Stealing the Heiress (The Kidnap Club Book 2) Page 4

  So she had remained relatively innocent for a once-married woman. It felt a little silly sometimes. Almost childish to be a grown woman of twenty-five with such little experience but even if a man flirted with her, she hardly knew how to respond. One of the unfortunate side effects of being married at eighteen meant she had minimal experience with the opposite sex.

  She did understand a few things about this man, though. He was not like any of the ton. And that intrigued her to no end.

  “Mr. Russell, please hear me out.” She lifted a hand before he could reply. “You are a kidnapper by trade. Or whatever you wish to call it. And I have someone who I believe may have been kidnapped. I should very much like to pay for your expertise.”

  “I’m not interested.”

  “My Uncle Albert,” she continued, ignoring him, “has been missing for several months. Usually, he returns home by now, but I fear something has happened to him. Could it not be that he has been taken by someone?”

  “Your uncle vanishes a lot?”

  “He does, unfortunately.” She wrinkled her nose. “He is a little...eccentric.”

  “So you wish me to chase down a man you think is kidnapped but often goes missing so is, in actual fact, probably not kidnapped at all?”

  She knew it sounded paranoid, but he didn’t have to be so rude about it. Folding her arms across her chest, she tried not to pout. “I know my uncle and I know he would not be gone this long without at least a letter.”

  “As I said, I cannot help. I don’t know what sort of flights of fancy—”

  “This is no flight of fancy.” She unfolded her arms and jabbed a finger at his chest. “But you, sir, owe me. You kidnapped me, scared me half to death, injured me—”

  “You injured yourself...”

  “Made me lose my knife. Not to mention terrified my poor aunt.” She jabbed again. “You. Owe. Me.”

  He rubbed the spot on his chest she’d prodded. “Lady Rothmere...”

  “Rosamunde.”

  “Rosamunde, your uncle is a grown man and I am certain—”

  “No. I am certain you are going to help me. I am not a fool, no matter what anyone thinks. You are not wrong that I am rich and have probably been spoiled. My life has been relatively sheltered. But I also know this—deep in my gut—my uncle needs help, and you are going to help me.”

  He eyed her for several moments while her heart pounded in her ears. He had to help her, he just had to.

  “If you do not help me, I shall try to track him down myself,” she added for good measure, though why she thought he might care for her welfare, she did not know.

  Perhaps it was because underneath his rough manner she had seen a glimpse of an honorable man. Despite his protests, he had some honor. No man would risk his life to help women simply for money, surely?

  His shoulders dropped a little. He pushed both hands through his hair and eyed her as though she were causing him great pain. “Fine,” he finally said.

  “Fine?”

  “Fine, I shall help you. No doubt he is holed up somewhere in a club or something similar and your mind shall be put at ease within days.”

  Rosamunde couldn’t resist the smile that burst across her lips. She flung her arms around his neck. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  Russell pried her hands away from his neck and set her firmly back from him.

  She bunched her hands at her side, her cheeks warm. She would have to behave much more professionally now she had hired him. This was important and it could be dangerous. Certainly not the time to hug her hired kidnapper.

  “So where do we start?”

  “First, I return you home. You can tell me all about your uncle on the way back. Then, I shall make some enquiries.”

  “And then?”

  “Then I shall find you.”

  “Discreetly?”

  His brow furrowed. “I take it your family does not have the same concerns about your uncle.”

  She shook her head.

  He sighed heavily. “I will find you. Discreetly.” His lip curled slightly. “Believe it or not, Lady Rothmere, I am excellent at discreet.”

  Chapter Six

  “How the devil did you kidnap the wrong woman?”

  Russell removed his hat, shoved a hand through his hair, and set it on the table in the busy inn. He peered around the empty inn before sitting opposite Guy. He leaned back in the chair and shrugged. “She matched the description. Not to mention she was riding in the correct carriage.”

  Guy shook his head. “Damn it, Russell, at this rate we’ll have to quit the club.”

