Free The Brigadier's Runaway Bride (Dukes of War Book 5) by Erica Ridley

clop of horses and the click of iron wheels against cobblestone that Edmund couldn’t even think .
    The drafty, open hack did little to block the overwhelming noise but at least Edmund wasn’t constantly buffeted by so many hurrying people, hundreds of strange bodies elbowing and shoving.  
    The last time such a tide had rushed in and over him from all sides, he’d ended up facedown with a bullet in his chest. All he could hear were the racing footsteps, the urgent horse hooves, the shouts as storming soldiers slashed and shot and fell.
    He fought the urge to cover his ears with his hands. He would not think of the past. He was in London, not Waterloo. He was in a hackney cab, not lying upon a blood-stained cart. The noise was the same, the chaos was the same, but he had to focus on the mission at all costs.
    Find Sarah.
    “Carlisle House,” he said suddenly. “Take me to the Earl of Carlisle’s estate.”
    The driver spat again and shook the reins.
    Edmund leaned back against the carriage to avoid looking out at the street. Instead, he closed his eyes and summoned an image of Sarah. There was no doubt she had run.  
    His heart clenched. He hadn’t meant to frighten her. That was the last thing he wished. He just wanted… he just wanted their old lives back. He wanted to be carefree and happy. He wanted her to gaze up at him like she used to, with her hazel eyes sparkling with love and her fingers entwined with his. He wanted the promises they’d made each other not to be dreams, but reality.  
    Reality, unfortunately, had other plans.
    Sarah had run. There were few places she could run to . She was married now, and therefore the baby’s legitimacy had been ensured, but that didn’t mean Sarah could pay house calls on Polite Society the day after her wedding. Married or not, she was eight months pregnant and even the dullest of debutantes could perform simple math.
    Thus, Oliver.
    Oliver had chosen to leave Edmund bleeding to death on a foreign battlefield. Oliver had chosen to stay home, rather than to attend Edmund’s wedding. If he thought Sarah needed rescuing, Oliver would have chosen to harbor Edmund’s wife without a second thought.
    Edmund rubbed the bridge of nose and sighed. Did Sarah need rescuing?  
    Before leaving for France, Edmund had never had to worry or care about anyone else’s expectations. War was different, of course, in that there were different rules and fierce enemies and a new hierarchy. But none of that had been any problem. He was a crack shot with a rifle, became a brigadier in the blink of an eye—and he was the only soldier of his acquaintance whose love interest back home actually sailed to Bruges to spend the night in his arms.
    Everything had been easy. His life had always been perfect.  
    Until a bullet shattered his rib and there were so many running, trampling footsteps, none of which cared a fig about the dying soldiers unable to rise from the blood-soaked ground…
    “This is Carlisle House,” said the driver. “That’ll be an extra shilling for the delay.”
    Edmund tossed him a coin and leapt from the hack. His boots landed against the frozen grass with a soft crunch.  
    His tense muscles relaxed slightly. The row houses were too far away to see. The people were gone. The only sounds were the call of a misplaced winter robin and the fading clomp of the hack driver’s departing carriage. Bless Oliver for owning enough land to have a bit of peace and quiet.
    Edmund would still plant him a facer, though, if the earl was hiding Edmund’s wife.
    He strode up the walkway and rapped the heavy knocker against the front door. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to Carlisle House. Oliver’s father had always been earl, as well as a pompous drunkard. He and his son got on like Wellington and Bonaparte, so Oliver had spent the vast majority of his time at Ravenwood House or with one or both of the Blackpool brothers.  
    Lord knew a single afternoon of