Kidnapped with a Knight: A Steamy Regency Romance (Ravishing Regencies Book 0.5)

by Emily Murdoch

  Edmund stared between them and saw no lies in their features. It was not like a Northmere to speak a falsehood, anyway. Far better to face the music than to swathe yourself in deceit.

  “You…you honestly never knew?”

  Luke shook his head. “You are a damned hard man to find, Ed.”

  Edmund flinched slightly at the childish nickname. He had never liked it then, and Luke, as his nearest brother, had never lost the opportunity to use it.

  But it felt strange now. Like a whisper to home, like a reminder of the life he could have been enjoying the last five years.

  “It was only yesterday we received news that an Edmund Northmere was a regular at the King’s Head,” said George quietly. “We rode down last night, and was pointed in this direction. Your Mrs Bird said we could wait.”

  Edmund felt unable to speak, unable to process the arrival of two members of his family in this room. It was as though two worlds were colliding; the life he had left behind, and the life he had built for himself in poverty and anonymity.

  And through it all was the pain of Molly. His heart was full, too full, and it was all too much to comprehend.

  He lowered himself onto the only other piece of furniture in the room, a rickety chair. “Why are you here?”

  George and Luke exchanged surprised looks.

  “Why, to restore you, of course,” said George.

  Edmund snorted. “Oh, so Luke does not mind losing the family name? He is happy to forego the title – what was it, Marquis of Dewsbury? – as well as the income? ‘Tis a pretty purse you have become accustomed to, Lukey, I bet.”

  Luke’s eyes narrowed. “That is for discussion. Discussion between brothers.”

  “No, it is not,” Edmund said flatly. It hurt to say these words, but they had to be said. If not now, he would not have the strength to speak them later. “I have found my own way, gentlemen, and it may not have the power or prestige of the typical life of a Northmere man, but it is my life. Being a knight is more than enough for me.”

  He saw their glances around the cramped and moulding room.

  “You would rather have this?” Luke’s lip curled.

  “No, I would rather have Molly!”

  There was silence in the room and then Luke sighed heavily. “Women troubles?”

  Edmund glared at his brother, the old rivalry returning, but then the heat dissipated and he sighed himself. “You have no idea.”

  And yet it took but five minutes to explain the entire thing to his brothers, and he stared at them hopelessly as his tale came to an end.

  “Ah, I see,” said George slowly, who evidently did not.

  Edmund tried not to smile. Poor George, always awkward with the ladies. Had that changed in the intervening years, or was he still just as tongue-tied with them.

  Luke sniffed. “I do not understand the problem.”

  Anger started to rise again in Edmund but he tried to quash it. “Other than the fact that she lied, she betrayed me to her brothers, and any alliance with her would bring the Northmere name into disastrous disrepute?”

  “She likes you,” said Luke wearily. “You clearly love her. You both have horrible brothers. And?”

  11

  “Come on, Mr Porter.” Molly hated to wheedle; it was what desperate people, and children did.

  She was no child, but she was desperate.

  “No,” Mr Porter said firmly. He walked around the bar of the King’s Head but Molly followed him, unwilling to allow the conversation to end so quickly.

  “Mr Porter, I know that you need the help,” Molly said quietly. She knew that begging was not going to convince the old man of anything. Any publican heard his fair share of sorry tales, usually to escape a large tab. “I have seen this place grow in popularity over the last year, even if you have not. You are busy.”

  Molly looked over her shoulder as if to prove her point. The King’s Head was almost full, and it was only six o’clock in the evening. When the apprentices finished their work for the day in an hour, it would be standing room only in here – the height of success for any London pub.

  “And you work too hard,” Molly continued, turning back to face the old man. “Do not think I do not see it, Mr Porter, but you run yourself ragged keeping everyone happy here. You need a barmaid, someone who will learn quickly and take the strain from you.”

