A quick thought skipped through her mind that this would make a great scene in one of her stories. Realization hit her full force. This was real! She must get her mind out of the fiction world.
How could she prepare for something she’d never experienced before? And what would happen when the man took her back to his hideout? Shy little Marcella Bronson would never be able to handle this. One of her characters could, but not her! If the man had friends helping him, how would she be able to communicate with them? Hopefully, there was a woman in his gang of criminals because at least that would give her someone to talk to.
For a little while, she concentrated on the sounds around her and the rhythm of the horse as they rode. She had no idea in what direction they were headed, but she figured they had been riding a good hour already. Nothing sounded familiar at all. Yet all she could hear were birds chirping occasionally, and of course, the huffing coming from the horse.
Remarkably enough, his arms were strong, and as she leaned against his chest, an odd fluttering stirred in her bosom. Never had she been this close to a man, and although this was a bad situation to go through for her first physical contact, she couldn’t stop from analyzing the feelings inside her. The cocoon of his thighs, chest, and strong arms, caused her to relax. Her eyelids grew heavy and she had to fight the urge to sleep. She needed to be alert to whatever was happening to her, and alert to how far they were riding.
After what seemed many miles, the horse slowed. “Whoa, boy,” the man said, his tone deeper than it had been earlier.
Snapping to awareness, she stiffened and prepared for the worst. Hopefully, he wouldn’t hurt her. He dismounted and kept one hand on her, saving her from tipping over. He lifted her from the animal as if she was a sack of feathers. Gently, he set her on her feet, and within seconds, the ropes around her loosened and came off. Next, he removed the blanket.
She blinked against the sudden brightness. As her vision adjusted, she noticed they were at a small, rundown, cottage out in the middle of nowhere. For a moment, she wondered if anyone lived here, but then she noticed the smoke rising from the broken chimney. The fresh aroma of bread baking from within the cottage wafted around her. Her stomach grumbled. How long had it been since she’d last eaten? It couldn’t have been more than two hours, yet, the terror she’d been through since this man took her, made her weak and hungry in the worst way.
“Duchess, may I present your new castle for the next few days.” He swept his hand toward the cottage and bowed slightly as if he were a humble servant.
She was finally able to get a good look at him. He wore the clothes of one of the stable boys, but he was in no way a boy. Dark brown tousled hair framed his face, and he sported a day’s growth of stubble on his chin and around his mouth, making the outline a charcoal color against his tanned skin. As she’d surmised from being held by him, he was all muscle, from his strong arms to his strong legs, but he wasn’t overly so. He was well proportioned, in fact.
When she caught herself gawking, she blushed profoundly and turned away. She was sure her cheeks would show him her further embarrassment. Good grief! This man—her kidnapper, no less—was so very handsome. Devilishly so! But she’d never seen him before in her life.
“You’re probably wondering who I am,” he said.
She sneaked a peak at him from over her shoulder. Her cheeks continued to burn as she nodded.
“For now, you may call me Grey.”
She arched an eyebrow. “As in the color?”
He rolled his eyes. “No, Grey—as in a man’s name.”
Embarrassment washed over her again. She hated feeling stupid, and he made her feel that way now. “Fine,” she mumbled.
He grasped her upper arm and led her to the front door, opened it, and shoved her inside. She stumbled, but thankfully, didn’t fall. That, too, would have been humiliating.
He followed her in and closed the door behind him.
The furnishings in this front room were few, and extremely worn. There was only one couch that had once been red and gold, she was certain, but it was frayed around the edges, and sections of the faded cushion were so badly worn the stuffing was coming out. There was another cushioned chair against the other wall. She had no idea what color it used to be, but it had turned brown over the years. Spots of yellow were littered over it and she wasn’t certain if those splotches were supposed to be there or not. Two regular wooden chairs sat near the fireplace, but they looked so rickety, she didn’t dare sit on either of them.
