Capturing the Bride (The Kidnap Club Book 1) Read online

  She rolled, her face mere inches from his. “I am so sorry.” She shoved a strand of hair from her face. “So, so sorry.”

  “It was my fault. I pulled too hard.”

  “I should have had firmer footing. Of course, you would pull hard. You have more strength than I do.”

  She said it so matter-of-factly that he couldn’t even find it in himself to be flattered by her words. Not that he needed words at this point. He was far too focused on the fact that her slender body was atop him, aligned perfectly with one knee cradled between his legs and the other straddling his hip. From her wide eyes, he knew she had little idea the position she had put herself in.

  She rose up, one hand to his chest. “Are you quite well? Did I hurt you?”

  “I am fine,” he said with a grunt, trying to focus on the patch of white sky behind her and most certainly not on the line of her waist or the arch of her neck or, hell, even her fingers and how they were splayed upon his torso.

  “I never meant to hurt you.”

  “You did not hurt me,” he insisted through clenched teeth.

  Oh, but parts of him were hurting and if she remained there much longer, she would find out. But for some reason, his body refused to move. All he needed to do was gently ease her off him. Instead, he was lying here like an invalid, desperately trying to control his cock.

  “You seem a little dazed.” She touched his forehead then trailed her fingers down his temple, looking deep into his eyes. “Your pupils look a little dilated.”

  Yes, because you are so bloody close, he wanted to say. Because every breath he took hurt. Because he’d never had to fight so hard to maintain control.

  “I am fine,” he repeated.

  Grace flicked her gaze over him. “Perhaps you should lie still for a minute. I could get a cold compress or—”

  He grabbed the hand that lingered on his face. “No.”

  “But you could be hurt and not know it. You might have struck a rock or—”

  “No.”

  “Lift your head a little and let me see if you have hurt yourself.” She leaned forward, allowing him a glance between the thick fabric of her fichu and the plain neckline of her gown.

  He groaned. Good God.

  “See? you are hurt!”

  He gripped both her arms and eased her up. “I am not hurt, and you must get off immediately.”

  “Let me at least—” She tried to reach for the back of his head.

  “God damn it, woman, bloody get off!”

  She froze, her eyes wide. “I’m sorry, I did not mean to hurt you.”

  “I am not bloody well hurt.” He ground his teeth together, drawing in hot breaths through his nostrils. “But you must remove yourself immediately, Grace.”

  “But—”

  “Immediately,” he insisted.

  “Oh.” Her throat worked and her eyes widened further. She glanced down between them. “Oh!”

  Grace scrabbled off, a flurry of skirts, muttered apologies, and pink cheeks.

  Nash threw an arm over his face, unable to watch her scarper off. He glanced down at where his arousal tented his trousers. At least he didn’t have to worry about keeping his distance from her, he supposed. He’d terrified her enough that she would likely hide away in her room for the rest of her stay here.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Grace shoved aside the bundle of paper. It was no good. No matter how much she wrote or pondered on the matter, she could not figure out Nash.

  Or more to the point, she could not figure out his, erm, arousal situation.

  Every time she closed her eyes at night, she recalled his body pressing hard against hers. A mere glance at him had a rush of sensation, twisting, burning, coiling through her, until it became hard to breathe and every part of her heated. Most especially where their bodies had connected.

  It was biology, remember?

  Oh, well, her body remembered, and it did not matter how many times she told herself that she was a healthy female and he a healthy male and it was natural for nature to persuade them they should procreate.

  There was no forgetting the moment.

  She suspected Nash had not forgotten either which was strange. A man like Nash was bound to be experienced and had likely made love to many a woman. Why a little moment of arousal should embarrass him she could not be certain. He didn’t seem to be the sort to be embarrassed. But, then, as she had already concluded, she could not fathom him.

  Or herself, apparently, because at this very moment, a jolt of something sharp dug into her chest, like the prick of a needle, at the thought of him making love to other women.

  She glanced his way and tried to force aside the picture of him doing exactly what they were doing at present with another woman. Why should it matter that he had looked after others? That he had done anything so simple as sat in a drawing room, on two opposite sides of the room, whilst he read his newspaper by candlelight and she pretended to be occupied with her notes at the small table by the window.

  It did not matter. Logically and for any other reason. It absolutely did not matter.

  In which case, she did not need to ask about them.

  Most certainly not.

  “Nash?”

  Curses, what was wrong with her?

  He folded down the corner of the paper to peer at her. “Grace?”

  Well, she was committed now. So why not ask the questions? Maybe it would help her understand why she was feeling this way. She doubted it but one could only hope.

  She twisted around on the chair to face him. “Have you, um, looked after many women...in this way? That is, with the kidnapping, not in any other way, you understand, but just like this...like how we are doing...” She twined her hands together in her lap and cast her gaze down. This was not at all how one conducted an investigation, of that she was certain.

  “Yes, there have been several.”

  “Oh.”

  She knew that, so why on earth was she disappointed?

  “Were they...beautiful?”

