Stealing the Heiress (The Kidnap Club Book 2) Read online

  “So you are telling me that the elusive Marcus Russell really wants to come to a dinner party with my far-too-noisy and inquisitive family?”

  “Yes,” he replied stiffly.

  “For a man who prides himself on mystery, you are a terrible liar.”

  He wasn’t actually. At least, not usually. Apparently being around Rosamunde made him incapable of being anything but truthful.

  She glanced him up and down. “You look very handsome.”

  “For a man raised in the gutters you mean.”

  Her brows knitted. “That’s not what I meant at all.”

  Russell drew in a breath through his nostrils and released it. Of course she hadn’t. Rosamunde certainly did not lie or flatter. He doubted she was even capable of it. She and her family seemed to simply open their mouths and say whatever they wished. It should annoy him.

  After all, it was the privilege of wealth and status to say whatever one wished and get away with it, but he could not help admire it. He’d never met people like them and while he wasn’t sure he could say he wanted to repeat tonight, he was curious to watch her family in action.

  “You look beautiful,” he murmured.

  Too beautiful. If he was going to have one regret tonight, it would be seeing Rosamunde in her evening gown with jewels glittering around her neck. Now, he’d be stuck with the image of her in all that silk and wondering what it would feel like against her body. Would he feel the heat of her skin through it? He dropped his gaze down.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  He let his lips curve. “I was wondering how you would manage to fit a knife under that gown.”

  “I have a special one for evenings.” She grinned.

  He couldn’t tell if she was jesting or not, but he didn’t manage to prevent his responding smile. The woman was mad.

  And he couldn’t help like her for it.

  “Ah, Mr. Russell.” A woman looped her arm through his and dragged him away from Rosamunde before either of them could say anything. He glanced at the petite, older lady and tried to recall her name. Aunt Elsie perhaps? Maybe it was Aunt Petunia? He furrowed his brow. Usually, he was excellent with names and faces but Rosamunde’s vast family made it difficult to keep track.

  “You must come and meet Uncle Billy and Aunt Clementine. And Lady Grandmother is here. She is so keen to see you.”

  “I cannot fathom why,” he muttered.

  “Oh you are funny, Mr. Russell,” the aunt said, thrusting him toward a group of people that included a refined older woman he had never met. She eyed him coolly, her chin lifted as though she were looking down upon him despite the fact he had a good couple of feet on her.

  “So you are Mr. Russell then?” she said. “I have heard a great deal of you.”

  “This is Lady Newhurst,” the aunt said. “And Sir William Grant and Mrs. Latham.” The aunt gestured to Russell. “And this is Mr. Russell. He is the one we told you about.”

  Russell dipped his head. What the devil had they been saying about him? More to the point, why the hell was he here, and why did this family have any interest in him at all? He’d never met people like them, especially in the upper echelons of society. As far as he was concerned, they tended to keep their ranks close and avoided inviting anyone in, wealthy or not. And none of them could have any idea how wealthy he was.

  “I hear you have been assisting with looking for Albert,” Lady Newhurst said, lifting a pair of spectacles to her face to peer up at him then dropping her hand by her side.

  “I have.”

  “And have you had any progress?”

  “Not yet.”

  She pursed her lips. “How exactly does one become an investigator of sorts?”

  “I am not an investigator by trade,” he admitted, maintaining eye contact with her.

  “Indeed.”

  “Indeed?”

  “I know of you, Mr. Russell. I have done my research.”

  He stiffened slightly.

  “You have several business dealings with good friends of mine. It seems they believe you to be quite the businessman.” She lifted her chin. “My granddaughter is an heiress. She gained a significant amount of wealth when her husband died and will gain more once her father does. She is quite the interesting prospect, do you not think?”

  “I imagine there are many who would feel that way.”

  “But you do not?” A thin white brow arched.

  “Come now, Hettie,” said Sir William, “leave the poor man be.”

  “Oh that poor man does not mind a few questions, do you?” Lady Newhurst asked.

