The Banished Bride

Back Cover:

Aurora and Alex have been married for thirteen years—although one would hardly know it. They cannot recognize each other’s laughter. Nor have they ever shared an intimate embrace. Because the last—and first—time Alex ever saw his wifr was at their arranged marriage, and even then it was through a thick veil and a haze of drink . . . . .

Married off at tender ages by their families, Aurora and Alex have since carved out separate lives for themselves—hers, a chaste one helping mistreated women, his, that of a worldly soldier. But while on a secret mission to find a woman spy, Alex mistakes Aurora for the enemy. Little does he know that she is his own wife—or that the fiery-tongued vixen will stir embers of passion that will ignite an undying love.

Excerpt:

Aurora tucked an errant curl back up under her bonnet and surveyed the dimly lit public room. At this hour it was not the smoke but rather the grime that prevented more than a few wan rays of sunlight from penetrating the paned glass. Suppressing a grimace, she took another sip of her tea. At least most of the male travelers who had been present during evening meal were far too befuddled to be up so early.

If Robbie had not been so befuddled by illness, she reminded herself, the redoubtable former governess would likely have remembered the one key fact that both of them had overlooked in the haste to be off. To whit, while Mary had served as a proper companion on the journey north, once she was safely delivered to the cottage of her aunt, Aurora had been left to negotiate the trip home by herself.

She hadn’t quite realized how tedious the ramifications could be, especially as her clothing was hardly of the first crack and her carriage a bit shabby for wear. The balding merchant from Dundee had been particularly hard to convince of the fact that his garlic enhanced invitations to share sleeping arrangements were of no interest. It had taken a slight nudge on the narrow stairs to show him the error of his thinking. No doubt he would be nursing a sore rump as well as a splitting headache when he woke up.

Men, she fumed, her teaspoon stirring up the last of her lukewarm brew with a tad more force than necessary. They were more trouble than they were worth, that was for sure. Pushing aside the chipped plate of stale toast and watery marmalade, she stood up and went to pay for the meagre repast, certain that the shot would prove to be as much of an outrage as the charge for a night spent between dingy sheets that couched a goodly number of live bodies other than her own.

Her carriage was waiting at the far end of the muddy yard, the driver looking none to happy at being rousted from the straw at first light. His mood turned even more sour as a few drops of rain fell from the leaden skies. As no one made any sign of coming to her assistance, Aurora reached up and tugged the door open.

How odd, she thought, pausing for a fraction to peer into the inky darkness. She could have sworn she had left the curtains tied back. Then, with a shrug, she placed her foot on the iron step and started to climb in. Her ascent was suddenly made all the more swift by strong fingers that wrapped around her wrist and jerked her inside. The door slammed shut and she found herself in a man’s lap, a hand over her mouth and a blade of cold steel pressed up against her neck.

 

“Not a sound, sweeting, or I shall be forced to cut your throat.” The knife pressed a bit harder, as if to emphasize the command. “And a shame it would be, for it looks to be a very pretty throat.” It did indeed, added Alex to himself. Too bad it was the throat of a traitor.

Aurora leaned unresisting against his broad shoulder, making no attempt to cry out or to struggle.

“I see you have a modicum of sense to go along with your looks.”

She jerked her knee up hard, hoping to catch him a solid blow in the groin. The maneuver almost worked, but his reflexes proved a tad too quick. He shifted just enough so that her effort merely glanced off his thigh.

“Ah, sweeting, to succeed in such a move, you must be sure that your opponent is truly off guard. You would have done better to distract me with a tear or two, then make the attempt.” He reached up to rap a command for the driver to start off.

Twisting her mouth free from his grasp, she snapped,” I shall remember that, you lout.” Her fingers sought to push away his arm, but it held her in a vise like grip. The sharp edge of steel pinched a bit deeper. “If it is money you seek, your judgement is as bad as your manners,” she added. One of the curtains had been jostled during the short struggle and a bit of light filtered into the carriage. Aurora kicked up at the hem of her skirts. “My purse is as shabby as my dress.

It will make but a meager prize.” She then gave a slight sniff at the odor of cheap brandy clinging to the rough wool of his jacket and wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Though no doubt even a few shillings will keep your in good spirits for a day or two.”