  Nash strode over to the table, three ales in hand, and dumped them onto the table. “He can hardly be blamed for the woman changing her mind.”

  Russell didn’t need Nash to defend him, but he appreciated it nonetheless. “Look,” he said to Guy, “I’m not happy about it either.”

  Especially considering he was now obliged to help a woman with pretty freckles and soft skin.

  “But Lady Rothmere isn’t going to say anything,” he continued. “She understands the need for our service to remain secret and she would hardly reveal her cousin’s intentions.”

  Guy blew out a breath and reached for the ale. “All this could have been avoided if Miss Heston’s message had reached me in time.”

  “I didn’t much enjoy kidnapping the wrong woman, to be certain.”

  “Are you certain about that?” Nash flashed a grin. “Lady Rothmere is a pretty thing if I recall rightly.”

  “You shouldn’t even be thinking about who is pretty,” Russell snapped. “Your wife is the only pretty thing you should be looking at.”

  “Grace would think it entirely logical that I should notice if someone is symmetrically proportionate and appealing,” Nash said smugly.

  Russell groaned. “You are sounding more and more like her every day.”

  “I know. I rather like it.” He lifted his ale and took a drink.

  Russell eyed Nash. The rakish lord had a way with women and his manner hadn’t changed but their last kidnapee, Grace, had been a steadying influence on him. He’d never seen Nash so...fulfilled, he supposed. In some ways, he envied Nash that sense of peace, but it wasn’t for him. He kept moving. Always. It was the only way he knew how to be. The idea of being steady made his feet twitch even just sitting here.

  As for Guy, the man hadn’t changed, even after their last adventure looking after Grace. The dark, brooding earl remained deadly serious about everything. Hell, he made Russell look practically chirpy. He understood the need for it at times. The earl was in sole charge of their operation and dedicated himself to helping women in need after aiding a cousin escape a vicious marriage. But, damn, the man could cease glowering for at least one moment.

  “Well, I didn’t enjoy it,” Russell said.

  Didn’t enjoy the feel of her thighs. No, sir. Certainly not how her body was beneath him. Didn’t like looking at her freckles and certainly didn’t admire her gumption. Not one jot. Not at all. Most certainly not.

  It was all quite inconvenient really.

  “We’re lucky she was able to return home and cover for you,” Guy said. “If she had revealed you...”

  “I know.” Russell clasped the cool ale close. “I’d be out.”

  “We’d all be out,” Guy corrected. “I don’t blame you, Russell, but it would be too dangerous to continue.”

  “Oh so he messes up and he’s fine to stay but I mess up and I almost get kicked out?” Nash leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head.

  “You did not mess up, Nash. You bedded the woman we were meant to be helping,” Russell pointed out.

  “Yes, but can you blame me? Besides, I tried my best to resist her, but she can be damned persuasive.”

  Russell rolled his eyes. He did know that Nash had tried his hardest to resist her, but he’d seen early on that the man was falling for Grace. It had amused him at the time.

  Now he was feel
ing even more sympathetic. He knew all too well how one could be living life normally only for it to be blown apart by a woman.

  He lifted his drink and drained it, closing his eyes briefly while he let the warmth of alcohol simmer through him. No, his life wasn’t blown apart. Nor would he let it be. He’d make a few inquiries, discover where Lady Rothmere’s uncle was, and be on his way and forget he ever met her. He certainly would not do a Nash and wind up bedding her or worse...marrying her.

  Not that he anticipated a lady of gentle breeding would want him. Beneath his fine clothes, he was nothing more than a bastard orphan who had become good at mimicking everything nobility did. Simply because he walked and talked a little like them did not mean he deserved a woman like her.

  Nor did he want to. He’d learned a few things in life.

  First, eat whenever there is food.

  Second, never fall asleep on the streets.

  Third, do not form attachments.

  Fourth, do not form damn attachments.

  Make that the fifth and sixth point too.

  Make it the one vow that he would have tattooed onto his skin alongside the other ugly etchings from his boyhood. Engrave it on his headstone perhaps. No damn attachments.