So many questions ran through her head, and yet she couldn’t ask. It wasn’t her nature to question authority, or question a man about anything, really. Unfortunately, the man named Grey wasn’t supplying her with answers, and curiosity would drive her insane.
Words her sister once told Marcella echoed through her head. For once, you need to put yourself in your character’s role and talk to a man. I think you’d be surprised how easy it is.
Marcella’s heartbeat quickened and moisture formed on her palms. Could she really do that? Could she actually talk to a strange man with self-confidence?
She switched her attention to Grey. He took her to one of the chairs and pushed her down to sit before tying her wrists together. He then moved to the fireplace and using a poker, broke the burning logs. He was powerfully handsome. She could never talk to a man who looked so incredibly attractive without becoming tongue-tied. There was no other way out of this dilemma, though. She must become one of her characters. The sooner the better.
THREE
Inwardly seething, Wesley Grey Stanford studied the duchess. Perhaps he had gone overboard with calling her Duchess, but from what he’d heard about the woman, she walked around with her pristine nose in the air and thought the world revolved around her. He’d actually expected more from her; more screaming, kicking, and biting, but once he had placed her on his horse, she’d ceased her resistance. Their ride to the cottage was really less than an hour, but he wanted to make her think they’d traveled farther, so he kept riding around the vicinity.
It hadn’t taken long for her body to relax against him, and that was when havoc had invaded all of his senses. Not only did she smell like fresh cut spring flowers, but her soft body pressed against him so intimately, that his lonely mind couldn’t stop from imagining what could possibly happen between them. Naturally, she’d be vulnerable, and they’d be alone inside the cottage. It hadn’t mattered that she was married because all he could think about was how he hadn’t held a woman like this for so very long.
Perhaps his father had been correct all long. Before the old man’s death a few weeks ago, he’d told Wesley that he should find a wife as his older brother had done. Wesley wouldn’t have it. He wasn’t ready, and he’d snapped at his father for trying to run his life. Sadly, those were the last words they’d spoken to each other, and Wesley would never forgive himself for not seeing his father’s point of view on the subject.
The woman’s beauty also surprised him. His cousin, Martin, would have certainly found a lovely lady to claim as his wife, but Wesley never figured her to be this beautiful.
Mrs. Hinsdale wore a light purple riding habit, and the outfit hugged her slender form quite nicely. Her bonnet had fallen off during the skirmish. Locks of dark blonde hair escaped a once well-coiffed bun to give her a disheveled appearance.
A few moments earlier when she had gazed upon him as if he was nothing but chocolate candy she wanted to devour, he had to bite the side of his cheek to keep from grinning. Well, perhaps devour wasn’t quite the word since she’d looked stunned by her indecent thoughts only seconds afterward.
Her gaze studied the floor for several awkward moments before she took deep breaths and then cleared her throat. “Do...do you intend to starve me, sir?”
He arched an eyebrow. What an odd thing to ask. “No.”
“Then... would it be permissible to... eat something now?” Her voice squeaked.
He couldn’t understand why she’d be hungr
y when he’d spied her no more than three hours ago at the house sitting near the dining room window eating her breakfast. “You are hungry?”
Her head snapped up and she met his stare with wide eyes. “But of course! Would I have asked otherwise?”
The sudden snip in her tone startled him at first, only because she’d been so shy thus far. Yet, she was now beginning to resemble the woman he’d been told about.
Wesley folded his arms over his chest and lifted his chin. “Well, Duchess, if you will come with me into the kitchen—”
“Why can’t I stay here by the fire?”
“I don’t trust that you won’t try and escape. Although, I’m certain you won’t get very far before I catch you, I’m really not in the mood to run after you.”
She huffed and threw him a scowl. “I assure you, I’m very hungry, and right now, that comes first.”
“Then please,” he swept his arm toward the kitchen, “let’s adjourn into the other room so I can prepare you something to eat.”
