Capturing the Bride (The Kidnap Club Book 1)

by Samantha Holt

  “Claude,” he muttered, leading her through the front doors. “Hilarious.”

  He knew how the house had to look to her eyes. It didn’t look any different to him. There was no housekeeper to keep it organized, no scullery maids, no butlers. Dust coated the bannister and dry leaves gathered in corners of the entrance hall. If his father had not cut him off, it would look vastly different but as it was, he could not fund keeping it maintained.

  Yet.

  Regardless, he loved the old building. He always had. He glanced over his shoulder to find her frozen in the middle of the room. The vast ceiling that led all the way up to a grimy glass dome made her look even more petite. She looked up at the dome for a few moments then met his gaze. “This was once a fine house.”

  “It was.”

  “I do not know your name.”

  He smiled. Silly of him. He hadn’t even introduced himself. Something was definitely strange about this meeting. Normally the women welcomed a strong man to protect them and soothe any worries. Miss Beaumont simply seemed nonplussed by the whole situation.

  “Nash.”

  “Just Nash?”

  “It is better you know me only by that name.”

  “I see.” She blew out a breath. “I suppose that is quite logical. What you do must be dangerous.”

  “Oh yes.” He flashed a smile.

  She tilted her head. “I cannot fathom why you should want to put yourself in danger.”

  “I like to help women in need.”

  A brow rose and she pursed her lips. She took a few methodical paces around the room, inspecting a dusty statue of David and a portrait of Wickstead Castle, his ancestral home. Finally, she turned her attention back to him. “You may call me Grace then, I suppose. It would be silly to use formalities on the woman you kidnapped.”

  He nodded. “Grace it is.” He gestured upstairs. “Shall we get you settled?”

  Grace glanced at the door and he suspected she was debating whether to escape or go through with their plan. He couldn’t make this woman out yet but clearly she was not entirely at peace with her decision to flee her engagement.

  Maybe the aunt was wrong? Maybe Grace cared for the blaggard?

  Well, it didn’t matter either way. He had one job to do and he’d damn well do it so they could see a good payday. Then maybe he could finally pay someone to clean the house.

  “Very well,” she said tightly. “Show me my room.”

  Chapter Four

  Nash glanced around for Mary but suspected she was working in the kitchen. Even though there was only the two of them, he always relied on Mary for aid. Mostly because if it was down to him to feed the captive, the most he could conjure up was a slab of bread.

  Much of the time, the women were wealthy too, and used to being served. It helped to have Mary to unlace dresses and whatnot. Not that he minded unlacing a beautiful woman’s dress, but he’d vowed to Guy he’d maintain a professional courtesy. It did mean he sometimes had to turn down the odd advance, but he doubted he’d have anything to worry about with this wide-eyed, wary woman who spoke so plainly.

  Her feet upon the steps barely made a sound as she followed him to the bedrooms. He indicated down the hallway. “We keep the two wings closed off to ensure this part of the building stays warm. You will sleep here.” He pushed open a door just to the left of the stairs.

  Though it still suffered an air of neglect Mary kept it clean and warm. He loved this room. He still recalled hiding from his older sister in here as a boy and getting a severe scolding when they could not find him for a whole afternoon.

  A fire suffused the room with warmth and a generous carved wooden bed strung with thick red curtains offered an appealing sanctuary.

  Grace finally lowered the cat to the floor and straightened. She fingered the gold fabric-covered walls. “Where will you be sleeping?”

  He hesitated. He wasn’t unused to the question but had not expected it from her. She certainly did not seem the sort to need to dash to his bedroom in the middle of the night because she heard a noise—despite her delicate appearance.

  “Two rooms down.” He jerked his head to the right.

  “I see.”

  Nash watched the cat sniff a certain spot on the carpet then stroll casually over to one of the lengths of curtain and lift its tail.

  “Claude, no!” She snatched the cat up and tapped his nose with what Nash could only think of as an affectionate tap.

