Taking the Spinster (The Kidnap Club Book 3)

by Samantha Holt

  “If Miss Haversham wishes to go, you cannot keep her captive, Rosie,” Guy said tightly.

  “I’m hardly keeping her captive, Guy.” Rosie made a face at Lord Huntingdon. “I’m simply enjoying her company.”

  “I’ve enjoyed yours too,” Freya admitted.

  Apart from Lucy, she didn’t really have any female friends. Or friends at all rather. Her relationship with Lucy worked because they both knew what it was like to be so busy that one scarcely had time to sit. If she let herself, she suspected she could view Rosie as a friend. The woman exuded warmth and intelligence and had some rather unique stories, not to mention her family adored dogs, so they had plenty to talk on despite their different circumstances.

  “I hope I shall be able to meet her once she is better.” Rosie smiled. “Do give her my best.”

  “I will, thank you.” Freya eased out of the room after her goodbyes and hastened up the stairs. The sooner she escaped, the better. These people were not her friends, the earl was not...well, anything. Simply because he had touched her and made her feel things she had never dreamed of feeling did not make any difference to the situation.

  She had a story to pursue, and if she did not, her situation would never change. Her earnings would remain paltry, she would have to continue to have to write about who was bedding whom and her parents would continue to suffer for lack of money.

  She paused at the top of the stairs and drew in a long breath then straightened her shoulders. She had not come this far to be swayed by a few kisses and some rather intimate and delicious touches. Yes, she liked Lord Huntingdon, and yes, he had to be about the most handsome man she had ever met. Unfortunately, she could no longer deny that. However, simply because he had a lovely sister and interesting brother, did not mean they were going to embrace her as something, well, more.

  Because there could never be more. She rubbed her forehead. She had no intention of becoming a mistress—the sort of woman Freya often wrote about—and clearly Lord Huntingdon had no desire for that either. If he did, he would not have sent her to bed. These little slips of concentration could not happen anymore. She was resolved to putting an end to it.

  All she had to do was think of the story. Not of Lord Huntingdon, not of his kind family, not of how wonderful he seemed…

  The story! She shook her head. That was where she needed to remain focused. Perhaps she needed to visit the spot where Rosie had nearly been taken. That could help give her some clues as to the identity of the kidnapper perhaps.

  There, see? It was not that hard.

  Freya inched open the door to the guest bedroom and found her mother sitting by the window, embroidery in hand. She twisted to view Freya when she entered. “I saw that lovely lady arrive. Have you been taking tea with her?”

  “So you were not asleep.” Freya lifted a brow.

  “No, who said that?”

  She waved a hand and joined her mother by the window. “It does not matter.”

  She drew up a chair and peered out at the busy street. Carts and carriages rolled by, people meandered along the pavements and those with jobs to do moved with swift efficiency. Two distinct sets of people. Those like the earl and those like her. Lord Huntingdon would never understand the struggles of her life nor would his family. These people were not her friends.

  More importantly, Lord Huntingdon would never be her lover.

  She gulped down a breath when she felt heat enter her cheeks.

  “Are you well?” her mother asked. “You look a little warm.”

  “I’m quite well, Mama. But what about you?”

  “My chest is tight still, but the cough has almost gone. Mrs. Bellamy brought me up the most delicious broth earlier and it does wonders to loosen it.” She shook her head. “I do not know how we shall repay Lord Huntingdon for his kindness.”

  Freya pressed her lips together. “Neither do I.”

  Her mother continued with the embroidery but gave her a sideways look. “That little matter you confessed to me...has anything changed there?”

  She shrugged.

  “I know I can trust you not to be ridiculous, Freya. You are the most level-headed woman I know. However, I do not think the earl is the sort to take advantage of a woman.”

  “He is not.” Freya knew that first-hand. He could have taken advantage of her last night, but he sent her away.

  “Perhaps he truly cares for you.”

  “I believe it is simply in his nature, Mama. We are nothing special.” She paused. “I am nothing special.”

  “Well, that’s not true, my dear. You are the most wonderful person I know, and if Lord Huntingdon does not see that he is a fool.”

  Freya did not bother to protest. The trouble was, he was the cleverest of them both. He recognized that despite this attraction, it would never work between them. Now she just had to convince herself of that.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Guy rolled over. He groaned. “Brown? What the devil is it?”

  He could not deny he’d rather hoped the person shaking him awake was Miss Haversham. To see Brown’s creased features, its rolls and crags highlighted by candlelight, was a lot less pleasant than coming upon Miss Haversham’s features.

  Brown straightened. “Lady Clearbury, the Duchess of Newhampton, is here to see you, my lord.”

  He shoved up from his bed. “Now? Here?” He squinted in the direction of the clock on the mantelpiece but could not make it out. “What time is it?”

  “Just gone four in the morning, my lord.”

  “Bloody hell.” He rubbed a hand across his face and shoved back the sheets. “Did she say what she wanted?”

  The butler shook his head. “She is in a state, my lord. I tried to put her in the drawing room, but she said she would wait in the hallway for you.”

