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

  How long had he been without family? Had he ever been married? He was surely old enough to have once had a wife. She didn’t know precisely how old he was, but she had concluded he was edging toward his thirtieth year. Maybe he had some tragic story where his family were lost in a shipwreck and now he couldn’t even look at the sea that he had once loved.

  No. Preposterous. There were plenty of people with no family and no tragic tale.

  Nevertheless, she could not deny her curiosity had been piqued.

  “This is terrible,” she murmured to Mabel.

  “They like him,” she said. “That’s no bad thing.”

  Rosamunde shook her head. “I do not need them to like him. I need them to answer his questions.”

  And he tried his best. For every question he avoided, he asked one, but no one could say when they had last seen Albert or even heard from him. It seemed likely that she had been the one to last speak with him and that was three months ago.

  “He is quite handsome, in a sort of rugged way,” Mabel observed. “I can see why you like him.”

  “Like him?” Rosamunde said, keeping her voice low. “I don’t like him. That is, I don’t not like him, but he is not here to be liked. He is helping me investigate.”

  “Do you really think your Uncle Albert is in trouble?”

  “I do.”

  “Well, I think if anyone could find him it would be Mr. Russell. He has a determined look about him.”

  Rosamunde couldn’t resist glancing at his firm jaw and strong shoulders. Determined was one way to put it. She kept finding her mind drifting to words like attractive, powerful, intriguing. Maybe even dashing. She doubted Russell would appreciate being called dashing but she could see him performing heroic deeds with ease, racing to save his love or drawing his sword to fight off a horde of enemies.

  He managed to remain a good hour before making his excuses to leave. All the dogs began barking and jumping from seats and climbing up his legs when he rose. Rosamunde fought her way through to see him to the door and followed him out onto the pavement.

  “I am sorry you did not get more information.” She twined her hands in front of her. “And for my family. They can be a little intimidating.”

  A slight smile curved his lips. “I have faced worse.”

  “I should like to hear that story sometime.”

  He eyed her for a moment then seemed to snap to attention. “They are not for a lady’s ears,” he said tersely, the smile vanishing.

  “I am hardly—”

  “It was not a complete waste of time anyway. One of your aunt’s made mention of The Alfred Club.”

  “Oh yes, it’s a writer’s club. Gentlemen only. Though Uncle Albert always said there was more drinking and cards than actual conversation.”

  “I think it would be worth visiting there and speaking with some of his acquaintances. Perhaps he confided in one of them about wherever he was going.”

  She nodded. “That sounds an excellent idea. When shall we go? Tonight?”

  “I shall go tomorrow. Alone. In case you have forgotten, Rosamunde, you are most certainly not a gentleman.”

  She opened her mouth then closed it.

  “I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  “But I could—”

  “I’ll be in touch.”

  He turned away and headed off down the road, his long limbs carrying him away from her so quickly that even when she called after him, she doubted it reached his ears.

  “Oh pooh,” she muttered to herself.

  A gentlemen’s club. How interesting it would be. If only she could think of a way of getting in. Maybe she could find a rear entrance or climb in through a window. But then how would she actually get any information from anyone? She pressed a finger to her lips. There had to be some way she could be involved. There was no chance she was letting Russell do all the investigating alone.

  Chapter Nine

  “You’ll have to pull tighter.”

  Mabel stepped back from Rosamunde and eyed her critically. “I can pull as much as I like but there’s no disguising your, um, assets.”

  Rosamunde blew out a breath and eyed herself in the long mirror. White fabric crushed her breasts tight, but they still curved outward. “I’ll never pass for a man now.”

  “I’ll try again,” offered Mabel.

  Rosamunde nodded and prepared herself. Mabel pulled hard on the ends of the fabric and Rosamunde winced as it pinched into her skin. “I never thought I’d curse having curves,” she muttered.

  “Are you certain you should be doing this? Do you not have to be a member of the club to get in?”

  “Male family members are allowed to visit. I’ll just use Uncle Albert’s name.”

  Mabel peered up at her. “I’m really not certain you are at all masculine enough. Not even with my brother’s clothes.”

  “Just keep pulling.”

  “If your mother finds out I have been involved in this...”

  “No one will know,” Rosamunde assured her cousin. “I shall sneak out the servant’s entrance whilst the staff are eating their dinner.”

  “You could just let Mr. Russell do his job?” Mabel suggested softly.

  “And let him have all the fun? Not likely.”

  “I do not see what is fun about crushing one’s breasts and sneaking into a stuffy old gentlemen’s club,” Mabel muttered.

  “I have to do this, Mabel. I have to find Uncle Albert.”

  “I thought the point in hiring someone to help was so you did not have to.”

  “I hired Mr. Russell for his expertise. Plus, you cannot deny having a man’s assistance does open some doors.”

  “It opens the doors to gentlemen’s clubs, which is precisely why I do not see why we are doing this!”

  “Tighter,” Rosamunde urged.

  “You never did say where you found Mr. Russell. He is frightfully handsome. No wonder your mother was enamored with him.”