  “I do not.” Especially not when she was questioning his motivations. Was he ruthless in business? Yes. Had he amassed coin by being an unfeeling bastard? Most likely. But he sure as hell would not hurt Rosamunde for all the wealth in the world.

  Christ. Was that true? He grimaced. It had to be. He couldn’t fathom doing anything other than protect her. After all, why else was he here but to spare her feelings?

  “Lady Rothmere is an interesting prospect, my lady,” he said. “Not for her wealth but for her heart. She is a determined and clever woman, and I would pity any man who tried to take advantage of her. Most likely they’d end up with a knife to their throat.”

  Lady Newhurst narrowed her gaze at him for several moments. Finally, a smile broke across her face. “I see what my granddaughter sees in you, Mr. Russell. You are quite different to the usual men who are interested in her hand.” A sparkle lit in her eyes. “And I can see that you do not like the thought of there being other suitors, so I suppose the only thing I must say to you is, what will you do about that?”

  “LET YOUR LADY Grandmother speak with him,” Rosamunde’s mother said. “She can do no harm.”

  From the way Russell’s face had paled, Rosamunde could not help but think otherwise. She shook her head and forced her attention back to Mabel and her aunt and uncle. Russell was a grown man with much more experience of the world than her. He could manage the matriarch of the family, surely?

  “He is quite handsome,” said Mabel. “Especially in his evening wear.”

  Rosamunde nodded vaguely. Quite handsome was an understatement.

  Of course, she had already seen him in his evening wear. She’d also kissed him in his evening wear. Seeing him dressed so brought back memories of that darkened street and his lips upon hers, his body pressed up against her breasts. Merely seeing him in a well-tied cravat and smart evening jacket made her limbs feel like liquid.

  “What could Grandmama be saying to him?” she murmured to Mabel.

  “No doubt she is ensuring you are protected from him.”

  “I do not see why anyone thinks I need protecting from him. After all, we are not courting.”

  “But you could be.” Mabel grinned.

  “Honestly, I thought everyone wanted me to marry a duke. You were saying that only a few weeks ago, Mama, were you not? That I need a man of high rank.”

  Her mother lifted a shoulder. “Mr. Russell is handsome, and I hear tell that he is quite wealthy.”

  “But he’s no duke,” Rosamunde protested.

  Why she felt the need to say that, she did not know. Perhaps because if her family liked him, it would make it all the harder to cease letting her imagination run away with her. Like right now, he would turn to her, and look at her as though she were the most beautiful woman in the world. Then he would stride over, and take her hand, and declare his unending love and ask her to join him in rescuing some poor defenseless princess who must escape her brute of a husband, and then they would don masks and hold up a carriage—

  “Rosamunde, I hear tell that he is exceedingly wealthy,” Mabel said, leaning in.

  Rosamunde snapped her head around and peered at Mabel as she nonchalantly took a sip of champagne. “Where have you even heard such things?”

  “Lady Grandmama knows everything, and we have been talking of Mr. Russell and how much time you are spending with him.”


  “We are investigating Uncle Albert’s disappearance,” she reminded Mabel.

  “But he would be quite capable of investigating himself, surely? And what sort of a man wants a woman’s opinion all the time?”

  “I think he rather values my opinion, actually.”

  “All I am saying is there is a reason he has not sent you home and kept you out of the way.” She gestured wildly, sending a little champagne spilling over the edge of her glass and forcing Rosamunde to take a step back lest it spill onto her gown.

  “He has not sent me home because I would not let him.”

  Mabel looked to Russell then back again. “You think a man like that could not force you to remain away?”

  Rosamunde released a breath. He had been surprisingly cooperative with letting her assist him. At least after their initial few investigations. Now, he seemed to accept that she would be accompanying him everywhere.

  But that meant nothing. None of this did. Not even their kiss. It had been one of pretense, used to hide. Russell did not want her, and he did not want to be part of this family. Who would? They were noisy and inquisitive and pure madness half the time. Even she needed to escape them on occasion. A man like Russell would never willingly join such a family.

