"Because you're an upstart, my dear. You're not playing by their rules and that makes them spiteful." Willing to put this bright, uncompromising woman in jail.

She harrumped and leaned back against the bench. "Which is the very reason I've also been charged with disturbing the queen's peace."

"Indeed."

"Because I'm a woman. And I've dared to inform the emperor that he has no clothes. That his laws have no place in the natural order of life." She stood and paced away from him to the opposite wall, bringing him to his feet, making him want to follow after her. "That charge against me is completely unfair. Our march down Whitehall was peaceful. And that ballyhoo in Parliament the other day wasn't our fault."

"I'm aware of that, Elizabeth." And newly aware of the injustice she was battling against, of his own growing sense of outrage on her behalf. "However, the worst of the charges against you are undeniable."

"By that you mean my printing and distributing salacious material."

"That's how the warrant reads."

"It's wrong." She crossed her arms beneath her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, plumping them above her bodice, causing havoc in his groin and blowing up a fire in his chest. " Unbridled Embraces is not salacious, nor is it meant to be, as you well know!"

"In fact, my dear, should I ever be asked the question in a court of law, I would have to state that I highly approved of Miss Dunaway's unbridled embraces."

"There, you see!"

But she obviously didn't. Couldn't see the effect she was having on him, on her freedom.

"However, Elizabeth, according to the solicitor I consulted on your behalf, the law deems that the publication of your little booklet const.i.tutes a threat to public safety."

"Suggesting that a wife make herself attractive to her husband is a threat to public safety? That's absurd."

b.l.o.o.d.y shortsighted. "But it's the letter of the law. And that's all the courts know."

"But you know differently, Blakestone. You know my intentions. You can testify in my defense. They'll believe you; you're a man."

To the marrow. He could feel the pulse of her spirit thrumming through his veins. A new brightness in his soul.

"And I've learned to play by their rules when it suits me to do so."

"Like breaking me out of jail."

He was finished listening to her debate, more sure than ever that he had made the right decision. For the both of them.

"I told you, my dear, I've had the charges against you dropped."

"Then why are we here?"

Braced for the mother of all battles, Ross put himself between Elizabeth and the door. "Because, madam, there is one condition to your release."

She narrowed her brow up at him. "That we attend a midnight wedding?"

Indeed. "A simple accord that I reached with the Lord Mayor."

"What kind of accord?" She fisted her hands against her hips and scowled up at him. A scowl that he was sure would turn to horror in the next instant. But he was ready for that.

He hoped.

"I intimated to him, madam, that since you and I were planning to be married anywa y -"

"Married!" Her eyes had grown to saucers. But for the moment he had her full attention.

"That I would advance that date, my dear, marry you tonight by special license in exchange for dropping the charges, thereby taking you off the streets and out of the court docket for good."

"Now you've lied to the Lord Mayor." She was shaking her head at him in horror. "I'll be swinging from Tyburn for the noonday rush."

"I didn't lie to the Lord Mayor, Elizabeth. We are getting married tonight."

He didn't like the stark stillness of her silence. Didn't like that her fine mouth was set firmly in a frown. Or that she was blinking at him from under a thunderous scowl.

"Is that why you brought me here to the Lord Mayor's? So that you could take charge of me like a wayward lunatic? "

She looked that way at the moment, with her gold-tipped hair gone slightly wild, her cheeks pinkening to crimson, her kitchen maid ap.r.o.n stained every which way. But at least she wasn't pitching a tantrum.

"The choice is yours, my dear," he said, trying to keep his own breathing steady, his temper in check, because this was not the way he would have chosen a wife and a wedding day. "Marriage to me, or a lengthy trial by a jury of men. A lifetime as my wife, or twelve years in prison."

She raised a very wry brow and focused her glare into the deepest part of him. "The rock or the hard place? The fire or the frying pan? Is that the choice you're offering, my lord?"

A slap in the face that he felt all the way to his heart. "Have I been such a rogue?"

"No, d.a.m.n you." She paced to the wall and back to him, scrubbing her fingers through her hair. "But you're still a man. And the law is on your side. My fortune becomes yours. My every decision. My children. My bookstore. My friends. The Abigail Adams."

And here he was, as good as forcing her to marrying him. No wonder she couldn't trust him.

"If I tell you that I'm not like tha 't -"

"What's that old saying, my lord? That absolute power corrupts absolutely."

"That's unfair, Elizabeth."

"But it's the truth: that as my husband, you'd wield absolute power over me. You could so easily shut down the Adams, forbid my friends, grow tired of me..."

He couldn't imagine ever growing tired of her enterprising spirit, or the challenge in her eyes, or the goodness of her heart.

But how to convince her that he would do his best by her to the end of their days?

"Elizabeth, I can't force you to sign the registrar's book. The choice to marry me has to be yours alone."

"How can you do this to in e?" Her face fell to a flood of tears. "Offer me my freedom as long as I surrender my independence to you?"

"That's not my intention, love." But he was beginning to understand her terror, could see it in the trembling of her chin. "But you've f inally pushed them too hard. And they've got the power to remove you from the sunlight. And I wouldn't like that a bit."

