“Wh-Why did your family disown you?”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Molly cursed them. All of the world’s polite conversation before her, and she had to ask about what was undoubtedly one of the most painful questions available?
Edmund smiled. “What a question, on Christmas Day too. Do I not receive any gifts?”
“I should not have asked,” she said hastily, dropping her eyes back to the last unforgiving knot.
“Why not? You have a right to be curious, even if you do not have the right to know.”
His voice was low, dark, with just a hint of misery. Molly dared a look at his face and found her heart warm to him, despite herself.
Edmund was not looking for glory, or attention now. This was him at his most vulnerable, in a way she had not seen him before.
“Families are…complicated.” Molly tried not to think about just how much of an exaggeration her words were. At least he was not asking about her family.
The knot was tight, twisted, pulled to almost a nub of rope. Her fingers slipped as she tried to loosen it and heat seared through her once again.
“Would you like the polite version or the honest version?” Edmund’s voice had been quiet but there was no bitterness in it now.
Molly kept her eyes on the knot. “Always the honest version.” She had had enough of secrets and lies.
The knot came free and the ropes fell to the floor. Edmund stretched his hands, wriggling his fingers with a look of discomfort on his face.
“It will take a little time for the feeling to be fully regained,” Molly said quietly.
Now was the moment that she could move, away from him, away from this intensity.
But she did not. She did not want to.
Edmund grinned. “You are an expert in rope tying? My word, Molly Kimble, you continue to surprise me.”
Molly felt her cheeks darken and she went to get up, but suddenly his hands were holding hers and he was keeping her close on the sofa.
“The honest version of how I lost my family,” he said quietly, “is because of my father.”
Molly hesitated. She could pull away, he was not holding onto her hands that tightly. But there was a vulnerability in his words, in his eyes. As though he had not told this story to another soul in a long time. As though he needed to tell it.
“Your father?”
Edmund nodded. “A disgusting man – a dark one. One with no idea of what truth, or justice, or honour could possibly be. Far more interested in wealth, reputation. I feared him, all my brothers did.”
“You have brothers?” Molly could not keep the disgust out of her voice, her personal revulsion with her own brothers seeping through.
“I have four brothers, all of them younger, though I doubt any would own me now,” said Edmund drily. “Not after I came home one day and thought to sneak into the kitchen for some lemon curd, and found my father…my father beating a servant nigh on to death.”
Molly’s jaw dropped. “I…I had heard of such things in the great houses, but never suspected…”
Edmund’s laugh was bitter. “Of course you did not suspect, but you heard for a reason, Molly. Because there are men out there like my father, who think that people are there to serve him and ask no questions. If something was not perfect, then it was not for him and that person would be…punished.”
The wind whistled at the window and Molly shivered. “What happened to the servant?”
Her hands were still being held by Edmund’s and they shook slightly as he continued.
“I wrenched the whip from my father’s hands and stood between them. I told him that no offence could be sufficient for such treatment, nothing. The look my father gave me…as though I had taken the whip in my hand and turned it upon him. But nothing was more of a betrayal than making him look weak before an inferior.”
Molly stared at the gentleman before her. For all her talk of wealth and breeding, he had endured just as much violence, it seemed, as she had.
Edmund heaved a sigh. “And from that day, my father did not trust me. It became harder and harder to have decent conversations with him, even about the land, the property. Four months later, I found him at it again – but this time, he was…he was beating a woman, and with his bare hands.”
The revulsion in his voice was palpable. Molly’s mouth fell open.
“That was the last straw. I went to the Peelers, not that they heeded me, and my father went to Bishops, Bishops, Needham and Sons.”
Molly frowned. “Who?”
“Our lawyers,” Edmund said with a smile. “I was disowned, removed from the family line, expunged from all privilege and fortune.”
He spoke in such an airy way that Molly had to think for a moment to take it all in.
Then a word that she had not noticed demanded her attention. “Privilege?”
His hands were warm around hers as Edmund grinned, a lock of hair falling over his eyes. “Oh yes. Before I was just Sir Edmund, knight and card shark, I was Edmund, Marquis of Dewsbury, eldest son and heir of the Duke of Northmere.”
6
“Well, that is it.” Edmund leaned back against the wall and smiled at Molly who was seated cross-legged opposite him. “That is the last of it.”
The woman who was fast becoming the most interesting person he had ever met returned his smile. “I was surprised that we found any food, to tell the truth.”
Edmund sighed. “I do not think you can call half a loaf of bread that has seen better days, pork that had dried out but was supposedly edible, and those two apples ‘food’, Molly.”
As his lips moved around her name, Edmund felt another jolt of desire rush through his body and he saw no reason to quell it. She was beautiful, perhaps even more beautiful in the light of the single candle they had found.
Hours had passed since he had revealed his true parentage to her, and yet she had not responded how he had expected. No curtseys, he had never expected, nor wanted those.
But she had treated him no differently. Perhaps with a little more kindness, after hearing what a brute old Papa had been. But no reverence, no carefulness around offending him, no scraping or self-censure.
