The Kidnapped Bride Read Free Page A

matter how much had been forgiven her in the past, this sort of nonsense would cause a major scandal!
    He moved toward her. Late afternoon sun sliding on dust-filled rays through the trees touched off auburn highlights in his dark, windblown hair. His light brown eyes narrowed against the glare, and she scowled back at him. Darcy was a well-formed but not particularly imposing figure of a man, standing slightly less than six feet tall. He dressed with an eye to style that bordered on the foppish. Today he wore a dark brown frock coat, an orange-and-yellow-striped waistcoat, an intricately tied stock, cream pantaloons, and well-polished Hessian boots with gold tassels. Although his eyes under their narrow brows were set rather too closely together for perfection and his chin was a trifle weak, high cheekbones and a straight, well-formed nose showed his aristocratic breeding.
    Of course, Sarah thought ironically, one also tended to note the effects of creeping dissipation. His lordship had been playing deep, drinking too much, getting too little sleep, and generally burning the candle at both ends for quite some time, and it was beginning to tell. Reaching out now, he laid a light hand upon her shoulder and drew her toward him.
    Had she been wearing slippers instead of her dark green kid boots, the top of Sarah’s head would have been no higher than the top button of his waistcoat. But she had dressed properly for her supposed shopping expedition in a light walking dress of twilled marigold sarcenet with French kid gloves to match her boots and a chip straw hat trimmed with straw flowers and green silk ribbons. The hat was gone, the dress crumpled and dusty. Her honey-bronze hair was a mass of tangles, and her tiny face was streaked with smears of dirt as well as the suspicion—though she would have denied it indignantly—of a tearstain or two, but there could still be no doubt of her beauty. Blessed with an exquisite figure, she exhibited a natural, lithe grace when she moved. Her face was heart-shaped, and from the widow’s peak of her hairline to her determined little chin, her skin was clear strawberries and cream. Her large, wide-set eyes were oval-shaped and hazel-green, deepening almost to emerald in a certain light or, as now, when she was frightened or angry.
    Darcy looked down into those eyes now, and his own expression was anxious. “No need to be frightened, Sarah. Daresay I’m not much of a fellow, but … not a cad either, dash it! Got no wish to harm you. Assure you. Here, let me take that thing off.” He reached behind her head and unfastened the gag. Then he turned her so that he could reach the bonds at her wrists. A moment later she was free. She licked her lips and rubbed her wrists. There was a red streak across her cheeks from the gag.
    “This will ruin me, my lord,” she muttered through still dry lips. “Whatever I have misguidedly led you to believe, I do not deserve such a fate.”
    “Perfectly true,” he agreed, urging her gently toward the house. “But, ’fraid I found it necessary to adopt stringent measures to recoup the Ashton fortunes. Earl of Moreland shouldn’t be penniless. Do anything to avoid it.” He smiled down at her. “Must admit though, marriage to you is more palatable than certain other courses I’ve attempted.”
    “But I simply cannot marry you this way, my lord!”
    “On the contrary, m’dear. This way, you must.” She fell silent, and a few moments later, they stood in the front hall of his house. There was a feeling of chill dampness in the air, giving Sarah the sudden and rather unsettling thought that she had stepped into one of the gothic tales that she and her governess, Miss Penistone, had been so fond of reading and which would, had she known of their presence in her house, have given Lady Hartley a fit of apoplexy. The hall was large and gray and drafty with a wide, stone stairway that swooped up one side to a railed gallery. But opposite the stair, a