
    Looking her up and down, he said, “I can imagine.” The brute swung out of the saddle.
    She was tall, but he was taller. He must have been six foot two in his stocking feet, and he had that kind of massive, bulky build that some men worked hard for and some men were born with, and she was willing to wager he’d been born with his. She hadn’t felt threatened before. Not really. But now thoughts of rape and murder rampaged through her mind, and for the second time in as many weeks, she wished she had learned a few more tricks to discourage a forceful suitor. She’d poked Mr. Wordlaw’s Adam’s apple with her fingernail, and he’d backed off in a hurry. She didn’t think that would work with this chap. “Who are you?” she asked again.
    She might not even have spoken. “Have you got papers to prove who you are?”
    â€œI have a letter from Lady Bucknell.”
    â€œShow it to me.”
    â€œIt’s in my trunk.” And she was glad, too. Even if it made trouble, even if he tortured her because he didn’t believe her, she wanted to thwart this man who threatened and frightened a defenseless woman on the road to nowhere.
    He hovered over her and stared as if he could decipher her thoughts.
    Which she knew very well he couldn’t. Every second the darkness thickened, the kind of dark she’d never seen before, untouched by city lights.Stars popped out like tiny embers on a vast black hearth, and he loomed like a shadow. Nothing could stop her shudder.
    â€œWhere are you from, Miss Prendregast?” His rich voice taunted her.
    She fingered the straps of her reticule. “London.”
    â€œYou’ve never been outside of London, have you?”
    â€œNever.” Tensely she waited for him to proclaim some kind of atrocious initiation for country newcomers.
    He only laughed, a laugh that mocked her ignorance. “You’d better be a first-rate governess.”
    She stiffened. “I am.”
    â€œGood.” He strode back to his horse, mounted, and rode into the woods.
    She stared after him, relieved, amazed . . . alone. “Wait!” she shouted. “You’re supposed to rescue me!”
    No reply, only the fading sound of a horse crashing through the brush.
    â€œSomething might eat me! How far is it to Silvermere?” she yelled. “Could you tell someone I’m out here?” In a quieter voice, she said, “Ye black-hearted lout, at least leave me a stick so I can fight off the bears.”
    Not likely. She was still stuck out in the middle of the wilderness, walking toward a house miles away, where cows slept in the bedchambers and the people slept on the dirt floor. With a sob, she rubbed her knuckles into her burning eyes. Then she squared her shoulders and marched on.
    In London it was never quiet. Carriages always rumbled by, or children cried, or music and brawling spilled from the taverns.
    Here, the hush pressed in, broken only by the occasional flap of wings overhead or a rustle in the brush, and she thought she would give anything for some kind of sound to break this dreadful, unnatural silence. Then, far in the distance, she saw the muted flash of lightning and heard the first growl of thunder. “Be careful what you wish for, my girl,” she muttered to herself. “You’re in for it now.”
    Tiredness dragged at her limbs, making each step an ordeal. She tripped on the ruts, tripped on the rocks, but not even exhaustion could convince her to walk in the grass beside the road. Snakes. She knew there must be snakes. And the lightning got closer and closer, shocking her eyes with each flash, and threatening with each rumble.
    At first, she mistook the sound on the road for thunder. Then she realized . . . she thought . . . it almost sounded like