Capturing the Bride (The Kidnap Club Book 1) Page 6

  “A man can change.”

  He pushed back the chair and rose. He was rather over being quizzed as to whether he found Grace pretty or not. Did it matter? Did he have to defend himself simply because he couldn’t get the image of her silhouette out of his mind? Because he’d spent the entire night picturing what it might have been like to drag her down onto the bed, slide up her shift, and have a taste of those little rosebuds he’d stolen a peek at?

  Good God, he should have remained seated.

  He drew in a long breath and strode over to the window. He didn’t want to look at her, really he didn’t, but he could not face Mary in his current predicament.

  Sure enough, Grace was outside, seated on a stone bench with Claude curled upon her lap. She had a book in one hand, and another curled protectively about the cat. She wore the same gown she’d arrived in, a cream affair with lines of blue sewn through it and a high neckline. Her cape was pulled tight about her and her hair was pinned neatly to her head in her usual no-nonsense manner.

  Nothing about the image could make his situation any worse, but of course it did.

  He grimaced to himself and continued to draw breaths through his nostrils. Think of all the money you would lose if you compromised her.

  Ridiculous, he wasn’t going to compromise her. He’d resisted bigger temptations than some small, odd woman who rescued ugly cats and was probably going to read through his whole library before the end of her stay.

  “I won’t be here for dinner tonight,” Mary reminded him, “so there’s a cold platter in the kitchen.”

  “Yes,” he murmured.

  “Any word from Russell on the ransom?”

  Nash shook his head and rubbed a hand across his face. This whole situation had him feeling prickly. They never normally did ransoms, but not only did they want the money, it would help delay matters and prevent anyone searching for her. They had sent out a threatening note or even a demand before but never collected on it.

  The chances of anyone finding Grace here were ridiculously slim anyway. No one would expect the heir to a viscountcy to be involved in kidnapping and Guildham estate was all but forgotten about. There was a reason they trusted few to help them too.

  “Well, only three weeks more and Grace can return home an heiress,” Mary said brightly. “I bet she shall have many charming men at her door once that happens.”

  Nash merely grunted. Grace had only spoken of setting up a home with her aunt but what woman wasn’t swayed by a charming, handsome man? He imagined Mary was right and she’d be snapped up swiftly once word of her inheritance got out—even if she had been kidnapped and potentially ‘ruined’. After all, what was a little ruination when it came to a pretty woman with a nice bit of wealth behind her.

  Damn it.

  Mary was right. She was pretty. Too pretty. And he hated the thought of her marrying some cad who wouldn’t understand her one jot just for her money. He’d have to counsel her perhaps. Ensure she remained wary.

  He snorted to himself. Who was he to give advice?

  “Are you certain you can’t remain for the day?” he asked Mary, finally able to turn and face her.

  “Sorry, I have too much work to do at home.” She picked up the last plate. “You are not scared she might hurt you again, are you?”

  He clenched his jaw. “She didn’t hurt me!”

  Mary laughed and left the room before he could say anything else. Damn that woman. Damn Grace. Damn them all.

  GRACE TURNED HER face up to the sun. Or what there was of it. The storm had passed, leaving the air fresh and scented like wet grass. The sun attempted to press through the clouds at regular intervals and Grace inhaled deeply.

  Her father always insisted on the health benefits of being outside, even sometimes without a parasol or bonnet. She understood why now. Although she tended to prefer being indoors, after a night like last night, she felt the need to be sitting in the breeze, letting the sun touch her face.

  Claude stirred, did a little rotation on her lap, then settled again. Grace closed the book she had been reading and set it on the bench beside her then turned her attention to the cat. She smoothed her hand over his ears and head then followed the curl of his body. He purred loudly, the sound vibrating through to her legs.

  “At least you are content, Claude,” she murmured.

