Taking the Spinster (The Kidnap Club Book 3)

by Samantha Holt

  He touched the brim of his hat. “Miss Haversham.” He glanced down at the white dog at her heel, its face a muddle of wrinkles and its legs short and stumpy, almost like a bulldog but not quite right. “What manner of dog is that?” he asked before he could stop himself.

  A carriage zipped between them. She shrugged. “He’s a bulldog,” she confirmed. “Sort of anyway. We think he’s a mix of some kind.”

  “To be certain,” he muttered.

  “Whatever are you doing here, my lord?” she asked, head cocked slightly.

  He struggled for an answer. There were a few, after all. Making a fool of himself could be one. Digging himself into deeper trouble with her was another. Or the most realistic answer, what, he had no idea. Now that he had found her, his grand plan of sending her chasing some other story appeared preposterous.

  “I thought as the weather was dry...” He gestured vaguely. Several men on horseback passed, making the ground vibrate.

  “It is better than yesterday to be certain.” She motioned to her face. “How is your cheek?”

  “Oh better, thank you.” He winced. This was not going as planned. “How is your—”

  A procession of carriages moved between them. He despised parks. What could be a better waste of one’s time than trying to avoid being run over by those who wished so desperately to be seen? He had far better things to do with his time.

  And yet he was here. With her.

  Spying a gap in the crowds, he darted across the path to join her, feeling the whip of wind blow past him as someone on horseback rode impatiently by.

  “Damned parks,” he muttered.

  “If you had come here yesterday, it was much quieter.”

  He glanced at her. “It was pouring rain yesterday.”

  “Yes, I do recall.” Her eyes crinkled with amusement.

  Guy cursed inwardly. Why did this woman make him feel like a virginial whelp?

  Perhaps because it was not that far from the truth but still, he was no whelp. He had spent much of his life interacting with rich and beautiful women, smart ones too. Some of them likely even more determined than her. Lord knew, plenty of them had been interested in his hand in marriage and had concocted many ridiculous scenarios to spend time with him.

  Now he was in his mid-thirties, the eagerness had abated. Of course, it helped he kept away from all but the essential events. It seemed his self-inflicted isolation had roughened his manners and made him forget how to behave around women entirely.

  “You really do walk here every day?”

  She nodded. “Oh yes. Brig loves to see the people.” She paused. “Well, hear the people.”

  “Sorry?”

  “He’s practically blind,” she told him. “But he loves to be outside and he gets quite tetchy if he does not have a walk every day.”

  He peered down at the dog who had perched his rear on a patch of grass and seemed quite content with merely sitting there, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. “I see.” He frowned. “Brig?”

  “He’s called The Brigadier really. He was a commanding, severe sort of a puppy so it seemed to suit. But he’s very old so I like to do what I can to keep him happy. He deserves it.”

  He glanced at Miss Haversham, briefly catching the softness in her expression before it was tucked away. He knew why he kept himself hard and unyielding but why did she, he wondered. He almost wished he could relive that moment once more, just so he could see the slight curve of her lips and the steeliness vanish from her gaze.

  A few moments passed. She bit her lip and stared at the ground before looking up. “Well, your cheek looks better so that is—”

  “Shall we walk together?” he suggested in a rush of words. He’d come here with a plan and damn it, he was going to fulfil it, no matter how awkward and tangled and ridiculous this woman made him feel. Somehow, he needed to keep her away from The Kidnap Club.

  OF ALL THE things Freya had expected to come from Lord Huntingdon, asking her to walk with him was not one of them. Especially after yesterday.

  Admittedly, attacking him with an umbrella had not been her finest of moments but he had also made it clear he had no patience for her questions. He had described the last time he’d seen Lady Steele in the vaguest of terms and could tell her little more. She could not help think that if she had seen someone just the day before they had vanished into thin air, she would recall every moment, trying to figure out if there was some clue hidden in the interaction.

  Something was still not right about the earl and she would welcome an opportunity to dig deeper.

  However, she had certainly not expected that opportunity to be brought so directly to her.

  “Shall we?” he pressed, indicating down the slender path that cut through the grass toward The Serpentine. Autumn had left the park an array of greens, browns, yellows and reds. The beddings offered up nothing more than empty patches of dirt. Yet the park never seemed to get quieter, not until the dead of winter. So it shouldn’t mean anything that he was here really. After all, she didn’t own the park. She could not control who came and visited.

  It was still odd, though. That little instinct that had driven her this far through life niggled at her. She couldn’t let this be, no matter how she felt about the earl.

  Which was almost nothing of course. How could she feel anything else? She scarcely knew the man and dabbing his cheek with a handkerchief and being gifted one of his blankets hardly constituted as a friendship let alone anything else.

  Anything else. What was wrong with her? The only way they could be more divided was if he was royalty. He would never understand her life and she would never comprehend his.

  “Miss Haversham?” he pressed.

  Warmth flooded her cheeks. She must look like she was one step away from the asylum, standing here and contemplating their relationship. Or lack of.

