To Catch a Bride Read Free Page A

“Seems she’s missing a granddaughter.”
    “What do you mean missing? Gal run off with someone?”
    “No, nothing like that,” Rafe said. “The old lady thought the girl had died along with her mother more than twelve years ago. Been grieving ever since. Her son died six years ago, and since then Lady Cleeve has thought herself all alone in the world.”
    “Very sad,” Luke said, “but what has this to do with—”
    “A few months ago, Alaric Stretton—you know, that artist fellow who travels the world and writes books about it—turned up on her doorstep after years in some far-flung corner of the world. Seems they’re old family friends—he used to visit them in India.”
    Luke gave him a look as if to say, why are you telling me this?
    Rafe continued, “Stretton told her her granddaughter was alive and well and with her father only six years ago. He even produced a sketch of the girl and her father—the one of the little girl is rather touching—he’s a damned good artist. So now Lady Cleeve thinks the girl might still be alive. She’s desperate to find her.”
    “Sounds like a load of moonshine to me.”
    “It might very well be.”
    “But what’s this got to do with you not—” Luke broke off with a stunned expression. “Don’t tell me—this is why you’re going to skip out on your betrothal house party?”
    Rafe just smiled. He’d been tempted just to not turn up to the house party; it was what they deserved, after all. But that wasn’t Rafe’s way. Instead, this morning, he’d sent a coldly polite note to Lady Lavinia and another to his brother and sister-in-law, giving his regrets.
    Luke flung up his hands in exasperation. “To go on a wild-goose chase after some batty old lady’s mythical granddaughter? Based on a sketch done by some mad explorer who spends nine years out of every ten in the most godforsaken parts of the world?”
    Rafe said nothing. He’d made up his mind.
    Luke persisted. “I know you have a soft spot for old ladies, but—”
    “Lady Cleeve was a girlhood friend of Granny’s,” Rafe said simply. “They corresponded all their lives.”
    “Oh Lord, that’s all it would take, then,” Luke said, shaking his head in resignation. “So where was this granddaughter last seen?”
    “Egypt.”
    Luke’s jaw dropped. “You’re going on a wild-goose chase to Egypt ?”
    Again, Rafe smiled.
    Their curricles were ready. Luke didn’t move. “Rafe Ramsey, you are stark, staring mad.”
    Rafe shook his head. “Not mad, dear boy. Just . . . angry.”
    “Well, do what the rest of us do when we’re angry,” Luke said in exasperation. “Hit someone! Hit your brother, hit me—hit anyone! It’s better than haring off to Egypt .”
    Rafe just smiled.

One

    Egypt 1818
    T here he is, the man I told you of,” Ali said, pointing with a small, grubby finger. “They say his name is Rameses. They say he has come from England to buy a girl, and he will pay in gold.”
    Rameses? The name of a great king? From the dim shadows of the alley Ayisha had no difficulty singling out the foreigner asking questions; he was a head taller than any other man in the marketplace.
    Rameses. It was a strange name for an Englishman.
    He wasn’t like the others who’d come after her in the past.
    He was clean for a start.
    And beautiful. Not in a pretty-boy way—Ayisha knew all about pretty boys—but with a hard-edged, austere sort of elegance. As if sculpted from marble.
    His skin was lightly tanned, but still paler than most people she knew. More like her own color, under her clothes. He wore a light-colored hat to shield his face from the sun, but his clothes were foreign: English and close-fitting, letting no breezes in to cool the body. His dark blue coat was cut tight to reveal a powerful set of shoulders. Beneath it he wore a white shirt with a tie around his neck tied tight in a complicated knot.
    Too many clothes, too tight, and the cloth too heavy.
    Yet he didn’t look