Lord, he had to admit she was the one who had spirit. In spades. And courage to boot. But to do what she did, that should come as no surprise. She was a skilled and dangerous enemy. But still, he could not tear his gaze from the lush curves of her lips, now pursed in a delectable moue of anger. Without thinking, he leaned in closer. “Then perhaps I shall steal a kiss.”

“Do you always have to use a knife to purloin kisses from a female?”

Alex gave a throaty chuckle. “No, usually they are all to happy to offer their charms without the need of such extreme measures. Indeed, I often must use a weapon to fend them off.”

“Arrogant oaf. In my experience, most men use force to take what they want.”

He drew back a touch, surprised at the undertone beneath the harsh retort. Was it a note of vulnerability? Fear, even? With a sudden start, he wrenched mind away from such odd musings.

What the devil had come over him? he chided himself. His icy detachment and ruthless efficiency were legendary among his comrades. It was most unlike him to be distracted, even for a moment, from the business at hand. This was hardly the time to be flirting with a pretty young lady. Especially this lady.

His grip tightened on her arm. “Enough of games, sweeting. It’s not money I seek, but information,” he growled.

Even in the near darkness he could make out the sneer on her lips. “If that is the case, then it hardly makes sense to threaten slitting my throat.”

A grim smile crept to his lips “You have a certain raw courage, my dear, but the game is up.” He shifted in his seat, trying to ease the stab of pain in his shoulder, Damn, the wound was beginning to bleed again. It had been most unfortunate that someone had evidently been alerted as to his arrival. The bullet had only narrowly missed its mark, but the fellow who had pulled the trigger would have no chance to try again. His corpse was already feeding the fish off Ailsa Crag. “Your accomplice is dead, you know, so why not make this easy on both of us—”

Aurora couldn’t stifle a gasp. “You . . . you have hurt Robbie,” she whispered.

“I’m afraid Robbie is lying in a watery grave—”

A blow to his jaw cut off any further words. Then her fists began to pound against his chest. “How could you harm a sweet, little old lady, you despicable beast!” she cried. “I am the one who runs the whole operation. If you wish to avenge yourself, do so on me!”

Alex managed to catch hold of her hands. “Little old lady? The person you sent to ambush me was most definitely not a little old lady. It is he who lies beneath a fathom of water.”

“I? I sent no one to take a shot at you,” she retorted. ”Though considering how men treat their wives, it is no wonder that someone did.”

Her words were making no sense. Fighting off another wave of nausea, Alex forced himself to concentrate. Of course. She was trying to confuse the issue, the little witch. He twisted her arm hard around behind her back, drawing a cry of pain. He had never manhandled a female before in his life, but his strength was ebbing and he needed some answers out of her. Fast. “Tell me about the operation.” he snarled, giving the limb another hard tug. “And quickly. Otherwise you’ll have a broken arm to show for your stubbornness. Who supplies your information?”
Aurora winced, but bit her lip to keep from crying out. “Very well.” Her voice sought to maintain some measure of dignity. “It comes from a wide assortment of my female friends. Barmaids, tweenies, cooks, milkmaids and the like. Gentlemen seem to think anyone beneath them lacks ears as well as feelings.”

This was even more confusing than her earlier words, but he went doggedly on. “Then what?”
“Well, it’s really not hard to put the facts together. Numbers leave a trail that anyone with half a brain can sort out. It just takes a little perserverence and common sense. And then, you gentlemen tend to act like rutting sheep when engaged in an illicit affair— all lathered action and frenzied motion, with little mind as to whom may be observing your behavior.”

Despite himself, Alex felt his jaw go slack. “And?”

“After I compile the dossiers, I turn them over to the wife—it usually is a husband I have investigated, though on occasion it may be some other smarmy male relative—or whomever has requested the information.” She drew in a deep breath. “Which aggrieved husband or uncle are you?”

He had the oddest sensation that the inside of the carriage was starting to spin. “What the devil are you talking about!” he shouted, wondering why his voice was sounding so fuzzy.
“Why . . . the Sprague Agency for Distressed Females. Isn’t that what you are asking about?”
“Bloody hell! What in the name of Lucifer is the Sprague Agency for—” The knife clattered to the carriage floor, joined a moment later by the Earl of Woodbridge’s lanky form.