  Molly paused, worried that she had overdone it. Her heart was thumping in her rib cage. She could not betray how desperately she needed work, any work – any work that did not involve her walking up and down the streets with her skirts hitched high.

  Her stomach rumbled and she tried to ignore it. Tried not to think that it was two days since she had eaten.

  Mr Porter shook his head. “I have no work for you, Miss Kimble.”

  “Mrs Kimble,” Molly corrected automatically, and then censured herself silently for what must have appeared to be rudeness. “Mr Porter, I am not asking for work just because I fancy it. I need the work, and I can see you need a worker.”

  “But not you.” Mr Porter spoke with an air of finality and lowered his gaze to the glass that he was now drying.

  Molly’s heart sank. There were few ways that a woman could pay her own way in this world, and working behind the bar of a respectable pub like the King’s Head was her preferred option.

  And Mr Porter had not disagreed with her. It was evident to anyone with half a mind that he would not be able to run this place alone for much longer. The poor man grimaced every time he moved a barrel, and that simply wouldn’t do.

  But it was the personal distaste of her that hurt the most. The Kimble name coming back to bite her, as she should have known it would.

  God, if only she had never married him. If only she had been wise enough to see Charlie Kimble for what he was; a rogue, villain, and scoundrel.

  Now he was gone, and she was left to pick up the pieces of her life.

  “Take her and leave me here. I have no wish to see her again.”

  Molly bit her lip. There was nothing more that she could do about Sir Edmund Northmere, save wish she that she had never met him. The fact that her heart was bleeding for him, bleeding of love for him, was another matter.

  He was gone, and he would never want to see her again, that was certain. No, she was alone in this world and that meant she had to find her own way in it.

  “Mr Porter,” she said quietly, and the old man looked up unwillingly. “Have you never made a mistake and regretted it?”

  Something glinted in his eye; a flicker of recognition, perhaps?

  Molly pressed home her advantage. “Have you ever made a promise to someone that you came to repent, or said something to someone that you wish you could take back?”

  She held his gaze unflinchingly, refusing to look away.

  Eventually Mr Porter coughed. “Of course, lass. Everyone has, I do not think anyone could claim perfection who walked on God’s green earth.”

  Molly smiled sadly. “I cannot regret anything more than my husband, Mr Porter. I know now that he was a bad man, that I should have stayed away from him. But even now that he is dead and gone, I cannot escape his name. I ask you, Mr Porter, do you think that you can look past that?”

  Mr Porter hesitated. His eyes raked her face, and Molly tried not to allow the tears, so eagerly pressing at the corners of her eyes, to fall.

  She would not allow herself to be accused of manipulating this old man. He had to make the decision on his own.

  “My sister once married an evil man,” Mr Porter said unexpectedly, his voice low. “I asked her not to marry him, and you know what she said to me?”

  Molly shook her head.

  “You have to let me make my own mistakes, Arthur,” said Mr Porter with a wry smile. “And I let her, and he beat her half to death before I could get her out of there.”

  Molly’s heart broke for him, and she reached out a hand to take his own. “Mistakes are just that, Mr Porter. Mistakes. If we had the knowledg
e of hindsight, we would never make them.”

  They stood there for a moment, hands clasped, in mutual silence and understanding.

  Then a glass broke behind Molly and a loud cheer went up as the unfortunate man who had dropped it was ridiculed.

  Mr Porter dropped her hand and coughed gruffly. “Job, is it?”

  Molly’s heart rose. “Bed and board would be more than enough, Mr Porter. Somewhere to stay, something to eat, and plenty of hard work.”

  A wooden tray was handed to her and Mr Porter actually smiled. “The table in the corner – they have been loitering there for nigh on two hours, and only one round purchased. They have to order again or move on. Off you go, lass.”

  Molly took the wooden tray in her hands and took a deep breath. She needed to, to prevent the tears from falling.

  “Thank you, Mr Porter – I cannot thank you enough,” she began.

