Rushed to the Altar Read Free

with such a diabolical revenge,” Peregrine murmured.“You’re the head of the family, Jasper, they’ll have to acknowledge your wife however much it galls them.” He subsided, shaking his head gloomily.
    “You have it in a nutshell, Perry.” His elder brother smiled into his sherry glass.
    The lawyer coughed again. “There is one other thing, gentlemen.” He turned over a page. “His lordship has made available to each of you immediately the sum of five thousand pounds to facilitate your pursuit of a suitable bride. He understands that you are all, for whatever reason, somewhat short of funds.”
    “And never did man speak a truer word,” Jasper murmured. He regarded his brothers. “Well, gentlemen, despite the obvious difficulties, do we agree to this joint venture?”
    Sebastian shrugged. Then he came forward, hand outstretched. “I do . . . Perry?”
    “Yes . . . yes, of course.” Peregrine jumped to his feet, his own hand extended. “But it’s a damn smoky business, whatever you say.”
    “Of course . . . what else did you expect from Uncle Bradley?” Jasper inquired, taking his brothers’ hands in turn. He raised his glass in a toast. “Here’s to the success of our enterprise.”

Chapter One
 
     
    The Earl of Blackwater moved through the crowd of drunken revelers outside the Cock tavern in Covent Garden and strolled in leisurely fashion along the colonnaded Piazza. His black garments would have been somber except for the rich luster of the velvet and the soft cream of the lace at his throat and wrists. He wore no jewelry, only the blood-red ruby embedded in his signet ring. His black hair was confined at the neck with a simple silver clasp and he carried a black tricorne hat, its brim edged with gold braid.
    He paused to take a leisurely pinch of snuff as he gazed idly around the thronged scene. It was midafternoon of a glorious green and gold day in early October and folk were out in force, men and women of every class and occupation. Dandies lounged with painted whores on their arms. Covent Garden was a market where the main commodity was flesh, whether offered by fashionably dressed ladies accompanied by their footmen, or their less fortunate sisters standing in the doorways ofthe coffeehouses and the wooden shacks that crowded the outskirts of the central court, lifting ragged petticoats to display the invitation of a plump thigh.
    Jasper set his hat on his head as he walked, one hand as always on the hilt of his sword, both mind and body alert. The nimble fingers of a pickpocket were all too frequently encountered in Covent Garden and anywhere else in the city where crowds gathered.
    He had just been visiting Viscount Bradley and felt the need to breathe some fresh cool air after the viscount’s overheated bedchamber. He had found his uncle as irascible as ever, but out of bed and seated by a blazing fire, imbibing, liberally and against his physician’s orders, the rich ruby contents of a decanter of port. Father Cosgrove, quill in hand, sat at the secretaire in the window embrasure, and the rather pathetic relief he had evinced at the earl’s unannounced arrival earned Jasper’s sympathy once more.
    A slight smile touched his lips as Jasper recalled his uncle’s response to the offer his nephew had made to have his body transported to the family mausoleum at Blackwater Manor on his death—a response that had caused poor Father Cosgrove to seek the instant comfort of his rosary, his lips moving in silent prayer.
    I don’t want to rot in the company of those sanctimonious, holier-than-thou ancestors, nephew. I’ve lived my life and paid for my sins, and I’ll lie with other good, honest sinners in a good, honest churchyard.
    He had then demanded to know how far Jasper hadprogressed in his search for a wife, a question that had reminded the Earl of Blackwater of his negligence thus far. He had left his uncle’s house and was now strolling in Covent Garden, mulling over what seemed