Rule's Bride. Kat Martin

walk you out to your carriage,” her father said, and the group made its way in that direction, ending up outside on the wide front veranda.

      “Have a safe voyage,” Violet said, not sure what sort of farewell was appropriate under the circumstances.

      Rule bowed over her hand, lightly pressed his lips against the back, and she could feel his warm breath through her glove. “Goodbye, Violet.”

      She watched him descend the steps and climb into his carriage, then, as if he had never been there, he was gone.

      Her father’s hand settled gently on her shoulder. “He’ll be good to you, dearest. He has given me his word he will see to your every need.”

      She only nodded. What about love? she thought. The word had never entered her mind until that very moment and certainly wasn’t part of any conversation she’d had with her father. Love wasn’t a necessary part of marriage, she knew, and yet…

      For some strange reason, as she watched Rule’s carriage depart, a lump formed in her throat.

      “Rule will make you a very good husband,” her father confirmed. “When the time is right.”

      “I’m—I’m sure he will.” She watched Rule’s carriage disappear through the massive iron gates that bore the tall, golden image of a griffin—the body of a lion and the wings of an eagle—and felt oddly depressed.

      “Come inside, sweetheart,” said her aunt Harriet, a silver-haired woman in her fifties with an unshakable loyalty to her and her father. “You must be tired after such a trying day.”

      Violet just nodded. She felt drained and strangely bereft. She had a husband who wasn’t there and soon her father would also be gone.

      As they crossed the front porch and went inside the house, Violet clung to Griff’s arm, wishing things could be different and fighting not to weep.

       One

       London, England

       Three years later

      “Rule, how good of you to come!” His hostess for the evening, Lady Annabelle Greer, floated toward him across the elaborately decorated ballroom in the London mansion she shared with her husband, Travis. “And I see you have brought Lucas with you.”

      Her gaze shifted across the room to where his best friend, Lucas Barclay, made conversation with a delectable young widow he had only just recently met. Rule and Luke had attended Oxford together. Beyond that, they were shirtsleeve relatives of a sort. Rule’s oldest brother, Royal, the Duke of Bransford, was married to a cousin of Luke’s brother’s wife.

      Rule returned his attention to his hostess. “It’s good to see you, my lady.” With her light brown hair and clear blue eyes, Annabelle Townsend Greer was nearing thirty and the mother of three children, yet she was still a beautiful woman.

      “I’m surprised you came. You are usually too busy working.” She tapped her painted fan against his shoulder. “Don’t you know it is highly improper for a member of the aristocracy to labor for money like a commoner?” She grinned. “But then, none of you Dewars have ever given a fig for propriety.”

      Rule grinned back. “I might say the same for you, my lady.” He could still recall rumors he had heard of the torrid affair that had resulted in Annabelle’s marriage to Travis Greer, a former lieutenant in the British cavalry, confirmed bachelor and his brother Reese’s best friend.

      Anna just laughed. “I admit to being a bit outrageous at times. Not recently, though.”

      Rule smiled. “No, not since your husband had the courage to take you in hand.”

      Anna grinned at the ridiculous remark. If anything, it was the other way round. Travis walked up just then, a well-built man with sandy-brown hair and small, gold-rimmed spectacles who was clearly in love with his wife. A respected journalist with the London Times, he wrote articles about whatever war the country might be fighting at the moment.

      The empty sleeve of his coat bore testimony to the price he had paid when he was in the cavalry with Reese.

      “Good to see you, Rule.” Travis glanced around the ballroom, the mirrored walls reflecting images of dozens of elegantly dressed men and women. “So which of these lovely ladies has managed to capture your attention? I heard you ended your…association with the beautiful and intriguing Lady St. Ives.”

      Rule took a sip of his champagne. “News travels fast.”

      “I assume you’re on the prowl again.”

      He was indeed on the lookout for a new, more interesting mistress. He had grown tired of Evelyn Dreyer, Viscountess St. Ives, and several weeks back had ended the affair. It wasn’t Evie’s fault, he knew. For some time now, he had been feeling restless and bored, in search of something but not quite certain what it was.

      Travis’s gaze shifted away from him and moved around the ballroom. “Or could it be that you are finally on the hunt for a wife?”

      The sip of champagne Rule had taken nearly spewed from his mouth. He shook his head. “I’m definitely not looking for a wife. At least not at the moment.”

      No one in London knew he was married. Not even his family. He would have to tell them, of course, and soon. Should have done it long ago. But telling them would make it real. It would force him to admit it was past time he did his duty, went to Boston and retrieved his wife.

      The thought had him excusing himself and heading for the liquor table for something stronger than champagne.

      Luke caught up with him there. “The crowd is beginning to thin. How about we head over to the club? Or we could go to Crockfords, do a little gambling.” Luke was nearly as tall as Rule, with dark brown hair and keen brown eyes. He had a scar through his right eyebrow that gave him a rakish, dangerous appearance women seemed to find attractive.

      “Or if you are up to it, we could stop by Madame Lafon’s.” Luke grinned lasciviously at the pun, but Rule shook his head.

      There was a time the elegant bordello had been one of his favorite ways to spend an evening. Lately, the notion of bedding one of the house’s beautiful harlots held little appeal.

      “How about Crockfords?” he said. “I’ve been on a bit of a lucky streak lately. Perhaps it will hold.”

      Luke smiled. “Crockfords it is.”

      The one thing Rule wasn’t ready to do was go home. If he did, his conscience would nag him. He would think about the money Griff had left him when he died, the profitable investments from his lavish salary and the promise he had made. Though he had kept track of Violet through her aunt, Harriet Ardmore, he hadn’t been back to see the girl since the day they were wed.

      He had planned to be there when her father died, but Griff had passed with very little warning, leaving Rule no time to make the monthlong crossing from London to Boston. He’d sent a letter to Violet, of course, expressing his condolences, then was careful to write her a short note at least every other month.

      But it wasn’t the same as assuming his role of husband.

      As he made his way out of the ballroom and stepped into the cool night air, he told himself it was time he kept his word. In the next week or two, he vowed, he would book a trip to Boston.

      It was past time he went to collect his bride.

      Rule ignored the sinking in the pit of his stomach.

      Violet stepped off the clipper ship Courageous, grateful to once again be standing on dry land. At last, she was in London. She tightened her hold on the reticule hanging from her wrist and glanced at her surroundings. The docks buzzed with activity: stevedores unloading cargo, passengers disembarking from an endless line of ships along the quay, merchants hawking their wares to a herd of newly arrived, unsuspecting prey.

      Gulls