  Grimacing, Guy rose and swiftly donned a shirt. Brown aided him with shoving his arms into a robe and he tied it tightly at the waist. Whatever Lady Clearbury wanted, it could not be good if it warranted her visiting him in the middle of the night. “Go back to bed, Brown,” he told the butler. “There’s no sense in us both being awake, and I suspect the duchess is not here for tea and cake.”

  Brown nodded, paused at the doorway of the bedroom and gave him an odd look.

  “What is it, Brown?” Guy snapped.

  “If she is to stay...” He glanced at the floor. “Well, if I may be honest, my lord, Miss Haversham might feel a little...put out?”

  “Damn it, Brown, the duchess isn’t a lover.” He glared at the butler. “When have I ever brought a woman home?”

  “Until Miss Haversham, never, my lord.”

  Guy gritted his teeth. Yes, he was very aware of the fact he’d never let random women stay in his home. Family members or dinner party guests, that was it. Though the butler might not be aware of his virginial status, he knew Guy was not in the habit of cavorting with women, which made Miss Haversham’s stay here a source of great interest for the staff, no doubt.

  “Brown, go to bed,” Guy repeated wearily.

  “Of course, my lord.”

  Lighting a candle once Brown had retreated, Guy made his way downstairs to find the duchess pacing the hallway as promised. Brown had lit a single lamp on the hallway console table but even he could see the tear tracks and red eyes. She hastened over, still wearing her pelisse, hat and gloves.

  “Oh, Henleigh.” She flung her arms around him, burying her head against his chest.

  He eased the candle down onto the nearest table and put a hand to the back of her head then carefully eased another around her trembling body. She smelled of smoke and the tiniest hint of perfume, telling him she had been entertaining or partying prior to this visit.

  She sobbed against him and he murmured what he hoped were comforting words. Crying women were not his specialty, as Miss Haversham had proven. Her tears had been more than he could stomach and kissing them away had seemed the most logical thing to do. He had little desire to kiss the duchess, even if it had ma
de Miss Haversham stop crying, however.

  Finally, the sobbing slowed, and she lifted her head, easing away from his hold. “I know I was not meant to come here but I did not know where else to turn.” She tugged a handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed under her eyes. “I could not very well tell my husband and you said I must keep quiet about my sister.” Her chin trembled and she shoved the handkerchief back into her sleeve then pulled a letter out of the other.

  Guy took it from her and unfolded the scrap. “He will kill me,” he murmured. The words were scrawled in what looked to be charcoal, written at an odd angle in almost incomprehensible writing. “This is from her?”

  She nodded, pressing fingers to her lips. “A newspaper boy delivered to me only an hour ago. He said she had slipped him the note when travelling in her carriage.”

  “I see.”

  “She would have been with him,” she said, her mouth pinched. “I fear there is no time. What if he harms her before we can save her?”

  “I will not let that happen. I have a man watching her. We will ensure her safety. If we need to intervene, we will, I promise.”

  Lady Clearbury nodded slowly. “Every day that she is with that monster brings her closer to death.”

  “I know.” He put a hand to her arm. “We have been trying to find a way to bring her out safely, and without notice, but should the time come that we need to act, it will be done, I vow.”

  “Oh thank you, Henleigh. That reassures me greatly.” She flung her arms around his neck and squeezed him for a moment before releasing him. “I shall leave with haste before anyone notices I am here. Please, please send me word should you make any progress.”

  “Of course,” he promised.

  He ushered her out, shutting the door gently behind her and blowing out a breath. He had not wanted to act any sooner than was necessary, but if Lady Pembroke deemed it necessary to get word to her sister, the situation must be dire indeed. He turned away from the door and stilled before he could grab the candle.

  “Miss Haversham, what exactly—”

  She took a few steps toward him, her jaw tense and her posture stiff. “I was right,” she muttered, thrusting a sharp finger in his direction. “You are having an affair with the duchess.”

  “AN AFFAIR?” HE repeated.

  Freya nodded, pressing her tongue against the roof of her mouth. Her chest hurt. The image of him embracing the duchess lingered in her mind and she suspected it would not vanish for some time. How foolish she had been to believe he was anything different from the rest of Society.

  “Freya, she—”

  “It’s Miss Haversham to you,” she said archly, shaking her head. “To think that you would conduct an affair whilst my mother is ill under your roof. To think that I—” Her voice cracked. She drew in a breath. “To think that you touched me so just yesterday,” she hissed. “You must think it all quite amusing.”

  “Believe me, there’s nothing amusing about this.” Lord Huntingdon’s lips pulled into a thin line. “I was not conducting an affair and there was nothing amusing about touching you. Damn it, Freya, that was the most—”

  “I do not even want to think on it.”

  She twisted on her heel before the lump in her throat could turn into something else. Her cheeks were hot, splashed with indignity. How amusing it all must have been to see her swoon over his every act, all the while he likely planned to use her and discard her as so many men of his ilk did with women of reduced circumstances.

  “Well, I want to think on it.” He moved swiftly around her, blocking her escape up the steps. “Believe me, I cannot forget it.”

  She glanced up at him briefly and, for a second, she believed him. The intense furrow in his brow, the darkness of his gaze, the tenseness in his jaw. It all led her to believe he might very well have truly wanted her.

