Stealing the Heiress (The Kidnap Club Book 2) Page 16

  He smirked. “I do not mind one jot.” He dropped a gentle kiss to her lips, holding back deliberately. His self-control was but a thin wire threatening to snap.

  She relaxed into him. “Thank you,” she murmured and kissed him again.

  Russell could have sworn he heard it snap. His self-control vanished in an instant. The moment her lips connected with his, the spark lit, and he pushed a hand around the nape of her neck and looped an arm about her, hauling her into him. She gasped, allowing him to push the kiss deep.

  “Oh,” she moaned, clawing his arms.

  He moved his mouth down her neck, leaving a trail of little bites. Rosamunde shivered and inclined her head back, giving him better access.

  “Coo-ee!”

  Russell tore away, letting his hands drop. He turned as Mabel entered the room. Her gaze swung between them, a slight smile upon her lips while Rosamunde readjusted her gown beside him.

  “Did I interrupt something?”

  “Not...” The words failed in his throat. He coughed. “Not at all.”

  Mabel swept into the room, her dog under one arm, pulled out a chair, and sank onto it. “I only wanted to speak with my cousin.” She gave a dramatic sigh and set the fluffy dog on the table. He sniffed his way along the shiny surface, stopping by a discarded wine bottle and giving it a lick.

  Rosamunde snatched the empty bottle and put it back on the drink’s cabinet. Russell cursed under his breath. If it wasn’t enough that Mabel had caught them decidedly flustered, she had also seen the wine they had finished together after hours of lovemaking. All they needed now was to have left one of Rosamunde’s stockings slung somewhere and she would have a clear picture of how they had occupied themselves last night.

  “Mama is talking of having yellow in the wedding,” Mabel wailed. “Yellow!” She looked to Rosamunde. “She knows yellow is not my color at all.”

  “Perhaps I should...” Russell inched toward the door.

  “Oh, Mr. Russell, how I wish my Hugh was like you. You would never let your bride have a color she detests, would you?”

  He had met Hugh briefly at the dinner party and he seemed a patient and doting sort—perfect for Mabel in his opinion. He shrugged and shared a look with Rosamunde. “I do not know much about weddings, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m certain your mother will come around,” Rosamunde assured her.

  Mabel released another dramatic sigh.

  “Perhaps I should...go and make some tea?” Russell suggested. Anything other than stay here and try to advise Mabel on wedding colors. He was most certainly out of his depth.

  “An excellent idea,” Rosamunde said.

  “I would rather have something stronger.” Mabel dropped her head to the table.

  Hesitating, Russell retrieved the nearly empty bottle of wine and poured a small glass, sliding it across the table.

  Mabel lifted her head and smiled. “Thank you.” She sipped it and released a long breath. “That’s better.” The dog tippy-tapped across the table and lapped at the glass. “Even Mr. Pompadour is finding this stressful.” She took the dog’s face in her hands and pressed a kiss to his snout. “Are you not, Pompy-wompy? You need a nice lap of wine, do you not?” She leaned to peer around Russell. “Is there anymore?”

  He lifted the empty bottle. “I’m afraid not.”

  “Oh yes, that’s Uncle Albert’s favorite. It’s so hard to buy.” Mabel set the dog on the floor. “What a shame as it is so delicious. No wonder he goes to such lengths to get it.”

  “The wine.” Rosamunde gasped. “Of course!”

  Russell frowned. “The wine?”

  “Uncle Albert covets fine alcohol, and this is his favorite French wine. It’s hard to come by since the war.”

  Mabel nodded. “Aunt Janey was complaining only a few weeks ago that he spends time with unsavory sorts all for some silly wine.”

  “That’s it,” Rosamunde declared. “I know where he must be.”

  “You do?” Russell asked.

  “The Isle of Wight.” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “I should have realized.” She pressed her palms to the table and eyed her cousin. “When Aunt Janey was complaining, was it because Uncle Albert was going there?”

  Mabel lifted a shoulder. “I was not really paying attention, but I believe so.” Her mouth formed an ‘o’ shape. “So that’s where he is!”

