Rushed to the Altar Read Free Page A

an intractable problem. He had no desire to marry anyone, let alone some forlorn creature in need of spiritual salvation; he had enough need of that for himself. But without his uncle’s money, he was eventually facing debtors’ prison and a pauper’s grave, not to mention the irretrievable loss of everything the Blackwater family held dear. And, he had to admit, he had enough pride in his family’s name and lineage not to view its loss with sanguinity.
    He realized his footsteps were taking him towards a pieman. The tray slung around the lad’s neck was laden with golden offerings, fragrant steam rising from the puffed crusts. Only then did Jasper recognize his own hunger. He hadn’t eaten since the previous evening and the scent set his juices running. He was reaching for the leather pouch of coins he kept in an inside pocket of his waistcoat when something ran headlong into his midriff.

    A few minutes earlier Clarissa Astley had been weaving through the mass of people thronging the Great Piazza, trying to keep her quarry in view. Fortunately Luke was a tall man, and he wore a high-crowned beaver hat that made him even easier to keep in her line of sight. At nineo’clock that morning her weeklong vigil had been rewarded. Luke had left his house on Ludgate Hill, walking with a purposeful air along High Holborn. Clarissa had followed, easily keeping a discreet distance, ducking in and out of the busy traffic on the thoroughfare.
    She had no idea where he was going but could only hope that he would take her to her brother, or at least to somewhere that would give her a clue as to where Francis was being held. Luke’s destination had become clear after a few side turns, and shortcuts down alleyways and through shadowy courts. He was making for Covent Garden. So, she had come full circle, Clarissa reflected wearily. She had left King Street in Covent Garden early that morning and was now back there a mere four hours later.
    She ducked into the colonnade of the Great Piazza, keeping him in view. He was walking more slowly now, glancing at the pamphlets on display in the booths lining the Piazza, and she realized almost too late that he had stopped dead outside one famous for its particularly obscene offerings. She just managed to stop herself from running into him and dived sideways, head down. She was brought up short when her lowered head met resistant flesh, and her shoulders were grasped ungently by a pair of hard hands.
    “Oh, no, you don’t,” an annoyed voice declared. “Believe me, miss, I’m more than up to the tricks of a pickpocket.”
    Clarissa raised her head and stared in incredulous indignation at the man holding her.
    “Let go of me.” She tried to wriggle her shoulders free of his grip.
    “Why should I? You were about to rob me,” Jasper pointed out almost affably.
    Her voice, although clearly furious, was surprisingly melodious and he could detect no hint of a London twang. He scrutinized her intently. His hands were curled in a tight grip over a pair of slim shoulders. A pair of jade-green eyes gazed up at him in surprise and anger, and they belonged to one of the loveliest countenances Jasper had ever encountered.
    “I most certainly was
not,
” Clarissa declared, outraged. “Why would I want to rob you?”
    “Why would you not?” he asked mildly. Covent Garden held all sorts of ruffians and mountebanks of both sexes, and despite this girl’s beauteous countenance and the delicacy of her accent, there was nothing else about her to set her apart from the rest of the rogues in the Piazza. She was clad simply in a countrified linen gown and apron. Her hair was tied back in a kerchief and he could see only a few stray reddish-gold tendrils on her forehead. It was enough however to make him want to see the rest of it.
    His anger was gone, replaced with curiosity and the most definite stirrings of a more personal interest. “I doubt you have much coin about you, which is the general case with