He wondered if Nathan's mask of boredom would hold up throughout the long ceremony. With that question lurking in the back of his mind he went to fetch the bride.
He could hear her wailing when he reached the second story. The sound was interrupted by a man's angry shout. The baron knocked on the door twice before the earl of Winchester, the bride's father, pulled it open. The earl's face was as red as a sunburn.
"It's about time," the earl bellowed.
"The king was delayed," the baron answered.
The earl abruptly nodded. "Come inside, Lawrence. Help me get her down the stairs, man. She's being a mite stubborn."
There was such surprise in the earl's voice, Lawrence almost smiled. "I've heard that stubbornness can be expected of such tender-aged daughters."
"I never heard such," the earl muttered. " 'Tis the truth this is the first time I've ever been alone with Sara. I'm not certain she knows exactly who I am," he added. "I did tell her, of course, but you will see she isn't in the mood to listen to anything. I had no idea she could be so difficult."
Lawrence couldn't hide his astonishment over the earl's outrageous remarks. "Harold," he answered, using the earl's given name, "you have two other daughters, as I recall, and both of them older than Sara. I don't understand how you can be so—"
The earl didn't let him finish. "I haven't ever had to be with any of them before," he muttered.
Lawrence thought that confession was appalling. He shook his head and followed the earl into the chamber. He spotted the bride right away. She was sitting on the edge of the window seat, staring out the window.
She quit crying as soon as she saw him. Lawrence thought she was the most enchanting bride he'd ever seen. A mop of golden curls framed an angelic face. There was a crown of spring flowers on her head, a cluster of freckles on the bridge of her nose. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her brown eyes were cloudy with more.
She wore a long white dress with lace borders around the hem and wrists. When she stood up the embroidered sash around her waist fell to the floor.
Her father let out a loud blasphemy.
She repeated it.
"It's time for us to go downstairs, Sara," her father ordered, his voice as sour as the taste of soap.
"No."
The earl's outraged gasp filled the room. "When I get you home I'm going to make you very sorry you've put me through this ordeal, young lady. By God, I'm going to land on you, I am. Just you wait and see."
Since the baron didn't have the faintest idea what the earl meant by that absurd threat, he doubted Sara understood any better.
She was staring up at her father with a mutinous expression on her face. Then she let out a loud yawn and sat down again.
"Harold, shouting at your daughter isn't going to accomplish anything," the baron stated.
"Then I'll give her a good smack," the earl muttered. He took a threatening step toward his daughter, his hand raised to inflict the blow.
Lawrence stopped in front of the earl. "You aren't going to strike her," he said, his voice filled with anger.
"She's my daughter," the earl shouted. "I'll damn well do whatever it takes to gain her cooperation."
"You're a guest in my home now, Harold," the baron replied. He realized he was also shouting then and immediately lowered his voice. "Let me have a try."
Lawrence turned to the bride. Sara, he noticed, didn't seem to be at all worried by her father's anger. She let out another loud yawn.
"Sara, it will all be over and done with in just a little while," the baron said. He knelt down in front of her, gave her a quick smile, and then gently forced her to stand up. While he whispered words of praise to her he retied the sash around her waist. She yawned again.
The bride was in dire need of a nap. She let the baron tug her along to the door, then suddenly pulled out of his grasp, ran back to the window seat, and gathered up an old blanket that appeared to be three times her size.
She made a wide path around her father as she hurried back to the baron and took hold of his hand again. The blanket was draped over her shoulder and fell in a heap on the ground behind her. The edge was securely clasped under her nose.
Her father tried to take the blanket away.
Sara started screaming, her father started cursing, and the baron developed a pounding headache.
"For God's sake, Harold, let her have the thing."
"I'll not," the earl shouted. "It's an eyesore. I won't allow it."
"Let her keep it until we reach the hall," the baron commanded.
The earl finally conceded defeat. He gave his daughter a good glare, then took up his position in front of the pair and led the way down the stairs.
Lawrence found himself wishing Sara was his daughter. When she looked up at him and smiled so trustingly he wanted to take her into his arms and hug her. Her disposition underwent a radical change, however, when they reached the entrance to the hall and her father once again tried to take her blanket away.