  Though, what had she expected from this whole venture? If she was honest, she had barely thought it through when her aunt had suggested the idea—unusual for her indeed. She thought everything through, even down to how many eggs she should have for breakfast. But desperation had made her careless and she had eagerly agreed to this kidnapping.

  Anything to get away from the awful Mr. Worthington.

  She wrinkled her nose. Perhaps that was why she was so intrigued by Nash. She could not claim they were overly acquainted as yet, but he was entirely different to Mr. Worthington. He was charming, yes, but there was no sense of falseness behind it. It was just who Nash was. He moved and breathed and lived charm.

  The fact he had come to check on her last night made her feel a little soft inside too, somehow. He’d been concerned for her welfare. Maybe it was because he was being paid to do so but she liked it anyway. The only other people who had ever cared for her welfare were her aunt and father, and, of course, they were obliged to.

  “Nash is obliged to as well,” she told the cat.

  Claude nudged her hand, reminding her she was not doing a good enough job of petting him.

  “You are right,” Grace said. “I am being far too distracted and silly. Who cares if he is nice to me? There are plenty of nice people in the world.” She pursed her lips. “I think, anyway.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Grace,” Mary called from the track that led away from the house, giving her a quick wave.

  Grace waved back, ignoring the little twist in her stomach that reminded her she’d be alone with Nash all day and night. Mary had warned her as much and Grace had managed to react indifferent to it, but it excited her for some reason.

  “That’s silly too. We are alone every evening anyway.” She watched Mary head away from the house and swallowed hard. “And we shall be alone for many more days until I turn one-and-twenty, shan’t I, Claude? In which case I must begin behaving sensibly.”

  “Have you ever behaved anything other than sensibly?”

  Grace leapt up from the bench, disturbing Claude, who flew off her lap and dashed along the path toward the lawns. “Oh no.” She darted after him and Nash followed, swiftly taking over her and scooping up the cat.

  Claude squirmed in his hold and tried to swipe at him. Nash jerked back his head and narrowly avoided spread claws. Grace quickly took the cat off him and murmured some soothing words until Claude begrudgingly gave up his wriggling.

  “I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly. “I was silly to take him outside so soon.”

  “Is that what you were scolding yourself for?”

  “Yes. No. Um...” She released a long breath. She could hardly admit she had been scolding herself for spending too much time thinking of him.

  “Shall we take Claude inside before he makes another attempt at escape?” He glanced up at the sky. “And before the weather breaks.”

  She nodded, glancing up at the gray clouds that had gathered, and followed him into the hallway. Once the door was shut, she placed the cat on the floor. He sauntered over to a threadbare chaise in the corner and swiftly settled.

  Nash grinned. “His little adventure has worn him out already.”

  Grace struggled to reply. She’d glanced at him and found herself captivated by the flash of white teeth and the crinkles around his eyes. Now she wanted to go and write more about him but that was probably silly too. It would not help with how much room he took up in her brain.

  “I missed you at breakfast this morning,” he said after several heartbeats of silence.

  She nodded. “I wanted to make the most of the nice weather, b-before it changed.”<
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  “You can walk around the estate if you wish but stay within sight of the house. If you are spotted, then—”

  “Yes.” He had given her very few rules to live by but the primary one was do not let anyone see you. She didn’t think that would be a problem. Exploring was not really her thing unless one counted digging through the library.

  “I think I have had enough fresh air for now anyway. I might go and find another book to read.” She paused and pressed a hand to her mouth. “The book! I left it outside in the rain.”

  “Not to fear, I’ll go and rescue it.” He headed outside before she could protest and returned swiftly, his hair damp and thickly curled. He offered her the book. “Grace?” he prompted when she remained frozen in place.

  She felt her mouth ajar but could do nothing to persuade herself to shut it. A raindrop trickled down his chin and she followed the path of it, down his neck to where his shirt was slightly open. Would it travel all the way down or soak into his clothing? Would it go past those bumps on his stomach?

  Maybe lower.