  “I cannot,” she admitted.

  The furrow between his brow deepened “Cannot what? Walk?” He peered down at her. “Are you injured?”

  “No, I—”

  “I see.” His stance stiffened. “Well, I shall leave you—”

  “No!” She blew out a breath and tried again, more softly this time. “No, it’s just that The Brigadier cannot walk any further.” She gestured to the dog. “Once he sits like this, he struggles to get up. I shall have to carry him home now.”

  He glanced between her and the dog several times. “So you bring him for a walk, but he does not even walk?”

  “Well, he manages it a little way here. He’s very old,” she reminded him.

  “And you carry him home?”

  She nodded.

  “He must weigh a ton.”

  Freya lifted her chin. “I’m stronger than I look.”

  “Indeed.” He kneeled down and gave the dog a rub under his chin.

  She expected that he would bid her good day then. And she couldn’t fathom a reason to persuade him to stay. Oh yes, Lord Huntingdon, why do you not remain here at my side while my blind dog sits on the grass and does absolutely nothing? But she needed him to stay. Desperately.

  For the story of course.

  “Perhaps—”

  He scooped the dog up in both arms. The Brigadier panted heavily, showing no sign of any unease in the earl’s arms.

  “What are you—?”

  “Which way is home?” the earl asked.

  “You really do not need to—”

  “He weighs a ton. Are you certain you do this every day?”

  Freya gestured along the path that led toward the north gates. “Every day,” she confirmed. “He would be frightfully sad if I did not. Are you certain you can manage him?”

  “Miss Haversham, I would think you would know better than to question a man’s strength, especially when he is in front of a pretty woman.”

  She blinked several times, glancing around. “Oh. You mean—”

  He gave her a sideways look and she bit down on her tongue. For an intrepid reporter, she was
being incredibly slow around this man. She could put it down to several things—the great divide between their wealth perhaps or an opening that was vastly different.

  Oh, yes, she could not forget that he was keeping secrets of some kind. Of that much, she was certain.

  She’d be a fool not to admit, however, that the sight of him hauling her dog around like a fat, white baby touched something inside her. She’d also be a fool if she let it dissuade her from her investigations. For all she knew, he had come here deliberately, to charm her in some way and stop her following this story. Well, it didn’t matter if he did look dashing in his winter coat with her dog shedding hairs all over the black fabric. Nothing would stop her from getting her big chance.

  “Lord Huntingdon, I cannot help but feel there is something you are not telling me about Lady Steele.”

  He scowled. “I answered all your questions.”

  “As vaguely as possible.”

  “I’m not certain how one can be specific when one knows very little.” He hefted the dog in his arms with a grunt, moving the animal so he had a view over the earl’s shoulder. “He seems to prefer that.”

  “Brig wasn’t always blind so I think sometimes he pretends he can see.”

  “Pretends? Dear Lord,” he muttered.

  “Back to Lady Steele.”

  “I told you all I know. We, as members of the nobility, tend to run in the same circles. We had a little polite conversation, likely discussed the weather, the health of her family and all that, and went our separate ways. She did not imply she had any intention of vanishing nor that she was in some sort of danger.”

  “Danger? Do you think she knew she would be kidnapped? That someone would try to harm her?”

  “That is not what I said,” he said tightly.

  “Do you not think these kidnappings strange, though? Does it not concern you? What if it was your mother or...someone else?”

  “My mother avoids England at all costs. Too cold apparently.” He paused and fixed her with a look. “Unfortunately, the roads are dangerous. They always have been, especially when one is travelling in a luxurious vehicle. Highwaymen have been in existence forever and I’m certain they will remain so.”

  “So you think these men are taking these women, ransoming them then killing them? Surely it would be easier to return the women?”

  “I don’t think anything,” he insisted. “Because I do not know anything. I am no highwayman but if I were you, Miss Haversham, I would turn my attention away from the kidnappings and back to my gossip columns. If they are willing to kill noble ladies, I’m certain you could end up in danger too.”

  She pursed her lips. “That sounds like a threat, my lord.”

  “A warning, Miss Haversham, nothing more. I have no desire to see you harmed. Continue with your gossip column. You’re so good at it after all.”

  “I wish to write this story, my lord.”

  “Write about balls and the like. I’m certain the gossip columns are far less work than pursuing whatever silly story you think you have here.”

  Freya held in a heated breath for several seconds She could recall almost every moment she had been told something similar. You’re a woman, Miss Haversham, stick to what you know or women simply do not have the capacity to write of the real world or some word of derision aimed at female writers in general. She had heard it all and each phrase would be forever embedded in her, just like his dismissive words would be.

  Releasing the breath and feeling rather like a furious dragon, finally taking care of the knight who had been pestering her for so long, she glared at him. “I am not scared of hard work.”

  She snatched the dog from his arms and pivoted away from him, taking fast steps along the street to create distance between them.