  “Did it just...relieve itself on the curtains?”

  She grimaced. “I am sorry. He is just trying to make himself at home.”

  “Could he not do that by—I don’t know—sleeping on the bed or something?”

  “That is not how cats work, I am afraid. Especially male ones.”

  Nash folded his arms. “He can’t sleep in here. Not if he’s going to urinate everywhere.”

  “He won’t, I promise.” She clasped the cat tightly to her.

  “He can stay in the kitchen. There will be rats to catch down there no doubt. Put him to good use.”

  Her eyes widened further if that was possible. “No! I need him with me.”

  “Miss Beaumont—Grace—I do not make a habit of allowing animals in my house. Especially cats. I really think—”

  “Wait. Do you not like cats?”

  “I like them. When they are in my kitchens, doing what they were obviously put on the earth to do.”

  “So you don’t like them then.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Of course it does. You are missing out on everything cats can offer! Did you know that their purring can act to soothe almost any ailment?”

  He resisted the desire to scrub a hand over his face. Could she not have come here wailing and weeping about whatever it was she had left behind? No, instead she was lecturing him on the benefits of animals of the feline variety.

  “I very much doubt—”

  “Not to mention they are warm and perfect bed companions.”

  Clearly, she had never had anyone in her bed apart from a cat because that was wholly wrong.

  “And they are clean creatures. They take minimal care. A little food every now and then and they still give you all their love.”

  He eyed the docile animal, its arms splayed over her one arm, the little claws at the tips of his white paws visible. The cat blinked and yawned as though talking of his many wonderful traits was dull indeed and he had heard this lecture a hundred times. No doubt his owner often extolled his virtues.

  Nash sighed and gave into curiosity. “Why is he bald in places anyway?”

  “I rescued him from a river,” she said proudly, “and we have never been apart for a day since.”

  He hardly knew Miss Grace Beaumont but, somehow, he could picture this tiny woman stripping away her cloak and diving into the most furious of rivers just to save this ugly cat.

  “That still doesn’t explain the bald patches.”

  She lifted a shoulder and placed him on the bed. “He must have had a hard life, but he’s never told me about it.”

  Oh dear. Maybe she was simple. Or addled. Perhaps the kidnapping experience had shocked her so much that she thought she could talk to animals.

  “He...he talks to you?”

  She laughed as though he was silly indeed. He had to admit, he rather liked it when she smiled. Much better than that strange, nonplussed look she constantly wore. However, he wasn’t certain he liked her laughing at him.

  “Of course not! But when you get to know an animal, you can usually understand their story. He hates water, which is normal for cats, of course, but he is deathly afraid of it. Sometimes one can tell what they have experienced in their past from their behavior now. Much like humans I suppose.” She looked at him and her gaze narrowed slightly, as though she were trying to figure out his story.

  Not that he had much of one. Rich, privileged, and then it was all torn away from him by his father. Now he was just biding his time until he was rich and privil
eged again.

  “You should pet him,” she said.

  “No.”

  “But you might like it.”

  “I am quite happy appreciating all Claude has to offer from a distance thank you. Besides, we had a good...cuddle earlier when you arrived.”

  Her lips quirked a little. “I will never understand why the stronger sex is afraid of cats.”

  “I am certainly not afraid.”

  “Very well. If you say so.”

  “I do say so,” he said firmly.

  “Of course.” Her smile told him she did not believe him.

  A tap at the door prevented him from arguing further and Mary popped her head around the door. “Good evening! I thought I heard the carriage arrive.”

  “You did indeed.” Nash backed away. At least Mary saved him from being forced into touching the scraggy cat. “I shall leave you in Mary’s capable hands.”

  He dipped his head and hastened out of the room, shaking his head to himself. Miss Beaumont was not the usual kidnapee that was for certain.