  They made a man vulnerable and weak, something he didn’t wish to be ever again.

  “So, what’s next, Guy?” Nash asked, removing his hands from behind his head and leaning forward. “Grace is itching to help.”

  Guy shook his head. “Nothing. You go back to your wife and rebuilding your country pile and Russell does...whatever Russell does.”

  Nash leaned in, “Yes, what is it you do, Russell? I don’t even know where you live.”

  “And that’s the way it will stay,” Russell said.

  “Some friend you are,” Nash muttered. “Won’t even invite a chap over for a drink.”

  “Who says you’re my friend?” Russell said with a slight grin.

  “Ouch, you do wound me so.” He pressed a hand to his chest.

  Russell pushed his chair back and rose from the table. “Gentlemen, I have business to see to. Let me know if you need my aid. You know where to find me,” he told Guy.

  “What business?” Nash asked but Russell ignored him.

  The less they knew about him, the better. The less anyone knew about him, the better. Including Lady Rothmere.

  ROSAMUNDE DROPPED THE penknife with a clatter, wincing when it landed on the porcelain bowl. Her cousin Mabel barreled into her bedroom, her pink cheeks almost matching the bright hue of her gown. Rosamunde glanced at the bowl. At least it hadn’t cracked on impact. She retrieved the knife and tucked it into her hand.

  “What were you doing?” her cousin asked, peering at her hand.

  “Oh, um just...” Pretending to fight off an attacker? No, that sounded ridiculous, even to her. “You know...reading letters.” She gestured vaguely about the room, knowing there were no letters to be seen.

  Mabel lifted the tiny dog she held in one arm onto the bed. Rosamunde didn’t bother to say anything as the dog rolled about on the plush blanket. Much of her family owned dogs and it was not uncommon for visitors to bring theirs and let them roam around. There was scarcely a day when she did not find dog hairs upon her person. She loved them but sometimes she wouldn’t mind just having one dog at a time.

  “I wanted to make sure you were well,” Mabel said, hastening toward her and lashing her arms about Rosamunde’s waist.

  Rosamunde peered down at her petite cousin and received a face full of feathers. She eased her cousin back before the feathers ended up thrust up her nose. “I am well,” she assured her.

  Mabel flung herself down on the bed and the dog climbed onto her lap, putting its paws up on her shoulder to lick her face. “I am so, so sorry,” she said between licks. “If I had realized Mama was going to ask you to accompany her, I would have said something. Apparently, my letter to the men involved in this did not get there in time.” She eased the dog away and frowned. “I paid the messenger generously too.”

  “You do not need to apologize. I am quite well.”

  More than well. She was...excited. It had been a week since she had been ‘kidnapped’, and she had yet to hear from Mr. Russell. However, it did not stop her anticipating him. She wondered if he was lurking somewhere, watching her perhaps, waiting to get in contact at the right moment. She kept trying to ensure she was alone but that was hard with her family.

  She couldn’t wait to see him again.

  For her uncle, of course. No other reason. She knew virtually nothing of Mr. Russell and there was no sense in letting her imagination carry her away. Even if she did sometimes wonder what would have happened if she’d let him continue searching her person for the knife. Or if she had fought back and flipped him over and kissed him hard...

  “You must have been terrified,” Mabel cried. “I was nervous enough when I considered doing it and I knew what was happening.” She sighed. “If only we did not look so alike.”

  “We do not look that much alike. It’s only our dark hair.”

  “I suppose to a man we must do, though.” Mabel leaned forward. “Was it very scary? Mama said you threatened him with a knife.”

  “It was sort of scary, but I didn’t have much time to think about it.”

  Mabel grinned. “You are so brave, Rosie. I wish I could be the same. Of course, everyone thinks you fought him off and now they are determined you marry before you become too independent.”

  Rosamunde rolled her eyes. “Why they should see me fighting off a kidnapper as a bad thing, I do not know.”