  She frowned as her grandmother’s expression softened. Was he really exceedingly rich? After their conversation yesterday, she concluded he had done well for himself, which was interesting but not surprising. He was a determined sort of man and though he did not reveal it often, she had come to the conclusion he was exceptionally clever. When she thought he wasn’t looking, he had picked up several books in the library to borrow and none of the titles were simple reads.

  Russell glanced her way and her heart juddered to a halt. He offered a slight smile and she stepped forward to join him, but Aunt Petunia took his arm and dragged him off to speak to another set of cousins. Her grandmother gave her a knowing look and motioned for her to join her. Reluctantly, Rosamunde traipsed over.

  “Yes, Grandmama?”

  “Quite an interesting fellow, that Mr. Russell. He must think highly of you to follow on this fool’s errand of finding Albert.”

  “Uncle Albert is missing, Grandmama.”

  She waved a hand. “Albert is off doing his usual adventuring but if this keeps you happy, I see no harm in it.”

  “I am not doing this for entertainment, Grandmama.”

  “He seems to have a good heart,” she commented, looking Russell’s way.

  Rosamunde nodded. “I think he does, even if it is a little buried.”

  “You seek to dig it out?”

  “Oh no.” She shook her head vigorously. “Mr. Russell is merely working for me. I know he has no interest in—”

  “Nonsense.” Her grandmother lifted her spectacles to her face and squinted up at Rosamunde. “He has interest, as do you.”

  “But, Grandmama, why are you even encouraging such a thing? I thought Mama wanted me to marry—”

  “A titled fellow, yes.” Her grandmother shook her head. “As if we need more connections in this family. But, my dear, I am not entirely without ambition for you.”

  Rosamunde frowned. “Grandmama?”

  “I did a little investigating into Mr. Russell. His name had me curious, I will admit.”

  “His name?”

  She nodded. “I knew a Marcus in my youth. Frightful cad of a man. The Earl of Henleigh at the time.”

  “I do not see—”

  “He bedded a young maid—the sister of my lady’s maid, and unfortunately got her in the family way.”

  “How terrible.”

  “Her name was Russell.”

  Rosamunde froze. “Russell...” she whispered. “And the father of the child was...Marcus?”

  “Indeed.”

  “So you are saying that Mr. Russell is the natural son of the late Earl of Henleigh?” Rosamunde put a hand to her mouth. “Dear Lord.”

  “The maid was let go from her position of course but she married quickly to some other chap.”

  “But Russell said he was an orphan.”

  “Oh, he is.” Her grandmother leaned in. “My maid lost track of her sister after they moved to London. We were in Hampshire at the time, you see. But years later, she discovered her sister had died of consumption shortly after the child was born and the husband vanished.”

  “And the child...?”

  “No one knew what happened to him.”

  “The Earl of Henleigh, does he know he has a half-brother?”

  “They have business dealings together.” Her grandmother lifted both palms. “I have to conclude he does.”

  “Goodness.” She looked to her grandmother. “You are more of an investigator than I am.”

  Her grandmother grinned. “I simply have nearly eighty years of knowledge to draw upon, Rosie. That is all.”

  She looked back to Russell. “Do you think he knows?”

  “I would not know. But if anyone should ask, it should be you.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ducking under the rafters of the tavern, Russell could not help but recall the last time he’d been in a place like this. Rosamunde had drawn all the attention from the patrons and then drunk far too many beers.

  He had to admit, she did make a rather charming drunk, though.

  He made his way to the table where Nash and Guy were seated.

  “What’s the smile for?” Nash asked, peering up at him.

  Russell clenched his jaw. “What smile?” He lowered himself into the wooden chair and drew the small glass of amber liquid close. He’d drunk rather too much champagne last night and the stronger liquor was a welcome change. He was decidedly not the sort of man who enjoyed champagne.