  GRACE COULD NOT help but stare at the empty space where Nash had been standing. This whole process had been disconcerting enough without someone like…like him being in charge of her protection or whatever it was he did.

  Disconcerting was a good way of describing him. He had all the strength one could ask for from a protector that was clear enough. He towered over her which was nothing new but broad shoulders filled a jacket that was a few seasons out of style.

  The only reason she knew that was because her uncle was forever espousing the benefits of remaining in fashion. Not that she had worn a fashionable thing in her life, nor did she want to. Practical, comfortable clothing was more her thing, and she did not much enjoy low-cut gowns that revealed her minimal assets or tight waistlines or itchy lace. Give her some plain muslin and a fichu any day.

  Her gaze strayed back to the empty space where she half-expected there to be boot indents in the carpet from his sheer presence. She did not know much about the opposite sex, but she recognized a self-confident man when she saw one.

  Mr. Worthington had a similar air except he would never admit to being scared of cats. Not that Nash had exactly admitted it, but the fear was there, lingering behind sage green eyes. She rather liked that fear even if she did not understand it. It made him more human than Mr. Worthington, despite his ridiculously attractive appearance.

  Mary shut the door behind her and hastened forward. “You poor thing, you must be frozen.”

  Actually, she was just fine. Hot even. And not just because of the fire in the room and the cozy furnishings. Nash had left her cheeks heated when she thought of how handsome he was. It made sense, she supposed, that these sorts of things occurred. After all, she was a woman in her prime. Her body was readying her for having babies and what better way for nature to persuade her to do such a thing than ensure she was attracted to a specimen of the opposite sex. Attraction was part of being human, most naturally.

  If only she could naturally ignore that lure. But the way his almost black hair curled just so around his ears and touched his nape made her fingers tingle, and when she thought of his mouth—strong but with generous lips, her breathing grew agitated.

  Human nature had a lot to answer to.

  “We shall get a good meal in you shortly.” Mary unfastened Grace’s cloak. “Not to worry, I know you came here with nothing. Apart from the cat it seems. But we have plenty of clothing for the girls, much of it fine indeed, donated by some of the other ladies we’ve helped.” Mary glanced her over. “Though you are such a tiny thing. I may have to do a few clever stitches.”

  Grace opened her mouth then closed it. It was so strange to think other women had done the same, stood in the exact same position as her. They had probably pondered the handsomeness of Nash too. How did such a man end up providing this service? How did any of them?

  She watched Mary fold her cloak and retrieve a gown from a large blanket box with a latch on it that reminded her of a treasure box. Though not much taller than herself, Mary was curvier and probably a few years older than her. She had ginger hair and lashes to match that made the blue of her eyes more stark against her pale, freckled skin.

  Her face was slender, coming to a strong point at her chin. Her features seemed at odds with her warm tone and motherly movements—it felt as though she should have a generous bosom and warm, apple red cheeks.

  “This is nice and thick and not too large. We may just have to tie something about your waist. Shall I help you change for dinner?”

  “Dinner?” Grace echoed.

  Mary smiled. “You have had a long, tiring day. You need food,” she said softly.

  Grace considered her body, aware it ached from the carriage ride but unable to fathom if she was hungry or not. “I had better eat I suppose.”

  “Quite right, keep your strength up. Now about your gown...”

  “I can manage myself, thank you. I...I never had a maid.” She wasn’t certain why it made her feel silly to admit that—maybe it was because she was standing in what was once a grand house indeed and she imagined any woman staying here would have brought an entire entourage. Whatever it was, she felt out of place and entirely out of her depth.

  Mary put a hand to her arm. “I know this has been a strange experience, but Nash is a kind man and will look after you well.” She bent and gave the fire a quick prod with a poker. “And I am here most afternoons.”

  “Oh. You are not here all the time?”

  She shook her head. “I only help when I am needed, and it would not be very good money if I did not help at the farm.”

  “I see.”