  “Oh you know this family. They aren’t happy unless there’s a wedding happening.” Mabel tilted her head. “Besides, do you not want to marry again? You’ve been widowed for over a year now and I know you found marriage to George terribly dull.” She clapped her hands together. “What if you married one of Hugh’s friends? Then we could spend even more time together.”

  Rosamunde closed her eyes briefly. She adored Mabel but there was a limit to the amount of time she wished to spend with her. Or with Hugh’s friends. He was a lovely man but rather too sweet for her and she didn’t expect his friends to be much different. She preferred men with a little roughness about them. Men who would argue with her and challenge her.

  Men like Mr. Russell.

  No, do not go down that path, Rosamunde.

  “Well, we have your wedding to look forward to.” She sank down onto the bed next to her cousin and the Pomeranian slunk over to Rosamunde’s lap and nudged her hand with its wet nose. She gave in and rubbed the dog’s head. “I am sorry that you thought you had to enlist the services of these men, though. You know you could have come to me.”

  “I know.” Mabel glanced at her hands in her lap. “I was scared I was going to have to marry Mr. Dixon and it seemed as though Hugh would never propose. Then I heard rumors of these men from Lady Ellis and it just seemed the perfect answer. I could escape for a while and give Hugh time to miss me and then he would certainly propose by the time I returned.”

  Rosamunde winced. It wasn’t the best reason to risk ruin and put her family in such distress but as much as she adored Mabel, her cousin did not always think things through thoroughly. If anyone had a reason to marry, it was Mabel. She almost needed someone to look after her.

  Which was one of many reasons she did not wish to marry again. She could look after herself, thank you very much, and did not need a husband to do it for her.

  All she needed now was to get much, much better at knife fighting.

  Chapter Seven

  Russell eyed her from afar, feeling oddly like an intruder. Which was ridiculous. Lady Rothmere perched on a bench overlooking the Serpentine River. Hardly some secretive spot. The paths flowed with people and carriages while children played on the grass, enjoying the warm summer weather. Yet he had this inkling Rosamunde wasn’t watching the children or the various park goers.

  She tilted her head to the sun and though he could
n’t see her expression, he knew what she’d do. She’d have her eyes closed.

  He knew this because this wasn’t the first time he’d seen her in the park. Nor the second. For three days now, he’d come here after discovering she enjoyed visiting the park unaccompanied. Three days and he’d yet to approach her.

  What went on behind those closed eyes, he did not know. Nor did he wish to know.

  Nope. No. Definitely not. The less he knew about Lady Rosamunde Stanley, the better. He’d already done a little digging into her. She came from a large, wealthy family with a history of old money and plenty of clever marriages. Her father was the Marquess of Hopsbridge and she had several titled uncles by way of marriages. She would inherit a sizeable sum upon his death and the family had singlehandedly sucked up much of the wealth in the country.

  The last thing he wanted to do was be involved with people like that. Those who took and took and took, leaving people like him to have to scrabble around for the scraps.

  He clasped his hands behind his back and rocked onto his heels. Not that he had mere scraps these days. Even his wealth could compete with several members of the gentry, but he hadn’t been simply born or married into it. He’d worked for every coin. He’d wheedled and plotted and rubbed his fingers raw. He’d lifted and hauled and slogged until every part of his body hurt. Thankfully, he didn’t need to do much of that anymore, but he’d never be complacent. It only took one mistake for a man to lose it all and he could never let that happen.

  He’d never let himself be poor again.

  His gut itched. It had been doing that ever since kidnapping Rosamunde. He trusted his gut. It had been what helped him survive the cruel streets of London as a child. It had helped him escape the slums.

  That one mistake could well be Lady Rothmere, it told him.

  So today he’d finally march over to her and tell her in no uncertain terms that he would not help her. She would have to seek out her uncle on her own. After all, a man was entitled to his privacy. Simply because he’d been unable to find any trace of the man didn’t mean much. Admittedly, Russell had a knack of finding people, and he’d been surprised none of his connections across the country knew anything of his whereabouts, but it still didn’t mean anything.