Stephanie Laurens - The Reckless Bride

STEPHANIE
LAURENS

The
Reckless
Bride
THE BLACK COBRA QUARTET

September 15, 1822
North of Bombay, India

T he incessant tattoo of his horses hooves thundered through his skull. Rafe Carstairs, erstwhile captain in the British Army serving with the Honorable East India Company under the direct command of the Governor-General of India, glanced over his shoulder back along the trail, then urged his mount up the first in a series of low hills that spread across their path.

Riding alongside him, Hassan, his man, more companion than batman, kept pace. The long, lanky, frighteningly fierce Pathan warrior had fought at Rafes side for the past five years; without hesitation, hed accepted Rafes invitation to join him in this dangerous flight across half the world.

Rafes mission was simple. Ferry the original of a damning letterevidence enough to hang the Englishman who had spawned and now controlled the Black Cobra cult and who, through the cults vicious tyranny, was draining the life from too many Indian villagesback to England and into the hands of a man powerful enough to bring the Black Cobra down.

Simultaneously, Rafes three closest friends, and colleagues, Colonel Derek Delborough, Major Gareth Hamilton, and Major Logan Monteith, were also heading for England via separate routes carrying inadmissible copies of the vital evidencedecoys to distract the Black Cobra from the one man who had to get through.

Rafe.

Like Rafe, Hassan had seen too much of the Black Cobras villany not to seize the chance they now had to bring the fiend to justice.

Drawing rein on the crest of the hill, Rafe wheeled his mount and, through narrowed eyes, searched the wide, flat plain theyd crossed through the morning.

Hassan looked, too. No pursuers.

Rafe nodded. Its too dusty down there to miss racing horses. Nerves that had been taut since theyd left Bombay the day before eased a fraction.

Leaving immediately after your meeting with the other three was wise. Hassan wheeled his mount and walked on.

Rafe followed suit, then they nudged their horses back into a canter, heading nornorthwest. If they didnt pick up our trail yesterday, soon after we left Bombay, itll be difficult for them to guess our route.

They will expect you to go by waterthey will look to the harbor and ships. Even if they think to look inland, there will be no one to point a finger this way. We are just two tribal warriors, after all.

Rafe grinned and glanced at Hassan, unremarkable in his tribal robes. Rafe was similarly garbed. With his more European build swathed in loose fabric, his blond hair hidden beneath the headdress and attached scarves, and with all visible skin well tanned by years of campaigning, only his blue eyes gave him away.

And one had to get close to see the color of his eyes.

He looked ahead. Given the cult arent hot on our heels, its possible well have an uneventful journey, at least until we near the Channel. I just hope the others got away as cleanly.

Hassan grunted. They picked up the pace and rode on, the rich lands of the Rajputana their immediate goal, with the more dangerous, desolate reaches of the Afghan Supremacy beyond. There was a lot of Asia Minor to be crossed before they reached Europe, let alone the English Channel. They had a long journey before them, and a schedule to meet.

Rafe still felt a sense of deep satisfaction that hed been the one to draw the scroll-holder containing the original document from the four identical scroll-holders; the other three had contained the decoy missions. His friend and colleague Captain James MacFarlane had given his life to secure the incriminating letter. Rafe had seen Jamess body, twisted and tortured by the Black Cobras minions. To his soul, Rafe thirsted for vengeance.

The only acceptable vengeance was to ensure the Black Cobra hanged.

Rafe tapped his heels to his mounts sides. Onward. With luck and St. George, well win through.

They would, or Rafe would die trying.

September 18, 1822
The Michelmarsh Residence
Connaught Square, London

I deeply regret being so disobliging, but I simply cannot accept Lord Eggless offer. Loretta Violet Mary Michelmarsh surveyed her siblings and their spouses disposed on chairs and chaises about the library. She wasnt entirely sure why her rejection of Lord Eggless suit was causing so much more consternation than the seven rejections that had gone before.

But why? Catherine, Lorettas sister-in-law, her elder brother Roberts wife, spread her hands, her expression one of complete bafflement. Lord Eggles is everything that could be hoped forso very eligible in every way.

Except that hes a dead bore. And a pompous ass. I believe Ive mentioned, Loretta said, her tone one of the utmost reasonableness, that I have no wish to marrywell, not at this juncture. Not until she met the man of her dreams.

But Lord Eggles was the eighththe eighth perfectly eligible suitor youve rejected! Catherines voice rose to a more penetrating note. You cannot just keep rejecting suitorseveryone will start wondering why!

Will they? Loretta raised her brows. I cant imagine why they would waste the time.

Because youre a Michelmarsh, of course. Margaret, Lorettas elder sister, glanced at Annabelle, their middle sister, then with a sigh met Lorettas gaze. I hesitate to press you, but in this Catherines rightyour continuing dismissal of all suitors is bordering on the scandalous.

Youre a Michelmarsh female, Annabelle said, so its expected that you will wed. And while all would grant youve affected a quieter style than Margaret or I, or indeed any Michelmarsh young lady in recent memory, that in no way excludes you from that generally held expectation. All Michelmarsh females marry, usually well. Add to that the significant inheritances that will pass to your husband on your marriage and the question of who you will accept as said husband is one a sizeable portion of the ton is in constant expectation of hearing answered.

Loretta hadnt missed the subtle emphasis Annabelle had placed on the word affected. The look in Annabelles blue eyes assured Loretta that Annabelle, two years older than Lorettas twenty-four and closest to her in age, understood very well that Lorettas reserved demeanor was indeed an affectation, an adopted faade. And if Annabelle knew, Margaret did, too.

What your sisters are attempting to explain, John, Margarets husband, said from his position propped against the back of the chaise, is that your peremptory and immediate dismissal of all suitors brave enough to approach is raising speculation as to whether, rather than the individual suitors, it is the institution of marriage you reject.

Loretta frowned. She knew precisely what she wanted in a suitor. She just hadnt found him yet.

Robert, her elder brother and guardian, seated behind the desk to the left of the straight-backed chair Loretta occupied, cleared his throat. Looking his way, Loretta saw color tingeing his cheeks. Embarrassment, she knew, not anger. Anger, after all, was a strong emotion, and Robert, aided and abetted by Catherine, had made a point of being the only Michelmarsh in history to be reserved, staid, prim and proper, as close to emotionless as made no odds.

In his case, that demeanor was no affectation.

Robert was the white sheep in a family of, perhaps not black sheep but at least distinctly brindled. Michelmarshes were, and always had been, the very souls of outrageous vivacity, extroverts to their very toes.