“Bloody hell is right,” muttered Aurora as she sought to lever the gentleman back up to the seat. He was heavier than he looked, for despite the obvious lack of padding around certain areas of his anatomy, he appeared to be all whipcord muscle wherever her hands touched. Ignoring the odd flicker of heat that the touch of him stirred within her, she wrapped her arms around his torso. For a moment, she was tempted to pry open the door and boot him out into the mud. It was what he deserved, the bosky fool. Lord, he must be well and truly foxed, first to accost her with a weapon, then to spout off with those addled rantings, and finally to pass out cold at her feet.

Men, she thought with a derisive snort, finally squaring his shoulders up against the squabs. It was then that she noticed the dark stain seeping through the tear in his jacket. Her fingers brushed over the rough wool and came away covered with a sticky red substance. For a moment she could only stare at the tangible evidence that his harsh accusations were not simply the working of a jug bitten mind. Then, with brusque efficiency, she peeled the outer garment down from the wound and turned to find her reticule.

Mixed in among an assortment of useful items was a small flask of brandy. It had already proven quite handy on several occasions during the journey, for somehow, her driver had always proved more willing to go on until the next inn after a wee nip or two. Uncorking its contents, Aurora shifted closer to the man’s unconscious form. A jolt of the carriage threw her up against his side, and a hard object poked into her ribs. She swallowed hard then felt gingerly at the pocket of his jacket. Her fingers withdrew a large and very deadly looking pistol. To her unpracticed eye it appeared to be primed and cocked.

Her mouth twitched in a grim smile as she placed it next to the knife she had retrieved from the floor. We shall see who is in the position to be making threats, she thought to herself with some smugness. She brought the flask to the man’s mouth and forced a few drops down his throat. The rest she dumped over the wound on his shoulder.

“OUCH!” He sat up with such force that Aurora was nearly knocked off the seat. She sidled back across the worn leather and took up the knife in one hand and the pistol in the other. After all, she still had no idea of what he was doing in her carriage. Was he a thief? An enraged spouse? Or merely a madman?

His eyes fluttered open. On catching a glimpse of the weapons pointed in his direction, they fell closed again and a string of oaths tripped from his tongue.

“Really, sir, there is no call to be so vulgar. In case you have forgotten it was you who accosted me, and not the other way around.”

He shifted slightly, causing a sharp intake of breath. “Damn,” he murmured. “Weak as a kitten.”
One lid pried open, and Aurora couldn’t help but notice the color that was revealed was blue. Not just an ordinary blue, but a brilliant sapphire. How was it she hadn’t noticed before?

“Go ahead and pull the trigger,” he continued raggedly. “Doesn’t matter. Whitehall knows about you. Will send another in my stead.”

She searched her memory. Whitehall? She had made no probings into the affairs of any such fellow. “You must be mistaken, sir. I don’t know him.”

A humorless laugh answered her words. “Your skills are such that they must rival those of the famous Mrs. Siddons, though I’ve yet to see her tread the boards. But you may leave off your role of confused innocent. We know where the French are getting such information.”

It suddenly dawned on her. Whitehall. That Whitehall. “For God’s sake, you think I am a . . . spy? A spy and a traitor?”

His lips curled up in a mocking half smile.

“Hell’s teeth, I should shoot you. Of all the nasty, unfair things I have been called by various gentlemen, I vow that is truly the worst. Not to speak of being too idiotic for words. You must be the most bumbling British agent in all of Christendom.”

The second eyelid popped open, along with his mouth.

“Really,” fumed Aurora, before he could get a word in edgewise. “It is outside of enough that anyone—much less anyone who is supposed to have an iota of intelligence—would think that I was capable of betraying my country. To begin with, I’ve never been within a hundred and fifty miles of London and Whitehall in my life. Just how am I supposed to hatch my nefarious schemes at home in—well, in a small village? A home that contains such dastardly accomplices as an aged cook, an ex-governess and a housekeeper whose gouty knees keep her from climbing up and down the stairs more than twice a day. Then, of course, there is the calico cat, six chickens, one sway back cart horse and a milk cow.” She shook her head in disgust. ”Truly a band of dangerous criminals that should strike fear in the heart of the British government.”

