Stealing the Heiress (The Kidnap Club Book 2)

by Samantha Holt

“Perhaps she decided to take a wander along the docks and look at the ships?” Albert suggested, panting. “She does rather like ships.”

  “Perhaps.” He paced down past one ship, his heart beginning to beat harder. Why the devil would she walk off? He didn’t like this one jot.

  Albert scurried to keep up while Russell moved past a few small fishing boats, toward a tall ship.

  “Rosie always did get herself into trouble,” murmured Albert. “She’s probably exploring somewhere she shouldn’t.”

  “I’m well aware of her inclinations but she’s no fool,” he snapped back.

  “Oh no, Rosie, is the cleverest of us all. But you know what women are like. It’s why I could never bring her along with me. Couldn’t have her getting into trouble. Her mother would never forgive me for one.”

  Russell froze. His heart kicked into overdrive, ricocheting against his chest. “Did you hear that?”

  Albert blinked. “Hear what?”

  “A scream.”

  He didn’t wait for her uncle to respond again. He knew what he’d heard, and he would recognize her scream anywhere. Lord knew, he’d heard it loudly enough when he’d kidnapped her.

  “Goddamn it,” he muttered, picking up his pace and moving in the direction of the sound. He stopped by the gangplank of the ship. “Where are you, Rosie?” he muttered to himself.

  Movement snared his attention. He glanced up at the deck to see a flash of blue. He raced up the gangplank to find Rosamunde near the aft side by the water, confronted by a man. Another lay prone on the ground, grasping his hand. Rosamunde held her penknife between bound hands.

  “I’ll stab you too,” she threatened the man as he inched toward her.

  Russell closed the distance. Her gaze flittered to him and a relieved smile broke across her face. “Russell!”

  The man used her distraction to smack the knife from her fingers, sending it skittering across the deck. Russell rushed forward, his fist ready, but the blow made her lose her balance. She knocked into the side rail of the ship and her eyes widened. For a moment, time slowed. Her tangled skirts caught around her legs and she spilled over the railing. He grabbed for her, the fabric of her gown catching between his fingers then tearing out from them. He heard a splash.

  “I never meant to do that,” her captor said, leaning over the edge of the ship.

  “Bloody bastard,” he said, shoving the man back and punching him in the jaw so hard his knuckles made an awful crunching sound.

  Russell kicked off his boots and hauled off his jacket, all the while watching the spot where she’d gone under, willing her to come back up. Her hands were bound, and she wore a God-awful amount of clothing.

  “Come on, Rosie,” he urged, as he flung his jacket aside.

  His chest constricted. She likely couldn’t get to the surface. Climbing up onto the side of the ship, he dove in.

  The cold pricked his skin, making the air in his lungs shrink. He dove deeper, feeling around in the murky water for her. He wouldn’t lose her. Not now. Not when he hadn’t told her everything. Hell, he hadn’t even told her he loved her yet.

  The salt water stung his eyes, it filled his mouth. Movement from boats kept the silt constantly stirred up so he could see little. He fumbled around blindly, aware of each second ticking by. She wouldn’t be able to hold her breath much longer.

  He kicked deeper, his fingers connecting with the wood of the hull, and pushed farther from it. Goddamn it. This could not be how it ended.

  His lungs screamed, his eyes burned. He didn’t dare rise to the surface, not until he found her. He spun around and stilled. Blue. It had to be her. He kicked forward, stretching an arm out and his fingers grazed fabric. He snatched it. He wouldn’t miss her this time.

  Fisting the fabric, he hauled her into him. Thank God. An arm latched around her waist, he hauled her to the surface. He broke through, dragged in a lungful of air, and brought her to the surface. When he scanned around to get his bearings, he spied Albert waving at him from the dock. Russell swam swiftly to the nearest steps, his breaths coming hard, too aware Rosamunde remained limp in his arms.

