Stealing the Heiress (The Kidnap Club Book 2) Page 15

  Mabel wrinkled her nose. “I did think Uncle Barnaby mentioned coming to Bath. It is getting far too hot in London now. I wonder where they are?”

  Rosamunde shrugged. “They might be with friends. I have yet to find out. We only arrived yesterday.”

  “Well, I am here now so I can ensure nothing untoward happens.” Mabel reached for Rosamunde’s arm and tugged her toward her. “That is, unless you wish me not to be here.” A smile curved her lips.

  “Why on Earth should I want that?” Rosamunde managed to force herself to say, the words a little tight in her throat.

  “Because Mr. Russell is handsome, and he cares for you.”

  Rosamunde shook her head from side to side. “He is here for the money.”

  “He is here for you,” her cousin insisted.

  Lord, how her breath caught when she heard such words. But she could not let herself believe it was true.

  Because it was not.

  For once in her life, she would not let herself be guilty for following the wild trail of her imagination. Not when it could really, really hurt.

  “With any luck, we shall find Uncle Albert in Bath and then I shall likely never see Russell again.”

  “How sad that will be.” Mabel tugged Rosamunde into her side. “But I do not think that likely. The man cannot take his eyes off you.”

  “I do not see how that can be true. He’s not even here!”

  “I saw him at the dinner party. Plus he gets this odd look when he speaks of you. His eyes go all dark and mysterious.”

  “He is dark and mysterious.” Rosamunde sighed. “And believe me, he likes it that way.”

  Twisting around to face her, Mabel withdrew her arm from hers and clasped Rosamunde’s upper arms. “Mr. Russell is many things, but he is also utterly enraptured with you.”

  “No.”

  “He is,” she insisted.

  “I cannot let myself believe that, Mabel.”

  Mabel gave a soft smile. “Why?”

  “Because...” She released a breath. “Because I might like it too much.”

  “How can it be a bad thing to believe a man adores you?”

  “You do not know him, Mabel. He is a man used to being alone. He does not want a lover in his life let alone someone like me, someone who cannot help but spend most of her waking hours dreaming.” She bit down on her bottom lip. “What if I dream that he is in love with me and wants more?”

  “What if he does want more?”

  She fixed her cousin with a look. “Now you are starting to sound like me.”

  “I always knew I would marry a sweet man and settle down and have babies, but you were always destined for something else, I just knew it. Even after your marriage to the viscount, I was simply waiting to see what was next. Perhaps some exotic prince from a faraway land would take you away...”

  “Mabel,” she warned.

  “But now I see it is a roguish kidnapper who looks at you as though you are some rare treasure.”

  “Mabel—”

  “And he’s not wrong. No one is like you, Rosie, and he would be a fool to let you go.”

  “That’s just not true.”

  “It is. It’s why your mother embraced him so fully. Even she saw how excited you were by life again when you started working with him.”

  “My mother told you that?”

  “I overheard her talking to Aunt Janey when she expressed a little surprise about her encouragement.”

  “Goodness.”

  Mabel squeezed her arm. “I never took you to be scared, Rosie.”

  “I’m not,” she protested.

  “Then you should let yourself go down this path. See where the adventure leads.”

  “I never quite pictured this sort of adventure,” Rosamunde admitted.

  “You’ve never put your heart at risk before. It is the scariest of adventures.”

  “My heart?”

  Mabel nodded sagely. “You are falling for him.”

  “Oh Lord.” Rosamunde pressed a palm to her forehead. Could that even be true?

  “Anyway, what are your plans for today? Let us get some fresh air and sun and we can figure out how we will persuade the elusive Mr. Russell to never let you go again.”

  “I really do not think—”

  “We could have a double wedding after all,” her cousin exclaimed.

  Rosamunde closed her eyes briefly. This was not going to help her keep her feet on the ground at all.

  “We are calling on our friends to see if anyone has seen Uncle Albert,” Rosamunde said.

