To Catch a Bride Read Free

brother had even found him a suitable bride. Rafe wasn’t particularly enamoured of her, but he’d found no one himself, and Lady Lavinia Fettiplace was of excellent family—the best bloodlines and breeding in England. She came with a fine fortune and was even pretty.
    He could do it, he’d told himself a hundred times.
    Until this morning, when his brother had revealed the terms he and Lady Lavinia had agreed to, without reference to Rafe . . .
    Cold rage welled up in him again. Rafe stamped down on it. This was not the place, the time. He was not a small boy anymore. His family could only hurt him if he let them.
     
     
     
     
    T he wedding was over, the celebratory dinner consumed, and they’d danced the night away. In the morning the bride and groom had driven off in a joyful cavalcade, Nell incandescent with happiness, little Torie in a basket beside her, and Harry so proud and with a light in his eyes that Rafe had never seen.
    The remaining guests left soon afterward, hurrying to get home for Christmas, praying the clear weather would hold. Rafe and Luke, in no particular hurry, were among the last to depart. They’d said their good-byes, and hating to wait around after that, had wandered toward the stables to await their curricles.
    “I’m not racing you back,” Luke announced as they crunched down the gravel drive. It was a cold, clear morning, the air dry, with just a light breeze. Perfect for a race.
    Rafe inclined his head. “As you wish.”
    “I know you,” Luke persisted. “Under that veneer of calm you’re still wild about whatever happened.”
    Rafe shrugged. He could have reassured his friend that his driving would be back to normal now he’d made a decision, but he didn’t. Racing wouldn’t purge the anger within him this time. The betrayal. But he knew what would.
    They waited in front of the stables, stamping their feet in the cold, watching as the stable lads hitched their teams up.
    “Want me to come with you to Axebridge?” Luke offered.
    “But it’s almost Christmas.” Rafe was startled. “What about your family?”
    “Mother and the girls won’t mind.” Luke was the only living son in a family of girls. His mother was a widow, and all but the youngest daughter were married now, but they still doted on their brother.
    Rafe smiled. “You are such a liar.”
    “I’ll explain,” Luke said. “They won’t mind when they know it’s you. You know how fond Mother is of you—the girls, too.”
    Rafe shook his head. “No. Go home and celebrate Christmas with your family. Give my best to them all.”
    “Then come home with me,” Luke said. “Spend Christmas with us. They’ll think it the best gift of all.”
    “I’ve already sent your mother a gift,” Rafe told him. As a boy, he’d spent many a happy Christmas with the Ripton family. It was a haven from his own family, a much older brother he hardly knew, and a father who barely acknowledged his younger son’s existence.
    “You’re so stubborn,” Luke said, shaking his head. “Very well then, be miserable if you want to. I’ll see you at Axebridge in the new year.”
    “Ahh, yes . . . The house party . . .”
    Luke gave Rafe a searching look. “You sound suspiciously vague, Ramsey. Cold feet about getting betrothed to Lady Lavinia after all?” He gave Rafe a searching look. “Or is it all off?”
    Rafe shrugged. “The house party is still going ahead as far as I know.”
    “Well then, I’ll see—”
    “I won’t be there, however,” Rafe finished, watching critically as a young stableboy buckled a harness.
    “What? Where will you be?”
    “Remember who I was seated with at dinner last night?”
    Luke wrinkled his brow, trying to recall. “Some old lady, wasn’t it? Must say, thought it was a damned poor place to seat you—”
    “Lady Cleeve. Very interesting old lady. Told me an interesting story.”
    Luke stared at him. “What the devil are you talking about? Told you a story?”
    Rafe nodded.