  Albert clambered down the steps and helped him haul her onto them. Russell shoved her hair from her face and pressed fingers to her neck. His hands shook when he took in her closed eyes. He could scarcely tell if she had a pulse with his numb, trembling fingers.

  “Rosie,” he urged. “Don’t die on me. I love you.”

  He moved his hands down her bodice and tugged at her garments, tearing her gown asunder. Then he grappled with her stays, ripping them as loose as he could.

  “Russell.”

  His gaze shot up. Rosamunde smiled weakly at him. He dropped his head to her chest and released a long breath. “Thank the Lord.”

  She wrapped her hands around his head. “I can’t believe it,” she said weakly.

  He lifted his head. “Can’t believe what?”

  “I lost another knife!”

  Chapter Thirty

  Rosamunde tugged the blanket around her shoulders and tightened her jaw.

  Another shudder wracked her, and she had to fight from preventing her teeth chattering. Russell handed her a small glass of something amber and motioned for her to drink it.

  “It will warm you up.”

  She gulped back the liquid and gasped, feeling it burn the back of her throat then sliding down into her limbs. She passed the glass back to Russell and he took a seat next to her by the fireplace of the inn.

  Despite it not being that cold, he had demanded a fire be lit and the tendrils of warmth were slowly seeping through her soggy, ripped garments. If only they had not left their luggage back in Portsmouth. She certainly had not anticipated needing a change of clothes after a dip in the sea.

  She narrowed her gaze at him. “How come you aren’t cold?”

  He shrugged. “I’m used to the cold.”

  She cinched the blanket tighter with one hand and he took her other in between his two large palms. She sighed at the feel of his warm skin. Despite everything, she could not help but appreciate the sight of Russell wet, his shirt molding to his body, his hair damp and curling. If she were in a slightly better state, she might be unable to resist begging him to get a room for them but every part of her was exhausted and she suspected she would only pass out between the sheets from fatigue.

  She tensed to fight off another shiver, this time caused not by the cold but by how close she had been to drowning. As soon as she had plunged into the cold sea, her clothes had dragged her down. Everything tightened around her, and her lungs seemed to shrink. No matter how much she clawed and kicked, she couldn’t make it to the surface. That was one adventure she could have quite happily done without.

  Uncle Albert approached the table, his expression sheepish. He pulled out a chair and sat. “The men are in the local jail.” He grimaced. “Seems they were rather unhappy about my upcoming plans to get involved in trade with France. Feared my legitimacy would rather, um, spoil their own trade.”

  “They said as much,” Rosamunde said. Russell’s jaw tightened and she squeezed his hand. As frustrated as she still was with her uncle, he could not have predicted some local smugglers would kidnap her in an attempt to persuade her uncle to cease his business activities.

  “Anyway, I think perhaps I might turn my attention elsewhere. I have the ship commissioned and I’m working on getting the crew together, but I was rather thinking some warmer climes might be more appealing.”

  She peered at her uncle. “You are planning to go too?”

  “Why, of course? No sense in sitting around here.” He pressed a finger to his lips. “I was thinking the Caribbean. I’ve never been there and there’s some healthy profit to be made in sugarcane.”

  “Uncle Albert, that journey will take months.”

  “Indeed.” He grinned. “It should be quite interesting to see if I can make it as a sailor.”

  She shook her head with a small smile. “So long as you write
to me.”

  “I can do better than that, dear girl.” Uncle Albert’s grin widened.

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  He leaned in. “I saw you brandish that knife. Got that blaggard good in his hand, did you not?”

  “Well, I—”

  “You’ve proved to me you are more than capable of holding your own, and, well, you’re a grown woman now. Who cares what the rest of the family says? Besides, it seems I have some making up to do.”

  “Uncle?”

  “Come with me, Rosie. Come have an adventure. I know you’ve been hankering for one.”

  Rosamunde opened her mouth. She eyed her uncle for several moments. This was it. What she had been waiting for. She could travel the world, visit an exotic country, meet different people, and do things she could never do in England. She looked to Russell.