Beads of sweat seemed to be forming on the man’s brow as he shifted uncomfortably on he seat, but whether it was from a fever brought on by his wound or some other cause, Aurora couldn’t tell.

“Er . . . . The only thing I was told was that the enemy I am searching for is a female . . . .”
“Oh, well that narrows down the field considerably,” she retorted acidly. “What did you do? Flip a coin to decide which one to attack first.”

“You were traveling alone. Seemed rather havey-cavey.”

“I wouldn’t have been traveling alone if Robbie—that is, Miss Robertson—hadn’t taken ill at the last moment. Of course, I had Mary with me on the trip north, but once I delivered her to her aunt, I was left without a female companion.” Her chin rose a fraction. “I’ll have you know I usually plan things much better than this, but time was of the essence, and sometimes one is forced to improvise.” There was a slight pause. “And furthermore, if I was a foreign agent, I should hardly be seeking to draw attention to myself by acting in an, as you say, havey-cavey manner.”

Despite the pallor under his tanned skin, a flush of red spread over his face. “I suppose that makes a bit of sense,” he allowed. “Perhaps I might have been a bit hasty in—” Another jolt of the wheel caused him to grimace in pain. The beading on his forehead had changed to small rivulets running down his unshaven cheeks.

With a sigh of exasperation, Aurora set aside the pistol and reached out to smooth away his tangled locks and touch his skin. “Lord, you are burning up.” Digging into her reticule she took out an crumpled handkerchief and began to mop at his brow.

“Don’t suppose you have another flask hidden away in there?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.
“Feeling devilishly thirsty.” Before she could answer, he slumped against her shoulder.

“Oh dear, are you going to faint again?”

“I’m a soldier, not one of your distressed females,” he mumbled. ”Soldiers do not faint.”

“No. They simply pass out,” she remarked, taking care to lie his lifeless form across the full length of the cushion. Shifting to the facing seat, she rapped on the trap and called out to the driver. “Ranley, we must stop at the next cheap inn.”

 

Alex awoke with a fuzzy head and the bitter taste of laudenum on his lips. He wished he might dismiss his recent memories as mere drug induced hallucinations but he knew they were all too real. He winced, not from the pain of his wounded shoulder but from the realization of what a cake he had made of himself. Over the years he had carried out over a score of more difficult and dangerous missions, always with resounding success. Now, on his last assignment, he had bungled things badly, and in a match up against an inexperienced country chit no less. What had she called him—the most bumbling British agent in all of Christendom?

He winced again. Lord, maybe the general was right, he thought glumly. Maybe he was getting too old for this.

A slight swish of skirts caused his eyes to come open.

“Oh, yer awake, sir!” The female sitting in a straight backed chair by his narrow bed jumped to her feet rather nervously. Though she looked to be not a day under sixty, she moved toward the door with surprising alacrity. “I’ll go fetch yer wife.”

Wife? He must be dreaming—or rather, experiencing his worst nightmare.

“I see the laudenum is finally wearing off.” The face that bent close to his was nothing like a nightmare. Indeed, he had forgotten how attractive she was, with those smoky emerald eyes and cascade of curls. The shimmering color reminded him of exotic spice, while their texture looked to be as soft as the finest India silk. And that odd mouth, strong and a trifle wider than might be thought pretty, yet softly rounded, just as a woman’s curves should be.

“ . . . back in the morning.”

He blinked, realizing he hadn’t heard a word she had been saying.

“Still groggy I see.” Aurora pulled the chair closer to the iron bedstead and sat down. Her fingers brushed against his forehead. “But the fever seems to have passed. It’s a good thing you have a strong constitution for the doctor said a nasty inflammation had set in.”

“How long have I been abed?”

“Two days.”

“Two days! The devil—” He tried to sit up, but the movement caused him to feel a bit lightheaded.

Aurora reached over and tucked the flimsy pillow behind his shoulders. “Perhaps that will help. I’ve also ordered up a bowl of porridge and some tea. You’ll likely feel a bit better once you’ve gotten some food into you.”

