Stealing the Bride by Elizabeth Boyle

an honorable man and would like her returned. I have been asked to see the task done in his stead.”
    The innkeeper’s jaw worked back and forth. “Hate to see a young couple thwarted in love.” He glanced over at Elton. “Thwarted—that means they’d get caught.”
    “Is that so?” Elton replied.
    “Right it does,” the innkeeper said, slanting a glance over at Temple. “So, milord, are you of a mind to thwart young love?”
    “Hardly, sir, if I thought the couple was in love. I can assure you that is not the case.”
    “Actually it does rather surprise me to see anyone chasing after the likes of her .”
    So he had seen Diana. Anyone who referred to her in that tone had most definitely met the lady.
    “If you don’t mind me saying,” the innkeeper said, leaning forward, “you being the rejected one and all, she’s got a right sharp tongue.” He glanced over at Elton and shuddered ever so slightly.
    Elton, disreputable fellow that he was, nodded in sympathetic agreement.
    “Like one of them London fishwives you hear tell about,” the innkeeper said. “Arguing with him over which way to go and the like. She had this map and a book she was reading from, telling him they were off course.” He paused again, wiping his meaty hands on his apron. “Right she was, this isn’t the quickest of routes to the border, but who likes to tell them that?”
    Temple didn’t need to hear another word. They’d found Diana. He turned on one heel and started striding back to his carriage.
    “Mind my advice, never marry a smart one,” the innkeeper called after him. “You’ll never know peace in your house if they’ve got a head stuffed with ideas.”
    “Jonas? Are they staying to eat or just wasting your time with a lot of gossip?” The shrill voice pierced the dark common room of the inn, stopping Temple in his tracks and sending the horses into a nervous prance in their traces.
    “Ah, there she is, gentlemen. The fair flower of my life.” The man grinned as his wife came barreling out the door, a rolling pin in one hand and her other balled up in a tight fist.
    “She was a rare find, I imagine,” Temple said, meaning every word of it.
    “Aye, that she was,” the man agreed, beaming with pride. “Still quite a sight to look at, wouldn’t you agree?”
    Temple and Elton had the good sense just to nod.
    “I had quite a devilish bit of competition when I went courting her. But I won her heart with my fine prospects.” The innkeeper jerked his thumb back at his ramshackle establishment. “Prospects, sir, will win you a bride every time.”
    “Well, are they eating or not?” his particular bride called out, sending the horses to whinnying and stomping their feet at her strident notes.
    “Not, my good lady,” Temple told her, bowing low, before he continued his hasty retreat toward the carriage.
    Elton was already in his perch and calling to the horses, when Temple climbed up beside him.
    For a time, they rode in silence, Temple ignoring the way Elton was still chuckling about the innkeeper’s assertion that he was after Diana for himself.
    Instead he enjoyed the warmth of the sun on his face and the sight of England in the summertime. There was no other place like it. The smell of the new grass, flowers bursting up from the corners of hedges, fruit trees blowsy with flowers. It was heaven.
    And he knew with a certainty that was born from the experience of seeing hell.
    The Terror in France. The battles for the Peninsula. The treacherous murder of his young cousin Orlando. He’d spent so many years walking amid death that being surrounded by the ripe, lush landscape of England, his beloved country, comforted him like a mother’s arms, her summer breezes like a tender kiss on his forehead, welcoming him home.
    They rounded another curve, and before them the old Roman road lay straight and seemingly endless…and empty.
    Temple let out an exasperated sigh.
    “Why are we going after this gel?” Elton