  He avoided her gaze, his posture stiff. She saw his throat work.

  “Uncle, I—”

  “You should go,” Russell said quickly, his gaze meeting hers.

  “But—” Her heart gave a painful thud.

  A crease formed between Russell’s brows. His gaze darkened. There was no chance he really wanted her to go, of that she was certain. And unless she had been entirely addled, she could have sworn he told her he loved her at the docks.

  He gave a tight smile. “Your uncle is right. All you’ve wanted is adventure. Now you can have it.”

  “We’ll have so much fun, Rosie,” Uncle Albert said. “We can drink rum on the beach and try one of those...what are they called? Coconuts!”

  She swung her gaze between the two men. Her heart ached. But not for the reasons she thought it might. Russell wasn’t wrong. Here was everything of which she had dreamed.

  Drawing in a breath, she took her uncle’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Uncle Albert, I appreciate the offer, I really do. I think we would have a wonderful time together. But—”

  She heard Russell inhale.

  “But I think I should like a different sort of adventure now.”

  Her uncle frowned. “What could be more adventurous than the Caribbean?”

  She turned to face Russell. A hesitant smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

  “I want an adventure here. In England. With you,” she said softly.

  “Are you certain?” Russell asked.

  “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”

  “I cannot offer you more knife fights.”

  She shook her head and laughed. “I’m quite over knife fights I think.”

  “You always wanted adventure. I would not wish you to stay here just because of me.”

  “You know full well you cannot persuade me otherwise. I wish to stay.”

  He leaned forward, taking her hands in his. “I love you.”

  She pressed her forehead against his, closing her eyes briefly to take in the words fully. When she opened them, his gaze was warm on hers. “I love you too. So, so much.” She turned to her uncle. “Sorry, Uncle Albert, but Russell is all the adventure I need.”

  Epilogue

  He let his lips curve and Russell shook his head to himself as he rode to catch up with Rosamunde. She was already a good way ahead of him on the country lane. He came alongside her. “There’s no rush.”

  She twisted to eye him. “We cannot miss the carriage!”

  He gripped the reins in one hand and pulled out his pocket watch. “We will be perfectly on time, I promise.”

  “I hope so. This is my first time. It cannot go wrong,” she said, emphasizing each word.

  He gave his wife a look. “Have you forgotten I’ve done this a few times now?”

  “Yes, and the last time, it went grossly wrong.”

  He chuckled. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  Her posture eased a little. “Forgive me. I’m just nervous.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m glad Guy let me accompany you.”

  He nodded. Guy had been hesitant about getting Rosamunde involved but he hadn’t been able to refuse a request from his brother. He could not claim they were the most brotherly of brothers yet but both of them were adjusting to having family for the first time in a long time.

  “We shall have to invite him over once the house is finished,” she announced. “And Nash and Grace too, of course.”

  He grimaced. He rather liked that they owned a country house now, but he could hardly imagine taking tea with his brother in the parlor room or hosting a dinner party there.

  “Do not make that face,” she scolded. “It will be enjoyable, I promise, and I will make it worth your while.”

  Russell shook his head with a smile. Married life had been an oddly easy adjustment. Mostly because being with Rosamunde meant there was never a dull day and if he ever felt like withdrawing, she understood. And now he was part of a family. It was never something he’d anticipated enjoying but her family had enveloped him into theirs. He still had little idea how to handle their noise and excitement, but it always amused him to stand by and watch the patent love they had for one another.

  “Are you sure you would not wish to trade it all in for the Caribbean?”

  “And miss out on this?” She gestured to her masculine clothing. “Never.”

  He ran his gaze down her form, appreciating the way the breeches hugged her curves. Her outfit reminded him of their first kiss. Once this was over, he was going to take her home and—

  “Russell, concentrate.”

  “I have no idea what you mean.”