  Rosamunde twisted to face Russell. “We need to go to the Isle of Wight,” she announced. “He must be there, I’m certain of it.”

  ONCE RUSSELL LEFT to fetch Mr. Wimpole from his lodgings, Rosamunde sank onto the dining chair next to Mabel. “Why did you not say anything?” she asked her cousin.

  “About the wine?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “If I am honest, my mind was a little preoccupied with Hugh and his lack of a proposal. Not to mention my kidnapping!”

  Rosamunde put a hand over Mabel’s. “I know, forgive me. I cannot believe I did not think of it either. I saw some of the wine at his house and it never occurred to me how much he covets it.”

  “Just think, if you had figured it out then, you would have had no time with Mr. Russell, and how awful that would have been.”

  “Mabel...”

  “You were kissing, were you not?” Her lips curved.

  Rosamunde hesitated. There was no sense in lying to Mabel. She would see through her in a heartbeat. But it was hard to admit anything had happened between them, even to herself. It was so new and fresh and wonderful but there had been no time to discuss it or even fathom what it all was. All she knew, was that she craved Russell almost more than her next breath.

  “We were kissing,” she finally admitted.

  “Oh, how wonderful.” She clapped her hands together. “I knew he was desperate for you.”

  “I would not say desperate.” Or perhaps she would. He had seemed mightily desperate for her when he’d lifted her up onto the table in the kitchen. And when he had taken her to bed, actually. It had been quite something to feel the desperation in his touch and taste it on his lips. Even with her vivid imagination, she had never been able to picture such moments.

  “Gosh, you are quite smitten with him.”

  Rosamunde looked at her cousin and allowed herself a small smile. “I suppose.”

  “We really could have a double wedding then.” She scooped up Mr. Pompadour. “Do you hear that, Pompy? A double wedding! What a wonderful day it will be, and you will look so handsome walking down the aisle.”

  Rosamunde lifted a hand. “We really have not discussed the future, Mabel, and I’m not even certain Russell is the marrying type.” She pressed her lips together. “In fact, I would say he is most decidedly not.”

  “Oh pffft. Men change. Look at Hugh. I thought he would never propose but lo and behold, he did!”

  “Hugh was always going to propose. The poor man was just terrified you would say no.”

  “Well, that just goes to show...men have no idea what they are doing.”

  Rosamunde scowled. “I’m not certain that’s at all comforting.”

  “What I mean to say is, they think one thing but in reality, it’s something else.”

  She let her frown deepen. “Mabel...”

  “Mr. Russell thinks he is an independent, mysterious bachelor sort, but he is not.” She grinned. “At least not when it comes to you.”

  “I’m not certain...”

  “Well, I am.” Her cousin gave her a little nudge. “He will want to marry you, I am certain.”

  “Enough talking of me, what about this yellow business?”

  “Oh, I hardly care now.” She waved a hand. “What does a little yellow matter when your favorite cousin is utterly in love?”

  “I did not say I was in love.”

  “You must be. Your cheeks are all flushed and your eyes sparkle. What else could it be other than love?”

  Likely satisfaction but Rosamunde certainly was not going to tell her cousin that. “Please do not ge
t carried away,” she warned Mabel.

  Mabel made a motion of sewing her mouth shut. “I shall not say a word, I promise, but you must, must write to me if anything happens in the Isle of Wight. Especially as I am going to be stuck here looking at ancient patterns with Mama when I would far rather be shopping in London.”

  “I am certain your mother will not choose anything awful,” Rosamunde assured her.

  “I wish I could tell her of you and Russell. Then we could plan a much bigger wedding!”

  “Mabel,” Rosamunde said tightly.

  “I know, I know, I will not say a word.” She pressed a kiss to the top of her dog’s head. “Mr. Pompadour and I shall remain deathly silent until you are engaged.”

  “I really do not think that will happen. Besides, who says I even wish to marry again?”

  “Why would you not? Imagine spending every waking hour with Mr. Russell.” Mabel’s smile grew mischievous. “Not to mention every sleeping hour too.”

