Adam placed his next card, winning yet another hand. “Alexander is doing no better at avoiding women than you are.”
He lowered his cards, face down. “Do you not have a tiny suspicion that perhaps our mother sent us here with the express purpose of meeting eligible women? I hasten to point out that the majority here are sweet, innocent things, escorted by their mothers and aunts. Precisely the sort of lady our mother used to try to introduce us to.”
His brother scowled and then his eyes widened. “Lord knows, I would not put much past our mother, but did she even know about the book?”
“Mother knows everything,” Leo said dryly.
“She could not have counted on Rebecca returning.”
“No, none of us could.”
“Think she will come back again?” Adam asked.
Leo ran a hand across his face. She’d been gone for almost a month now after some vague murmur about taking the diamond they had finally dug up along with a few letters and bank notes and settling her business. Whatever that meant. He assumed she intended to give the money from the diamond sale to her half-siblings, but that would not take a blasted month, surely?
Of course, she could have decided that he was a liar in the meantime. That he had left that poor woman in the family way. He almost would not blame her. His history hardly made him out to be a paragon of virtue, but he had thought she believed him when she left.
“She went once before. I should probably assume I will not see her for another ten years. Besides, what can this town offer her?” He retrieved his cards but struggled to focus on his hand.
“Well, you, for one.”
Leo smirked. “I do not think I am enough.”
Adam shook his head. “You are more than enough for many women, Leo. There are many men who would rather enjoy being in your position. But, of course, you never fully appreciated it, not after you spent an entire decade pining after Rebecca.”
“I did not pine.”
“Whatever you call it, you’d be a fool to sit around and wait another decade.” Adam set down another winning hand and scooped up the cards. “You will never love another woman like you love Rebecca. Any fool can see that.”
Leo set down the cards once more, his jaw tight. Maybe he was a fool but what was he to do? Go crawling after her?
“We promised Mother—”
“We promised we would behave and not cause any scandal. Marrying the woman you love is hardly scandalous, and since when do you care so much about what Mother thinks?”
“She’s frail.”
“And you are full of excuses. She loved Rebecca, if you recall. Cease being such a coward, Leo.”
Leo opened his mouth and closed it. Part of him wanted to deny it, to tell his brother in no uncertain terms he was an ass for ever saying as much.
But he was not wrong. He’d been a coward before, hiding from his love for Rebecca in the skirts of far too many women, and he was being a coward now.
He rose from the table. “Do you think Mother would count Florence as the country?”
Adam grinned. “Well, it is not London.”
“Damn it, if Alexander asks, I’m off to Italy.”
“Leo, wait!”
He paused and pivoted on his heel.
“Do you think you had better have someone pack a trunk for you?”
“I’ll find what I need on the way.”
His brother chuckled. “At least have the carriage made ready. It’s quite some distance to Portsmouth.”
“Blast.” He blew out a breath. “Fine.”
He ignored his brother’s shout of ‘good luck’ that sounded far too tinged with amusement for his liking and ordered the carriage made ready. He supposed he could have packed some belongings in the time it took to have the horses and carriage made ready, but all he could bring himself to do was pace back and forth in front of the house. What would he do if she was not in Florence? Find her mother, he supposed. She did say she owned a dressmaker’s shop there. She would know something, surely?
Hell, he’d travel the world if he had to. He had not pined as Adam so coarsely put it, but he’d be damned if he was going to spend more time waiting around for Rebecca. She loved him, of that he was certain. Those spilled words had not been a lie. And, of course, he’d loved her from their first kiss. This time, he would not give up easily.
Once the carriage was made ready, he climbed in and slammed the door before the footman could get to it. He tapped impatiently on the roof and eased back onto the velvet chair. The journey to Portsmouth and the crossing to Italy would take some time, and he rather regretted he had not decided just to do the journey to the coast on horseback, but he would have to change horses far too often and he didn’t want to arrive in too much of a state.
He smirked to himself. Of course Rebecca could not complain, not when she’d slept in a blasted sheep pen, the fool woman. Still, he wanted to make some sort of a good impression.
He scowled when the carriage moved slightly to the right of the road leading out of the estate. To avoid an animal perhaps. He leaned forward and peered out of the closed window but spotted nothing. The carriage continued on normally, so he had to assume all was well.
Except...
He stilled and tried to hear over the rattling of the wheels and the creak of the suspension. Either he was going insane or he had heard Rebecca. But that could not be, could it?
Shoving open the window, he craned his neck to peer back at the house. He tightened his grip around the window and stared for a few moments longer, then flopped back against the seat. Surely not?
“Rebecca,” he murmured to himself.
He shook himself and rapped on the roof of the carriage. It came to a halt and he shoved open the door, practically falling from the vehicle. His feet hit the gravel with a crunch, and he twisted to face the house.
Rebecca raced toward him, her bonnet loose and hanging by its ribbons from her neck, bouncing against her as she dashed toward him.
“Leo!” she called.
He hadn’t imagined her. He was not going mad.
