The Highlander's English Bride

  THE HIGHLANDER’S ENGLISH BRIDE

  “You are truly an awful man,” Sabrina said to Graeme.

  For the last few minutes, his instincts had been telling him to get her back to the house as soon as possible. Now, they were all but blowing trumpets in his ear.

  “You love me anyway,” he replied as he scanned their surroundings.

  “In your dreams,” she muttered.

  That was exactly his dream, that Sabrina would love him. But he’d have to keep her alive first.

  “Mr. Brown is incredibly well-mannered and kind, which is more than I can say for you.” Sabrina gave a haughty little sniff. “In fact, I like him very much.”

  “Oh, do ye, now? And what, exactly, does that involve? More secret visits to the parsonage? More pints of ale in the local pub?”

  “I will visit whomever I please.” She jabbed Graeme in the chest again. By now, his cravat was likely demolished. “And you have nothing to say about it.”

  He leaned in so close that her peacock-blue eyes practically crossed. “Oh, I’ll have something to say about it, lass. Count on it.”

  She blinked, then a slow smile curved up her lush mouth. “Well, I do believe you’re jealous, Mr. Kendrick. . . .”

  Books by Vanessa Kelly

  MASTERING THE MARQUESS

  SEX AND THE SINGLE EARL

  MY FAVORITE COUNTESS

  HIS MISTLETOE BRIDE

  The Renegade Royals

  SECRETS FOR SEDUCING A ROYAL BODYGUARD

  CONFESSIONS OF A ROYAL BRIDEGROOM

  HOW TO PLAN A WEDDING FOR A ROYAL SPY

  HOW TO MARRY A ROYAL HIGHLANDER

  The Improper Princesses

  MY FAIR PRINCESS

  THREE WEEKS WITH A PRINCESS

  THE HIGHLANDER’S PRINCESS BRIDE

  Clan Kendrick

  THE HIGHLANDER WHO PROTECTED ME

  THE HIGHLANDER’S CHRISTMAS BRIDE

  THE HIGHLANDER’S ENGLISH BRIDE

  Anthologies

  AN INVITATION TO SIN

  (with Jo Beverley, Sally MacKenzie, and Kaitlin O’Riley)

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  THE Higlander’s English Bride

  VANESSA KELLY

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  THE HIGHLANDER’S ENGLISH BRIDE

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2020 by Vanessa Kelly

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4201-4705-6

  ISBN-10: 1-4201-4705-6

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4201-4706-3 (eBook)

  ISBN-10: 1-4201-4706-4 (eBook)

  Chapter One

  London, England

  June 1822

  Graeme Kendrick lurked beneath the giant elm, keeping his prey within sight. After losing the slippery Sassenach a few hours ago, he’d spotted the bastard climbing over the wall that separated Kensington Gardens from Hyde Park.

  He’d surely earned that bit of luck. Graeme had spent the last month stalking the wiliest criminal gang to hit London in years. The thieves were ripping through the ton like marauding Norsemen, lifting expensive jewels, fine art, and precious antiques. Normally, this was a job for Bow Street, but when the Duke of York’s gold pocket watch—a royal family heirloom—was filched at a ball, the situation had changed. King George was outraged, Bow Street was embarrassed, and Captain Aden St. George, England’s chief spymaster, was summoned.

  Much to Graeme’s surprise, Aden had placed him in charge of the case.

  While Graeme had come closer to finding the thieves than the Runners had, success continued to elude him. Each time, they’d dodged his grasp. Yesterday, Aden had made it clear how displeased he was with Graeme’s lack of progress.

  Very displeased.

  It was even worse when the chief riding up one’s backside was family. Aden was half brother to Victoria, Countess of Arnprior, who happened to be Graeme’s sister-in-law. To make things even jollier, both Aden and Victoria were illegitimate offspring of the king himself, making old Georgie part of Graeme’s extended family, too.

  When it came to the Kendrick clan, familial relations were ridiculously complicated. If Graeme failed to crack this case, he would disappoint every member of his family, including the blasted Sassenach king.

  Of course, in Graeme’s world, disappointing family was baked into the oatcakes.

  Keep your mind on the job, idiot.

  He tugged off his rain-soaked cap and pushed back his damp hair with an even damper glove before shoving the cap back on. For some reason, his target had paused behind a tree near the Serpentine, the small lake that wound through the park.

  Given the dreary weather and the early hour, Hyde Park was deserted. Locals would often frequent the area on a warm summer’s morning, the more adventurous taking a dip in the Serpentine, but today the park was curtained in a steady drizzle, and a cool morning mist curled up from the wet earth.

  “What the hell are you up to?” he muttered.

  “Maybe he’s hoping to snaffle a rich nob on his way home, just to round out the night.”