Her mouth tightened and she stomped past him into the room. Grinning, he followed. Soon she’d learn who was in command here, and it wasn’t the high and mighty Mrs. Hinsdale.
As she walked into the kitchen, she came to an abrupt stop. He sidestepped her quickly to keep from bumping into her. The hurried movement brought a twinge of pain to his left leg. He gritted his teeth and tried to rub the ache from his knee. His injury was still quite new, and he needed to remember to give the wound time to heal. Unfortunately, all he’d planned to accomplish now wouldn’t allow him much time to be patient. He’d just have to endure the agony from time to time and get used to it.
He studied her disgusted expression as her gaze swept around the room, and he tried to see this room as she was seeing it for the first time. So perhaps he should have cleaned a little better, but considering this cottage was on his friend’s estate and it hadn’t been used for several years, it was no wonder the place was filthy.
Dented, old pans hung on the walls, the copper had faded many years ago. The shelves on the walls were in need of dusting—as were the canisters and bowls filling them—and the floor was in dire need of being swept and mopped, as well. At least the two fireplaces worked properly. One held a large black kettle of boiling water, and the other held the baking bread that smelled as if it might be done. The table near the only window in the room was as rickety as the three chairs surrounding it.
Wesley moved to the fireplace that cooked the baking bread he’d prepared earlier this morning. He used a cloth to slowly lift the lid. The pleasant aroma filled the air, and he closed his eyes, breathing in the scent deeply. It smelled just like the way he’d made it while living by himself in California as he tried to collect more clientele for his family’s ranch.
He glanced around the small space and toward the shelves, searching for some plates, but he couldn’t find any.
“Is there something I can do to help?” she asked in a small voice.
He peeked at her and crinkled his forehead. Why would a woman like her offer to help? “If you can find some plates for our bread and some cups for our tea, that would be most helpful.”
She moved closer to him and held up her tied hands. “If you’ll be so kind as to untie me, I’ll be able to do more.”
Her sweet fragrance filled his head as he untied her hands. Now he recognized the flower. Lilacs. As much as he enjoyed a woman’s scent, he tried really hard not to enjoy this particular woman’s smell. He didn’t want to like her. She was the enemy’s wife, and he only wanted one thing from her.
A confession.
Wesley was convinced his father’s and brother’s deaths were not an accident, especially when Wesley had been shot in the leg as he boarded the train to come home. Strangely enough, the shooter only targeted Wesley and nobody else. Deep in his gut, he knew Martin was behind it. After all, Martin was the next living heir to inherit the family’s cattle ranch.
He rubbed his left leg, grateful that the surgeon was able to remove the bullet. However, his wound was still fresh.
“I can’t find any dishes,” Mrs. Hinsdale said in an irritable voice. “It’s hard to believe you would plan a kidnapping and not have the supplies to take care of your prisoner.”
Wesley studied the woman, not quite sure how to take her. Although her words were what he’d expected from such a high-and-mighty woman, her tone of voice still lacked confidence, as did her gaze. Her eyes were downcast, and she rarely looked at him.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but this cottage was supposed to have been stocked. I assure you, I’ll take care of the matter after I feed you.”
He turned back to the bread. Taking the pot from the fire, he slowly carried it to the cooking table, and placed it on top. He used a knife to cut out chunks of the bread, careful not to burn his fingers.
He couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to his friend, Colt Tanner. Colt was supposed to have the small cottage stocked in preparation for the kidnapping. Where was his friend now? If it wasn’t for Colt, Wesley wouldn’t have suspected Martin of killing his family—at least for a few months. Colt had watched Martin after the two deaths, becoming suspicious of the man’s actions.
“We’ll make do without dishes,” he grumbled, keeping his eyes on the bread. “Sit at the table and I’ll serve you.”
Silence filled the room. He couldn’t even hear the duchess breathing. Panic gripped his chest and he swung around, looking for her. She was gone!