  “Mabel!”

  “What? I am going to be married soon. I will have to come to you for some advice anyway. Goodness knows, Mother said just to lie back and think of England and that sounds horribly dull.”

  “That does,” Rosamunde agreed.

  “I would wager Mr. Russell would not wish you doing such a thing either.”

  Rosamunde shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. She was beginning to wish she hadn’t admitted a thing to her cousin.

  “Your mother shall be pleased, you know.”

  “Do not—”

  “Say anything.” Mabel lifted a hand. “I know. I’m simply saying, your mother saw the attraction between you two. Now she has decided that he is a fine man, it’s simply perfect.”

  “I’m not certain—”

  “Your father won’t say no either. How can he? He might be the natural son of an earl, but Mr. Russell still has noble blood in him.”

  “I have what?”

  Rosamunde whipped her head around to find Russell standing in the doorway, his expression thunderous.

  “Oops,” said Mabel.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “That can’t be true.” Russell looked between the two women and shook his head. “Where did you hear such a thing?”

  “Oh everyone knows,” Mabel said. “Well, at least all of our family does. Grandmama knew your father.”

  “Mabel,” Rosamunde hissed.

  He swept a hand through his hair, recalling the dinner party with Rosamunde’s family and her grandmother’s keen interest in him. No bloody wonder. She’d been trying to see if her assumption was correct. Which it was not. How could it be? Guy would have said something.

  “It’s not true,” he insisted.

  Rosamunde glanced at her cousin then rose and took Russell’s arm, leading him into the drawing room and closing the door behind her. She nibbled on her bottom lip and eyed him.

  “It’s not true,” he repeated.

  “It might be.”

  He narrowed his gaze at her. “How long have you known about this?”

  “Since the dinner party,” she admitted softly. She stepped closer but he backed away, pausing by the window to peer out. “I tried to find out for certain if it was true. That was why I didn’t say anything. I did not wish to cause you any distress.”

  He whirled on her. “It certainly explains all the damned questions.”

  “Do you not think I want to know of you anyway, Russell? But I needed to see if you knew.” She glanced down at the floor. “There did not seem a good way of broaching the subject.”

  He moved closer. “Perhaps you could have said before we...” He blew out a breath.

  Her eyes widened, her cheeks going hot. “I hardly planned that now, did I?”

  “How can I know that? It certainly explains your family’s interest in me. Did they have me lined up as your next husband perhaps? I might be the bastard son of an earl, but I’d imagine that’s good enough for some people.”

  She opened her mouth then closed it.

  “I imagine it was quite amusing to you all. Laughing at the orphan with little idea of his heritage.”

  He drew in a long breath, but it was no good. Every inch of him felt hot, dangerous. Just when he thought he might even quite like her family, they’d been amused at his expense, gossiping of his past behind his back. He’d been nothing more than a free bit of entertainment for the rich family.

  “My family only found out when I did.”

  “You think that makes it better?”

  “Russell...” She tried to reach out to him, but he ducked her touch. “I knew it would be a shock, which is why I said nothing. I wished to confirm it first.”

  “Do you not think it might have been better if I had been able to confirm it?”

  “Maybe, but it’s a bit late for that now, is it not?”

  “Yes, just a bit,” he spat out.

  He looked out onto the streets, watching a few pedestrians pass by. How he envied them, continuing on their life as normal. For a brief, blissful moment this morning, he’d thought something had changed. That he and Rosamunde, they could...Well, it didn’t matter now. If she could hide such a thing from him, what else was she hiding? Was the uncle missing even real? Goddamn, how could he even be sure this was not some flight of fancy of hers?

  “Are you certain you heard correctly?” he asked, motioning with his hand.

  She nodded and laced her fingers together in front of her. “You are named for your father, and your mother was a maid in his household. My grandmother knew her sister and the tale of your birth.”

  “It cannot be true,” he muttered.

  “I think you should be open to the possibility that it is.” She smiled slightly. “Just think, you have a family.”