  Sighing, Graeme glanced over his shoulder. A sturdy lad of fifteen, clothed like an errand boy, hunkered down behind him.

  “Got the jump on you, didn’t I?” Tommy said with a cheeky grin.

  “Lad, I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours. I might be a bit off my game.”

  Tommy jerked his head in the direction of their quarry. “Good thing you spotted him coming over the wall. The captain would be right frosty if you lost the bastard again.”

  “And the captain’s wife would be right frosty to hear you swearing. It’s barely dawn. Does Lady Vi
vien know you’re wandering about so early?”

  “The captain does. He sent me to see if you needed help.”

  “Check on me, more like,” Graeme scoffed. “It’ll go down like a treat when Lady Vivien discovers he’s sending you out on missions in the middle of the night. She’s doing her best to make you a proper fellow, you know.”

  Tommy rolled his eyes. “I’m plenty proper, guv, and I do my lessons with her ladyship every day. But that don’t mean I can’t help the captain, when needs be. Besides, it ain’t the middle of the night.”

  “Doesn’t mean, and isn’t the middle of the night,” Graeme corrected before refocusing on the thief.

  The man was waiting patiently for . . . something.

  Graeme also forced himself to wait. But it had been a long night, tailing his prey from one gaming establishment to the next, all over the bloody town. The thief had obviously managed to befriend two wealthy but dim-witted noblemen. Briefly, Graeme had considered finding a way to warn the men they’d been marked. But he knew them, and they were mean-spirited bounders of the first order. If the fools had their pockets rifled by the end of the night, one could argue that Lady Justice had been served, albeit in a roundabout fashion.

  Besides, Graeme had a bigger game to play—running the leader of the ring to the ground. To do that, he had to discover where the crime lord holed up. Somewhere in Covent Garden or the rookeries of St. Giles, he and Aden suspected. This morning’s events might answer that question, since it seemed reasonable that the thief would soon be returning to the gang’s lair with his ill-gotten gains.

  Graeme would be on his tail.

  “Come on, ye son of a whore,” he whispered. “Get yer arse movin’.”

  “You’re talking funny again,” Tommy muttered.

  “It’s called a brogue, as ye well know.”

  “Still sounds funny, if you ask me.”

  Graeme snorted. When Tommy was excited or upset, his cant grew as thick as the brogue that emerged from Graeme when he was frustrated or angry. These days, that brogue surfaced more than he liked.

  Then again, anger and frustration were better than rampant boredom. Better to be up to his eyeballs in danger and mayhem than sitting about like a useless ninny, bored out of his skull.

  Or, worse, getting dragged to ton parties by Lady Vivien, who said he needed a social life to cheer him up.

  “Nothing to be cheery about, anyway,” he muttered.

  Tommy threw him an odd look, which Graeme ignored, too tired to explain. It had been weeks since he’d had a good night’s rest. Maybe Vivien was right. Maybe he was working too hard.

  His companion jabbed him. “He’s on the move.”

  Graeme unbent from his crouch. “Looks like he’s heading straight along the footpath to Piccadilly. See if you can get ahead of him, in case he changes course and cuts up to one of the other gates.”

  Tommy nodded, but before he could dart off, Graeme clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Do not get close to him. He’ll be armed, and Aden will skin me alive if anything happens to you.”

  The lad huffed with derision. “I ain’t a flat, guv. I’ve been doing this longer than you have.”

  “I’m not a flat,” Graeme absently corrected as the boy ghosted off into the mist and drizzle.

  But Tommy was correct. He’d been a trusted part of the St. George household for four years now, running errands and delivering important messages. Still, he was more a member of the family than an errand boy or even an agent in training, and Graeme would cut off his own arm before he saw the lad placed in danger.

  Before he saw any child placed in danger. He’d been stupid enough to allow that to happen once before, and . . .

  He impatiently shook the gruesome image from his mind and slipped out from behind the tree. Following the path, he kept a respectable distance from the thief while doing his best to adopt the attitude of a local out for a leisurely morning stroll. Ridiculous, given the weather, but since the barmy bastard was all but creeping along the path, Graeme couldn’t exactly set a brisk pace. The fellow was either up to something or suspected he was being followed.

  If the latter, then Graeme had to be ready for the man to bolt.

  When the thief slipped behind yet another bush and froze, Graeme realized his quarry was behaving like one of the barn cats at Castle Kinglas stalking a mouse. Moving deliberately closer to his target, exercising care not to be seen.

  But who—

  Graeme had his answer a moment later, when the man darted across a narrow strip of lawn that ran along the bank of the Serpentine. A figure was lingering by the water, a woman swathed in a dark cloak, a deep-brimmed bonnet serving as protection against the rain. Her back to them, she peered toward the footpath that led up to Grosvenor Gate, oblivious to her surroundings and absently swinging a plump-looking reticule. It didn’t take a genius to realize what would happen next.

