Men. At least two, she surmised from their conversation. She inched around the plant. One of the men remained at the door to a bedroom. The man speaking with him wore expensive clothes. She sucked in a breath. It had to be the baron. She ducked around the plant when he turned, and footsteps thudded in her direction. She hastened toward the door, her stomach turning when the footsteps halted.
“Wait.”
She turned slowly, keeping her gaze cast down. “Yes, sir?”
Several more footsteps then shiny boots entered her line of sight. “Look at me.”
She lifted her head slowly. The baron had a thick head of silver hair, his face offering a hint of someone who used to be incredibly handsome. Age hadn’t taken a toll on his muscular figure and she could not help glance at his hand and picture what it must be like to be up against such a man.
“Who are you?”
“The new maid, sir.” She eyed the carpet between his boots. “Your housekeeper just hired me.”
“Oh did she? Bloody impertinent woman.” He put a finger to her chin, forcing her gaze up. “Are you discreet?”
“Always, sir.”
“I pay well if you’re obedient.”
“Yes, sir.”
He kept his finger under her chin, pressing into her skin until she was forced upon tiptoes. “You are quite attractive in a way.”
She opened her mouth to respond but could not fathom anything that would be suitable. Go to hell burned in her mind so she dropped her gaze again and bit back any retort.
“Submissive too, I see.” She heard the smile in his voice. A shudder threatened to tear through her, so she tightened her muscles. “I like that in a maid.”
Bile burned in the back of her throat. She wondered how many maids he’d forced into submission previously. No wonder the house lacked staff. If he could treat his wife so poorly, how would he treat those he saw as beneath him?
Something thudded against the window. He dropped the finger from her chin, and she gulped down a breath, swallowing the bitter taste in her mouth. He frowned, moved over to the window and peered out. “Edge,” he bellowed down the corridor. “Have someone check the perimeter.”
“Aye, sir.” The man scurried past them.
Lord Pembroke glanced Freya over. “What’s your name?”
“F-Fiona, sir. Fiona Brown.”
“Indeed.” He looped both hands around her waist and drew her forcefully into him. His grip crushed, forcing the breath from her.
“Sir!” She gasped and put hands to his chest, ready to shove herself away.
Another thud at the window made him release her.
He cursed. “What the devil is going on?” He thrust a finger at her. “I like you. You’ll do a fine job here, I think. Be sure to come to my bedroom after supper. The sheets will need changing.”
Words worse than go to hell fizzed on her tongue but she bit them back and nodded meekly. “Yes, sir.”
She waited until he marched off before allowing herself to flop against the wall. She pressed a hand to her pounding heart. No wonder his wife wished to escape him.
A thud from around the corner made her jolt upright. She peered around the corner and let out a little yelp. Lord Huntingdon glanced her way. She hastened over as he gently closed the window and he gripped her arms.
“Are you well?”
“Yes, yes.”
“I was about to enter when he came out of his wife’s room.” His expression soured. “I rather wish I had now. Then he wouldn’t have put a hand on you.”
“I’m well,” she assured him, “but he is vile. Some of the things he said...”
Lord Huntingdon’s jaw tensed. “I do not doubt it.”
“Was that you making those noises?”
He nodded. “And now we have access to Lady Pembroke.”
“We should hurry. I’m certain it will not be long before one of the baron’s men returns.”
He took her hand and twisted the key in the lock then they slipped into the room. A woman turned from her position by the rear windows. “What do you—” She frowned. “Who are you?”
Freya stepped forward, a hand held up. “We are here to help.”
A red brow lifted. A delicate figure, porcelain complexion and beautifully cut clothing made her look every inch the charming, spoiled society lady. Evidence of her husband’s rough hand lingered on her sharp, elegant cheeks, almost hidden by red curls around her face.
Were it not for those marks, Freya would be hard pressed to think there was anything wrong in this woman’s life. She even had glittering jewels in her ears.
“A maid? I should think you are more likely to need help than I. I would leave if I were you. This is not a pleasant place to work.”
The earl stepped forward and she narrowed her gaze. “I recognize you.”
“The Earl of Henleigh, at your service. Your sister sent us. We’re here to help you escape your husband.”
She glanced at the door. “Not now you are not. My husband is coming. You must hide, quickly.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lady Pembroke pushed open a hidden door in the wall to the right of the fireplace. “In my dressing room. Quickly,” she hissed.
The handle of the bedroom door twisted with a creak. Guy snatched Freya’s arm and hauled her into the dressing room then eased the door shut behind them. He caught a glimpse of the baron through the gap of the door just before it shut.
It took all his willpower not to leap out on the man and pound him to a pulp for laying a hand on Freya. He clenched his jaw, glanced about the room and motioned for Freya to hide behind a row of gowns.
He tucked himself in next to her, the silks and feathers cocooning them in a soft, delicate shield of femininity. The baron’s voice was muffled but legible. He demanded to know why there was a man’s hat and coat outside the house. Guy closed his eyes briefly. If he hadn’t been so hasty in wanting to get to Freya, he would have hidden them better. Now, he might have put the baron’s wife in danger.