  “Oh, go on with you.” Mr Porter’s smile had disappeared but as he spoke gruffly, two pink dots appeared in his cheeks. “And expect long hours mind, we do not sleep until this place is empty.”

  Molly bobbed a curtsey and smiled as she turned. She had a feeling that she and Mr Porter would get along very well, over time.

  Her eyes moved to the corner table where she had been first instructed – and saw Sir Edmund Northmere staring back at her.

  Edmund’s throat was dry and his mouth seemed unable to move. He had known sitting here was a mistake, knew that Molly would not want to see him. He could tell by the look on her face – the shock, horror almost – that he had been wrong to come here.

  “Go on then,” said Luke matter-of-factly as he drained his tankard. “Finally, I thought she would never arrive.”

  George was looking into his tankard with a slight concerned face. “You know, I think there is something swimming in my ale.”

  Edmund could hardly hear them, his pulse was thundering so loudly in his ears. “Do you not have anything useful to say?” he hissed.

  Luke chuckled. “This is your battle, brother, and I wish you luck with it. I certainly would not wish to become entrapped by a lady, however pretty she may be.”

  Edmund swallowed. Molly was just standing there, a tray in her hands, as though she had seen a ghost. He had to act, and he had to act now.

  He rose from the table, knocking into it slightly and feeling crimson burn his cheeks as Luke laughed. Molly’s eyes narrowed and before he could take another step, she turned away from him.

  It was what Edmund needed to spur him on. His strides grew longer, his pace quickened, and before he himself almost realised it, he was standing before her.

  “Molly,” he said.

  She looked up at him and glared. “I am sorry, do I know you? I do not believe I do.”

  She turned away from him again but Edmund would not allow this – he could not let her leave him as he himself, coward and fool as he had been, had attempted to leave her.

  Ignoring her protests and the raised eyebrows of those around them, Edmund grabbed Molly’s arm and pulled her towards the door.

  “Let go of me!” Molly did not attempt to keep her voice low, but that did not stop Edmund.

  He did not stop until he had pulled her through the doorway of the King’s Head, before he had pushed her up against its brick wall and covered her protesting mouth with a passionate kiss.

  She fought him off initially but quickly melted into his arms. Edmund almost cried out in her mouth as her hands rested on his chest, her tongue eagerly meeting his own. There was no one else in the world like Molly, and he did not need the rest of the world. Just her.

  And then she pushed him away and stared at him angrily. “Do not do that!”

  “Why?” Edmund spoke calmly, quietly in the crisp winter evening air. “Because you are angry with me, or because you do not want me to kiss you?”

  He watched her hesitate, watched the two options fly around her mind as her pinned hair loosened slightly. Her breasts were heaving in her tightly pinned gown, and he felt parts of him stir as a natural reaction to her, but Edmund tried to keep himself calm.

  He needed to focus. There was not going to be a more important moment than this moment, this moment between them.

  Edmund smiled.

  Molly sighed as she kept her gaze on his knees. “I lied to you.”

  Swallowing down the bitterness that rose immediately as a reaction to her words, Edmund shook his head. “No, you kept the truth from me. If I am honest with myself, and that happens quite rarely, I think…I know that I would have done the same in your position.”

  It was then that Molly finally looked at him, her dark eyes vibrant with passion. “Honestly?”

  Edmund nodded. The freezing air was starting to chill him but there was naught in the world more important than having this conversation, and there was nowhere else to have it.

  Much as he wanted to just carry her to his lodgings and ravish her until she begged him to stop.

  “Being kidnapped by your own brothers could not have been fun,” Edmund said with a wry smile. “And at Christmas, too, the brigands.”

  Molly’s eyes sparkled. “You made it a little more enjoyable than I thought it would be, I will give you that.”

  Edmund’s mouth was dry once more, fool that he was. Would he ever be able to speak with Molly without wanting to drop to the ground and worship her? Was there a woman better suited for him, for what he wanted from life?