  “Excellent. Perhaps seeing all the dry old husbands out there will remind you how wonderful Mr. Russell is.”

  Rosamunde shook her head. She didn’t need reminding.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Either Rosamunde didn’t hear him enter the kitchen or she was ignoring him. Russell stilled on the last step. She kept her back turned away while she chopped the fresh vegetables, the rhythmic sound of the knife striking wood nearly hiding another noise.

  Nearly but not quite.

  Rosamunde was crying.

  He drew in a careful breath and eyed her shoulders. Yes, definitely crying. Her body moved in odd little jerks, as though she were trying to keep sobs at bay. She sniffed and swiped her face with the back of a hand.

  Damn it. What the devil had made her cry? Or who? If he found out, he’d beat the cad to a pulp.

  He moved off the final step and her head lifted but she didn’t turn. “Russell?”

  “It’s me.”

  He slowly closed the gap between them, feeling as though he was approaching a frightened pup who might skitter at any time. He’d never seen Rosamunde cry. He’d never wanted to see her cry. Hell, she was about the most positive person he’d met in his life. It was hard to imagine what might have caused such upset and he couldn’t say he was good at helping crying women—Lord knew plenty of their kidnapped women cried for various reasons and he left the comforting up to Nash and Grace. But he had to try for Rosamunde.

  “Did you...” She took a long breath in. “Did you find out anything?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.” A little sob escaped her.

  “Rosie,” he said, putting a hand to her shoulder. She didn’t turn. “Rosie, what’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.” She sniffled. “Nothing at all. I am just being silly.”

  “I don’t care if it is silly. I don’t wish to see you cry.”

  She dropped the knife onto the table and waved a hand, keeping her head lowered. “Then perhaps you should wait upstairs. I’ll bring dinner up.”

  “I don’t think so.” He took her shoulders in his hands and twisted her around. Using a finger on her chin, he lifted her face. His heart gave a painful pang at the sight of puffy eyes and tear tracks on her face. She’d been crying for some time. “Rosie,” he said softly, “what’s the matter?”

  Her watery gaze met his and she bit down on her bottom lip. He kept a hold of her arms in case she tried to turn away from him. Whatever was the matter, he had no intention of letting her suffer on her own.

  Finally, she drew in a long breath. “I’m just...tired.”

  “Tired?”

  “Of not finding out anything. Of not knowing where Uncle Albert is.” She dropped her head to his chest. “Oh, Russell, what if he is harmed? Or dead? I do not think I can bear this not knowing.”

  He looped his arms around her, drawing her fully into his embrace and cradling her against his body. “We will find him,” he vowed. “I promise.”

  “I cannot believe we have found nothing yet. That no one seems to know anything.” Her voice cracked. “And that I am the only one who seems to care.”

  “You are not the only one who cares.” He eased her back slightly and cupped her face to look into her eyes. “I care. And we will find him.” He offered a slight smile. “I do not offer promises lightly, you should know that by now, but we will find him.”

  “But what if
we don’t?” Her chin quivered.

  God, all he wanted to do was to make this better. To find her Uncle Albert and ensure she never cried ever again. If he had to tear apart the whole of England to find the man, he would. Anything for her.

  “We will,” he assured her, easing off her glasses, setting them aside, and swiping a thumb across a damp cheek. “Rosie, we will.”

  She drew in a long breath and scanned his gaze. He continued smoothing his thumb across her face, swiping away tears and catching new ones. He had to fix this. In any way he could. He dropped his gaze to her lips and the air in his lungs grew thick, his skin heated. Then he lowered his head.

  Her lips rose to meet his and he had the permission he needed. Their lips met in a fierce and sudden clash, the heat inside him reaching boiling point. She gasped and he groaned at the contact. He pressed the kiss deep instantly, giving her no chance to retreat. Not that she seemed to want to. Her fingers looped around his neck, drawing him as close as humanly possible.

  “Oh, Russell,” she moaned against his mouth.

