Barbara Smith - Scandalous Weddings

He looked at her. "Two black eyes, not one? Tsk, tsk." And then he obviously realized what she was doing.

She flushed but ignored him, pulling the bodice of her wedding dress off her shoulders and down to her hips. She was wearing a corset, chemise, petticoats, and drawers, everything lacy and trimmed with satin ribbons for the occasion of the marriage, so she was far from naked. Still, he continued to glance at her. She shimmied out of the dress. Her cheeks were hot. She ordered herself not to think about the fact that she was undressing in front of this man. Hadn't she swum naked in the lake up in the hills around Bar Harbor? In spite of her sisters' hysteria?

"What are you doing?" he asked in that oh-so-calm British way of his.

"I am too conspicuous in the dress," she said, feeling herself continue to blush. "I am sure the telegraph lines must be humming by now. As a bride, I am a red flag to the police."

"You are as conspicuous in your underwear," he returned evenly. Suddenly he turned off the avenue, into an alley between two barns. And he halted the motorcar, jumping out.

Annabel shivered, also climbing out over the still form of Louie. She eyed the small man. "Do you think he is all right?" She was worried.

He was opening the barn door. "I am sure he will revive in a moment or so," he said, returning to the driver's seat. "He used to box. Lightweight, of course. He never quite recovered. I think you may have gotten an old injury."

"Oh, dear." Annabel realized that he planned to hide the car in the barn. She said admiringly, "This is brilliant."

He slowly drove the automobile forward as if he did not hear her. Annabel walked into the barn behind him. She smiled at the sight that greeted her-a horse and carriage, the horse already in the traces. "Truly brilliant," she said, more to herself than him.

He stepped out of the car, slamming the door. This time, briefly, his glance met hers.

She watched him pull Louie from the vehicle, leaving him on the ground. He then took a medium-sized satchel from the carriage and slipped off his tailcoat. Annabel watched him removing the jewelry he had stolen from one small compartment sewn into the jacket's lining, transferring it to the satchel. "You have thought of everything," she said.

"I hope so. You might want to turn around," he remarked, removing his bow tie.

Annabel blinked as he reached for the buttons on his snowy white shirt. He smiled at her. She realized that he was undressing, and watched as his shirt parted, revealing a broad slab of chest dusted with midnight-black hair.

Immediately she turned her back on him. Of course he would change clothes. She berated herself for not realizing earlier that he would do so. But what had possessed her to stare? And she was certain that he had known that she had been staring.

She could feel herself flushing, and as she heard his clothes rustling-he was stepping out of his trousers, she presumed-she walked around the Packard to give herself something to do. He was tall and lean and handsome. He was bold and exceedingly cool. His accent was the coup de grace. If Harold had been at all like this man, she wondered if she would have objected so strenuously to the match.

Not that her family would ever allow her to marry a thief. It was a ludicrous thought.

Besides, she did not want to marry. All women turned into fools when they married, endlessly redoing decor, shopping until dropping, planning teas and babies. That was not for Annabel.

"Done," he said cheerfully a moment later.

She turned and found him clad in a sack jacket and

paler trousers. His evening clothes had been stuffed in the front seat of the Packard. A huge oilskin tarp was folded up on the floor, nestled among bales of moldy hay. "If you truly want to help, take up that end," he said with a nod at the tarp.

Annabel hurried to obey. "Does anything scare you?" she asked as they lifted the tarp in tandem and settled it over the Packard.

"Very little," he said, with a smile.

"You like this," she said after a moment. "You liked eluding the police."

"Didn't you?" he returned.

She refused to answer. "You have thought of everything," she mused. "Do you do this often?"

"Often enough," he said with a grin. He had a dimple in his left cheek, a cleft in his chin.

She watched him kneeling over Louie, gently slapping his face. "So you are a professional thief."

"Hmm. I do not think I need to answer that."

Suddenly Louie moaned, his lashes fluttering. "Thank God," she breathed.

"Didn't want to be branded a murderess?" he said somewhat mockingly. "An accomplice, perhaps, but murder would be too much?"

She met his gaze. There was a gleam there, perhaps of amusement. "I had no intention of hurting him. Murder is never justified."

He folded his arms and stared. After a long pause, he said, "It is time for you to go home, Miss Boo the. And I am afraid you will have to make your own way."

She stiffened. "You would not abandon me now!"

"Not only would I, I am doing so."

Her eyes widened, her heart lurched.

"Gawd, wot happened?" Louie said, sitting up groggily, one hand going to the huge bruise on his temple.

"The lady dealt you a severe blow," Braxton said with

real amusement. "Change your clothes, my friend. We must be on our way.*'

Louie had now recovered enough to moan and glare at his partner in crime at the exact same time., Then he looked darkly at Annabel.

"I'm sorry," Annabel said, meaning it. She hurried to the thief. "You cannot leave me here-on the West Side -in my drawers and petticoats."

He smiled. "You are a fetching sight, my dear. I am sure that in no time at all you will be aided and abetted by some concerned and civic-minded gentleman and on your way back to the altar."

"I want to come with you! I can help-"

"No." He turned his back on her and reached down for Louie. "Let's see if you can stand," he said.

Louie stood with Braxton's aid and went around to the other side of the carriage to change his clothes. Annabel rushed over to the thief. "What must I do to convince you to let me stay with you-just for a few days?"

He folded his arms across his chest as he studied her. "You are very tempting. Just what are you offering, Miss Boothe?"

She swallowed. Did he mean what she thought he did? "I cannot return home. If I return, they will all try to force me back to the altar."

"That is hardly my problem." He was impatient now. "Louie! Hurry up."

"Aye, guvnor."

She gripped his arm. "Braxton. I will go back. But when I do, I must be ruined."

He was finally surprised. His eyes had widened. "Well, well. So you wish my services in this endeavor?"

She hadn't meant it literally. She had meant that she could not return until her reputation was smeared, enough so that no one would want her, and then she would be free to continue her life without interference from her father or all the silly, useless men he kept in-

troducing her to. For then no man would want her. Annabel bit her lip. His gaze was fixed on her face.

If she told him now that she meant she wanted to be ruined in name only, not in fact, he would abandon her, she was certain of it. She would tell him that later. "I cannot go back now. Not now. It is too soon."

Silence reigned as Louie reappeared from behind the carriage, clad now in a plaid shirt and corduroy trousers. He glanced from one to the other. "We got to go, me lord." He carried the clothing he had changed out of in his arms.

Braxton gave him a piercing look, which Annabel did not understand.

"Please," she said, stepping closer to him. Her heart beat wildly. She was not a fool. What if he ruined her, not in name, but in actuality?

There were worse things, she decided, than this man's kisses.