It was what he had enjoyed so much when he had become free – free of his family and their expectations.
When no one knew you were the son of a Duke, no one treated you any differently. It was liberating, but Edmund found to his horror, that a part of him wanted her to. A small part, certainly, but it was there. He wanted Molly Kimble to be impressed by him, and it pained him that despite the last few years of learning to survive on his own, he had still not purged himself of the entitlement he had been born with.
“It is better than nothing.” Molly’s gentle words brought Edmund back to reality, and she was smiling. “Perhaps not the Christmas dinner you had expected, however. Turkey and trimmings?”
Edmund grinned. “Mrs Bird’s stew and a side helping of bad cheer. Well, that is what I had last year.”
She smiled and it danced in her eyes. Edmund swallowed. He was not enjoying being here, in this godforsaken hole, waiting for some mysterious kidnappers to return and demand money from him that he did not have – but of all the people that he could be locked up with on Christmas Day, Molly Kimble would have been his choice.
She stretched out her legs to the side and ensured her gown still covered her ankles. Molly Kimble, the woman who was so innocent and sweet and yet had found herself in this nonsense. Molly Kimble, who knew how to untie knots far more complex than he had ever seen, and yet who blushed when their fingers met.
He had wanted to do quite a bit more to her, once those damned ropes had been removed, but he had not done anything about it.
Not yet.
“I am – ”
“Bored?” Molly interjected, her smile broadening. “Do not disappoint me again, Sir Edmund, I had thought you had grown out of that in the last few hours.”
Sir Edmund. She still was determined to give him
a title, any title. Being a knight was not something he could be proud of. If Edmund was honest with himself, and that happened rarely, he had looked down at baronets, sneered at them when he had been the Marquis.
Now Molly spoke the word, it was like a badge of honour.
“No, I am not bored,” Edmund said slowly. “I have something far more diverting to stave off boredom.”
She sighed. “Do not tell me that you found a pack of cards, because I will not play with you. I think we have already seen that I am the better player.”
“No. You.”
Molly stared at him for a moment as though waiting for the rest of his sentence, and then she laughed. “Me? You cannot possibly find me interesting, you who have undoubtedly met dukes and earls all your life!”
“And Prinny,” said Edmund cheerfully. “But they are boring, Molly, trust me.”
Her dark eyes were wide now, and she laughed again. “I am more accustomed to speaking with a butcher or baker, Sir Edmund, not the royal family.”
“I wish you would just call me Edmund.”
The sentence had fallen from his lips before he could stop it; a heartful wish that he had been thinking but had not intended to say.
Molly glanced at him in surprise. “Why?”
Edmund swallowed. He hardly knew himself. “Because that is my name. I call you Molly.”
“Without any invitation,” she said with a mocking haughty tone. When he did not respond, she relented. “Edmund, then. You have entertained princes, no doubt, whereas I – ”
“You are here with me,” Edmund pointed out. “Kidnapped too. There must have been a reason for that. Any money in the family tree that may fall into your lap?”
Was it a trick of the little candlelight they had, or did Molly suddenly look a little uncomfortable? There it was; that small shiver as though there were secrets in Molly’s past just as juicy as the ones in his own.
“You have not told me much about yourself, Molly.”
She hesitated before replying, “You have not asked.”
“I am asking now.” Edmund tried to remember not to look merely at her beauty, and look into her eyes. There was fear there, fear about what? That she would be noticed, that her secret, whatever it was, would be discovered?
Edmund shifted his back against the wall. “We could be here a while, and I do not believe there is going to be any additional entertainment found that that we have discovered already, and I am not going to read The Monk, no matter how long we are here. Why not tell me a little about yourself?”
There was no coquettish smile, no wistful look to encourage him to ask more questions. Unlike many of the ladies he had known, Molly did not want to speak.
“No,” she said finally.
If anything could increase his sense of intrigue, it was a flat refusal. “Why?”
“Because it is a sad story that gets sadder with the telling.”
Edmund shook his head with a smile. “Come now, Molly, you cannot try that one with me. You think that losing an income of twenty thousand pounds a year is not a sad tale?”
Molly’s eyes widened, but not – as he may have expected – with greed, but with sorrow. “Do you still consider the loss of your family in pecuniary terms?”
Her words cut right to the core of him, piercing his soul and exposing the very worst of himself.
Edmund struggled to regain control of himself. “Family is not everything.”
“It was for me.” Molly had spoken sadly, with genuine sorrow in her voice and she smiled wryly. “You escaped your family. I did not.”
It was impossible to ignore the pain in her words and Edmund found himself leaning forward, desperate to be close to her, to care for her. He had never felt this way about a person before; it had always been himself against the family, and now himself against the world.
But Molly; if he could wipe away every tear that had ever dropped from those dark eyes, he would.
“Tell me,” he began, but he was interrupted.
“We cannot just leave these plates here, they will dry out and become impossible to clean,” said Molly briskly, rising to her feet so quickly that Edmund barely saw her move.
“Let me help you,” he said hastily, rising too. “I made at least half the mess, as it is.”
