The Stolen Bride Read Online Free PDF Page A

screamed.
    The bowling changed without David scoring and Sophie found herself nervously facing Piers Verderan. He deserved his nickname of the Dark Angel, for he was nearly as beautiful as Randal but what is commonly called a “black Irish.” His curls were dark, his eyes were a startlingly deep blue, and there was something devilish about him.
    Though Verderan had behaved with perfect propriety over the past few weeks, he made Sophie nervous. She saw the way he smiled at her and knew this would be no easy toss.
    She was right. It was hard and straight. She got the bat between it and the stumps but only to deflect it into her beloved’s waiting hands. “Out,” said Randal with satisfaction.
    She walked past him toward the seats. “If you wanted me out, why didn’t you bowl harder?” she said.
    He spoke for her ears alone. “I am learning to do without what I want, Sophie. At least for a little while.”
    She looked at him. Was that a promise for the future?
    “At least now,” he said sternly, moving away even as she stepped closer. “You can go and unkirtle your gown so the whole county isn’t admiring your ankles.”
    Sophie stuck her tongue out at his back.
    She returned to the spectators and slumped down on the shaded bench to look darkly at her beloved husband-to-be. The man was going to drive her mad. She had thought her every dream had come true when Randal offered for her hand but now things were not as she would want them at all. She had dreamed of long walks together, the sharing of souls and kisses but instead he almost seemed to be avoiding her.
    She had known Randal since childhood and adored him just as long. How had they come to this pass? Her mind slid back irresistibly to the time when she realized what he meant to her.
    She had been just fifteen that summer and still of an age to play tomboy when Randal would let her. They had gone fishing in the river which marked the boundary between her family’s land and his, at a special spot they called the Magic Pool. Her brother Frederick and Randal’s sister Cecilia were with them but had taken positions a little further along the bank, out of earshot. It was a hot day and Randal and Frederick both took off their jackets and waist-coats. Sophie boldly stripped off her cotton stockings and laced slippers despite Cecilia’s protests. Randal and Frederick, called upon to exercise authority, merely laughed.
    The angling was good and there were a number of trout in the creel when Randal decided to try for a large pike known to haunt this spot. On his first cast, however, his hook snagged on some weeds. After watching him try to pull it free, Sophie hitched her skirts up high and waded out to clear it. When she turned, triumphant, she saw the first seriously disapproving look Randal had ever given her.
    “For heaven’s sake, Sophie, you’re too old for that sort of thing. Don’t your governesses teach you anything?”
    She was bruised a little by her idol’s displeasure, but answered with her usual pertness, “Not if I can help it.”
    His frown didn’t lift. “Get out of there and rearrange your skirt.”
    Abashed, she obeyed. “Why are you angry, Randal? You never used to mind me wading.”
    “You weren’t fifteen then,” he said tersely. “It’s time you grew up, minx.”
    She blinked away tears. “I’m not sure I want to if I’m not allowed to have any fun and everyone is angry with me.”
    He smiled then and came over to wipe away a tear with a gentle finger. “Never fear, little flame. You’ll take to being a woman like a duckling takes to the river.”
    Something stirred within her, softly, tentatively, like a new and fragile leaf pushing up out of the ground. She looked up and his familiar beauty—his fine-boned face, his clear blue eyes, and chick-soft buttercup curls—took on a new and frightening glamour. “What will happen when I’m a woman?” she asked with conscious naivete.
    He turned away slightly, but she saw his lips