The Kidnapped Bride by Amanda Scott

not to inflict any of the more intimate marital relations upon her, she reminded herself. However, since she had rather looked forward to exploring such relations with a properly adored and adoring husband, the reminder did not serve to raise her spirits much.
    Fleetingly, she indulged herself in the delicious and hitherto forbidden notion that once she was married she might participate in as many affairs of the heart as she liked. Everyone did. One married for advantage but loved wherever one found a mutual interest. It was, according to most of her friends, the accepted mode. Unfortunately, the only man she could conceive of having an affair with was Sir Nicholas.
    But the very thought brought with it a shudder and a rather tremulous choke of laughter, as her ever-fertile imagination provided her with a swift vision of his probable response to any such overture from her married self. Sir Nicholas would not approve. Although she could not doubt that he had had vast experience with females, his own sternly voiced notions of propriety precluded any imagining that that experience had come from dalliance with respectably married ladies. And even if it had, she thought shrewdly, he would undoubtedly refuse to countenance such an illicit relationship for her with himself or, for that matter, with anyone else.
    The valet entered as she formed that last rather disappointing thought, and she looked up with a nearly guilty fear that he might somehow read her mind. He was carrying a standish, which he set down upon the dressing table, having first made room for it by removing the chocolate tray. “I have brought the materials, miss, as his lordship requested. I am to remain whilst you write your letter.”
    His attitude was such that, in spite of her decision to cooperate, Sarah despised herself for lacking the courage to order him out of the room, to indulge herself in last-minute defiance. But she could do neither of these things. For the moment at least, Darcy had won. She must marry him. Consequently, she handed the valet her chocolate cup and stepped quickly but with her usual easy grace to sit in the dressing chair.
    Beck made no attempt to hide a smirk of satisfaction as he placed the cup next to the chocolate pot and moved to set the tray outside the door. He jerked his head expressively in the general direction of the ground floor. “His lordship’s waiting below for it, miss, so you’d best make it snappy. He’s not wishful to be patient.”
    How she would have liked to give Beck to Aunt Aurelia for training! She would make short work of his smirks and his insolence. But Sarah gritted her teeth, swallowing the angry words she wanted to say to him, knowing instinctively that it could do her no good to make an enemy of the man. Instead, she picked up the pen, spread a sheet of writing paper on the table, and dipping her pen into the ink, began to write. The point was not as sharp as she would have liked, but she would make do rather than ask Beck to sharpen it for her.
    The letter ran to Darcy’s outline as nearly as she could remember it. She explained to her uncle that she had run away with the Earl of Moreland because she had feared that Lord and Lady Hartley would somehow contrive to separate them forever. Such an excellent notion, too, she thought to herself as she continued. It was a shame she had not been more obedient to their will. Reluctantly, she outlined Darcy’s wish for a waiver and a special license, added that she would not return to London until Lord Hartley consented to her marriage, then made ready to sign her name; but Beck, who had been quite rudely reading over her shoulder, stopped her and suggested that she add the threat of Gretna as well as a hint that the state of her virtue had been altered. Since he put the second part of his suggestion with crude insolence, Sarah was shocked enough to protest vehemently.
    “I will write no such thing! How dare you propose that!”
    “His lordship wants it