“Were those yours?” Freya whispered.
He nodded grimly.
There was a crash and Lady Pembroke said something Guy could not make out.
“We need to help her.”
He shook his head. As much as it pained him, there was nothing that could be done. By law, the baron had every right to do as he wished with his wife, and no one could do anything about it. Footsteps pounded toward the dressing room then there was a thud as the baron flung the door open. Guy moved forward, pressing Freya back against the wall with his body to ensure they couldn’t be seen.
Moments passed and his pulse drummed a beat in his ears. Each breath sounded too loud. He tensed every muscle, ready to react. If he had to, he’d get Freya and Louisa to safety and damn the law but it would put all of them in danger, and while he might be able to best the baron in a fight, he was not certain about also taking on his hired thugs. Most of them fought for a living and he didn’t like his chances against several of them at once.
He glanced down at Freya, able to make out her wide eyes in the gloom. Her breaths were shaky, her body trembled beneath his. So long as he ensured the women were safe, he’d fight until there wasn’t a breath in his body.
Hell, he’d fight for Freya from the grave, he reckoned.
The floorboards creaked nearby. Guy bunched a fist. Silent moments passed and Guy stopped breathing. Finally, footsteps receded, the door to the dressing room shut and more muffled conversation could be heard. Guy released a long breath and Freya sagged against him. He rubbed a hand up and down her back.
“Now we just have to figure out how to get out of here,” he murmured.
“The way you came in I suspect. Out of a window.”
“I hope you can climb trees,” he said grimly.
“Of course.” She gave him a flash of a smile. “All reporters are educated in tree climbing.”
He gave a quiet groan. “Why do I have a feeling you have climbed many a tree in pursuit
of a story?”
She feigned an innocent expression. “I have no idea.”
He shook his head and her smile vanished when their gazes locked. Realization of their situation filtered in—his body flat against hers, her back pressed to the wall. Not an inch of air between them.
He felt her small breasts high and tight against his chest, her thighs aligned with his. He drew in a shaky breath and a knot bunched in his throat. It would take nothing for him to lean down and kiss her. A mere trifle of effort. She would let him too. She wanted this as much as he.
Desire raced through him, warming his skin. He clenched his jaw when his cock began to harden. If he remained like this, she’d feel it all.
He moved back swiftly, creating a gap between them that left him cold. She blinked a few times and pushed away from the wall. “Is he gone?”
“What?”
“Is he gone?” she whispered. “The baron?”
Guy paused for a moment, listening. “Yes.” Inching open the door, he peered about the room. Lady Pembroke motioned for them to come in.
“He’s suspicious,” she said. “He will not let me leave this room again for a while.”
“I’m sorry,” Guy said.
Freya moved to the window and looked out. “Come with us now,” she urged. “We can help you hide.”
Louisa shook her head. “I cannot. He’ll find me and you know there is no protection for women like me.”
“What if we could ensure it is not your fault you have gone? That if, for any reason, he found you, you could not be blamed?”
Louisa frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I can arrange for you to be kidnapped. We will take you right in front of your husband. When the ransom is not paid, you shall vanish,” he explained. “It will be assumed you were killed.”
“He will pay the ransom, I am certain. Besides, I am hardly ever let out of the house at present. How can you even take me?”
“We can ensure the ransom is never paid,” he assured her.
“If there is something you are both meant to attend, will he let you leave then?” Freya asked. “Surely he has to keep up some appearances.”
“We attend balls sometimes. The occasional dinner party. But we receive few invites this time of year.”
“Lord Huntingdon can hold a dinner party,” Freya suggested.
He nodded. “That would be easy enough. We can invite you and your husband to my house. That gives us time to take you while you are on the road.”
She glanced between them both. “You are certain you can do this?”
“We have done this several times, Louisa. I’m certain,” he said firmly.
Louisa pressed a finger to her lips then nodded. “Very well. Let’s do this.”
“I shall send an invitation out. We’ll have to wait at least two weeks. I’ll need to get everything ready for your escape and any sooner will look strange to your husband.”
“I will be ready,” Louisa vowed.
Freya moved to the window and glanced out. “We can leave through here.” She thrust a thumb toward the window. “We’ll have to be quick, though. One of the men is patrolling the gardens.”
Louisa put a hand to Guy’s arm. “He will have at least two of his men with him when we travel. It could be dangerous.”
He offered a reassuring smile. “We can handle them, do not worry.”
Freya met his gaze, a brief flash of worry crossing her expression. He’d never really had anyone care about his welfare before, and he had to admit, he rather liked her concern.
FREYA’S FEET HIT ground and she darted across the gardens then tucked herself behind a bush. She motioned for Lord Huntingdon to hurry as one of the men rounded the corner. He sprinted across the lawns and ducked down next to her. They waited until the guard vanished before moving again until they were out onto the street.
She gulped down air as though it had been forever since she had taken a normal breath.
“That was too damned close,” he muttered, signaling for a hack. “Let us get out of here with haste.”
