Page 57 of Blackthorne's Bride
Jack shook his head. “She’ll have to be more than that.”
He knew what had to be done. He clenched his fists and told himself he was doing what was best for all of them, especially himself. But then, he’d always been a selfish bastard, hadn’t he?
Jack turned on his brother.
Nick looked behind him, searching for Jack’s intended victim, then realized Jack was looking at him. He raised his hands in surrender. “Whatever it is, I didn’t do it.”
“I need you, Nick,” Jack said quickly. “We need you.”
Nick narrowed his eyes. “I don’t mind being a witness.”
“No.” Jack took a step forward. “You must marry Lady Madeleine.”
“Oh, no.” Nick backed up, shaking his head. “This is your wedding, not mine.”
“He’s right, Nicholas,” Ashley said, coming between them. “If she returns to London unwed, her reputation will be ruined. Her life will be ruined. She has to be married.”
“But that’s not my fault,” Nick argued. “I didn’t touch her. I barely know the chit.”
“What does it matter whose fault it is?” Ashley demanded. “Thank God I’m not marrying you. You’re the most selfish man in England. Scotland, too,” she added after looking about her.
“Don’t start.” Nick pointed a finger at her, then looked at Jack. “Where’s the bloody professor?”
“Back in Carlisle. Probably dead.”
“No thanks to you.” Ashley began to rail again, and Jack pushed her aside.
“Let me handle this.”
Jack advanced on his brother until Nick had nowhere to go but out the door. As soon as they were away from Ashley and the priest, he hauled Nick up by the shirt collar and pushed him against the building’s wall.
“Listen, Nick. I’ve done a lot for you over the years. I’ve stuck my neck out for you more times than I care to admit, and you can do one small bloody thing for me.”
“Small? This isn’t like not telling Father when I drank a bottle of his best wine,” Nick argued. “This is marriage. Forever.”
Jack tightened his grip. “You’re always talking about good causes. Here’s a good cause.”
Nick shook his head. “But—”
“Yes or no, Nick. We both know how much you owe me.”
“Oh, goddamn it.” Nick sighed and scowled. “Fine. Bloody fine.”
MADDIE HUNCHED IN THE carriage, her arms wrapped around her knees, tears streaming down her cheeks. Inside the blacksmith’s shop, Ashley and Lord Blackthorne were being married. Meanwhile, she was out here alone. She was a widow before she’d even said her vows.
Poor Mr. Dover. He’d only wanted a mother for his children.
He’d only wanted to arrive in Gretna Green on time.
In the end, they’d been too late. And now he lay dead in Carlisle—well, perhaps not dead, but wounded. And she’d just left him there, left him for strangers to—
The carriage door was wrenched open and Blackthorne reached in, grasped her arms, and pulled her out. “What are you doing?” Something in the stony expression of his face made her struggle to get away. “I prefer to wait in here.”
“Well, you can’t get married in the coach.” He pushed her forward, and before she could ask what he meant, she heard the clatter of hooves nearing.
“Bloody hell! It’s your father.”
Her feet seemed to move of their own accord then, and she all but ran inside the blacksmith’s shop. She skidded to a stop and stared at the drunk anvil priest.