  “Please do not worry. Nash looks like a rake and I’ve no doubt he was once, but he will be a gentleman.”

  Grace shook her head vaguely. “I am not worried about him.”

  At least, she thought she wasn’t. He would not want someone like me anyway.

  Without her inheritance, not even Mr. Worthington would want her. But, she had to admit, there was something strange twisting in her gut about the idea of being alone with him. Maybe it was simply because he was unknown to her.

  That made sense really. Humans were designed not to like new things or strangers, it was a matter of survival really. She just had to convince her instincts that they did not need to be functioning right now.

  “Well, I shall leave you to dress. We don’t ring a dinner gong here so be sure to be down by seven.”

  “Oh, where is the dining room?”

  “Downstairs, turn right and go through the first parlor room.”

  Grace twined her hands together. “Will, um, Nash be there too?”

  “He’s a man and he always wants feeding so, yes.”

  “Oh. Yes. Good. Of course.” Grace wanted to hide her face in her hands. How addled her mind was. What did she expect? That he might hide himself away at dinner and leave her eating alone at some grand table? She needed to get a grip of herself. And fast.

  Chapter Five

  “Shoo.”

  Nash followed the sound of urgent shoos. Several more followed before he came upon Grace by the rear steps of the house. Skirts clutched in one hand, she frantically waved a hand at the peacock and took a step back.

  “Shoo, I tell you.”

  The peacock, entirely unperturbed by her commands, ruffled his spread of feathers. Apparently, the bird thought Grace was worthy of a display and didn’t realize she was most certainly uninterested. She took a sudden step forward then darted back when the bird moved closer.

  “I would never harm you but, please, you must leave me be,” she begged the bird.

  Nash folded his arms and watched the exhibition, his lips curved. He didn’t blame the creature for wanting to impress her. Though he supposed her figure verged on boyish, in the morning sunlight that had forced its way through cracks in the thick clouds, the pretty tilt of her chin was all the more evident.

  He’d not been unaware of her attractiveness at d
inner, but it had been somewhat tarnished by her abrupt manner. There was no coquettishness to her, no gentleness. Miss Beaumont asked questions directly and didn’t seem to understand if one wished to skirt around the question or answer in some way other than direct.

  For some reason, fighting a peacock made her vastly more attractive. Pinned up loosely, her coal-black hair enhanced the pale tint of her skin. Little loose strands touched her face and she blew one away, making his fingers twitch.

  “Please,” she urged the bird. “Leave me be.”

  Her voice cracked a little—Nash’s call to aid. He strode forward and stepped between her and the peacock. “Priscilla, be gone,” he ordered firmly. “Off with you.”

  The bird ruffled his feathers, gave him what could only be considered a cold look and slowly turned, making sure they got a full view of his display before he sauntered off toward the overgrown wilds of the formal gardens.

  He turned to Grace who was halfway up the stairs, clinging to the stone balustrade. “Are you well?”

  She nodded, inhaled deeply, and unwound herself from the bannister. “I am well.” She glanced after the bird. “Priscilla? But he’s a he.”

  He chuckled. “He was given to us as a baby and we did not realize he was a boy until he was older and colorful. By then, the name had stuck.”

  “Why on earth do you keep him here of all places?”

  “As you can see, he makes an excellent guard.”

  She pressed a hand to her chest and straightened. “Animals normally like me.”

  “Well, Priscilla is a bird. And I would say he really liked you.”

  “He had a strange way of showing it.”

  Nash lifted a shoulder. “That’s most men I’m afraid. We’re always trying to impress the ladies, but we go about it in the clumsiest of manners.”

  She peered up at him. The sun had given up trying to defeat the clouds, leaving the day slightly overcast. But apparently the sun could not be given full credit for making Grace appear pretty. Her clear dark eyes, framed by black, long lashes were captivating, forcing him to stare into them far longer than was polite. She didn’t seem to notice and studied him in return until a shriek from Priscilla broke the spell.