Nathan turned when he heard the noise coming from the entrance. His eyes widened in astonishment. In truth, he was having difficulty believing what he was seeing. He hadn't been interested enough to ask any pertinent questions about his bride, for he was certain his father would have the documents overturned as soon as he returned to England, and for that reason he was all the more surprised by the sight of her.
His bride was a hellion. Nathan had trouble maintaining his bored expression. The earl of Winchester was doing more shouting than his daughter was. She, however, was far more determined. She had her arms wrapped around her father's leg and was diligently trying to take a fair chunk out of his knee.
Nathan smiled. His relatives weren't as reserved. Their laughter filled the hall. The Winchesters, on the other hand, were clearly appalled. The earl, their unspoken leader, had pulled his daughter away from his leg and was now involved in a tug of war over what resembled an old horse blanket. He wasn't winning the battle, either.
Baron Lawrence lost the last shreds of his composure. He grabbed hold of the bride, lifted her into his arms, snatched the blanket away from her father, and then marched over to Nathan. With little ceremony he shoved the bride and the blanket into the groom's arms.
It was either accept her or drop her. Nathan was in the process of making up his mind on the matter when Sara spotted her father limping toward her. She quickly threw her arms around Nathan's neck, wrapping both herself and her blanket around him.
Sara kept glancing over his shoulder to make certain her father wasn't going to grab her. When she was certain she was safe she turned her full attention to the stranger holding her. She stared at him for the longest while.
The groom stood as straight as a lance. A fine sweat broke out on his brow. He could feel her gaze on his face yet didn't dare turn to look at her. She just might decide to bite him, and he didn't know what he would do then. He made up his mind that he would just have to suffer through any embarrassment she forced on him. He was, after all, almost a man, and she was, after all, only a child.
Nathan kept his gaze directed on the king until Sara reached out to touch his cheek. He finally turned to look at her.
She had the brownest eyes he'd ever seen. "Papa's going to smack me," she announced with a grimace.
He didn't show any reaction to that statement. Sara soon tired of watching him. Her eyelids fell to half mast. He stiffened even more when she slumped against his shoulder. Her face was pressed up against the side of his neck.
"Don't let Papa smack me," she whispered.
"I won't," he answered.
He had suddenly become her protector. Nathan couldn't hold onto his bored expression any longer. He cradled his bride in his arms and relaxed his stance.
Sara, exhausted from the long ride and her strenuous tantrum, rubbed the edge of her blanket back and forth under her nose. Within bare minutes she was fast asleep.
She drooled on his neck.
The groom didn't find out her true age until the barrister began the reading of the conditions for the union.
His bride was four years old.
Chapter One
London, England, 1816
It was going to be a clean, uncomplicated kidnapping.
Ironically, the abduction would probably hold up in the courts as a completely legal undertaking, save for the niggling breaking and entering charges, of course, but that possibility wasn't the least significant. Nathanial Clayton Hawthorn Baker, the third marquess of St. James, was fully prepared to use whatever methods he deemed necessary to gain success. If luck was on his side, his victim would be sound asleep. If not, a simple gag would eliminate any sounds of protest.
One way or another, legal or nay, he would collect his bride. Nathan, as he was called by those few friends close to him, wasn't going to have to act like a gentleman—a blessing, that, considering the fact that such tender qualities were completely foreign to his nature anyway. Besides, time was running out. There were only six weeks left before he would be in true violation of the marriage contract.
Nathan hadn't seen his bride since the day the contracts were read fourteen years earlier, but the picture he'd painted in his mind wasn't fanciful. He didn't have any illusions about the chit, for he'd seen enough Winchester women to know there wasn't any such thing as a pick of the litter. They were all a sorry lot in both appearance and disposition. Most were pear-shaped, with big bones, bigger derrieres, and, if the stories weren't exaggerated, gigantic appetites.
Although having a wife by his side was about as appealing to him as a midnight swim with the sharks would be, Nathan was fully prepared to suffer through the ordeal. Perhaps, if he really put his mind to the problem, he could find a way to meet the conditions of the contract without having to stay with the woman day and night.