  Rosamunde grimaced. She should have kept him far away from her batty family. It seemed Mama had decided Mr. Russell had enough wealth and good looks for him to be good enough for her daughter and now her mother would not cease speaking about him. Or maybe her mother had simply got tired of Rosamunde paying no attention to men and figured this was as good a shot as any to have her daughter remarried. Either way, her mother was wrong. Russell might be wealthy as near as she could tell but he hardly seemed the marrying sort.

  “Mr. Russell was meant to be your kidnapper.”

  Mabel sucked in a breath. “Oh goodness.” She tucked in the ends of the fabric and stepped back to admire her work. “That’s better, I think.”

  “I can scarcely breathe so it had better be.”

  “I’m not sure how I would have felt about being kidnapped by Mr. Russell.”

  Rosamunde frowned. “You knew it was coming. Why would you have felt anything?”

  “Well, he does have that sort of dark, dangerous air about him, does he not? I think it could have been quite intimidating.”

  “It was, I suppose.” And a little exciting, and invigorating.

  “I still paid them, of course, with a long note of apology, but I do feel utterly terrible about the change of plans.”

  “I imagine there are plenty of other women for them to kidnap.”

  “I wonder how on Earth a man gets involved in such a thing.” Mabel offered Rosamunde a shirt and helped her slip her arms into it.

  Rosamunde fought with the buttons, releasing a frustrated sound. “I do not know how men do these all the time. They’re backwards!”

  “They do not,” Mabel reminded her. “They have valets.”

  “I doubt Russell has one. He strikes me as the independent sort.”

  And now she was picturing him dressing, drawing on his shirt over strong arms and a taut chest. If she wasn’t already struggling to breathe, she had made it worse.

  Mabel aided Rosamunde with the buttons and cravat then the rest of her clothes. R
osamunde twisted her hair into a tight knot and shoved a simple comb into it then added the hat.

  “What if you need to remove your hat?”

  Rosamunde grimaced at her reflection. “If only I had time to buy a wig.” She eyed herself and drew up her chin. She did look masculine, if a little young. In the lamplight of the club, surely she could pass for a man?

  “Perhaps you should leave this to Mr. Russell.”

  “Never.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with letting a man help, you know,” Mabel said as she handed Rosamunde gloves.

  “I don’t need help.”

  “So why did you hire Mr. Russell?”

  Rosamunde blew out a breath. Mabel would never understand. She adored men and adored relying on them. When Rosamunde considered having men in her life, they were rather like her Uncle Albert. Not old and a little portly, of course, but they respected her and her opinion. They certainly didn’t marry her then spend as little time as possible with her. They considered her an equal and wanted her help.

  No, they needed her help.

  Russell didn’t know it yet, but he would need hers too, she was certain of it. And whilst she would bow to his experience and the doors he could open by way of his sex, she had little intention of letting him have all the fun.

  RUSSELL GRIMACED. THE woman had to be mad. It was the only explanation.

  Dressed in men’s clothing, she paced the entranceway of the club. He shook his head. How she hadn’t been removed already, he did not know, but there wasn’t a chance she passed for a man. Or even a boy, for that matter. Her curves were disguised well enough but there was no mistaking that pretty face, even behind heavier glasses than she usually wore.

  He strode over to her and took her arm. She released a decidedly feminine squeak.

  “What are you doing here?” he murmured.

  Her eyes widened when she realized it was him. She glanced him up and down. “You look very fine.”

  It was hardly the response he expected, and he never usually considered how he looked in evening wear or if it even appealed to women. He wore fine clothes because there had once been a time when he’d had none. Hell, he’d scarcely had shoes that fit let alone top-quality fabrics. Wearing these clothes had nothing to do with impressing anyone.

  But some strange piece of him liked that she thought he looked good.

  He shook his head to himself. “Let us get out of here before someone realizes who you are, and you are utterly scandalized.”

  “No one has noticed me yet.” She resisted the pull on her arm toward the door.

  “Trust me, someone will notice you soon enough. You make a terrible man.”

  “But—”

  “I’ve made enquiries already. There’s no need for you to be here.”

  “But—”

  “Come.” He pulled on her arm again and she sighed, allowing him to lead her out onto the darkened streets.

  He released her arm and she huffed and straightened her waistcoat. He frowned at her chest.

  “I had my cousin bind my chest,” she explained.

  His gaze shot up. Bugger. He’d been caught. “I wasn’t even thinking...”

  She tugged her jacket tighter about herself. “How did you get in anyway? You are not a member, surely?”

  He gave a wry grin. “You don’t think I’m clever enough?”

  She frowned. “No. I do not have you pegged as the sort to enjoy other men’s company.”

  He fought for a reply. She wasn’t wrong there.

  A carriage pulled up outside the club door and two gentlemen exited the vehicle before it moved on. The men nodded in greeting and one gave Rosamunde a confused look.

  He took Rosamunde’s arm again and drew her into the shadows of the building. “What were you thinking?” he demanded. “You can’t pass for a man.”

  “I thought I looked quite good.” She lifted her chin.