  “I saw where your mind was going.” A tiny smile played on her lips.

  “That’s impossible.”

  “It’s entirely probable, especially when I have been holding back similar thoughts.”

  “Minx,” he muttered. She was not making this easy on him, and she wasn’t wrong, he really did need to concentrate.

  He nodded toward the crossroads, where a group of blackberry bushes would provide good cover. “Here will be good.” They moved their horses into the sideroad.

  “Goodness, I’m nervous.” She tugged her hat off her head, swept a few strands of hair back, then put it back on.

  “You will do wonderfully, I’m certain.” He glanced down at her. “Where’s your knife?”

  She flashed a grin. “In my pocket.” She patted her jacket. “I do so envy men with all their pockets. Much easier than stashing it in my garter.”

  “Do not stab anyone this time, though.”

  “Need I remind you that the man I stabbed had taken me captive.”

  A shudder ran down his spine. “You do not, and if I’d had it my way, he would not have lived.”

  “They shall rot nicely in jail I’m sure. Your connection to the earl made sure of that.”

  “I nearly lost you,” he said through clenched teeth. “They deserve to rot in hell.”

  She waved a hand. “I knew you’d rescue me.”

  He peered at her for a few moments. No wonder he loved her more than anything. Somehow, she always remained positive no matter what life threw at them. Even when they had been forced to postpone their wedding due to a fire at the church or when it had turned out there was a leak in the roof of their new house and several of the upper rooms had to be completely redone. She didn’t care. She simply ploughed on, completely unscarred by life. He might not quite understand that ability, but he admired it, and, he had to admit, it had begun rubbing off on him.

  “What?” she asked.

  He’d been staring at her. He blinked. “Am I not allowed to look at my wife?”

  “You may, but you’re doing that dark, mysterious look. Is something the matter?”

  “Not one jot. I was simply thinking how much I love you. Have I ever told you that?”

  “Oh.” She pressed her lips together. “No, I don’t think so. I might need to hear it again.”

  “I love you, you bloody madwoman.”

  She rolled her eyes. “If I’m mad then what does that make you?”

 
; “Utterly insane.” He pressed fingers to his lips. “That sounds like the carriage.” He leaned over and pressed a brief kiss to her lips. “You ready?”

  “Absolutely.” She tugged the scarf over her mouth, following his suit. “Let the kidnapping begin!”

  THE END

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  Read on for a sample of Married to the Earl

  Chapter One

  “Bloody hell,” Joanna groaned.

  “Joanna!” Her mother sucked in a sharp breath and scurried around to Joanna’s bedside as though she might somehow be able to push the curse back into Joanna’s mouth.

  Joanna squinted into the sunlight that poured through the open curtain and threw an arm over her eyes, sinking back into the much welcome darkness there. “If ever there was a time to curse, Mama, it is now,” she grumbled.

  “There is never a suitable time to curse.” Her mother’s voice was full of irritation—the sort that would send her on an hour long lecture on refined language, so Joanna removed her arm and eased herself up the bed.

  She grimaced while her mother fussed with the pillow behind her head. Every inch of her ached, her mouth was dry, her eyes felt as though they were filled with dust. She put a hand to her hair and shuddered. Knotty and matted. Just wonderful.

  This illness had taken her swiftly, making her delirious. She did not remember much apart from feeling overwhelmingly hot and dreaming of odd things—odd people too. People she hardly knew.

  She frowned to herself. Or more to the point, men. Or one man. She couldn’t fathom why. The Earl of Newhaven had been in her general social circle for many years, but they rarely spent time together. As far as she was concerned, he was an arrogant, rakish sort of man, and while she had time for many an interesting person, he was obviously one of those men who lived off their good fortune and handsome looks without there being anything particularly interesting underneath the façade.

  “You can stop fussing, Mama.” Joanna batted her hands away from behind her. “I can manage now.”

  “You cannot blame me.”