  Oh Lord, that was not the intended question. Looks had nothing to do with anything. She did not hold them much in high regard. At least, perhaps, she had not until meeting Nash. She had to admit to finding his good looks extremely attractive but, also, she suspected, it did not help that she rather liked the man beneath. He seemed to just move through life without considering anything and she admired his boldness. She couldn’t recall a single time when she had not contemplated even the simplest of decisions.

  A dark brow rose. “Some, yes.”

  “Why did they come to you?”

  He folded the paper and set it aside on the sofa. “I don’t think I should be discussing their affairs with you, Grace.”

  “No, of course.”

  Inwardly, she cringed. Naturally, he could not, and as playful as he could be, she knew he would not compromise his honor. The fact that he had pushed her away when he had become aroused made that obvious. A man like Nash could have any woman he wanted. It would have been easy for him to seduce her.

  So easy.

  She resisted the desire to clap hands to her cheeks. Good Lord, this was more than a simple biological desire. She felt it, deep, deep down, this need to touch and taste and feel his body against hers. To explore his unique maleness and study him so, so much closer.

  “They all needed help, is all I can say. Some needed to escape to make a new life, some were in slightly similar situations to you.”

  She forced a smile and pushed away the ghosts of beautiful women breezing about the drawing room in their elegant way. Grace was never one for comparisons, but it was no good, that silly emotion that was jealousy was working its way deep. If this were a mere desire to breed, surely she would not be feeling such things?

  “I am sure they are most grateful for your aid,” she said tightly.

  “I was glad to help them.”

  “And to be paid.”

  Now why did she feel the need to say that? Would it
put distance between them somehow, if she reminded herself that once she gained her inheritance, she would owe these kidnappers a healthy sum.

  He chuckled. “That does not hurt either.” He pointed to the roof. “In case you had not noticed, this house does rather need the funds.”

  She glanced up toward the damp patch that stained one corner. “How exactly did this house get in such a state?”

  “It’s rather simple really. I lack money and this house costs a lot of it.”

  “But you must come from wealth, surely? You are heir to a title after all.”

  “Grace, you are a clever woman. You know that not all nobility have the wealth to match their titles.”

  “Yes, I suppose I do.” But the answers still explained little about him. “But how did you come to have no wealth? And where is your family? Your father cannot be dead if you have not inherited.”

  His posture changed again, his jaw hardening. “My father is alive and the rest of it is a long story.” He smiled quickly. “Let us talk on nicer matters. Like, your own fortune, for example. What a boon that shall be once you have inherited.”

  THE DISAPPOINTMENT IN her expression didn’t pass Nash’s notice. However, the last thing he wanted to do was indulge her curiosity about him. The less she knew, the better. And, damn it, for the first time ever, he was feeling mightily ashamed of his past indiscretions. How could he explain his lack of fortune and this crumbling house was all down to him? Down to his greed? The very thing she loathed her uncle for.

  He’d always thought his father to blame for his current situation but now that he considered explaining it to someone—someone as good and wholesome and clever as Grace—it seemed ridiculous.

  No one put the cards in his hand. No one forced him to bet money he didn’t have.

  He blew out a breath. Still, it did not mean his father had to cut him off in such a way and break his promises to fix Guildham House. He loved this house and had dreamed for years of returning it to its former glory. Now that chance was gone. He couldn’t forgive that.

  “What shall you do once you are free of your uncle?” he asked. It was much better that he think of her future too. A future without him. Then perhaps he could get his damned desires under control. Not much longer and she’d be deposited home, of age, and fully independent.

  And nowhere near him.

  “You know I hope to set up a home with my aunt.”

  “But what else?”

  She opened her mouth, closed it, and frowned.

  “You must have some other ambitions. Or someone you are interested in perhaps,” he forced himself to ask, knowing if she answered in the positive it would be more painful than he was willing to admit.

  “Interested?”

  “Someone other than that bastard Worthington?”

  “Oh.” She shook her head vigorously. “I have had little to do with society and I doubt I would garner anyone’s attention even if I had.” She lifted a shoulder. “Besides, I have no interest in gaining a husband.”

  “Your inheritance may change that.”

  “I doubt that.”

  Nash curled a hand around the arm of the sofa. It was all he could do to keep from standing up, striding over, and giving her a good, long shake. He couldn’t blame the men in Town for missing this beauty due to her being hidden away but when it became known she was an heiress with reasonable wealth to her name, they would certainly pay attention. And, if they were clever, they would see that they were not only getting a wealthy wife, but a smart and beautiful one too.

  He smirked to himself. Smart, in many ways perhaps, but entirely ignorant as to how appealing she was. Even after the other day, she kept blinking at him, that little furrow appearing between her brow, as though she could not fathom why having her on top of him had summoned an erection that had taken two cold baths to rid himself of.

  “So you and your aunt shall live tucked away in the country somewhere? And do what with yourselves?”