  “You are far too pretty.”

  “Oh.”

  “Not to mention, there are no disguising some things.”

  “Some things?”

  “Your, uh...” He made a curving motion with his hands. “Your jacket is too short to conceal, um...”

  “Oh!” She clapped hands to her face. “I only really looked at myself from the front.” She frowned. “Curses. Why did Mabel not say anything?”

  “Even if she had, would you have listened?”

  She gave a begrudging smile. “I suppose not.”

  Russell guided her deeper into the shadows when a man stepped down the steps from the building, whistling. Tucked against the side of the building, he could make out her expression but little else. “You should return home quickly, before anyone spots you. Did you take a carriage?”

  She shook her head. “I walked.”

  “Walked? Christ, woman, you are even madder than I thought.”

  She folded her arms. “I’m not mad. My house isn’t far from here and I would have thought one of the benefits of being a man is everyone leaves you alone.”

  “Even men are set on by footpads.”

  “I would wager you have never been.”

  “I had my share of encounters when I was younger.”

  “But not now you are older.”

  He shrugged. “I suppose not.” He gestured to her. “But even if someone thought you to be a man, you make a very different sort of man to me.”

  Very different. She was still wide-eyed and youthful. Her lips were still too curved, her nose too petite. Her jawline too smooth. And, of course, he couldn’t forget that arse. All women should wear trousers, he concluded. It was far more enticing than any dress, seeing the fabric cling to her rear. He drew in a breath and forced his attention to her face. He sighed. “I’ll walk you home.”

  “There really is no need.”

  “There really is.”

  “I suppose you can tell me what you discovered.”

  “Not much I’m afraid.”

  He offered an arm and she nearly took it, but they must have both recalled she was meant to be a man and created some distance between each other. They walked along the streets at a leisurely pace. The roads were still relatively busy, with carriages rolling past every few minutes. Fewer people were walking, however, than one would normally see in the day, for which he was grateful. Less chance of anyone recognizing Rosamunde.

  “I spoke with several of your uncle’s acquaintances, but none could tell me much, only that they had not seen him in a while.”

  “Maybe he went and got into some kind of trouble.” She bit down on her lip. “I do hope he is well.”

  “I’ll find him,” he assured her.

  “We’ll find him,” she corrected.

  Before he could argue, she gasped and snatched his arm. He scarcely had a moment to figure out what was happening when she pressed him up against the wall. She flung off her hat, pulled out a comb that clattered to the ground, and slung her arms around his neck.

  “What the—”

  She pressed her lips to his. Hard.

  His mind raced to catch up with what had occurred. But all it could latch onto was the fact she had her mouth pressed to his. And that she tasted sweet. And that all he needed to do was skim his hands down and he could take two handfuls of that arse that had him so preoccupied.

  So, he did what any red-blooded man would do and glided his hands down, taking her rear in his palms and squeezing her flesh. She moaned against his mouth and he used the opportunity to take a deeper taste of the sweetness.

  Dear God, did she taste sweet. And so warm.

  She moved against him, pressing her strangely firm chest to his. He kept her gripped tight and her fingers twined into the hair under his hat. She moaned again when he drew back and nibbled briefly on her bottom lip before taking her in a deep kiss once more. She angled her head so that the kiss moved deeper, and he met her sounds with a groan.

  He ached fiercely. More fiercely than ever before, he could swear. He used his grip on her
rear to move her closer, so close that their hips collided. He supposed he should be grateful she didn’t have the added barrier of skirts. He rubbed against her and moved his lips from her mouth to her neck, taking little bites along her flesh and feeling her shudder.

  She tapped his shoulder and drew in a long, shaky breath. “I think they are gone now.”

  He lifted his head and glanced around the street. A young couple strolled along the opposite side of the road, doing their best to ignore them. “Who?”

  “A friend,” she said. “I feared they might recognize me.”

  He eased his hands away from her, feeling as though she’d just thrown a bucket of ice-cold water over him. She’d been trying to hide. That was why she had kissed him.

  “So you thought that was the best way to hide?”

  “Well, no one wants to look at a couple kissing, do they?”

  “Right. Of course.”

  “I think it worked.” She grinned at him. “I had to think quickly there.”

  He straightened his jacket and retrieved her hat and hair comb for her, giving him a moment to draw in a long, cool breath of night air. He adjusted his breeches before he turned back to her but there was little he could do about it, especially considering she had felt every inch of him pressing against her only moments ago.

  He handed her the hat and comb. “Let’s get you home before you feel the need to do anymore kissing.”

  She blinked at him, her brow furrowing briefly. “Of course,” she said brightly. “Shall we investigate my uncle’s house tomorrow?”

  “We?”

  “You did not think I was letting you go on your own, did you?”

  Of course he didn’t. But he had rather hoped. That way, he could get a grip on himself and not think about how damned good her body had felt against his, and certainly not wonder if he would get another chance to kiss her again.

  Chapter Ten

  Rosamunde hauled the large bag over her shoulder. Russell eyed the cumbersome thing with a scowl. “You can leave that in the carriage.”