For most of his life Nathan had been on his own, refusing to receive counsel from any man. Only his trusted friend Colin was privy to his thoughts. Still, the stakes were too high for Nathan to ignore. The booty the contract afforded after one year's cohabitation with Lady Sara more than made up for any repulsion he might feel or any inconvenience he might have to endure. The coins he would collect by the crown's decree would strengthen the fledgling partnership he and Colin had formed the summer before. The Emerald Shipping Company was the first legitimate business either man had ever attempted, and they were determined to make it work. The reason was simple to understand. Both men were tired of living on the edge. They'd fallen into the business of pirating quite by accident—had done fairly well for themselves, too—yet they felt that the risks involved were no longer worth the aggravation. Nathan, operating as the infamous pirate Pagan, had made quite a legend for himself. His list of enemies could carpet a good-sized ballroom. The bounty on his head had increased to such an outlandish amount that even a saint would be tempted to turn traitor for the reward. Keeping Nathan's other identity a secret was becoming more and more difficult. It was only a matter of time before he was caught, if they continued with their pirating escapades, or so Colin relentlessly nagged, until Nathan finally agreed.
Exactly one week after that momentous decision had been made the Emerald Shipping Company was founded. The offices were located in the heart of the waterfront, the furnishings sparse. There were two desks, four chairs, and one filing cabinet, all blistered from a previous fire. The former tenant hadn't bothered to cart them away. Since coins were at a premium, new furniture was at the bottom of their list of purchases. Additional ships for their fleet came first.
Both men understood the ins and outs of the business community. They were both graduates of Oxford University, although as students neither had anything to do with the other. Colin never went anywhere without a pack of friends in attendance. Nathan was always alone. It was only when the two men were partnered as operatives in a deadly game of secret government activities that a bond formed between them. It took a long while, a year or so, before Nathan began to trust Colin. They had risked their lives for each other and for their beloved country, only to be betrayed by their own superiors. Colin had been stunned and outraged when the truth became known. Nathan hadn't been surprised at all. He always expected the worst in people and was rarely disappointed. Nathan was a cynical man by nature and a fighter by habit. He was a man who thoroughly enjoyed a good brawl, leaving Colin to clean up the mess.
Colin's older brother, Caine, was the earl of Cainewood. He'd married Nathan's younger sister, Jade, just the year before, and in so doing unknowingly strengthened the bond between the two friends. Colin and Nathan had become brothers by marriage.
Because Nathan was a marquess and Colin was the brother of a powerful earl, both men were invited to all the affairs of the ton. Colin mingled quite easily with the staunch upper crust and used each occasion to mix pleasure with the business of building their clientele. Nathan never attended any of the parties, which was, as Colin suggested, probably the reason he was invited. It was a fact that society didn't consider Nathan a very likable man. He certainly wasn't bothered by the Ion's opinion of him, though, for he much preferred the comfort of a seedy tavern on the wharf to the stiffness of a formal salon.
In appearance the two men were just as different. Colin was, as Nathan liked to remark whenever he wanted to prick his temper, the pretty one in the partnership. Colin was an attractive man with hazel eyes and a strong patrician profile. He'd taken to the unsavory habit of wearing his dark brown hair as long as his friend's, a lingering leftover from his pirating days, but that minor fashion sin didn't detract from the perfection of his unscarred face. Colin was almost as tall as Nathan was, but much leaner in build, and as arrogant as Brummell when the occasion called for it. The ladies of the ton thought Colin incredibly handsome. Colin had a noticeable limp due to an accident, but that even seemed to add to his appeal.
When it came to appearance, Nathan hadn't been as blessed. He looked more like a warlord from the ancient days than a modern Adonis. He never bothered to bind his auburn-colored hair in a leather thong behind his neck the way Colin usually did but left it to fall past his shoulders as was its natural inclination. Nathan was a giant of a man, muscular in both shoulders and thighs, with nary a pinch of fat on his frame. His eyes were a vivid green—an attention-getter, to be sure, if the ladies weren't in such a hurry to get away from his dark scowl.
To outsiders the two friends were complete opposites. Colin was considered the saint, Nathan the sinner. In reality, their dispositions were very much alike. Both kept their emotions locked inside. Nathan used isolation and a surly temper as his weapons against involvement. Colin used superficiality for the same reason.
