Free The Rake's Arranged Marriage by Ruth Regan Page A

stables."
    " Now? " she asked. Wide-eyed, she took the beautiful blue gown from Eliot's outstretched hand.
    "Indeed," he said, standing and brushing himself off.
    "But it's-"
    "Two o'clock in the morning, I know. Do you trust me, Lady Boyle?"
    The question was sudden and overwhelming. Cara made a fast inventory. There were certainly things about Lord Quentin Eliot that she did no t trust. But those things were all relatively small. For example, she would never trust him to show up on time, unless it pleased him. But when it came to important things, well... She found that in her heart of hearts, she did trust him. He'd cared for her when she was hurt. He'd given her a choice in the gallery four days ago, when he'd asked for her kiss. And he'd been hurt in the past, too. He was maddening. He was reckless. And, she wanted him very, very badly.
    "Yes," she said finally.
    "Then do as I say. I'll see you in a few minutes, Lady Boyle."
    ***
    As she dressed, Cara felt the brandy work its way through her. By the time she fastened up the final buttons of the lovely blue wedding gown, she felt pleasantly warm and languid. It was a new sensation, though she had tasted spirits before. It was just that she had never truly enjoyed their effects. Lord Boyle had gotten drunk immediately after their wedding – a fact which no doubt contributed to his behavior the rest of that poor night. The memory had always made her leery of alcohol and its dulling effects on one's good sense. But for some reason, perhaps it was the late hour and the strange circumstances, she felt tonight that all would be well. She felt delightfully relaxed.
    She didn't bother with jewelry, and she spent only a modicum of time with her hair. She braided the long locks with a deft hand. Then she affixed the braids over the crown of her head and fastened the ends behind her ears with pins. A few soft tendrils still framed her face.
    Cara spared a moment to worry about mussing the beautiful gown. But she wasn't about to deny Lord Eliot or to sink in the face of his challenge. She had to hunt in her wardrobe for a suitable outer garment, but eventually came up with a thick velvet cape of dark brown that tied at the neck with a wide satin ribbon. The cape sported a hood, which she judged was a good thing. She didn't want to come down with a cold on this strange adventure, whatever it was, and face the priest in the morning with a cough.
    She pulled a pair of calfskin gloves onto her hands, glanced in her looking glass, and judged herself ready.
    She snuck out through the kitchen, where the embers from the fire were still glowing in the hearth. This was the most direct route to the stables and the route by which she was the least likely to be observed. Sure enough, no one interfered with her. All the servants were fast asleep in their beds at this hour. But the loud “bong!” of the grandfather clock striking the half hour in the hall did startle her. Two-thirty. What does he mean to do at two-thirty in the morning, the night before our marriage?
    She picked up her pace. She was flushed and excited as she unlatched the back door of the kitchen and stepped out into the yard beyond. She could hear the chickens clucking softly in their coop nearby as her sudden presence in the yard set them on edge. Carefully, picking her way through the mud, Cara made her way to the stables. She'd blown out her candle in the kitchen and left it sitting on the counter, and she hadn't even bothered to search for a lamp. But it was no impediment to her progress. The moon was nearly full and showed her the way well enough, even through the mist that had settled upon Hedgeton.
    As she approached the stables, a low whickering reached her ears, as did the jingling sound of a bridle.
    "Lady Boyle," he said, stepping into the yard. Excitement flared in her chest. Lord Eliot stood between two mares, wearing a long, dark cape. One of the horses she knew to be his. Lodestar was her name, Cara remembered.