Runaway Rogue (Damsels in Disguise #2)

Chapter One

The worst morning of Ian Holt’s life was shrouded in flowers.

Blooms covered every inch of the Mayfair home where he’d spent his childhood. It was a veritable sea of white and pink petals and Ian could not—and would not—fathom how much it all cost.

He paced the last bastion of free space in the drawing room like a caged tiger until an enormous arrangement of orange blossoms and birds of paradise arrived and forced him to halt.

He gave the thing a halfhearted shove, to prove he had influence over something in his life.

“Have you resorted to smashing things?” Henry Eden strode across the room and extended his hand to offer a pacifying handshake.

Ian accepted it with a huff. “I recall from our Harrow days that we both became rather good at smashing things.”

“As your legal counsel, I’d advise neither of us confirm or deny that statement.”

Despite his sour mood, Ian fought off a smile.

Their public school prefects had tried to make cowering servants out of them.

He and Henry had endured daily humiliations of being pelted with eggs, and nightly beatings, until they’d learned how to throw a punch.

Not getting caught was Ian’s first lesson in self-preservation.

“I’m not condoning violence, but one thing that could do with a clearing out is that gaggle of reporters outside,” Henry remarked.

“They’re still there?” Ian ground his teeth.

He’d sent some of his men to spook them off hours ago.

New vultures must have arrived, eager for a scoop on the biggest society wedding of the season.

They were like vermin, nearly impossible to shake without force, which Ian would have enjoyed using immensely if he could have evaded the consequences.

He swatted a wreath of roses instead.

“I don’t think destroying the drawing room is going to dispatch them,” Henry said. “Or make your brother arrive any sooner.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Henry was at a loss for words. Ian couldn’t blame him. Few people would have anything courteous to say when a man went missing on the morning of his wedding.

“The groom is always late,” Henry finally managed. “Jared is no different.”

Ian refrained from asking how many of those grooms never returned home the night before their weddings. He’d sent his most trusted man to search for Jared discreetly, but so far there was no trace of his brother at any of his usual haunts.

“And what about the brides? Do they struggle with punctuality?” Ian deliberately did not turn an eye upstairs, where Jared’s intended was finishing her bridal preparations.

If he allowed himself the indulgence of turning his thoughts in Diana’s direction, he’d lose what little control he was hanging on to.

Henry carefully moved a swan-shaped cascade of lilies out of Ian’s striking distance. “This has to be difficult for you. If it were me, I’d hate—”

Ian’s glare promised a violent follow-up if Henry violated their long-standing, unspoken agreement never to utter Diana’s name in his presence.

“I’d hate being shut out of my family’s business,” Henry amended.

“On the contrary. My new position as lead clerk in the Bombay office will be most rewarding. I’m looking forward to it.”

Both of them knew it was a lie. Neither acknowledged it.

After the wedding, Ian would depart London. But he was leaving the newly aligned family business far behind.

Jared’s marriage to Diana Rives would conclude a merger their fathers had dreamed and schemed about for years.

Uniting Holt his men were exceedingly well-trained and needed little oversight.

But last night, he’d welcomed the chance to demonstrate what happened to the jackals who had the audacity to come after Holt he’ll revive. When he does, things will proceed.”

“Kind of you to consider Miss Rives’s feelings. Don’t you think she should decide for herself how she wants to handle this?”

If Diana knew the true state Jared was in, she might call off the entire thing, and that brought a host of uncertainties that made Ian’s head throb. Their engagement had tormented him for eight years. The wedding had to happen today. So he could move on with his life.

He swallowed the lump that rose in his throat and said, “I’ll tell her.”

A maid greeted Ian’s knock with a stricken expression.

She ducked her head as he walked into the room, and directed her agitation at a vase of flowers that rested on the floor at the edge of the room, as though someone had placed them in a sort of quarantine.

“Good morning, Mr. Holt.” Amelia Hunter’s soft voice was a contrast to her statuesque height. Diana’s friend and bridesmaid wore a subdued frock the color of milky tea. Ian would have sworn it was the same shade as the beige damask wallpaper.

“Mind the flowers,” she cautioned.

“What’s wrong with them?” Ian asked.

“They’re nefarious.”

The voice that haunted his dreams and nightmares directed his attention to the window.

Diana sat on a small stool at a dressing table. A stray beam of watery sunlight gilded her from the crown of her chestnut hair to the hem of her multi-tiered white silk gown.