Free A British Bride by Agreement by Therese Stenzel Page A

it’s always polite to make an
attempt to learn the country’s language instead of forcing them to use yours.
After all, we are the guests in their country.”
    Not clever. Brilliant. He scrutinized her further. Why hadn’t he noticed how deeply intelligent she
was?
    After a quick tour of the home, they
continued their journey around the city center. The cobbled
lanes and picturesque jostle of steeple-roofed shops, their white facades
knitting together with squares and X’s of black timber, simmered with history. The crowds thickened, filling the air with a myriad of languages. Emma kept
flipping through her book and pointing out interesting cultural sites in the
city he’d visited so often, but had never truly known.
    “Are you sure you’ve never been here
before?” he asked.
    “No, I just like learning about
different countries.”
    “I’m amazed at how much you know
already.”
    “Jonathan! Emma! Look here!” A swarm of
photographers blocked their path.
    Jonathan held Emma’s arm and whispered
between a clenched smile, “Just stand and grin, they will soon go away.”
    But one tall photographer got on his
knees in front of Emma and aimed his camera. “What’s it like to be suddenly be
a rich lady?”
    Emma frowned and stepped back.
    The tall photographer moved toward her
and kept snapping pictures.
    Jonathan paced forward and, without
dropping his smile, pressed on the guy’s shoulder until he tripped over
himself.
    “Emma! Jonathan! Over here please!”
    Jonathan was done with smiling. This was
meant to be a private honeymoon. “That’s all gentlemen.” He took Emma’s hand
and led her in the opposite direction.
    Suddenly, Emma was shoved from behind.
    Jonathan tried to catch her before she
fell, but he missed her and she went sprawling onto the cobblestone road.
    She yelped in pain.
    Jonathan fell to her side, when a
balding photographer stuck a camera in her pain-etched face and started taking
pictures. “Marriage not going so well? Husband
cheating on you already?”
    Jonathan stepped between Emma and
gripped the cruel man’s camera, twisting it until it fell to the ground,
splintering into pieces. “Send me the bill.”
    He then swirled around and fell to her
side. “Darling,” he cradled her bleeding head in his hands. “Are you all
right?”
    Emma nodded.
    He helped her to her feet, but once he
turned, the camera-less photographer punched Jonathan in the gut. Jonathan
groaned as he bent forward, but he resisted closing his blurred eyes to keep his
attention on Emma. Scrambling to his feet, Jonathan grabbed Emma by the hand.
“Run!”
    The two ran as fast as they could down a
type of alleyway, across a car-filled busy street, through a throng of tourists
and darted into a souvenir shop. With their backs turned and heads down, they
stared earnestly at a collection of beer steins. Jonathan and Emma were gasping
to catch their breath.
    “Are they gone?” Emma asked.
    Jonathan edged his gaze over his
shoulder. “Just passing by now.” He dared a glance at
her, steeling his reaction to her injuries. Her head was bleeding, and so were
the palms of her hands. Fury bolted through him. He clenched his jaw and
resisted going after those men, knowing that all it would do is give them the
angry photos they wanted of him. He whipped out a handkerchief and dabbed at
her head. “I’m sorry. I’ve never seen photographers act so aggressive.”
    She shook her head as tears welled in
her eyes. “But why? Why would they want to hurt me and
then take pictures?”
    “You are a public figure now. Our photos, and certainly your lovely face, is worth a lot of
money.”
    “But how did they know we were here?”
Her voice trembled.
    He wiped a tear from her cheek with his
thumb. “Someone tipped them off. We will just have to be a bit more careful. She
fell into his arms, and he savored the feeling of protecting her.
    After a few minutes, she pulled away
from him with a flush to her cheeks. “I—I’m