  She blinked a few times. God’s teeth, why did he find the way she blinked so unnerving? He wanted to delve in there and pull whatever thoughts were rioting around her mind out. No doubt there were many. One could practically see Grace’s mind ticking over, like the cogs of a clock, if one looked hard enough. He suspected the woman never once did anything spontaneous or without thinking hard about it first.

  “I suppose I might get another cat...”

  “That’s it? Your grand plan is to get another cat?”

  She folded her arms. “I had not really thought much farther than avoiding marrying a murderer and getting away from my uncle if I am honest.”

  “Well, at least be ambitious. Why not get five cats?”

  “I might very well do that.”

  “And a goat.”

  “That too.”

  “You can have the peacock if you wish.”

  Her chin lifted. “I could provide him an excellent home I am sure.”

  Yes, no doubt, she could provide them all a loving home where she would write about them and study them and figure out their inner nature and pander to them perfectly.

  Good Lord, he was jealous of a peacock and goat and a fictional group of cats.

  “Sounds like an excellent plan,” he muttered.

  She huffed and unfolded her arms. “I cannot help that I am boring, Nash. I am sorry I do not have a crumbling mansion and a mysterious past.” She lifted her hands. “This is me. I have little ambition and I like animals. That is it. I am boring.”

  Nash rose to his feet before he had quite fathomed what he was doing. He strode over and took her elbows in his hands, drawing her up to meet him. Her lips parted and her eyes widened.

  “What are you—?”

  “Do not ever say that again,” he said firmly.

  “But—”

  “You are far, far, far from boring.”

  He curled a hand around her neck and kissed her. Hard. It took all of two seconds. Two mere seconds and they were pressed together, her lips beneath his. Two seconds to break all of his silent promises to himself, to Grace, and all those very real promises he had made to Guy.

  She tasted so damned good, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

  After a little squeak of surprise, she settled against him, and he wrapped an arm around her waist to bring her closer. Her fingers dug into his upper arms while he explored her lips with his—only briefly, long enough to gain entrance.

  She made another sound, one that tugged deep inside him and made him harder than a stone statue. Her body softened further, and he gripped her to him tight, pushing the kiss hard and deep, sweeping his tongue into her mouth with a groan.

  It was no good. He was lost to her.

  EVEN IF GRACE had her notes to hand, she was not certain she would be able to put the kiss into words.

  Warm perhaps. Soft. But not soft.

  Hard, firm, demanding.

  But his lips were soft.

  It was such a strange concoction of opposites.

  She finally settled on delicious.

  Yes, that sounded right. Delicious covered it in so many ways without it being too specific. His arms wrapped about her was a delicious sensation. He tasted delicious. And the feeling inside her could be classed as that too. Utterly, completely delicious.

  She had never been kissed before unless she counted when Robert Fletcher pressed a slimy kiss to her cheek when her father was still alive but she had a strong suspicion there were not many men who could kiss and make it so...so...delicious.

  Nash eased his grip on her neck then loosened his hold on her waist. When he moved back and broke the kiss, she could not hold back the satisfied sigh that escaped her.

  “Well, that was nice,” she said softly.

  “Nice?” he echoed, his voice slightly choked.

  “Indeed.” She nodded. “You are an excellent kisser.”

  He stared at her as though she had sprouted horns or turned into Claude.

  “I cannot have been the
first woman to say that...”

  “No.” He rubbed a hand across his face. “That is...” He took a few steps away from her. “Grace, I...”

  His shirtsleeves were crumpled from where she’d gripped him so tightly. It made her want to grab them again and haul him back to her.

  How many times would she relive that kiss in the future? And if she did it again, would it be different this time? What was a gentler kiss like? What was it like to kiss lying down? She had seen it illustrated in books that she most certainly should not have read but if one was to fully understand humans or animals, one had to understand the basic mechanics of procreation as far as she was concerned.

  “Stop it,” he said abruptly.

  “Stop what?”

  “Thinking.”

  “Thinking? What do you mean?”

  “I can see it.” He made a twirling motion with a finger. “I can see your brain working behind those big eyes. It’s enough to drive a man mad.”

  She scowled. “Thinking can drive a man mad?”

  “Yes. No.” He blew out a breath. “It’s the content of your thoughts,” he explained.

  “How can you possibly know the contents of my thoughts?”

  “Your eyes go wider, and you blink a lot. It usually means you are having complex thoughts that should never, ever be said aloud.”

  “Goodness.” Was she so obvious? That was a little disconcerting. Surely he could not tell that she was wondering how it would feel if she touched him more? If she just slipped a hand inside his shirt and felt the warmth of his—

  “Stop it, damn it.”

  “Goodness,” she murmured again.

  “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “Well, I am very sorry if I have embarrassed you.”

  He chuckled. “Grace, I am certainly not embarrassed, but you must cease your thoughts.” He shook his head in dismay and she realized her mind had slipped, following her gaze down the length of him. She snapped her gaze to his and laced her fingers demurely together.

  “I am here to look after you, nothing else. I most certainly should not have kissed you.”

  “But as I said it was—”