The carriage pulled up and he opened the door and handed her in then spoke to the driver and climbed in beside her. “We’ll take a long route in case anyone is watching our movements.”
“Good idea.”
She turned from the open window to find him staring at her. She opened her mouth, any words vanishing as his gaze darkened. Her heart pounded, her skin remained heated. They had been so close to being caught and she was fairly certain she had never felt so alive.
He moved forward at the same time she did, and they clashed hard, his lips pressing firmly to hers, his hands roaming her body without apology. She released a small cry at the welcome contact, the flush of desire racing instantly through her, sending a dart of need straight to her core.
She wrapped her hands around his neck, pulling him as close as humanly possible. His tongue delved into her mouth and sought hers, and she gasped as he pressed her back against the seat, cushioning her between the softness of the seat and the solidness of his body. He kissed down her throat, leaving little bites on his journey that made her skin tingle.
“Oh..."
Shoving her coat from her shoulders, he wrapped his hands about her waist. “So damned small,” he murmured against her neck.
Freya moved into his touch, arched up and gave him full access to her. The carriage jolted, moving them closer together. He used the opportunity to sweep a hand under her back to scoop her closer and slide a hand down one hip to cup her rear.
His hardness pressed against her. She gasped, twined her hands in his hair and kissed the corner of his mouth, his rough jaw, where his pulse beat in his neck.
“God, Freya,” he rasped, tearing his mouth from the crook of her neck to kiss her deeply once more.
He bunched up the fabric of her skirt and ran a hand up her stockings until he found flesh. His fingers dug into her thighs and she moaned.
If he wanted to take her in this carriage, she’d let him. She needed this more than anything in the world. Needed him. One selfish moment of just the two of them, that was all she would ask for. Something to take with her to the grave. One time where she felt like simply Freya—a desirable, beautiful woman with no raggedy coats or ageing parents or responsibilities. No worries about how she would heat the house or pay for Brig’s food. Just her and the earl. It wasn’t asking much, was it?
Lord Huntingdon released her thigh suddenly. Coldness swept through her. He lifted his head, his hair tousled, his eyes as though he had just awoken from a long sleep. A little red mark marred his jaw where she’d nipped him, and her skin pulsed at points where he’d done the same to her.
“We’re here.”
She stared at him for a few moments. “Pardon?” Her voice came out breathless.
“We are back at my house.” He rose abruptly, tugged down her skirts and straightened his shirt. He rose to open the door and she put a hand to his arm.
“Wait.”
“No, Freya.”
Her heart sank. He didn’t mean he wouldn’t wait. He meant no to them.
She inhaled, lifted her shoulders and followed him out of the hack, ignoring his offered hand. He shrugged and headed toward the house. Stalking his steps, she spoke to his back.
“You cannot keep doing that, you know.”
“Doing what?” he said without turning toward her.
“Kissing me then discarding me.”
He spared her a glance. “I’m not discarding you.”
“Well, it certainly feels like it.” They moved into the house and Brown gave his master an odd look when he had no coat or hat to offer him.
“I lost them,” he said gruffly.
Freya handed over her coat, gloves and hat, which gave the earl time to escape upstairs. She went up them, taking two at a time. “It is mightily unfair, you know,” she said.
He paused at the door to his bedroom. “I am filthy. I need to bathe. I am certain you need to do t
he same. Can this not wait?”
Hands to her hips, she shook her head. “It cannot. It will not. I am tremendously tired of you forcing me away.” She ticked off her fingers. “How many times have we kissed now? Three times?”
“Four,” he corrected.
“And then you...” She gestured to the spot on the wall where he’d given her more pleasure than she’d ever had in her life.
“Do not remind me.”
“Am I so very awful?”
“God no.” He stepped toward her and took her forearms in his hands. “You are far, far from awful. That is the problem.”
“A man like you can take what he wants.” She tilted her head. “Why do you not take me?”
“Because I cannot.” His voice cracked slightly.
“Why?” she demanded. “At least tell me why you keep kissing me and making me feel all these things?”
“I keep kissing you because I forget.”
“Forget what?”
“I cannot be with a woman, damn it. Not even one I want more than I’ve ever wanted anything in the whole world.”
She forgot to breathe. The words echoed in her mind and made her chest full. She searched his gaze. “But why?” she asked softly.
His jaw ticked and he released her arms. She thought for a moment he might turn and run away from her again. His shoulders rose and fell, and he met her gaze once more.
“I am a virgin, Freya. I’ve never been with a woman and I never will be. Not even you, who I want more than my next breath.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Freya stared at him, her mouth ajar. He recalled that expression in Amelia, though there had been a little more terror involved. Most likely because he had been half-naked. He supposed at least his confession was a little better timed now.
When she didn’t say anything, he turned, opened the door to his bedroom and shoved it shut without looking behind him. When it didn’t slam shut, he twisted to find her in the doorway, a hand to the door to prevent it from shutting.
“You cannot just make such a declaration and run off.”
Taking the Spinster (The Kidnap Club Book 3) Page 15