"But I -" Her chin wobbled. Her hands were quaking, her knees knocking against his. Panic welled in her eyes as she shoved herself away from him with a cry. "No, no, no, no, no! I can't do this."

Then she turned and sprinted toward the door they'd come through.

Fortunately, he was faster, scooping her into his arms, the force of her flight sending him into a spin. He stopped in place, then held on tightly as he carried her back down the corridor.

"Running won't take you where you want to go, love."

"But I want to go home!" She clutched her arms around his neck, holding on for dear life, as though he might drop her. "Back to the country."

"That's no longer an option for you. They'll find you there too. Home is with me from now on, Elizabeth. You've left yourself no choice but to marry me. Tonight."

"But I can't-"

"Ah, there you are, Blakestone!" The Lord Mayor himself came strolling down the hall on a bouncing heel, grinning madly at them. "And you, Miss Dunaway. Good evening."

"Has the registrar arrived, Callis?"

"Just before you did, my lord. Everything's in place for your wedding to Miss Dunaway."

The man was looking at Elizabeth with a ready smile, obviously expecting a delighted bride.

But her eyes swamped with tears again and she turned her face into Ross's collar, wetting his neck, steaming against his nape. Then a huge sob rolled out of her, roaring through his chest.

But she didn't say no.

Didn't try again to bolt from him.

Ross nodded back at Callis to ease the moment, feeling only somewhat like a cad. "Overcome with emotion."

"My wife cried on our wedding day," Callis said, starting off ahead of them. "Come to think on it, she cries most days, for one reason or another."

That set the woman in Ross's arms into a howling sob.

A lamb to the slaughter.

His lamb.

Chapter 14.

His designs were strictly honorable, as the phrase is; that is, to rob a lady of her fortune by way of marriage.

Henry Fielding, Tom Jones R oss carried his reluctant bride-to-be all the way into the Lord Mayor's office, surprised that she was still clinging so fiercely to his neck when they arrived. As though he was threatening to throw her over the side.

"You'll be all right, Elizabeth," he said as he stood her on her feet, halfway expecting her to bolt again.

But she merely clung to his sleeve with her warm fingers as he and the registrar exchanged formalities with the Lord Mayor about the matter of the special license that the archbishop had so kindly issued to him earlier that evening.

Her only moment of resistance came after the quick ceremony, when she paused with the pen poised above the doc.u.ment that would officially make her his wife.

He'd never seen such melancholy on such a beautifu l brow, had never felt so personally responsible for a crushed spirit as he watched her worry her lower lip between her teeth.

Though he yearned to a.s.sure her of his honorable intentions, he also knew that she wasn't ready to listen. He would have to prove himself worthy of such a prize.

After the longest minute of his life, and two false starts, she finally bent her hand to the registrar's book and signed her name. When she finished, she righted her shoulders and sighed as though she were bidding farewell to a loved one being put into the ground.

It wasn't until he had lifted her into the carriage that Ross realized that he hadn't thought through where they would spend their first night together. The choice between her rooms at the Adams and his substantial suite at the Huntsman seemed suddenly no choice at all.

Hardly the stuff of hearts and honeymoons.

But since he was sure that the staff at the Huntsman would be available to serve his bride's every need, even at this late hour, he chose the devil that he knew.

"The Huntsman, driver. My private entrance."

His new bride said nothing all the way to the club, only watched in silence out the window as the gaslights flicked by on the darkened streets.

He carried her from the carriage over the threshold and in through his private entrance at the back of the Huntsman. And since she still wasn't objecting, he carried her up the two flights of stairs and into the sitting room of his suite.

The troubled frown remained on her captivating mouth even as he set her on her feet in front of the cold hearth. Her thoughts seemed distracted, wandering with her gaze, racing ahead of her, lagging behind. But withheld from him.

He slipped a lap blanket over her shoulders where she stood then left his rooms to speak with the night attendant about bringing up a tray of tea and firing up a hot bath in the next room.

But when Ross returned, his bride was standing by the window, looking out onto the rooftops, her shoulders sagging.

"I thought you'd like a bath and a meal. And I've sent word to the Adams not to worry. That you're fine and safely out of jail."

"And married to you."

"I thought I'd leave that news for you to deliver."

"Thank you, my lord." When she turned back to him, he realized exactly where he'd seen that haunted look before. On the battlefield. The walking wounded wandering aimlessly amidst the carnage, unaware of the bullets and cannonb.a.l.l.s whistling past them.

She'd lost something dear to her tonight.

Until this moment, he hadn't realized just how dear her independence had been to her. And didn't quite know what he could do to ease her road.

But one thing was sure: he much preferred her spitting anger to this silent despair.

Preferred the sparkle in her eyes rather than this abject surrender.

"Are you warm enough there, Elizabeth?"

"Fine." Even her nod was halfhearted, her eyes stricken.

He went to her anyway, just to be close, to be resourceful, honorable. Not knowing what else to do, he bunched the blanket up around her shoulders and then gave in to the need to fill up his arms with her, blanket and all.