Page 9 of Wild Hearts

Though Abrahams's sexual preference lay in another direction, he was nevertheless a collector of objets d'art and appreciated beautiful things for their own sake.

"This gentleman is Mr. Maxwell Abrahams"— she turned to him—"and this is Tabby Lamont. Exactly as I promised, is she not?"

"She is everything and more, my dear Mrs. Graham. I have come as a supplicant, my dear Miss Lamont. Would you indulge an old gentleman's fancy by dining at my home this evening?"

Tabby, never having received an invitation to dine out before, quickly said yes before he changed his mind.

Mrs. Graham stepped between them. "Wait outside," she ordered Tabby. When she was alone with Abrahams, she said, "I cannot allow her to leave with you. I'd never get her back."

"God rot you, woman. If it's money you want, I'll pay you now."

"Not just money, dear sir, not just money. A written offer of marriage, showing your intentions are honorable, would relieve me of responsibility should there be questions and inquiries about this... maiden." She emphasized the last word. "Her moral welfare is in my hands, and I am accountable, orphan though she may be."

He could see that he was going to have to capitulate to gain his desires, at least for the present. However, Mrs. Graham could present problems for him, and problems had to be dealt with.

"I have a very important piece of business to transact in Edinburgh Saturday, and I need the help of a ravishing female," announced Paris.

"Then by a process of elimination, it will have to be me," Damascus piped up.

"Rubbish!" snorted Shannon. "I've heard so much of it from you lately, I'm becoming a connoisseur of rubbish."

Paris turned from the two girls who were arguing and said, "Venetia, you are the perfect choice to accompany me to a society wedding."

She eyed him cautiously. "After the fling, beware the sting. Just how dangerous is this piece of business?"

"Oh, if it's dangerous, I'll do it, Paris, please," begged Alexandria, ever the tomboy.

"I know you would, sweetheart, but you are too young. Venetia, you must know I would never jeopardize your safety. 'Tis a simple matter, really. You will attend the reception with me. It's being held at one of the banqueting halls at Holyrood Palace. You must leave the moment the bride leaves, no matter how much you are enjoying yourself. I'll have six of my men accompany you. Make your way quietly to a big house on Princes Street close to the castle. When I quit this house, it will be your signal to ride like the wind with as much clatter as you can muster down the Royal Mile out of Castle Hill, past St. Giles Church and into the Canongate. By this time, you will have been very likely stopped by a troop of soldiers. Here comes the part you will love. You must play the role of the outraged beauty having her whereabouts questioned by common soldiers. Give them the dressing-down they deserve, tell them you are simply on your way to your uncle's town house for the night and be sure to let them know that Uncle Magnus is an Earl of the Realm."

"I'm to act as decoy while you get away." Venetia nodded as she memorized the instructions.

"Why couldn't I do-it?" pouted Damascus, putting her chin in the air.

"Your tongue isn't sharp enough." Paris laughed.

"Mine is," asserted Shannon.

"Yes, sweetheart, but you always want to do things your own way. You can't be trusted to follow orders, can you? Besides, I'll need you here to receive my prisoner."

"What exactly is this piece of business?" she demanded.

"A kidnapping for ransom."

Paris had to restrain himself all week: A dozen times he wanted to rescue the Lamont girl before she committed herself to the disastrous marriage, but he knew Abrahams would never pay a ransom for a female, unless that female was his lawful wife. A wedding celebrated in front of Edinburgh's leaders of society would obligate him to retrieve a stolen bride at almost any cost.

The banqueting room at Holyrood Palace was hot and overcrowded. Resplendent in violet-colored velvet doublet ablaze with a crest outlined in emeralds, Paris looked a slave to fashion. The lovely young bride, smiling shyly, seemed lost in the vast assemblage of unfamiliar faces. Then she saw him, and her eyes lit in recognition. Her heart fluttered in her breast as he swept her from head to foot with his piercing green eyes. A quick finger to the lips and a negative shake of his head warned her not to speak to him. Anger rose up in her, and a strange desire to deliberately disobey him began to grow, but to her consternation she found that she dare not goad him. Then Lord Lennox was introducing him to Abrahams.

"I am honored by your presence, Your Lordship," Abrahams greeted him smoothly. "My only regret is that we've never done business together. Perhaps now that we have met we can rectify that situation."

Paris lifted his glass and toasted lightly. "To our future dealings." He moved off into the throng so he could study Abrahams. He was small, in his mid-fifties, with a distinctly evil air. The formal black wedding attire made him seem most sallow and sinister. His eyes were hooded and shrewd, and Paris realized he would have to be sharp to come out ahead in any transaction with the man. Then Paris turned his attention to the bride. He caught his breath at the loveliness before him. He cursed himself for never giving her a thought. In the two years since he had seen her, womanhood had blossomed. The curve of her cheek against the cream lace made his heart beat thickly, and the Titian tresses, just the color of his own, sent desire flooding through him. Her round breasts swelled temptingly above the neck of the wedding gown, and as he lifted his eyes from her bosom, he got the full blaze of her amethyst gaze. They looked at each other, her eyes darkened to violet, her lashes lowered and her shoulders drooped. He reluctantly broke his gaze. and made his way over to Venetia, who was holding court of her own. "I'm leaving now. Remember your instructions."

When he climbed in the casement window on the third floor of the mansion on Princes Street, the velvet and jewels were gone. He wore a rough leather jacket with his weapons in his belt. Leather jackboots came halfway up his thighs, and all identifying badges and devices had been removed. He grinned as he realized he had picked his moment well, for the young bride was just being helped to remove the heavy lace wedding-gown. As the motherly maid lifted off the garment, a button caught upon one of Tabby's curls, and the servant clucked and gently untangled her. She stood in exquisitely embroidered pantalets and gasped as a tall figure swung into the chamber. Her maid, Mrs. Hall, stepped protectively between them, ready to do battle for her newfound charge. She was a small, plump woman with gray hair and merry eyes, but they held a fierce challenging light at the moment.

Paris laughed. "Gently, mother. The lady knows me.'

"I know you for a damned rogue," she hissed, and he was pleased that she had remembered his nickname.

Mrs. Hall spoke up. "Ye canna come in here. 'Tis my young mistress's wedding night. Her husband is impatiently awaiting her this-very moment."

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