  “You are a fine actor,” she murmured and went to step around him.

  He moved to block her path again. “None of this is an act. Or was an act. Or...” He released a breath. “There was good reason the duchess visited me, and we are most decidedly not having an affair, I promise you.”

  “Then why the furtive meetings with her? Why the embrace? You cannot tell me these are the acts of an innocent man.”

  “They are not.”

  She felt herself deflate. Well, this was what she had wanted, was it not? For him to confess the truth. But some silly little part of her had wanted a better reason—one that meant he truly cared for her and all this kindness had meant something.

  “Well, at least you can admit that much. Now if you will please step aside, I will gather our belongings and we can leave you to your—” she waved a hand “—liaisons.”

  “You’re not going anywhere, and your mother still needs to rest.”

  “I thank you for your kindness to her, of course,” she said formally. “But I think it is time we remove ourselves from this ridiculous situation.” She shook her head. “To think that I—”

  “To think that you what?”

  “Nothing at all.” She forced a smile. “You shall get your wish, my lord. I shall leave you in peace finally.”

  “Perhaps I do not want you to leave me in damned peace.”

  She scowled at him. “Why ever not?”

  “Because...” He issued a frustrated breath, shoved a hand through his hair and wrapped a hand around her wrist. “Come and sit. I cannot do this here.”

  “Do what?” Her heart gave a little jolt of anticipation. She let him lead her through to the dining room and set her on a chair then watched while he lit the two lamps on the table. She stared up at him as he paced past her, pivoted and stopped a little distance away.

  “What is going on?” she demanded. “I really think I—” Freya tried to rise but he motioned for her to sit so she remained.

  “You are right about me not being an innocent man. I am wholly guilty of many criminal acts.”

  She frowned. This was not quite where she had anticipated this going. “Criminal acts?”

  His jaw tensed. “You recall I mentioned a woman needing help when I went to the whorehouse?”

  She nodded. “The duchess was the woman?”

  “Not quite.” He shook his head. “Lady Clearbury came to me tonight because she received word from her sister—a woman who is trapped in an abusive marriage and is allowed to see no one, not even her own sister. Her sister, Lady Pembroke, fears she will be killed by her husband.”

  Freya opened her mouth but could not fathom how to respond. She detected no hint of a lie but was this all part of his act? Was he continuing to pretend to be the benevolent hero so she would fall into his arms? Though, if he had truly wanted her in his bed, if she was honest, he could have had her the previous night. Yet he sent her away.

  “You were right about those missing women. I am involved.”

  She should have felt triumph but instead her chest thudded with a hollow ache. “How are you involved? And why?”

  “They come to me, needing help. I work with four other men and women. We take the women under the guise of a kidnap, ensure they are protected and aid them with a new life if such a thing is needed.”

  She blinked a few times. Of all the conclusions she had come to about his involvement, she could not have fathomed this. “You kidnap them? You, The Earl of Henleigh, kidnap women?”

  He nodded, drew out a chair and angled it so he could sit in front of her. “My father was not a kind man and I know what it is like to live with such a beast.”

  “He hurt you?”

  “On occasion,” he admitted, “but he had to stop as soon as I grew taller than him. My mother took the brunt of his behavior.”

  “So you wished to help other women in such a situation. But why kidnap them?”

  “My cousin was trapped in such a marriage. You know there is no way for a woman to divorce her husband and the law finds it entirely acceptable for a husband to discipline his wife.”

  “Yes,” she muttered.
“The law is not kind to battered women.”

  “I asked two friends of mine to aid me in spiriting her away in such a way that she would not be chased down or be blamed should she be discovered.”

  “No one can blame a woman for being kidnapped,” she murmured. “And I suppose they would assume she was dead when she was not returned for ransom.”

  “Precisely.”

  “But how does the duchess know of this? And the other kidnaps? You were involved in your new sister’s kidnap, were you not? She was not married at the time.”

  His lips quirked. “That was a little accident. And word is spread extremely quietly.”

  “There were the other kidnappings. The ones where the women came back.”

  “Occasionally a woman needs to disappear just for a while. One of our other members needed to escape an arranged marriage until she was of age. So we helped her vanish until it was safe.”

  Freya shook her head in wonder for a while. It was more than she could have imagined and, sweet Mary, what a story it would make. A group of nobles kidnapping women to aid them in their escape.

  “If this ever gets out, Freya, those women will be in danger.”

  She nodded slowly and sighed. “The story of a lifetime and I cannot tell it…”

  “You understand why.”

  “Of course.” She met his gaze. “I will not tell it, I swear. But you must promise to answer all my questions. I have many.”

  He smirked. “I would not expect anything less, however, you might wish to ask all of us your questions.”

  “All of you?”

  “The Kidnap Club.” He gave a dry chuckle. “It seems they think you would be a worthy member.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Freya tapped her index fingers together repeatedly. Guy moved the reins into one hand and leaned over and folded his hand over hers. “There’s no need to be nervous.”

  “Oh, I’m not nervous.” She kept her head turned slightly away from him, her gaze fixed on the passing countryside.