She drew up her chin. “Lady Rosamunde Stanley, Dowager Viscountess Rothmere.”
Bloody hell. Bugger it all. Damn him to hell. “Fu—” He caught himself. “Fudge,” he muttered.
“I think the first word was more correct.” She clambered up from the bed and straightened the bodice of her gown.
Now that she stood upright, he had a better view of her figure. When she wasn’t flinging knives at him or throwing herself to the ground, she carried herself like a viscountess—her shoulders proud, her generous breasts thrust outward. He couldn’t resist skimming his gaze down her person and noting the curve of her waist and hips. Though the petticoats disguised her legs and rear, he had a good idea of what laid underneath them now.
A far too clear and accurate idea.
He’d had his damned hands thrust up the skirts of the wrong woman. He’d been laid on top of her, his body lined up just so with hers. He’d been able to feel everything.
Russell drew in a heated breath between his teeth. He was like a camel. He could go without female company for months, even years. There had certainly been a lack of decent female company when he’d been fighting in France and he’d survived. So why the hell did he feel as though he were a man in the middle of a desert, and she was the only oasis?
“Who precisely are you? And what did you want with my cousin?”
“Cousin?”
“Miss Heston. She’s my cousin.”
He cursed. Fully this time. Then he grimaced. “Forgive me, my lady.”
She tilted her head. “Considering you are a kidnapper, I should rather think you do not care much for my forgiveness.” She took a few steps forward and peered up at him.
He met her gaze, maintaining a cool expression, despite feeling as though she had lit a fire at the bottom of his feet. This was one giant mess and even his quick mind could not chase a way to fix this.
“Why are you not threatening me? Or tying me down or something?”
He sighed. “Because I did not intend your cousin harm nor do I intend the same for you.”
“Then...I may go?”
“I suppose.”
What else was he going to do? Keep her locked here and force her to keep his movements a secret? Somehow persuade her that he had good intentions toward her cousin and actually, he had intended to help her?
He knew how he looked. Too tall, too rough. No amount of rich clothing could hide the fact he’d once been a gritty soldier and an orphan on the streets. Rough living had left its mark on his face, his accent, and his manners.
The Dowager Viscountess inched closer. She eyed him closely as though studying a painting and trying to see the individual brushstrokes. Well, there was no work of art here. Just a man making coin by helping women escape whatever fate befell them. Unfortunately for him, he had royally effed this up, and his role in The Kidnap Club would likely come to an end. After all, he couldn’t pretend to be a kidnapper now someone had seen him.
“You’re not a very good kidnapper, are you? Kidnapping the wrong person.”
“Well, you weren’t meant to be in that carriage. I can’t be held responsible for her change of plans.”
“That’s true, actually. I took my cousin’s place.” She wrinkled her nose. “Why exactly were you intending to kidnap Mabel?”
He looked into her dark eyes. When she wasn’t fighting him, he saw intelligence behind that gaze. She might be rich and probably entitled, but she was no fool. He could try to make up some story, but he couldn’t fathom anything that might satisfy her.
“Because she wanted to be kidnapped.”
Her lashes wavered a few times. “She wanted to be kidnapped?”
“Yes.”
“But...why?”
“You would have to ask her that, but I believe it was something to do with a proposal.”
She put a hand to her mouth. “Dear Lord, Mabel thought she was going to be forced to marry Mr. Dixon.” She shook her head. “But Mr. Gosford proposed just yesterday, and she has been in love with him forever.”
“That would have been useful to know,” he muttered.
Lady Rothmere put hands to her hips. “So, forgive me if I seem confused but my head still hurts...my cousin wanted you to kidnap her, so she did not have to marry Mr. Dixon?”
“Indeed.”
“But why would you do such a thing? And why all this trouble?”
He lifted a shoulder. “I’m paid to do it. Nothing more.”
ROSEMUNDE DIDN’T BUY it. Maybe it was the romantic in her and she was being a fool but there was more to this story than a man simply paid to hide a woman away. Even her mind could not make such a thing up.
And she needed to know more.
She craned her neck to study the man. Admittedly, she had never been able to conjure such a man in her imagination, but he would certainly make a good pirate. He had a sort of hardened look behind his shockingly blue eyes and his disheveled hair combined with the long length of him added an air of mystery. Though she’d felt the strength behind his body, he was more long than broad, filling out his tailored clothes perfectly.
And he had a story.
She needed to hear it, so, so badly.
Her head throbbed a little and concern flickered behind his gaze when she put a hand to the back of her head. Sure enough, a sizeable egg was forming. She plucked out the pins from her disheveled mass of hair and finally tugged out the jeweled comb then flung them onto the table nearby.
“Where are we anyway?”
He took a moment to answer while she shook out her hair. He jolted as though he had been lost in thought. “An inn. I thought it prudent to ensure you were rested before we continued onward.”
She moved over to the window that looked out onto a road. Would her aunt be looking for her? Worried out of her mind? Rosamunde needed to bring this adventure to a conclusion and ensure her family knew she was safe. But first she had to know more.