  A strange squeak escaped her before she could prevent it and she snatched the book from him, muttering a quick thank you and dashing up the stairs.

  “I thought you wanted the library,” she heard him call but she ignored him and hastened into her bedroom.

  She slammed the door shut and pressed her back to it, the book clutched to her throbbing chest. These thoughts made no sense. None whatsoever. She was a well brought up lady who cared little for outward appearances and more about what was occurring in someone’s mind. She most certainly should not be considering what was down...down...

  Oh God. She clapped a hand to her face. This was more than silly, this was nonsensical, this was addled. A girl like her had no business thinking about a man like Nash.

  No business at all.

  Chapter Nine

  Nash never usually welcomed the arrival of Russell at the estate.

  It meant something was wrong.

  Today, however, he rose from his chair in the drawing room with a grin and greeted him with a hearty handshake.

  Russell either didn’t notice Nash’s relief at seeing him or didn’t care. The tall chap swept a hand through chestnut hair and dropped his hat onto a nearby table. “How’s the girl?”

  Fascinating? No, that wouldn’t do. Too pretty? Couldn’t say that either. “Fine,” he said instead.

  “Good, good.”

  Russell paced past the window that looked out over the overgrown lawns. His long legs covered the distance in a few paces, so he twisted when he reached the wall and turned to repeat the movement.

  “I take it things are not ‘fine’ on your end?” Nash rested an elbow on the mantelpiece, adopting a pose far more casual than he felt. The past week had left him tangled in a knot, his gut constantly bunched with...well, everything.

  Desire, intrigue, more desire.

  He was losing the plot.

  Hence, him welcoming the intrusion. At least, momentarily. If things were not going to plan, it could put Grace in some sort of danger and that made his far-too-sensitive gut tighten yet again. He couldn’t let anything happen to her.

  “Where is the girl anyway?” Russell asked.

  “In the library. Probably with the cat.”

  Russell made a face. “That thing hardly counts for a cat.”

  Nash shrugged. “It’s not so bad.”

  “I didn’t even think you liked cats.” He narrowed his gaze at Nash.

  He shrugged again. “They clean themselves and are quite good at keeping one warm.”

  Good Lord, now he sounded like Grace.

  Nash shook his head but didn’t comment on his sudden turn around on the subject of cats. “The uncle has requested proof that she is alive.”

  “Ah.”

  “It is a delay. Guy has heard he doesn’t wish to pay the ransom and is sending out men to search for her instead.”

  “It’s not the first time we have had people search for one of the women.”

  “No, but we have this fiancé on the case too, and he’s known to associate with some unsavory types. They won’t think twice about hurting people to get information.”

  “Not her fiancé,” muttered Nash.

  “Pardon?”

  “Not her fiancé,” he repeated. “She never accepted him.”

  Russell eyed him for a moment. “Well, the world thinks of him as that. It seems he is spreading quite the tale of how he misses his lovely bride and is willing to do anything to get her back.”

  “Apart from pay the ransom.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Bastard,” he murmured under his breath, a fist curled at his side. Neither of those men cared for Grace. All they wanted was her inheritance. Hell fire, he’d like to take them both and—

  “A lock of hair should do it.”

  Nash glanced up. “What?”

  “We’ll send a strand of hair along with a note from her, begging for them to pay the ransom and to stay away lest we harm her.”

  Nash blew out a breath. It wasn’t the first time they had to make threats to draw out the kidnapping process and ensure the family didn’t hunt the women but he didn’t much like the thought of Grace writing to her non-fiancé, even if it was with artificial woe.

  “They’ll never find her here.”

  Russell nodded. “But it’s better to play it safe. You still have nearly three weeks until her birthday.”

  “The longest we’ve ever held a woman.”

  “Precisely. Everything about this situation is different to usual. We must do all we can to keep her safe.”