How long had it been since he’d last spoken to her? Blast it all! He couldn’t remember. But he shouldn’t fear because she wouldn’t have gotten very far.
He dropped the knife onto the table before rushing out of the room. The pain in his leg returned, and he gritted his teeth. Yet, he couldn’t worry about his injury now.
Keeping his ears in check, he listened for any sounds that would tell him where she’d gone. The front door was open. That was an indicator of where she had headed.
He quickly limped outside, stopped, and scoped his surroundings. His knee throbbed and he rubbed it, praying the pain would disappear soon. Where’s my horse? There was no way the duchess would have had time to mount by herself in just a few minutes, and if she had, he would still be able to see her.
He whistled for his horse. By now, the animal knew when to come to his master. Immediately, he heard the animal’s neigh and he swung his head toward the sound. The horse was grazing in a nearby pasture... without the woman. Would she have been so foolish to try and escape on foot?
The fine animal raised his head and trotted toward Wesley, stopping close by. He stroked the horse’s mane as he glanced around the area. Where could she have gone?
“Duchess, you may as well come out now. It’s impossible for you to get very far. If you haven’t realized, we are quite a distance from your home.”
Slowly, he walked away from the horse. He looked behind each bush he passed. Irritation grew inside him as the minutes ticked by. She really couldn’t have gone far.
“If you insist on making me look for you,” he said in a louder voice, “my anger will only worsen, and I can assure you, that’s not something you will enjoy.”
He stopped and waited, trying to adjust his hearing. Within seconds, twigs snapped behind him and suddenly, there was a sharp point jabbing the middle of his back. He stiffened.
“I haven’t gone anywhere. Yet,” she said roughly. Her voice was almost foreign. “But I have a knife and I know how to use it. I suggest you take me back to the estate immediately.”
Inwardly, he groaned. This just could not be happening.
FOUR
Even though Wesley didn’t think she stammered as she’d done since meeting her, the tone of her voice trembled. Her words were strong, but obviously, she was still one very frightened young lady.
This wasn’t the first time someone had held a knife to his back, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Releasing a heavy sigh of defeat, he raised his hands in surrender. “I
t appears you’re in control now, Duchess. I suppose I have no choice but to comply with your demands.”
He gave her only three seconds to experience the powerful feeling she thought she held. Because he’d been in this situation before, he knew her arm would relax, and she’d lower the knife from his back. Just as he figured, the pressure from the tip of the knife lessened. Taking advantage of the moment, he swung around and grasped her wrist. She screamed and the knife dropped. He yanked her against him. As her chest pressed up against his, she gasped. His leg throbbed with pain, but he tried his best to ignore the discomfort.
Her wide, frightened eyes stared at him, framed by a pale face. He shouldn’t have scared her, yet he must let her know who was in control. The lesson he was teaching her was one he was sure she’d never forget. By the look of her expression, he highly doubted she’d be pulling this stunt on him again.
For a split second, guilt streaked through him. Perhaps he shouldn’t have treated her as the other people who had tried to pull a weapon on him. She was a naïve woman who had been protected all of her life. He needed to keep that in mind in case of future incidents. She was as delicate as a flower and smelled just as delectable. For some odd reason, she fit remarkably well in his arms and against his body.
Silently, he cursed. He could not have these feelings for his cousin’s wife. He’d kidnapped her for one purpose only, and lusting after her, was not on that list.
“Now, my little duchess,” he said in a softer voice, sweeping a finger across her pale cheek as he pushed back a stray lock of hair, “shall we return to the kitchen and feed you?”
Her body quaked, and she nodded.
He kept her in his arms as he led her into the house and into the kitchen. She stumbled a couple of times, but he suspected she wouldn’t gain her full strength for a few more minutes.
“Let’s sit you down right here before you end up on the floor.” He helped her to the table, continuing to hold both of her wrists in his large hand. “Now, if I let you go, will you be a good duchess and stay seated?”
Mail Order Marcella Page 2