She twisted to face him. “When you say you are paid to kidnap people, at their behest, what exactly do you mean?”
He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and glanced briefly at the wooden floor. “I am not certain I can tell you, my lady. Suffice to say, I had little desire to kidnap an unwilling woman today.”
Now he had her really intrigued. Why the secrecy if her cousin wanted to be kidnapped?
“Mr., um, what did you say your name was?”
“I did not.”
She lifted a brow.
“Russell. Marcus Russell.”
“Mr. Russell, may I assume that you might wish to keep this incident quiet? That kidnapping young ladies is not something you wish to be known for?”
“You might assume that, yes.”
“In which case, I want to know it all.” She seated herself on the bed, laced her fingers in her lap, and leaned forward. “Every last detail.”
He scowled.
“I do so love a story,” she said.
She swore she heard him groan. Or maybe he uttered another F word under his breath. It was hard to tell.
“If you tell me, I shall keep this incident entirely quiet. I shall tell them I fought you off and you ran away, and I never saw a thing.”
“You really think they would believe you fought me off?”
“Well, they would hardly think I simply sweet-talked you into letting me go. Also, I might well have another knife hidden in my garter.”
“You most certainly do not,” he growled.
Oh yes. He had done a thorough exploration of her person. Her cheeks heated when she considered just how far up her skirts his hands had gone.
“Why did you keep a penknife there anyway?”
“For precisely what happened today. Who knows when one might need to defend oneself?”
A dark brow lifted. “Have you had many occasions in which you have had to use it?”
“Actually, this was the first time.” She waved a hand. “But it does not matter. I’m more interested in why you, Mr. Rus
sell, play at kidnapping.”
“Russell,” he corrected. “No one calls me mister.”
“In which case—and most especially because you kidnapped me today—I think you can call me Rosamunde. But, please, cease trying to be elusive.”
“Trying? I am fairly certain I am elusive.”
“Oh yes, you certainly have the air of it.”
He blew out a breath. “You are not easily dissuaded, are you, my lady?”
“Rosamunde,” she corrected. “And no.”
“Very well.” He shoved fingers through his hair, which explained why it was so disheveled. She’d wager that was quite a habit of his. “I am part of a group of men who assist women in escaping.”
“Escaping?”
“Marriage, delicate situations...anything in which it is imperative they disappear, be it for a while or forever.”
“Goodness.”
It was a strange sort of a service, but she could imagine there was quite a need for it. She had been lucky never to have been trapped in some terrible situation, but she was not ignorant to the plight of many women of the gentry in difficult situations.
“So you kidnap these women? But why? Why not simply aid them in their escape? Sneak them out.”
His lips quirked upward. “One would think that might be easier, yes. However, we found there was a need to keep the women innocent in their actions. That way, should they be discovered or need to return home, they were faultless.”
“No doubt people would assume they were ruined too,” she mused. “I imagine that might scare away a suitor or two.”
“No doubt.”
Interesting. She had always thought of Mabel as a little whimsical, but this was rather ingenious. She could have returned home, having been kidnapped and potentially ruined and waited for her true love to propose rather than be pressed into an engagement with a man she did not like. She almost wished such a service had been known to her when she married five years ago. Although her marriage had been entirely acceptable, if a little dull, a kidnapping would have been far more exciting.
“Let me ensure I fully understand. There is a group of you who do this?”
“Yes.”
“And you are paid for this service?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, Russell, I should very much like to hire you.”
Chapter Five
No. No, no, no, no. There was no chance he was kidnapping this woman. She had trouble written all over her. Even if she had not pulled a knife on him and flung herself from a moving carriage, he’d still see that in her. He wasn’t fooled by the sweet pout of her mouth or the innocent freckles scattered across her nose.
“I’m not helping you escape your husband,” he said.
“Oh, I’m still a widow.”
He shouldn’t feel relieved at that. In fact, it should aggravate him more. It meant he had not been thinking of a married woman’s breasts or wondering how her soft thighs would feel against his lips.
“Well, I’m not helping you escape whatever it is you wish to escape.”
No matter how much he really, really wanted to help.
For all the wrong reasons.
Russell didn’t do relationships. Hell, he barely did friendships. Guy and Nash—the other members of The Kidnap Club—were about his only friends and he liked it that way. Even then, he hardly shared much with them. It wasn’t in his nature and never would be. Nor did they expect anything more from him.
But, somehow, he knew this woman could take everything from a man. He wasn’t fooled by the neat little glasses perched on her nose or the freckles dancing just underneath the wire frames. She had the looks, figure, and boldness to wrap herself around a man and suck him dry.
Not for him.
No, thank you.
Definitely not.
“I do not need to escape, actually.”
“You’re asking the wrong man.”
She rose from the bed, cocked her head, and peered up at him. “You seem like exactly the right man.”
How wrong she was. How wrong he was. For her, that was.
He was tempted. And Russell didn’t do temptation. He’d learned the hard way that giving in to your heart’s desires left a man open and vulnerable. Fine, so perhaps it was not his heart talking so much at present but there was a whole lot of desire wrapped up in this situation.