Ignoring a question from the driver, he sprinted along the road toward her. She flung herself at him with more strength than he anticipated, looping her arms around his neck and knocking the wind from him.
“Oof.”
She darted briefly back. “Forgive me.”
“I did not say stop.” He snatched her back, clasping her waist and drawing her close. He should have probably said something about how beautiful she looked, how much he’d missed her, but instead he kissed her deeply.
She opened her mouth to him and clung to him until they were both breathless. When he drew back, the tempting pink of her flushed lips made him almost regret he had not kissed her more.
But he needed answers first.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came back,” she said breathlessly.
“Another diamond?”
She laughed and shook her head. “Where were you going?”
“To Florence, believe it or not.”
“But why?”
“To find you, you foolish woman.”
“Well, you found me.”
He held her firm lest she get any silly ideas of escaping him again. “I had little intention of waiting another ten years.”
“It was only nine actually.” Her lips quirked.
“Nine agonizing years.” He glanced behind her to spy two travel bags and a hat box abandoned halfway up the road. “Are you intending to stay somewhere?”
“In town actually, if I can find lodgings.”
He eyed her. “So you are not planning to hide away?”
She shook her head. “The notoriety will not be easy, but I am done hiding, Leo. I should not have to continue to pay for what my father did, and I love this town. I always have. It is my home.”
He swallowed hard, almost fearful of asking the question despite the very obvious fact she was in his arms and had allowed him to kiss he
r so passionately. “You intend to stay?”
“Yes.” Her smile widened.
“I was not certain you would return.”
“I needed to settle any remaining debts and see my half-siblings. Their mother will be able to look after them well now that the diamond is sold. Not to mention seeing my mother. She has decided to remain in Italy—it is still too painful for her here and she has many friends there—but there was enough money to ensure she can live even more comfortably and sell the business if she so chooses.”
“So your father did something for you all in the end then.”
“Well, not by choice but I am glad I could do something to repair some of the damage caused.”
“Do you think everything can be repaired?”
She frowned. “Like what?”
“Like ten years apart?”
“Nine,” she corrected. “And it might take some time.”
“Oh?”
“I might need some kisses. Many, in fact. If an infamous rake like you can manage that, of course.”
He gave a dry chuckle. “If I am to put an end to my rakish ways, I rather think we should be married before I spoil you with kisses.”
Rebecca narrowed her gaze. “Is that a proposal?”
“I do believe so.”
“I am fairly certain it is not entirely improper for my fiancé to kiss me.”
“Senseless?”
She nodded eagerly. “Most certainly so.”
With a grin, Leo scooped her into his arms and made good on his promise.
THE END
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Read on for a chapter from Stealing the Heiress
Author Note
Rebecca's father was loosely based on John Hatfield who was exectured in 1803 on charges of forgery. He married successfully into money but once the money ran out, he abandoned three daugthers and a wife who died shortly thereafter. Able to gain more credit through claiming a relationship with the Duke of Rutland, he succesfully escaped debtor's prison several times thanks to the charity of others.
He married a Miss Nation after leaving gaol (her having paid his debts, of course!) in 1800 but when debts caught up with him he vanished again.
The final part of his tale did occur in the Lake District. He fashioned himself as Alexander Augustus Hope, M.P., and gained the trust of many locals. Here, he met Mary Robinson, famous for being the Maid of Buttermere in William Wordsworth's The Prelude. Mary's parents ran an inn, successfully using her fame to make an excellent income. John was naturally keen to get his hands on the family's money and married Mary, despite still being married to Miss Nation. The family gave him vast sums but a man who knew Mr. Hope personally ousted him as an impostor.
From there, it unravelled and he was placed in custody. He did indeed escape but was finally arrested in Wales and subsequently charged for three counts of fraud. Mary faired a little better, with public feeling very much on her side. The family received large amounts of money and Mary married a local farmer in 1807.
Chapter Three
“Damn it.”
Russell glanced over his shoulder and hauled the carriage to a halt. He thought he’d been imagining it when he heard the thud and the carriage door slamming hard against the side of the vehicle. Nothing about capturing Miss Heston felt normal and he was simply on edge.
But no.
The bloody woman had fallen from the carriage.
Or most likely jumped.
He leapt down from the driver’s seat and sprinted back down the road. He cursed under his breath—repeatedly. What the bloody hell was wrong with her? First, all the play-acting, then nearly cutting him. Guy, the leader of their kidnap club, never told him he was kidnapping a madwoman.
He cursed some more when he spied her crumpled form on the side of the road. Great. Now he had an injured madwoman to deal with.
Or worse.
He kneeled next to the spread of petticoats and crumpled fabric and touched the curve of her neck. A pulse beat strongly.
Not dead. One thing to be grateful for, he supposed.
Her hat was long gone, a splash of straw tucked in a tree some distance away. Well, he had no plans to retrieve that. The woman deserved to lose it as far as he was concerned. Behind her glasses, her eyes remained closed, dark lashes splayed against pale skin and the occasional freckle dashed across her nose.