  “Christ,” he muttered, using both hands to angle her chin so he could kiss her again and again, over and over. Her tongue tangled with his and he explored every inch of her lips, her mouth. He hurt. So badly. His heart thrust against his chest in an agonizing ache and his body pulsed fiercely, painfully.

  Moving his lips to the corner of her mouth then down, he felt her quiver. He kissed along the soft skin of her cheek and down to the crook of her neck. She moaned as he nipped lightly, curling her hands around his arms and digging her fingers into his flesh to draw him closer. Russell drew back only briefly to search her gaze, to ensure she was as lost to this as he was.

  “Russell,” she begged.

  He had no doubt now. He grabbed her waist forcefully and drew her flat against him, then pressed her up against the table as he took her mouth again, her lips hot against his. In one swift motion, he lifted her onto the table, and she coiled her legs around his hips, urging him closer. With a groan, he rocked his aching cock against her while he kissed her deeply, feeling as though he would never get enough of her. He’d never taste enough, never feel enough.

  He had to have more.

  “GODS’S TEETH,” RUSSELL uttered as he drew back, both hands clasping her face. “What are you doing to me?”

  “About the same as you are doing to me, I suspect,” she replied breathlessly.

  Rosamunde’s body throbbed all over from her swollen lips, to the little pulses where he’d nipped her skin, to the ache between her thighs. She could scarcely draw breaths let alone conjure up a comprehension of what was happening. One minute she’d been worrying about Uncle Albert and the next Russell was kissing her like a crazed man.

  She tightened her grip on his arms and urged him closer once more. Locking her ankles around his waist, she angled herself to feel the hard heat of him bearing down upon her. A growl rose in his throat and he rocked against her, sending sensations pulsing through her.

  “Ohhhh.”

  “You’re so beautiful,” he said. “These freckles drive me to the edge of insanity.” He kissed her nose then her cheek and her lips, delving deep once more.

  Freckles? What was he on about? How could freckles drive a man crazy? But she couldn’t even find it in her to ask. He rocked into her and she closed her eyes, giving herself up to the blissful sensations. Not one of her wild imaginings had led her here, to being taken in his muscular arms on a kitchen table of all places. To listening to his growled compliments. To being kissed like she’d never been kissed in her whole life.

  “Your body, Rosie...It’s all I’ve been able to think about. And your mouth. And kissing you.”

  For a quiet man, he certainly had a lot to say. And while she could not deny such compliments warmed her inside and out, she didn’t need them right now. All she wanted was him. She opened her eyes and wound her hands up to his shoulders.

  “Less talk, more action.”

  His eyes twinkled with amusement. “Anything you say.”

  Of course, Russell was a man of action so she should not have expected anything less than perfection from him. He bundled her close so she could feel every inch of his hard body against hers. Her nipples pressed agonizingly against her stays, chafing on the fabric. Dampness gathered between her thighs. His arousal rubbed between her legs, jutting up against the thick fabric of her skirts.

  He muttered a low curse and shoved her skirts up, his hands curving up her thighs and coming to cup her bare rear. The new angle had her eyes practically rolling back in her head. Hardly any layers separated them now and she felt the shape of him against her, desperate for release.

  She needed to feel it. Fully, completely.

  Rosamunde reached down between them and fumbled with the buttons and layers. He hissed when her fingers connected with hot, solid flesh. He tilted his head back briefly and sucked in a breath through his teeth then his gaze met hers.

  “Rosie...” he warned.

  She usually hated that name but not on his lips. Not when he was looking at her with that dark expression she had seen so many times. Now she understood what he’d been thinking. He’d been imagining them flesh to flesh, picturing them together, visualizing touching her. She hadn’t been the only one with fanciful thoughts.

  “Take me,” she urged. “Make me yours.”

  “Make you mine,” he repeated. “God, I want nothing more.”

  His lips met hers, his tongue clashing with hers over and over. His fingers dug into her rear and kept her just there, just at the point of torturous pleasure. His cock met her flesh and she released a whimper. How much longer was he going to make her wait?