  Mentally cursing, Graeme took off at a run. He’d be damned if he let a woman be robbed, even if it meant blowing his cover. And why the hell hadn’t he noticed her before? What in God’s name was she doing here, anyway?

  He closed the distance, but his thief was too far ahead.

  “Lass, behind you,” Graeme yelled at the top of his lungs.

  The woman spun around, only to be seized by the thief.

  Graeme spotted Tommy running in from the other direction. He threw out an arm to warn him off, but the lad ignored him, veering around a stand of oaks as he neared the couple.

  The lady wasn’t giving up without a fight, struggling mightily to keep ahold of her reticule.

  “Let go of ’er, you stinkin’ napper,” Tommy yelled.

  When the thief threw a startled glance at the boy, the woman kicked her assailant in the shin.

  It only encouraged the bastard to redouble his efforts. He yanked the reticule from her grip, then tossed a glance over his shoulder at Graeme before grabbing the woman by the arms and dragging her to the very lip of the embankment. Then he shoved her over the edge.

  The woman desperately windmilled her arms before toppling into the Serpentine with a resounding splash.

  With Graeme closing in, the thief took off toward the closest gate to the park, directly into Tommy’s path. The man slipped a hand into his jacket and pulled out a knife.

  “Tommy, duck,” roared Graeme.

  The boy dove for the grass and rolled before coming up in a defensive crouch. The man kept running, heading for Piccadilly.

  Graeme abandoned his pursuit. The woman was flailing about, obviously panicking as she struggled to keep her head above water, her sodden bonnet half covering her face.

  “Hang on, lass,” he called as he stripped off his coat.

  The Serpentine, while a piddling excuse for a lake, was certainly deep enough to drown someone dressed in layers of clothing, including a heavy cloak. Water was a killer, as he knew all too well.

  He leapt in, sending a huge splash over the woman, all but submerging her. By the time he reached her, she was sputtering some surprisingly salty oaths.

  “I’ve got ye,” he said, grabbing her shoulders.

  She blindly swatted at him, the brim of her soaked bonnet now almost down to her chin. Still, she managed a good clout to his ear.

  “Get away, you bounder,” she gasped.

  “You need help, guv?” Tommy called from the shore as Graeme struggled to keep himself and the woman from going under. She was a slender thing, but no weakling.

  “I’ve got this,” Graeme barked as he clamped his hands around the woman’s ribcage and pulled her against his chest. “Get after the bastard, but do not get too close. Just follow and report back. I’ll paddle your arse if ye do otherwise.”

  The lad nodded and took off. Probably a lost cause, but if anyone could catch up, Tommy could. Hopefully, he’d obey orders and keep his distance. This mission was now officially a cock-up, but Tommy was a bright one, and Graeme had to trust him to be smart now.

  Right now, Graeme
had to focus on keeping the woman in his arms from drowning them both, which she seemed determined to do.

  “Stop strugglin’, ye barmy lass.” He managed to drag her toward the embankment. “I’m not tryin’ to rob ye. That idiot’s long gone, no thanks to ye.”

  The woman finally stopped swatting long enough to yank her bonnet away from her face. Graeme encountered a gorgeous—and furious—peacock-blue glare. That fury in no way detracted from the rest of her attractive face. Stunning, in fact, if one ignored the tangle of hair plastered to her forehead or the glob of mud across her perfectly straight nose and sharply delicate cheekbone.

  “Release me, sir. Right now.”

  She gave him a surprisingly strong shove, which unfortunately caused her to lose her balance and go under again.

  Sighing, Graeme hauled her back to the surface. “If you would hold still for a minute and let me get this bonnet off, you would see that I am not your assailant.”

  She stopped flopping about. He yanked the blasted hat back so it dangled from her neck instead of covering her face.

  “I’m trying to rescue you,” he added.

  She glared at him. “You’re making a hash of it, then. And I’m perfectly capable of rescuing myself.”

  “I don’t think the man who attacked you would agree.” Graeme pulled her to the edge of the greensward that surrounded the water.

  “I was doing quite well on my own, thank you very much.”

  “Yes, I noticed that when you were tumbled into the water.”

  “Which only happened after you rushed up at us.”

  Graeme stared at her in disbelief. “He was attacking you, lass. What in God’s name was I supposed to do? Stroll on by and let you two thrash it out?”

  For a moment, it seemed she would continue her fiery tirade. Then she reached up and rubbed her nose, as if trying to prevent a sneeze. When she dropped her hand, Graeme saw her mouth curve up in a rueful smile. She had beautiful lips as plump and pink as a budding rose.