He leaned in. If this was a trick, she was damned good at pretending. He ran his gaze down her, noting the rise and fall of her breasts and the gentle curl of her fingers. He’d met many a women who enjoyed playing pretend in his lifetime. Mostly, they were trying to get into his pocketbook. But why this one wished to make this kidnapping far too real, he could not fathom. Anyone would think she didn’t want to be kidnapped.
At least it didn’t look like anything was broken. All limbs were at the right angles and when he pushed a hand under the mesh of dark hair, his fingers came away clean. She’d likely received a good knock to the head but nothing a little rest would not cure.
Or she’d awaken even more crazed.
When this was over, he was demanding danger pay, for certain. Facing down armed drivers and hired brutes was far less dangerous than this woman.
Sighing, Russell eased an arm under her shoulders and legs. He braced himself for some tirade from the madwoman or perhaps another knife, stashed away in her bodice, only to be revealed as she came alive and slashed at him, but she remained limp.
He stashed her in the carriage, laying her out on the seat. He paused a moment.
God damn, bloody hell, hellfire and brimstone. Who cared if she was pretty? He’d kidnapped pretty women before. Beautiful ones, even. All that mattered was he got her to Nash and then he could wipe his hands of the crazed creature.
Stomping back to the front of the carriage, he climbed up to the driver’s seat and urged the two horses on. He kept the pace slower, not daring to jostle her any farther. A traveler’s inn was only a mile or so up the road, so he’d stop there until she woke up. With any luck, she’d be suffering a mild headache and nothing more and then they could be on their way.
And he’d be rid of her.
Once he arrived at the inn, he drove through the gates into the carriage entrance and eased open the door. Miss Heston remained knocked senseless, a curled-up bundle of silk and lace. He scooped her up once more and stared down the stable hand who gawped at him. Moving swiftly, he barged through the doorway and stopped in the taproom. “A room. With haste. My, uh, wife is injured.”
Wide-eyed, the chap behind the bar nodded and handed over a key. “Y-you’ll have to sign in.”
“Later.” The innkeeper didn’t argue with him or try to stop him as Russell navigated the stairs to the room and fought to get the door open through the masses of fabric that curled around his arms and tickled his nose. “You could have worn a simpler dress,” he muttered. What sort of a woman wore silk and petticoats and fine broaches to a kidnapping?
Oh, yes, a mad one, remember?
He laid her on the bed and spread out her skirts. He paused. Her breaths were steady, and she showed no signs of being in pain. But he should probably check properly for injuries.
That meant touching her, though.
He smirked at himself. He’d touched plenty of women. Hell, he was hardly a rake like Nash had been before settling down, but he was no trembling virgin either. Running his hands over a little silk to ascertain she was well hardly counted as being sordid.
He glanced down at his hand. “You can stop that,” he ordered the limb when he saw the slight quiver.
Not a virgin, but still trembling, apparently. What a fool.
Shaking his head, he started at the top of her, running his hands down each arm, feeling for breaks or swelling.
Damn it, he should have started from the bottom. Then he wouldn’t be trying to steal a look down the inviting shadows. Madw
oman or not, he should certainly not be using this opportunity to lust over her.
No, not lust. He didn’t do lust. He occasionally had brief relationships with women to satisfy his basic needs, but he would never go so far as to say he lusted over a woman. He appreciated them—occasionally—and that was that. Entanglements were most certainly not for him.
He forced his gaze onto the expensive fabric of her gown while he felt down her ribs, following the curve of a shapely waist, down to hips that sat perfectly in his hands.
Not. Bloody. Lust.
It had been a while, that was all.
When he got down to her legs, his difficulty was no longer looking down, but up. He’d seen that flash of thigh above her garter and spotted the shapely length of her legs when she’d waved that knife at him and even then, he’d been intrigued. Now she was all spread out for the taking, and trying to keep his gaze from darting up to the darkness between her thighs made his chest tight.
He curled a hand around an ankle. No breaks here. He moved his hand up to her calf. Nor there. She stirred and released a slight moan when he moved his hand up.
Good Lord. She almost sounded as though she enjoyed his touch.
He snatched his hand back swiftly. If she was waking, she could tell him if she hurt anywhere. He was no gently bred man but even he had little desire to touch a woman without her permission.
Nor did he want to touch her with it, he reminded himself.
The Kidnap Club made a rule. They did not touch the women they took.
Well, Nash touched the last one and had ended up married to her.
Russell sure as hell wasn’t going to let that happen. He did not do marriage. He certainly did not do love.
And he was not, under any circumstances, going to lust over this woman.
ROSEMUNDE SMILED. IT had been a while since she’d dreamed of a new hero. This one had dark, tousled hair—a little long perhaps but she rather liked it that length—and piercing blue eyes. Her imagination was really quite spectacular, even if she did say so herself. Who would have thought she could make up a little scar on the forehead of her hero and another pale line just by his ear? Or the stubble sprouting on his chin. In fact, this had to be about the most accurate daydream she had enjoyed for a long time.
The Taming of a Wicked Rogue (The Lords of Scandal Row Book 1) Page 9