  But he knew what he was about to say would be difficult. He had so little to offer, after all.

  “How about,” he said quietly, “I attempt to make the rest of your life more enjoyable?”

  Confusion filled Molly’s face. “What do you – oh!”

  Her gasp was mirrored by Edmund’s own movement; to bended knee.

  “Molly Kimble,” Edmund said with a smile, “I cannot promise you very much. You know all my faults, I think, though there may be a few more to find over time. You know that I have little to offer you in the way of wealth, power, prestige, or good company. But I would very much like to make every Christmas from now on for the rest of your life far better than the one I subjected you to this year.”

  “I do not know,” said Molly slowly, and Edmund’s heart sank before she continued with a wicked smile, “there were parts of this year’s Christmas that I greatly enjoyed.”

  Hope rushed through Edmund’s heart. “Does – does that mean you will marry me?”

  Molly reached out and pulled Edmund to his feet before pulling him into her arms and kissing him passionately.

  Edmund lost himself in their embrace: his arms around her, the smell of her hair filling his nostrils, his mouth worshipping her.

  After a lifetime, they broke apart.

  “Yes,” said Molly with a laugh, “in case I was not entirely clear!”

  Edmund kissed her. “I cannot wait to change your name from Kimble to Northmere.”

  She smiled and his heart lurched. Would he ever become accustomed to being a part of this wonderful woman’s life?

  Molly laughed again. “Who could have predicted that being kidnapped with a knight would lead to the most perfect present – his heart.”

  Epilogue

  Edmund slammed down his cards and cried triumphantly, “And I win!”

  Molly smiled at her ridiculous husband with a gentle shake of the head. Placing her hand of cards upon her rather large and heavy stomach, she smiled at him benevolently.

  “I think you will find that we have won.”

  Edmund stared at her straight flush and at his own three of a kind, and laughed. “Well, ‘tis two against one, after all – how am I supposed to compete with that?”

  They laughed together as Molly shifted slightly in her discomfort. The drawing room was filled with late summer sunshine and although the sofa was comfortable enough, carrying a baby had brought a toll on her health that she could not have predicted.

  “We must remember to thank Luke,” she said quietly.

  Ed
mund’s laughter subsided, but he did not frown – an achievement, Molly thought privately. Those brothers of his; they could not be as bad as her own brothers, that was for sure, but there was something incredibly delicate in a gentleman’s feeling of self-worth that could not be measured in shillings and pence.

  It had been a difficult conversation, as she had known it would be. Luke, George, Edmund, and the other two Northmere brothers had sat around a table, without liquor – that had been her stipulation, as the only spouse of the party – and discussed everything.

  Hours later, an agreement had been met. One of the smaller London properties had been signed over to Edmund, along with an income of two thousand pounds a year.

  It was more than she could have ever dreamed of. It was a pittance compared to the income he had lost.

  Compromise. One of the tenets of marriage, and how she was enjoying hers.

  “Another hand?”

  Edmund’s words brought Molly back to the present, and she handed over her cards and stroked her belly.

  “You know,” she said quietly as the sun played with long shadows in the dying afternoon, “it will not be too long now before this little one comes out, and will become the future Sir Edmund Northmere.”

  Edmund’s smile disappeared for a moment, the guilt he felt quite evident on his face. “You…you do not mind, then, that he will not be the future Duke of Northmere?”

  Molly stared at him in genuine bemusement. “Mind? Mind that he is the son of a kind, caring, and moreover wonderful gentleman? Mind that he will have a title, and one he has earned through bravery and not allowing injustice? No, Edmund, I do not mind at all, and I do not think he will, either.”

  Relief washed over Edmund’s features and his smile returned.

  “Besides,” Molly said with a grin, “as long as he does not kidnap any of his younger sisters, then I will be happy.”

  Edmund grinned back at her. “It could be a girl, you know.”

  He was shuffling his cards and Molly felt a twinge of movement as her dearest one shifted inside of her.