  “I don’t want a family.” He raised his voice. “I don’t need a damn family.”

  “I know this is shocking, Russell, but can you not see this might be a good thing? Surely having these connections is no bad thing?”

  “I’ve done quite well without connections, Rosamunde.” He curled his lip. “I survived on my own for long enough. No, in fact, I thrived. I certainly don’t need ‘connections’ now.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know well enough what you meant.”

  She put a hand to his arm, and he left it there only because he didn’t have the energy to fight her off right now. If Guy knew of this, it meant he’d known when he’d approached him to join The Kidnap Club. It meant the work had been some sort of act of charity, most likely.

  Well, he didn’t need damned charity. He’d done fine on his own.

  “If it is true, then you have a brother,” she said quietly. “You have a history. Surely that pleases you?”

  “What would please me was if people were not discussing my supposed past behind my back.” He met her gaze. “It would please me if you were not lying to me, not laughing behind my back.”

  She frowned. “Come now, do you really think that little of me? You think that I am a gossip, that I enjoy such secrets?”

  He searched her pained gaze. He hadn’t. At least until now. But maybe he was wrong.

  He lifted a shoulder. “Perhaps you are more like your family than you realize.”

  She took a few steps back. “My family has their flaws, but they are good and kind people. They would never wish hurt upon another and they greeted you with open arms.”

  “They greeted me because I’m the natural son of an earl.”

  “If you really believe that then you are more jaded than I realized.”

  He smirked. “Darling, if you haven’t realized that already, then you are more foolish than you look.”

  ROSAMUNDE SUCKED IN a sharp breath. He did not mean it, she reminded herself. He was lashing out because the bloody silly man could not cope with the idea that he might not be alone in the world. None of his hurtful words were meant.

  That did not mean it didn’t hurt, though.

 
; “Russell...” She tried to reach for him, but he dodged her touch again. She fisted her hands at her sides. “No one was laughing at you, no one had any designs on you.”

  Which was sort of true. Her family had seemed to take a liking to him for her. And, well, she had taken a liking to him for herself now. But that had little to do with his heritage.

  He folded his arms and eyed her.

  “Goodness, my mother was hoping I’d marry a duke not long ago!”

  Russell gave a dry laugh. “Of course she was.” He shook his head. “I forget how the rich work sometimes. I imagine they thought you were really scraping the barrel with me.”

  “No one thought anything!” She curled her fists tighter and concentrated on drawing in breaths and not giving into the heat that flowed through her. “They were merely being nice.”

  He cocked his head. “Is it nice to talk of someone’s past behind one’s back?”

  “It is not like we were all gossiping about you.”

  “I struggle to believe that. Your family is quite skilled in that area.”

  “My family talks a lot, I will give you that, but they are certainly not malicious.” She took a step forward. “Russell, please, I know you are hurt but—”

  “I am not hurt,” he snapped. “To be hurt, one has to care. I do not care if your family gets enjoyment from the lowborn situations of others. I do not care what they think of me.” He folded his arms. “Hell, I do not even care what you think of me, Rosie. Because it doesn’t matter so long as you pay me.”

  “Well, I had thought it might matter a little.”

  “I’m hired help, nothing more.” He lifted his shoulders. “And for all I know, you hired me as some form of entertainment. Well, I hope you got your money’s worth, my lady.”

  She let her brows furrow. “Entertainment? Russell, I—”

  “For all I know, this uncle doesn’t even exist. I know you find life dull so why not create some mystery?”

  “Well, that’s quite rude.”

  “Need I remind you I grew up on the streets. I’m not a gentleman.” He moved closer, unfolded his arms, towering over her. He dropped his voice. “Why not fuck the bastard son of an earl?”

  Rosamunde staggered back a few steps, the coarse word ringing in her ears. Heat flowed into her cheeks and she felt as though she had been struck. Her heart throbbed painfully against her chest while she peered up at him, not quite able to believe he had uttered such words. What they had done had been more than a f...Well, it was more than that. It had been special. Goodness, she had even thought that maybe...