Josie cheered. “That’s right! We’ll stick together. No men or mean girls allowed.”
At the time the promise had seemed so easy, so simple. She’d held onto it over the years, especially after the...well, when she’d realized no man would want to marry her.
She’d thought Nick Martingale was different.
Foolish, stupid girl, she chided herself. Why had she ever trusted Nick? Why had she ever believed that a man could love her after he had seen how truly ugly she was?
Catie, Josie, and Maddie moved back toward the ballroom, and Ashley took a deep breath. Well, she wasn’t going to make that mistake again. She wasn’t ever going to open herself up to being hurt like this again.
In fact, she was going to hurt him. One way or another, she was going to make Lord Nicholas Martingale sorry.
EIGHT MONTHS LATER, Gretna Green, Scotland 1811
Nicholas Richard Martingale, second son of the late Marquess of Blackthorne, was sorry. He was sorry he’d followed his brother to Gretna Green. He was sorry he’d bowed to Jack’s—devil take him—wishes and agreed to wed Lady Madeleine. And he was especially sorry he hadn’t married Lady Madeleine because the goddamn anvil priest had been so drunk he’d made a muddle of the ceremony. How did a priest manage to marry the wrong couples?
Nick bent over the priest’s unconscious form. He pried the marriage certificate out of his hand and read his death sentence.
This is to certify to all it may concern that Nicholas Martingale...
Nick gritted his teeth and skimmed down.
...and Ashley Brittany...
Nick closed his eyes momentarily.
...being now both here and present, and having declared to me that they are single persons, have now been married after the manner of the Laws of Scotland...
“Is it still true?” Ashley asked, coming up behind him. The light from the low fire in the hearth made her wheat blond hair look like spun gold falling in waves down her back. Her sea green eyes gazed at him, and, as always, he felt his chest tighten. She was so beautiful. So beautiful it hurt to look at her.
He looked away. “Congratulations, sweetheart, you’re still married to me.”
She scowled at him and ripped the certificate from his hand, perusing it for herself. He studied her as she read. Her dark green undergown with the gauzy overlay had undoubtedly been the height of fashion when she donned it a few days ago. Now the gauze was ripped, the green material stained, and the fichu tucked at her bosom to preserve modesty was all askew. At one point during their travels she must have had to dress herself and been unable to fasten all of the hooks and eyes in the back because the gown was too loose and one shoulder kept sliding down. “How did this happen?” she moaned.
“Well, you stood there, and I stood here—”
“No, no, no!” She covered her face with her hands. “I wasn’t supposed to marry anyone. I was Maddie’s chaperone.”
“You? A chaperone?”
She fisted her hands on her hips, wrinkling the certificate in the process. “Well, someone had to chaperone her. She was going to elope with that Mr.—I don’t even remember his name. The dog-breeder. I couldn’t allow her to run off with him alone. If you and your brother hadn’t waylaid the carriage, I would have convinced her the entire elopement was folly.”
“We did not waylay your carriage. We merely accompanied you on your jaunt to Gretna Green.”
“Because of you, the Duke of Bleven’s men shot at us! We were almost killed!”
That much was true. He should have never insulted the duke, but he couldn’t regret saving the poor housemaid the bastard was intent on raping.
He pointed a finger at her. “Don’t forget your father and Lord Castleigh shot at us as well. That’s how we lost the dog-breeder.”
She blew out a breath. “Fathers are supposed to shoot at men eloping with their daughters.”
“I didn’t want to elope with you or with Lady Madeleine!” Nick protested. “I was trying to save her reputation!”
She rolled her eyes. “As though you are some sort of hero. If you were a hero, you would have at least married the right woman!”
Nick gaped at her, too angry to even argue. Finally, he sputtered, “The priest was drunk. That’s not my fault!”
“Oh, stubble it.” She balled the marriage certificate and threw it at his chest. “Stop talking for once and do something. Fix this.” She gestured toward the priest, snoring loudly on the floor of the blacksmith’s shop.
