Hunter Of My Heart

“Do you realize I could charge your aunt with assault? Would you like to see her in jail?”

“You wouldn’t!”

He narrowed his eyes. “Try me.” His tone exuded confidence.

Sabrina swallowed hard, knowing how horrible jail would be and that the twins needed Marga. He’d faced a bullet and remained adamant about their marriage. Perhaps she could escape again. Carefully she put her pistol back in her valise. “I should have shot you in the chest.”

“You had the chance and...missed.”

Her fingers itched to prove him wrong. “Your puffed-up chest makes a broad target, but a bullet wouldn’t have done any damage.”

“You don’t consider a hole in my flesh a serious injury?”

“I would have aimed at your heart, but you don’t have one.”

He jerked his thumb left, then right. “Which direction, Miss Barrington? The castle or the authorities in Edinburgh?”

She lifted her chin. “Maybe I’ll continue my stroll another time.”

“Not without me, you won’t.”

Taking their valises, he escorted them to the coach and opened the door. A figure loomed inside. Every muscle in her body tensed.

“Good evening, Sabrina,” Lord Sadlerfield said, and turned to the earl. “Well done, Kenilworth. My granddaughter obviously has her father’s temperament.”

Sabrina pursed her lips. “I’m proud of the comparison.”

Her grandfather looked at Marga, and Kenilworth quickly made introductions. “So you are her kin. Madame Beaumont, you will stay until after their wedding. First to serve as witness and second to prepare Sabrina for the consummation.”

Given the duke’s stoic composure, Sabrina couldn’t tell what he knew about her aunt. She prayed he knew nothing but couldn’t take the chance. “Your grace, if I must marry him, you should at least let me decide the place. I choose London.”

Marga grabbed Sabrina’s hand. “Monseigneur. Your grace. I have responsibilities in London. My shop and children need my attention. To stay another month is impossible!”

“You have a servant watching your whelps,” the duke replied dismissively.

“I can’t let her travel alone.” Sabrina’s heart stopped but she held her grandfather’s stony glare. How much did he know? She prayed that he didn’t see through the excuses. All they wanted was to return to the twins. The shop’s future was as nebulous as her own.

“Young lady, after your act of defiance, I have decided you will wed within three days.”

Two days later, Sabrina stood outside a tiny brick chapel on the castle’s grounds. To the side, a cemetery lay with neat rows of headstones but she could almost hear her pounding heart amidst the serene setting. Behind her, the Sadlerfield barouche squeaked and footsteps approached. Marga dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. Her grandfather wanted the ceremony to begin.

Tears crowded Sabrina’s throat. “Even in my worst nightmares, I didn’t imagine things happening this way.”

Marga straightened. “We will talk after the ceremony. I have an idea that might ease the situation a little.”

The reassuring words lifted Sabrina’s spirits. “You always know the right thing to say.”

As her grandfather moved beside her, he nodded to his footman to open the door. The hinges creaked and stale air hit her in the face, further reminders that this affair would hold no cherished memories. Terror lodged in her throat. As the only guest, Marga entered, her merino wool gown stirring the dust on the floor. She wiped the bench with her handkerchief and sat.

Sabrina fought the urge to run, but the duke took her arm and escorted her toward the altar, dark for the unlit tapers. Seasons of grime stained the windows and the dim light painted the interior gray. The brightest thing inside was the preacher’s shiny head.

Her knees threatened to buckle, and her uneven stride echoed off the wood beneath her feet. Near the altar, Kenilworth stood erect. The pale light failed to hide the grim set of his jaw. He stuck a finger down his snowy cravat as if it were too tight. Considering the surroundings, his white linen shirt and ebony frock coat of superfine looked out of place.

The occasion didn’t deserve finery. Sabrina touched her white pelerine collar and simple gray wool gown with pride. When she met Kenilworth’s dark look she shortened her stride. Nothing or no one had prepared her for this moment or what might follow.

Lord Sadlerfield handed her to the earl then sat. When she hesitated to place her fingers in Kenilworth’s, he pinned her with a black look. She slapped her hand against his broad, warm palm. The instant his long fingers curled around hers, she recalled the power they possessed. With only pride to rely upon, she thrust out her chin. She couldn’t turn back.

Leaning toward her, Kenilworth smiled, but darkness clouded his eyes. “I take it you’ll say the vows with the same intensity,” he whispered, and tucked her hand on his arm.

“With the same sincerity as you will.”

He turned to the clergyman. “Do the shortest version, sir.”

The preacher’s eyes darted from bride to groom. “Yes, milord.” He cleared his throat. “Sabrina, will you have this man...”

Their hollow words resonated off the stone walls. Within minutes the ceremony ended. In that second, she realized he had failed to give her a wedding ring and sensed the blatant omission was a protest. Despite the forced marriage, the lack of a ring galled her.

“You may kiss the bride, milord.”

Something urged her to deny him, and Sabrina stepped back.

Kenilworth seized her hand. “I think I will.”

Suddenly he pulled her close, crushed his lips over hers, and that same odd sensation made her stomach chum. His clean-scented clothes heightened her senses. As his mouth grew softer, her mutinous body arched against his hard form. Warmth seeped across her skin, but when she realized she was returning his kiss, she snapped her head back. He was only kissing her for the audience and punishing her for her slight.

“That’s enough, milord.”

“My dear countess, that’s just the beginning.”

She stared into his green eyes, ones that glittered with dark promises. “Beginning?” The word came out a whisper.

Planting his broad hand on her back, he urged her up the aisle. “I made a devil’s bargain with Sadlerfield. I accepted your scheming deal and made a vow to God. Do you know what that means?”

She licked her dry lips. “No.”

“I’m your husband. You’re my wife. As distasteful as that is to you, I intend to see you play the role well. A perfect countess. Is that clear?”

“I’ve no experience.”

A slow smile matched the promise in his eyes. “I intend to teach you. Everything.”

She shivered. “Dare I ask for specifics?”

He laughed.

The echo of Kenilworth’s mocking laugh still rang in Sabrina’s ears. “Marga, this marriage is going to be awful. He’ll be here any minute. I’m sure he’ll want to consummate the union.”

As Sabrina conveyed Kenilworth’s demand, she paced her new bedchamber, one that adjoined his. She moved around her Queen Anne dressing table, slid her finger over its mahogany surface. Taking several steps, she planted her hands on the back of the wing-backed chair where Marga sat. Sabrina wrinkled her nose at the wallpaper. Peacocks. A male with his pompously fanned tail hovered over a hen, it reminded her of Kenilworth.