Molly snorted as she picked up the plates and placed them on the sideboard. “Did you ever wash anything in your life, Sir – Edmund!”
The last word had escaped as a gasp and Edmund grinned. He had followed her silently and moved so close to her that as she turned, she had moved straight into his arms.
“Edmund,” she repeated. Her dark eyes found his and Edmund felt a surge of an emotion he did not recognise.
“Molly,” he replied, his voice breathless. God’s teeth, having her this close to him was doing things to him that he could not understand – beyond the mechanics. “Do you trust me?”
“Not on your life.”
“I asked you a question in the King’s Head. You said no.”
Molly stared at him, her breasts heaving as her breathing quickened. “Yes.”
“This time,” Edmund said in a low voice, his eyes darting to her lips, “I am going to ask you in a different way.”
His lips crushed against hers in a passionate and uncontained kiss.
Molly had not expected this – had not expected an embrace, let alone a kiss. Something so personal, so wrong between a gentleman and a lady unbetrothed or unwed.
And so her natural reaction was to fight it. Her hands moved up and pushed against Edmund’s chest, but the kiss was so gentle and yet so passionate that all the fight seemed to leave her. His arms were strong, caring, loving, even.
He did not force more than she was willing to give and Molly found herself melting into his arms. His head shifted and the kiss deepened, and Molly found herself welcoming him in, allowing her mouth to open.
It was wonderful. She had never been kissed like this; could not remember Charlie Kimble ever taking her into his arms for such an experience.
He was gentle still, but she could sense the restrained desire and it stirred her. Knowing that she made him feel this way, knowing that Edmund had found against this but found he could not – it was thrilling.
His tongue teased her lips and she widened them further, allowing him in and it was glorious, these feelings rushing through her body that did not seem to belong to her.
Edmund broke the kiss and looked at her, his eyes heavy with desire. “God, Molly. Say yes. I could give you such pleasure.”
Molly’s eyes looked up at him, unsure of herself but fighting down the urge to give in. She was a widow, after all. She knew the mechanics, knew that it would be over almost before it had begun.
Why not give in to a stranger? And yet Edmund was no stranger; she knew him better than anyone. No other gentleman in the world had ever been as honest as he had been with her.
No other gentleman made her feel these things, made her feel truly alive.
Molly licked her lips before she spoke and felt the throb of desire in Edmund’s breeches. It made her feel powerful, and she liked it.
“Yes,” she breathed.
Before the word was almost out of her mouth, Edmund crushed it with his own and this time she gave herself utterly over to the kiss, throwing her arms around his neck and allowing him into her mouth as a welcome partner.
But his hands were not idle. Caressing her waist, they moved to the back of her gown and pulled at the cord keeping her gown together.
Molly did not care – everything that she had cared about before suddenly did not seem to matter. All she wanted to focus on was the way Edmund made her feel, the way her body was responding to him – a way that it had never responded before.
Her gown suddenly fell to her shoulders, kept up only because her arms were around him.
Molly broke the kiss and stared, slightly startled, into Edmund’s eyes.
“You can say no again at any time,” he breathed, “but
I beg you not to.”
Molly hesitated, and then allowed her arms to fall to her side. Her gown slipped to the floor, leaving her standing in naught but her undershift.
Edmund moaned and took a step towards her but Molly put out a hand. “No.”
Panic and concern filled his eyes. “Molly, I am sorry if – ”
“First,” she said quietly. “You.”
Edmund stared at her uncomprehending for a moment, and then his eyes widened and he smiled. Without breaking their gaze, Edmund reached up and started to unbutton his shirt.
Molly felt her breath catch in her throat as he pulled his shirt off and dropped it the floor. His good looks were not limited to his face; he was truly the model of a desirable man. Strong shoulders, broad. She wanted to reach out and touch them but held herself back.
Edmund nodded, as though he knew what she was thinking. Molly stepped forward nervously and reached out.
Something hot and strange shifted in her stomach as her fingers touched Edmund’s chest delicately, but it was nothing to the moan of pleasure that he gave as she explored, tentatively at first, and then with greater courage.
“God, Molly, the things you do to me,” he muttered.
Excitement flared in Molly’s heart but she knew there was more. There was always more.
Her questing fingers moved down lower until she reached the buttons on his breeches. Her eyes flickered to his and he nodded.
Her fingers made light work of the remainder of his clothes and within a minute, Edmund was standing before her, utterly naked and erect.
Molly breathed out slowly. She had only seen one other man in this state, and she had rarely wanted to see him in that state.
But Edmund was different. Better looking, certainly, but also kinder. He was not dominating her because he could. He cared just as much for her own consent as his own.
He was everything that Charlie Kimble was not, and never had been.
“And…” Edmund swallowed. “And now you.”
Molly found any embarrassment in becoming nude herself had disappeared as soon as she had stripped Edmund of his clothes. She pulled her undershift to the floor and stood there, staring at him.
Kidnapped with a Knight: A Steamy Regency Romance (Ravishing Regencies Book 0.5) Page 5