  “I should make you ready.”

  She shook her head. Ready? She didn’t think she could be anymore ready.

  “It’s been a while for you.”

  She shook her head again. “Now,” was all she could manage to vocalize.

  Russell shifted slightly, kissing the crook of her neck, and she gasped at the feel of his solid arousal pressing against her. Gripping him tight, she urged him forward. He gave one hard thrust and she stiffened, the sudden hardness filling her so deeply that she could scarcely breathe. He froze too, his breaths hot and heavy in her ears. His arms were tense under her grip and the veins in his forearms pulsed.

  Then he moved. A slight shift back and forth and she sucked in a breath. He retreated again and slammed back into her. The table rocked underneath her, thudding against the tile floors in rhythm with his pounding. All she could do was hold on and let him take her, let him unleash himself upon her body.

  She threw her head back, her eyes scrunched tightly closed while the pleasure built with each hard, primal thrust. This was no sweet touch of pleasure. This was a hot, searing touch that had her barely able to tell where he ended, and she began. She couldn’t escape and certainly did not even want to. No imaginary world could draw her away from what he was doing to her body.

  He grunted and thrust hard, over and over. She opened her eyes and met his gaze. Sweat sheened on his forehead and his brows were furrowed. He leaned forward and kissed her fiercely, moving hard inside her. There was no escaping the pleasure, no running from the steely thrust of his cock.

  She moved her hands down his arms and dug her fingers in while the sensations surged, building to a pinpoint that sapped her breath and stole her thoughts. His gaze never left hers as the crescendo hit. Rosamunde opened her mouth, releasing a silent cry and stiffening while the pleasure rolled over her.

  Finally, it passed, leaving a warm, buzzing sensation behind. She dropped her head forward and he gave a few hard thrusts then drew out.

  He groaned and she lifted her head to watch his climax. He closed his eyes shut and threw his head back, the tension in his body palpable. His eyes opened as he spilled onto her bare thigh and, slowly, the tension eased from his body. A half-smile flittered over his lips while she rubbed her hands soothingly up and down his arms.

  “You’
re a madwoman,” he muttered. “Letting me take you here, on a damned kitchen table.”

  “I did not exactly plan it.”

  “Neither did I.”

  “I do not regret it, though.”

  His smile broadened. “Neither do I.” He leaned in and gave her a sweet kiss. “Neither do I.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Rosamunde hefted her bag onto the dining table and fished a hand around inside it. Peering at her with a raised brow, Russell tried to keep the bemused smile from his face. He also had to force himself to keep his hands at his sides and not heft her onto the table and make love to her again.

  He clenched his jaw. Easier said than done. Anyone would have thought he’d be satiated after a night with Rosamunde but apparently not. The damned woman had made him obsessed.

  “Whatever are you looking for?” he asked.

  She pulled out a scroll of paper and chucked it onto the table, ignoring him. A spare pair of spectacles followed, then several handkerchiefs, the lockpick, and several pocketbooks. He eyed the titles. “Why do you have a book about poisons?”

  “They’re useful reading,” she muttered, peering into the bag. “And I cannot find my rope anywhere.”

  “Rope?” He folded his arms, leaned back against the table, and shook his head. “Why the devil do you need rope?”

  “I don’t. Yet.”

  “Rosie, I have little intention of tying anyone up.” He came to her side and took the compass she clasped from her hand then set it on the table. “We’ll find him,” he vowed.

  She blew out a breath. “I’m not even certain where to start now. We shall have to scour the whole country.”

  “You still have your list of his favorite places to go?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, we shall start on that now.”

  “He could be in Scotland for all we know!”

  “Then we’ll go to Scotland.”

  Her lips tilted. “We will?”

  “We’ll go wherever we have to until we find Albert,” he vowed.

  “And you do not mind coming with me?” she asked hesitantly. “I know you did not expect to be helping me this long.”