“Thank you,” he muttered, his eyes avoiding hers. Lord, he was still appearing the helpless fool and it didn’t sit well at all. “How did I get here?” he demanded after a pause, his voice a bit rougher than he intended.

“Do you wish the full account, or an abbreviated version?”

His brow furrowed.

“Actually, you had better hear it all, since you will have to stick to your part of the story if you wish to avoid drawing attention to yourself. Which, as a British soldier on a clandestine mission, I assume you do not. Even innocent country chits know that.”

Alex could only nod, though his teeth set on edge.

“Very well.” She rearranged the folds of her skirts, revealing, just for an instant, a very nicely turned ankle. He forced eyes shut so that he might pay attention to her words. “I ordered my carriage to stop at the first inn that looked to be a bit . . . less patronized than some of the others.
Informing the proprietor that my husband had been taken suddenly ill, I had my driver carry you up to this room, then engaged a second chamber with the explanation that I didn’t wish to disturb your rest. The added blunt made it unlikely they would ask any further questions. A doctor was recommended, and after a certain number of guineas changed hands, he was more than willing to forget he had to dig a bullet out of your shoulder. We both agreed the inflammation and fever must have been caused by a putrid boil—” Noting the reproachful look that crossed his features, she shrugged. “Well, we had to explain the bandages around your shoulder.” Picking up where she had left off, she finished off the story without further ado. “I also hired the innkeeper’s mother and wife to help keep watch over you at night, thereby further ensuring their cooperation as well avoiding being in the same chamber with a strange man. Oh, and as my purse is, as I told you, rather light these days, I took the liberty of paying for all this with the gold I found sewn in the lining of your jacket.”

Alex was rendered speechless for a moment. Sweet Jesus, he thought, Wellington had found a rival for decisive action and deft maneuvering.

“Since it was likely issued by dear Whitehall, I figured I was entitled to it as well,” she quipped. “We spies are known to get paid by both sides on occasion.”

“Sorry,” he growled. “If you recall, I was feeling a bit ill.”
“Yes, no doubt the fever had addled your brain,” she agreed “There is no other explanation for such a patently ridiculous notion.” Despite the edge of sarcasm to her voice, he noted that the line of her jaw seemed to soften somewhat. “So, you do not still think I am the dastardly spy you seek?”

“I suppose not. You have had plenty of opportunity to send me to my Maker.”

“Hardly an overwhelming vote of confidence.” However her lips twitched in a slight smile, and he found he couldn’t help but grin back.

“Thank you. For everything,” he repeated softly. “Truly. I am usually not quite so cow handed as this. Indeed, I haven’t made such a hash of an encounter since—well, since I was much younger.”

“No I don’t imagine you have.” Alex was gratified to see her smile grow even more pronounced. “In your line of work I doubt you’d be around long if you had.”

The arrival of the tray of food interrupted any further conversation. “Well, good night, sir. I shall see you in the morning.”

As she walked toward the door, Alex tried not to stare at the sway of her slim hips. Indeed, he tried to put her out of his mind altogether. Waving away the elderly woman who had brought him his meal, he sat up by himself and began to attack the thick porridge. But his thoughts kept straying back to his rescuer.

Strong-willed females were usually not at all to his taste, he mused, chewing slowly on the crunchy nuggets.They inevitably proved to be demanding, greedy and selfish to boot. But this young lady was intriguingly different. Why, most any other lady would have swooned at having a knife placed to her throat, but she had kept her wits about her, showing a feisty courage and an agile mind.

Too agile! he thought with a wry purse of his lips. Egad, had a female really disarmed him? He could only hope no word of that little encounter would ever leak out. First of all, his fellow officers would never believe it. And if they did become convinced of its truth, they would laugh themselves sick, no matter that he had been half delirious with fever. He would join in, he admitted, for the irony of a seasoned veteran being bested by a poor country miss was not lost on him. He had always been able to laugh at himself. It was what helped keep him sane over the years.

With a start, he realized he was chuckling aloud. Damn! Green chit she may be, but she had handled what could have been a disaster of epic proportions with cool aplomb and quick thinking. Lord, her concise report would have been a credit to any officer on Wellington’s staff. He added organized, smart and savvy to the growing list of her attributes.