  Different was about right. Nothing about Grace was the same as the other women. Not the way she looked or behaved or even ate or drank. She analyzed everything and constantly took notes. He still had a hankering to see what she was writing about him, but he’d not had a chance to steal a look.

  Would it be good things? It was hard to tell. She stared at him sometimes as though he were some curious specimen. Every now and then she’d cock her head whilst they were conversing, and he could see her mind ticking over. His desire to figure out exactly what was going on behind those eyes was almost as much as his desire to catch her in her shift again.

  “I’ll get her to write the letter,” Nash finally agreed.

  “Don’t forget the lock of hair.”

  “You want it now?”

  “I do not plan to stay long. I have a way to travel and we need to get that letter delivered with haste,” Russell explained.

  Nash didn’t argue. Russell never seemed to need rest or food or good conversation. The man moved about the country with the same sort of pace that his long legs crossed the drawing room. All that travelling would drive Nash insane, but Russell always enjoyed it, flitting from one place to the next. Russell had once said he’d never had roots so he couldn’t understand why people wanted to stay in the same place all the time.

  Nash, however, was quite content remaining at the estate. New kidnappees were always enough to keep him entertained.

  Though entertained was the wrong word for it this time. He enjoyed Grace’s odd brand of company to be certain, but she was also driving him out of his wits. The no-nonsense woman likely had no idea how captivating she was.

  And no idea how damned pretty she was.

  Even if he would never, ever, ever admit that to Mary or anyone else. He was a professional after all and he was not going to bloody well ruin his record of keeping his hands off the women now.

  SHE HEARD HIS footsteps coming down the corridor, but Grace kept her attention on the book in her lap. She made the most of the fire in the library by sitting on the rug in front of it with a blanket on her lap. Claude had opted to join her too—not surprising considering the room was cold indeed. But it was safe here. The books kept her mind from wandering too much.

  Most of the time anyway.

  The words jumbled in front of her eyes and she frowned, forcing herself to concentrate.
Her heart leaped when the door to the library opened and she very nearly leapt with it, but she forced her body to remain stiff, her chin lowered, while she kept up the pretense of reading.

  The last thing she needed was to seem like some lovesick girl, eager to jump to her feet because of Nash’s mere presence. Not that she was lovesick.

  However, her rather foolish preoccupation with thinking of him could make it seem that way. Flirtations and swooning over men was not for her—it never had been. She didn’t understand the opposite sex, nor did she wish to. The only man who had ever been kind to her was her father. She had a suspicion that good men were few and far between.

  Her gaze flicked to the slip of paper she was using as a bookmark. But, of course, she was lying to herself. She wanted to understand Nash, and the bookmark proved it. She’d been using it to make notes on his turns of phrases or the little bits of information he let slip. He was heir to a title so presumably wealthy, yet he lived in this draughty, worn house in the middle of nowhere. He was most certainly not married, that much she had garnered. Mary had intimated there was some sort of falling out in the family and that explained his lack of available money but that he never talked of it.

  She wished he would talk to her of it. How she longed to understand him.

  He cleared his throat and she looked up, sweeping her gaze over the long length of him and catching herself nearly sighing over the perfect fit of his waistcoat and jacket.

  Sighing over men was ridiculous. She’d seen girls do it from a young age even when the boys did not deserve it. It only left them looking like fools.

  And, Lord knows, she’d look a huge fool to swoon and sigh over Nash. The man was remarkably handsome and extremely charming. Certainly not the sort to be interested in a woman like her with little understanding of social niceties and a body like a boy.

  “You two look cozy there.”

  “It’s the warmest place in the house.” She spied furrows between his brows. “What is the matter?”

  “As yet, our ransom is unpaid.”

  She closed her eyes briefly. “I am not surprised, though I had rather hoped my uncle would show some care for my welfare, even if it was simply to get me back to marry Mr. W.” She set aside the book and eased an annoyed Claude off her lap before standing. “Though surely the later he pays, the better. If he pays, I would have to return.”