Escape Of The Bridegroom – Mary Lancaster

Almost immediately, she recalled that she was on the sofa and realized that this must be Lord Wolf returning. On no account must she open her eyes. She could smell his presence, warm, masculine, vital… But she could not hear him move. Was he just standing there inside the door?

Why would he do that? She risked opening her eyes and found that it was light. And that the window was in the wrong place. Startled, she sat bolt upright. She was in the bed! And no one else was in the room. Beside her a large, man-shaped dent in the quilt told its own story. Her whole body flamed as she realized he must have not only carried her from the sofa to the bed but lain beside her, covering himself only with what he could tug from the side of the bed.

No wonder she was too warm. She wore her robe over her nightgown and was still tangled with the spare blanket as well as all the bedclothes. Warily, she sniffed in the vague direction of her armpit and was glad to inhale nothing too ripe. How long would he be gone? She had an appointment to keep with Miss Cole! She sprang out of bed and ducked behind it to use the chamber pot. Then she ran to the washstand and went about her ablutions without actually removing her robe, so water dripped on it and on her nightgown.

Then she dived into clean undergarments and her fresh morning gown. Only then did she relax enough to wonder why she was bothered by the possibility of his return. Reaching for her hairbrush, and stroking her way through the tugs, she stared unseeingly into the glass. Had she not dreamed of him holding her in his arms, her cheek against his warm, hard chest? Had she not half-awakened at some point to hear him breathing beside her and known sleepily that it was another foolish dream?

But it had been reality. Instead of quarrelling with her, he had made her comfortable. The intimacy she had shared with him, even unconsciously, shocked her, for though she was his wife, they were on far from intimate terms.

Escape of the Bridegroom All Rights Reserved © 2025 by Mary Lancaster No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher. OceanofPDF.com TABLE OF CONTENTS Title Page Copyright Page Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen OceanofPDF.com CHAPTER ONE n the library of Wolverton Hall, time stood still.

Aidan, the ninth Baron Wolf, stared at his younger brother with the curious sensation that life was now forever divided into before this moment and after—if they were not to remain forever in this silent bubble of doom. But, no, clearly, Aidan had misheard. He forced his eyes to blink, his lips to move. “Must give the old ears a clean. I thought you said your debts of honour amount to ten thousand pounds.” Patrick, standing rigid and white in front of the empty fireplace, said hoarsely, “I’m afraid it is so.

I’m sorry, Aidan.” Slowly, Aidan sank into the armchair he had been about to sit in before Patrick blurted out his “difficulty.” “Sorry,” Aidan repeated. The word didn’t seem to have any meaning. “I don’t have ten thousand or anything like it. We’re done for.” Patrick tugged hard at his hair, then threw himself into the chair opposite. “I can’t explain it, let alone excuse it. I was unforgivably stupid, because I began by winning a considerable amount which let me play deep for a change…”

“And let you lose all the quicker.” “Exactly.” For an instant, Patrick actually sounded pleased by his brother’s understanding, so Aidan spelled out the rest, which they had both grown up knowing. I “There is no money. There is never any money. Everything that is not entailed is already mortgaged to the hilt or sold. Even selling the few remaining horses wouldn’t bring anything like enough. It’s not the sort of sum we can hope to borrow from friends. We’re rolled up. Unless…” A faint flicker of hope struggled. “I suppose the play was fair?”

“Oh yes,” Patrick said gloomily. “We were at White’s.” “Of course you were.” “The devil’s in it,” Patrick agreed.

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

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