Stealing the Bride by Elizabeth Boyle

should ever dare.
    “Your gold is all there, monsieur. I am a man of my word.”
    The thick, oily sneer behind Marden’s words ran down Temple’s spine.
    “You’d better be,” Cordell replied, sounding all the more like the arrogant and overbearing lout that he was.
    The Frenchman appeared unimpressed. He straightened in his saddle, a tall, imposing figure cloaked in black. His words were filled with deadly calm. “Then we are all well satisfied. You have enough to settle your debts with some left over. And we have our bride.”
    Temple watched the exchange but couldn’t see the sense of it. Why would Cordell be willing to take this small fortune in gold when back at the inn his bride-to-be offered him riches that would put this French offering to shame?
    Cordell’s avaricious gaze had yet to waver from the pouch. “And the girl? She will be silenced? I won’t have that little bitch showing up and yapping a pack of lies at the inquiry. It would be demmed inconvenient.”
    “That problem is well in hand.” Marden nodded to one of his cohorts. “She will not be available to testify for quite some time. If ever, that is.” The three men laughed.
    “Hmm. Glad to hear it,” Cordell said, adding his own chuckle to their coarse laughter. “I never did anything wrong, mind you, but that gel thought she could get a fine bit of blunt from her lies about how that whore died. It was all just a misunderstanding gone afoul. If you know what I mean.”
    His stomach churning at this revelation, Temple realized he’d found his answer. So the rumors about Cordell’s run-in at a Seven Dials brothel hadn’t been just malicious gossip.
    From what Temple knew, the viscount, well in his cups, had badly beaten one of the girls. Bad enough that the poor chit had died the next day from her injuries. Of course he’d denied being with her, but apparently the girl had a partner who’d witnessed his violence—and been too frightened to stop the viscount’s vicious attack.
    Her testimony was said to be the basis for murder charges to be filed against Cordell.
    Temple muttered a vow upon the lost girl’s soul, for he knew that if Marden had dealt with her, her inability to testify was permanent. She deserved more for her courage to bear witness against a member of the ton than to be murdered by this evil trio.
    “Satisfied, monsieur? Your reputation is safe and you’ve been well compensated for your troubles.”
    Another one of the riders urged his horse forward. He blocked Cordell from Temple’s view, but his words were clear enough to be heard.
    “Is she untouched? Does she remain a virgin?”
    “Yes…Yes…” Cordell told him, casting an annoyed glance in that direction. “To tell the truth, I don’t see what your Emperor wants with her. She’s got a shrew’s tongue and a temper to match.”
    Marden leaned over. “She is no longer your concern.”
    “And good riddance, I might add. Another day cooped up with her and that wretched travel book of hers would have sent me—”
    “Enough, monsieur,” Marden said. “Now where is she?”
    Temple’s mouth opened in shock. Up until this point it had all seemed so unreal that he hadn’t really considered the consequences before him—Cordell was selling Diana to a pack of French agents.
    But now the peril of the situation sent Temple’s blood pounding. The moment Cordell opened his mouth and told them where Diana was, she was in danger. Grave danger, if his instincts were telling him true.
    And they’d never wronged him before.
    He muttered a curse under his breath. Oh, how the devil did I ever get involved in all this?
    Cordell nodded toward the village. “She’s at the inn. The Queen’s Respite, near the center of town.”
    “Which room?” Marden pressed, his hand loosening his grip on his reins and running beneath his cloak.
    No , Temple wanted to shout. Don’t tell them, you fool . He patted his coat again, hoping he’d just missed his pistol the last time