  The dinner had been interesting though. He couldn’t decide if he had actually enjoyed himself, but Rosamunde’s family were a large, interesting lot, with less airs and graces than he might have expected. In fact, after the initial interrogation from the grandmother, he’d been welcomed like one of the family. It had felt almost...nice.

  He shook his head to himself and took a sip of the whiskey. Nice or not, he would be wise to avoid being with them again. Once he found her Uncle Albert, he’d never see any of them again anyway.

  “He’s doing it again,” Nash said.

  “I’m doing nothing,” he snapped.

  “You did look as though you were smiling,” said Guy.

  Russell narrowed his gaze at Guy. “Whose side are you on anyway?”

  Guy lifted both palms. “No one’s.”

  “It’s Lady Rothmere that’s making him smile.” Nash grinned.

  “I’m not damn well smiling,” he said through gritted teeth. “Christ, I’m regretting coming here now.”

  “What a short memory you have,” Nash said. “I recall you finding it rather amusing that I was falling for Grace.”

  Russell nearly choked on his sip of whiskey. Good Lord, he wasn’t falling for Rosamunde. Hell, he’d only known her for a few weeks. Besides which, she’d never have him. Even if her family were pleasant to him, they were likely pleasant to everyone. It might explain why they were so goddamn huge. They sucked in family members like a hole in a ship taking on water. That did not change that he was an orphan with no lineage and even less experience of being part of a family.

  “This is a job, that is all,” he muttered.

  “An attractive job.” Nash’s smile grew smug. “Lady Rothmere is handsome indeed.”

  Russell gave Nash a cold stare. “If I cared for handsome, I’d have gone after Grace.”

  “If you’d have touched her, I’d have damn well chopped off your hands.”

  Russell let out a laugh. “Never took you for the possessive type, Nash.”

  Nash shook his head. “Enough about Grace. Let’s talk of Lady Rothmere.”

  “Or we could talk business,” Guy suggested.

  Russell turned his attention to the earl. He could always be relied on to be the serious member of the group
, making Russell seem practically cheerful at times. “Happily.”

  “First, I’m away to the country this afternoon.” He jabbed a finger at the table. “Estate business,” he explained. “Secondly, I have heard murmurs that our services might be requested next month. Will this Lady Rothmere business get in the way of that?”

  Russell shook his head. “I intend to have found her uncle by then.”

  “Only you could wind up getting another job by kidnapping the wrong woman.” Nash leaned in. “Is she paying you well?” A brow arched. “Or perhaps she is paying you in other methods...”

  Russell slammed a hand on the table. “Damn it, Nash, she’s a lady.”

  “Well, you’re not a gentleman.” Nash shrugged. “And ladies have needs.”

  “What would Grace say if she heard you talking like this?” Russell said.

  “She would say that Russell here deserves a fine woman and she would congratulate me on asking many questions and quiz me on the answers for her notebook.”

  Russell scowled. “Grace writes about me?”

  Nash lifted his shoulders. “She writes about everyone. You know what she is like.”

  Russell blew out a breath. Nash’s wife had a tendency to always be writing in a notebook—an odd quirk to his mind—but it seemed to keep her happy. He wasn’t sure he liked that he might be written about, however.

  “Anyway,” Guy continued, “so long as you are done, we should have another job. I have yet to speak with the woman involved but she has been asking about us, and it looks like a case with which we would want to be involved.”

  Russell nodded. “Fine with me.”

  “I’m in,” Nash said. “And I know I can speak for Grace when I say she’d be happy to assist.”

  “Good.” Guy rose from the table and lifted two fingers to the barkeep. “Two more if you will.” He retrieved his hat and jacket from the nearby coat stand. “I’m on a tight schedule but I’ll make contact upon my return to discuss this next job further.” He paused. “Oh and if you hear from a Miss Haversham, do not respond.”

  “A Miss Haversham?” Russell eyed Guy. The man avoided women at all costs so it would not be a mistress he was avoiding or a love interest.