Chapter One

L ady Celandine Raynell couldn't keep herself from weeping as she rode her favorite mount through the familiar landscape of her father's country seat. Just as she did every morning at dawn, she rode Buttercup as if they were one with the wind.

Only this time, she wished she could fly into the wind and disappear.

The occasion should have been a joyous one, cause for celebration. It was her wedding day. A day she had once longed for with hope in her heart, a day she'd been looking forward to from the moment the man she loved had left on his Grand Tour, leaving her with a promise to return soon so they could wed. A day when she should have met the man she loved in her family's chapel and promised herself to him forever.

But the man she loved was dead.

And the man she was marrying in his stead—the icy-hearted Earl of Humberton—was a cold, distant, loathsome substitute. He would never own her heart. Humberton had been determined to marry her, and this morning, he would finally get what he wanted. The future rose before her, grim and unhappy.

As another rush of dread fell over her, Celandine slowed Buttercup to a trot, holding the reins with one hand as she dashed at her tears. She should have been marrying Westley today. Instead, he had taken her heart with him to his watery grave. And now, she was being forced to marry another.

Another sob welled up, impossible to contain.

Her life with Humberton would be a mockery of what it should have been. But Papa's debts had mounted, and Humberton's wealth was vast. The earl had offered a more than handsome sum for Celandine's hand in marriage. To save her sisters, her brother, and her family, she had reluctantly agreed to this farce of a union, knowing she was casting herself into misery. Knowing she hadn't any other choice.

She rode Buttercup into a grove of trees, following the familiar path that would soon no longer be hers to follow. Cool shade enveloped her, the high boughs of the ancient trees blotting out the sun. As her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, she almost didn't see the man, dressed all in black, wearing a mask.

He was tall, broad of shoulder, lean of hip.

And he was pointing a double-barreled flintlock at her.

"Halt, my lady."

Icy fear trilled down her spine, making her lungs seize in her chest. So many times, she had ridden this path without a groom for accompaniment. It was one of many liberties Papa had allowed her. She'd never had reason to fear being alone. She was an excellent horsewoman, and she could outride the devil himself.

But not when the devil had a pistol.

Celandine reined in Buttercup, who shied at the stranger, dancing to the side as if she understood the peril they faced.

"Who are you?" she demanded, inwardly cursing herself for the quaver in her voice.

"Perhaps I'm a highwayman come to rob all the pretty maidens riding alone this morning," he drawled.

And for a moment, she swore she heard the trace of something familiar in his voice. The timbre of it, not the derisive edge. She'd heard it before. Was he someone she knew? Who was he, and why was he here in the woods of her father's estate? Had he been waiting for her?

The questions rose inside her, endless. But Celandine knew she had to concentrate on the most important question of all—how she could escape him.

"We don't have highwaymen here at Bradley Abbey," she said, trying to distract him.

At least, they hadn't before. There was something distinctly menacing about the man before her, however. And the fear blossomed into dread, replacing all the sorrow she'd been wallowing in over her impending nuptials.

The stranger's lips curved into a sardonic smile. "Then perhaps I'm Hades, come to spirit sweet Persephone to the underworld."

Good heavens, mayhap he was a madman. Or worse. Perhaps he truly was a highwayman. Or someone intent upon somehow doing her harm.

She considered her options. If she spurred Buttercup into a gallop, the mare could easily take her far from the stranger. But if he shot at them, and if he had good aim, then she'd not only be putting her own life at risk but her beloved horse's as well. She couldn't bear to chance it.

"I wouldn't try to escape if I were you, my lady," he said, almost as if he had been privy to her thoughts, striding toward her, one hand extended whilst the other still held the pistol.

His gloves were as black as the rest of his attire. She stared at that hand as if it were a venomous snake intending to strike.

"I'm not dismounting," she told him. "And you had best carry on before someone comes looking for me."

"Why should anyone come looking for you when they don't know you're missing yet, Lady Celandine?" he asked.

His question was like a knife directly between her ribs. He knew her name.

How?

"Who are you?" she asked again, her grip on Buttercup's reins so tight that her knuckles ached with the strain.

"Hades or a highwayman," he quipped. "Or anyone else you wish me to be. It hardly matters. All that does matter is that you obey me. Get down from your horse."

She hesitated, unable to shake the feeling that leaving her saddle would be the worst sort of mistake. "Please, sir," she begged, deciding upon a different tactic. "I'm to be married this morning to the Earl of Humberton. He's a most wealthy man, and I'm certain he would be indebted to you for returning his bride to him safely. If you take me to him, I've no doubt that he will reward you handsomely."

The man's lip curled. "Humberton can keep his coin. There is only one reward I'm interested in, my lady, and it's you."

"Me?" she sputtered, confused. "I don't understand."

"You will in time," he promised darkly.

When she failed to place her hand in his, he grasped her wrist and tugged with more strength than she had anticipated. He was far stronger than she and able to outmaneuver her with ease. She lost her balance instantly, tumbling not to the ground, but into the stranger's arms. She fell against his hard, broad chest, the impact and the feeling of his well-muscled frame against hers robbing her of breath.

He clamped a hand on her waist, moving her from him, the pistol between them now. "Tell me, my lady. Will you come with me of your own free will, or must I bind you and take you as my captive?"

The dread and fear turned into horror. If he took her with him, she would be ruined. The earl would refuse to marry her, and Papa's debts would not be paid. Her family would be cast into penury, with nothing left and no way to save Bradley Abbey.

And what would become of Celandine herself? Without her family, it wouldn't matter. She had to do something. To stop him somehow.

"I won't go anywhere with you," she told him defiantly. "I've told you that I'm about to be married. Please, sir, release me. I beg you. Whatever reward you think to find in taking me, I can assure you that my betrothed will recompense you a hundredfold for my safe return."

Actually, she wasn't certain of that. Not at all. Humberton had been clear in his expectations for his future wife. She was to be above reproach, her reputation nothing short of faultless. Being unchaperoned with a stranger would no doubt cast question on her virtue. But she was desperate enough to try anything to save her family. Desperation—and the knowledge that her true love was forever lost to her—had been her reason for accepting the earl's proposal in the first place.

"You hardly looked like a happy bride when you rode into this forest," her would-be captor pointed out harshly, cutting through her wildly vacillating thoughts. "You looked as if you'd lost your favorite pair of slippers. Could it be you aren't as eager to attend your nuptials as you claim?"

"Of course not," she lied, all too aware of the pistol that continued to be trained upon her, its menacing barrels making her heart pound and her mouth go dry. "I want nothing more than to marry the earl, and I promise you that he'll pay handsomely for my return."

"Even if I believed you, I still wouldn't take you to him. I've told you, I neither want, nor need, the Earl of Humberton's blunt." He extracted a length of rope from inside his voluminous greatcoat. "Give me your hands, my lady."

He intended to tie her up, as he'd threatened. Her instinct took over, and she attempted to jerk away from him, to flee. But he was faster. He caught her in an unforgiving hold, keeping her from going anywhere.

"Your hands," he growled. "And don't do anything foolish."

He was too quick for her, too strong. He had a weapon. All she had to defend herself was her wits, and she knew she had to keep them about her. To bide her time. To plan her escape and make it when the time was right.

Celandine offered him her wrists with a meekness that her determined thoughts belied. "If you must."

"Oh, I must," he said grimly. "It's for your own good."

With that pronouncement, he looped the rope around her.