As he shifted against the ragged pillow, he caught the faint lingering of her scent, a sweet, fresh scent of lavender and warm honey. Attractive. Damn attractive, especially as it seemed clear she was no longer the enemy. Even when he had though her thus, he couldn’t help but be drawn into the hidden depths that lurked in those flickering green eyes. They looked to hold more mysteries than any exotic jungle.

And likely were just as dangerous, he chided himself. Lord, he must still be suffering the effect of the fever and the drugs.He hadn’t reacted this way to a female since . . . . He paused to think. Since never. The spoon rattled against the chipped bowl. It was simple lust, that was all. Lust made oddly edgy by the strange circumstances.

Of course, as a gentleman he would control such base urges, for he had never been one to prey on young innocents. And he would also see her reputation didn’t suffer for her involvement with him. It shouldn’t be too difficult to cover up the fact that they had spent several nights unchaperoned at a public inn. No one need know. He would see her safely to the main road to the border, before continuing on his own mission. Satisfied that he had thought of everything, he set the tray aside and blew out the single candle. His head had nearly settled against the pillow when an oath slipped from his lips. Then another.

Hell’s teeth! It suddenly occurred to him that he didn’t even know her name!

 

Aurora tugged on her nightrail and slipped between the scratchy sheets. She should be exhausted, having spent half the previous night tending to the feverish stranger and a good part of the day arranging for the doctor and medicines. Not to speak of convincing the rather suspicious innkeeper that nothing too havey cavey was going on upstairs in his dusty little chambers.

Yet sleep was proving elusive. She turned on her side, then on to her back. No doubt she should have shoved the dratted man from the carriage at the first opportunity. Why, he was no different than most males—odious, overbearing and smugly sure he was right, even when logic and fact dared contradict such opinion.

So why, every time she closed her eyes, did she picture a blue as mezmerising as any jewel and a crooked smile that gave the hard planes of unshaven face a boyish charm. Even those stubbly black whiskers had captured her imagination. They had looked to be so intriguingly different from anything she had ever felt, that, to her acute embarrassment, she hadn’t been able to refrain from running her hand along the line of his jaw several times while he had been sleeping.

Nor had her gaze been able to keep from straying over the corded muscles of his chest, so contoured and so utterly different from her own gently rounded curves. Of course she had known men were different. She just hadn’t known how different, having never seen a bare chest before. There was hair, for one thing. Soft, curling wisps that had been surprisingly silky beneath her fingers. Her cheeks grew hot as she was forced to admit that yes, she touched them as well.

It was only natural that she had been curious, she told herself, defiant bravado seeking to silence her own uncertainties. After all, it seemed highly unlikely she would ever get this close to a naked—or near naked—man again in her life, so she had better make the most of it.

And she had. The heat moved from her face to a lower portion of her anatomy as she recalled stealing a peek under the sheet . . . .

The landlord had been convinced, for the outrageous sum of a guinea, to part with an old nightshirt. For another few shillings he had consented to put it on the unconscious soldier. It was too short and too wide for him, exposing a good deal of long, hairy leg. The fact that it was of thin cotton exposed something else—that below the unbuttoned front of the garment, he was also very . . . male.

Aurora was not quite a green girl. The distressed women she dealt with were graphically frank about the goings on between the sexes, so there was probably not much that she hadn’t heard, though, to be honest, some of it seemed to defy the laws of logic or physics. Still, it was hard to imagine that, well, a man could become any . . . bigger.

She rolled over and punched at the pillow, hoping to fight off such strange musings, as well as the disturbing tingle that seemed to be spreading out from her very core. It was not as if she was sorry that she would never be pressed up against a broad chest peppered with dark hair. Or that she would never feel muscled legs entwined with hers. Or that she would never be filled with the seed that might give her a child.

And she was certainly not sorry that she had never been kissed. She would have punched the rogue if he had leaned a fraction closer. Instead, she punched the pillow yet again to knock out all thoughts of a pair of glittering sapphire eyes.

Hell’s teeth! It suddenly occurred to her that she didn’t even know his name!