“I can pay you,” she pressed.
“I don’t need your money.”
True, but he could not deny the word money always caught his attention. When one has been an orphan on the street, starving with an aching belly, it was hard to not let his ears perk up at the mention of coin. Even as he had accrued more money—more than he would ever need at this point—he constantly found himself lured in by the idea of more. That way there was no risk that he would ever, ever go hungry again.
“You do not even know what I want to hire you for.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He raised a hand and ticked off a finger. “Firstly, I do not work alone and therefore cannot make decisions like this on my own.”
She made a little scoffing noise. “You cow to other men? I doubt that.”
She wasn’t entirely wrong. While he would certainly not make decisions that might affect Guy or Nash alone, he could not claim that he hung on their every word either. Guy and Nash had been friends since college and were raised in the same social set. It wasn’t hard for Russell to feel like an outsider, so he kept his independence from them and avoided sharing too much of his life with either of them.
“Secondly, we offer a very specific service.” He ticked off another finger. “We’re not just hired brutes.”
Rosamunde reached out and folded down his fingers. He drew his hand back sharply. It was insanity that the mere touch of her hand—that was still gloved, no less—should make him feel anything, but it did. For Christ’s sake, he’d just plunged his hands up her skirts. A touch of gloves was nothing.
“I do not need the assistance of hired brutes, or in fact, the rest of your club. I want you.”
I want you.
He groaned inwardly. Perhaps he had been wrong about her. Maybe the glasses and freckles were a true reflection of her, and she had no idea what she did to a man.
I want you.
Somehow, he knew, even after he’d returned her home and assured himself, he would never set eyes on Lady Rosamunde Stanley again, that those words would haunt him at night.
It was no good. He needed out of this situation. And fast.
“Lady Rothmere.”
“Rosamunde.”
He sighed. “Rosamunde, I can only apologize for the misunderstanding today, but I cannot offer you help. All I can do is return you safely home to your family.”
“But really you owe me.”
He arched a brow. “I thought you could pay.”
“I can. Most generously. And I still will.” Her lips curved. “But you scared me today, Russell. I thought I was going to be kidnapped and...and ravished!”
He shoved a hand through his hair. He’d been right. The glasses and freckles were false. Underneath them, was a bright and manipulative mind.
“I should think,” she continued, “that you might feel a little honor bound to offer me assistance.”
“Well, there you are wrong. I’m a kidnapper. I have no honor.”
“You kidnap women to help them. That sounds honorable to me.”
“No,” he said again.
He helped for the money. Plain and simple. When the Earl of Henleigh had approached him, he’d been looking for something new, some more interesting way to earn, so he’d leapt at the chance. Investing in stocks and businesses and speculations had grown dull, and frankly too easy. It always seemed ridiculous to him how easy it was to make money when one had vast sums of it. How was the average man meant to pull himself up out of the dirt when the richest ones were hoarding it all? He’d been one of the few lucky ones.
“I’m very rich. An heiress, actually
,” she persisted. “My family is wealthy, and my husband left me with a sizeable income.”
“Lucky you.”
“My point is, I cannot only pay you generously but I can ensure this kidnapping is never talked of again and you suffer no...unwanted consequences from this misunderstanding.”
He stared down at her and made a sound in the back of his throat. “Are you threatening me?”
IT SEEMED RIDICULOUS threatening this coarse man who towered over her. Insane to even say such a thing when he had her alone and technically kidnapped. But she could not stop herself. Here was her chance. He could help her track down Uncle Albert and, well, she might even enjoy a little adventure doing it.
The fact was, no one thought anything of Uncle Albert’s disappearance. Even today, Aunt Petunia dismissed Rosamunde’s fears for him, waving her worries away as though they were one of her usual flights of fancy. Yes, she was prone to being far too imaginative, but he had been gone too long, and it would at least be prudent to try to track him down.
She swallowed and met his gaze. “Yes, I suppose I am.”
She forced herself to remain still, even while a little tremble threatened to shoot from head to toe. She could not say if it was because she had never threatened a man before, or because he towered over her and she was mightily aware they were in a room alone, or maybe because she kept recalling how firm his body had been atop hers.
Perhaps a combination of them all.
He blew out a breath and shook his head. “I can’t help you.”
“You do not even know what I want to hire you for!”
“It does not matter. I can’t help you.”
“Even if I threaten to expose you?”
He eyed her. “I don’t think you would.”
Rosamunde lifted her shoulders. “You do not know me.”
He pressed his lips together. “I know you. I know plenty of women like you. You are rich, spoiled, have led an easy life. You think you can get whatever you wish. Well, Lady Rothmere, you cannot have me.”
But she wanted him.
Oh. Goodness. Not in that manner, she reminded herself. She hardly knew the man and was not the sort to take lovers. Her one and only experience of men had been with her late-husband and it had certainly not lived up to any fantasy. She didn’t think any man could if she was honest.
Stealing the Heiress (The Kidnap Club Book 2) Page 3