  “I can carry him the rest of the way,” he offered while he hurried to catch up.

  “No, thank you, Lord Huntingdon. I can manage perfectly well on my own,” she called over her shoulder. “Good day.”

  She could manage the heavy dog perfectly well on her own, just as she would figure out this story on her own too. And if Lord Huntingdon was somehow involved, she’d make certain she would be the first to find out.

  Chapter Six

  Every day. Miss Haversham lugged that bloody heavy dog to the park, there and back, every damned day.

  Guy flung aside a dinner invitation and flicked a penknife underneath the wax seal of the next letter, not even taking the time to note the crest as it opened with a satisfying pop of broken wax.

  Rubbing his forehead, he squinted at the writing then lowered it to the desk and pushed it aside. He had too much work to do not to mention the duchess’s sister to worry about. If he was to help her, they needed to make a move sooner rather than later. With any luck his brother Russell would have some news before long. The man had grown up an orphan and had an uncanny ability to slip through society unnoticed, and no one knew London quite like he did.

  So he shouldn’t be thinking about a blind old dog.

  And the woman who carried him all the time. She’d even mentioned being there in the rain. He could picture it now, her hefting that great lump about while rain seeped through the holes in her coat. There had to be an easier way of keeping the dog happy, surely?

  He shook his head to himself and retrieved the discarded letter. All he had to do was read it and not think about the dog. Or Miss Haversham. Hardly a challenge considering he’d taken on an earldom at the age of one and twenty and partaken in several kidnappings of high-profile society ladies. This should be a cinch.

  Of course, it did not help he’d offended her. He still heard her curt ‘good day’ and pictured the regal stance of her shoulders as she carted the dog away. How anyone could look regal with such a lummox of a dog in their arms, he did not know, but she managed it.

  It was good really. If she stopped pestering him, he would be free to continue aiding these ladies unhindered by a stalking, intrusive reporter.

  A light tap at the door brought welcome relief from the jumble that had become his thoughts. “Enter.”

  Russell ducked into the study, his long length occupying most of the doorway. Russell glanced at the portrait of their father. Guy had discovered mention of his half-brother a while ago, but Marcus Russell hadn’t known about it until recently. He had been understandably angry being a self-sufficient sort of a man, but they had come to a decent understanding.

  It had to be strange for Russell, though, to have gained a family and a history and frankly, Guy was too busy to push for anything more than they already had. They were never going to be the sort to embrace or share all their innermost secrets and he was happy to keep it that way. Hell, the fewer people who knew the full ins and outs of his life, the better. He couldn’t even imagine trying to explain to Russell the real reason Amelia had left him...

  “Do you have a moment?” Russell gestured to the scattered pile of letters and documents on his desk.

  “Of course.” Guy gestured for him to sit.

  Russell settled his length into the chair, seeming too long for the thing. Miss Haversham had certainly looked a darn sight more pleasant in it than his brother, fitting almost perfectly against the curved wooden back, her rear nestled into the plush velvet. He scowled. Good God. He’d gone from fat old dogs to salaciously picturing Miss Haversham’s rear. He didn’t even find her attractive.

  Did he?

  Guy leaned forward. “You have news?”

  “Nothing good.” Russell pulled off his gloves and laid them in his lap. “The husband keeps a close eye on his wife. Half the time, it’s almost as if she doesn’t exist. She doesn’t have any friends or family visit, and if he does go out, he leaves her with at least two companions.” Russell’s lips tightened. “And when I say companions, I mean two brutes who look as though they have had more a chequered background than I have.”

  “To protect her or to prevent her from escaping?”

  “The latter, for certain. I spotted her wi
th them when he left her one day and she looked decidedly uncomfortable.”

  “She looked well though?”

  “As well as a nervous wreck of a woman can.”

  “So you spoke with her?”

  Russell shook his head. “I couldn’t get near her, but I know people and I know she’s terrified.”

  Guy hissed out a breath. “Damn it.”

  “We’ll get to her. Somehow.”

  “Continue following her. I’ll figure something out. It certainly seems as though Lady Clearbury’s concerns were valid.”

  Russell nodded gravely. “I’ve seen too many battered women in my life to miss the signs.”

  Jaw tight, Guy rubbed a hand over his face. “So have I.”

  First his mother then his cousin. Would these damned beasts of men never cease? Russell didn’t know the extent of their father’s behavior, but he had been a bully and entirely happy to lay a hand on Guy’s mother when he felt like it. On Guy too at times. He’d been lucky to grow tall and strong quickly enough to put an end to any of that and his mother spent as much time away from home as possible. Russell knew the man was a callous bastard, but he had little idea quite how bad he was.

  Then there had been his cousin, who had begged him for help escaping an abusive marriage. Thus The Kidnap Club had been born—helping women flee or hide temporarily without the blame ever being put on them if they were caught. Daisy lived in Ireland now and her husband had given up hope of finding her.

  Guy only wished her husband would pay for what he did.

  “I’ll speak to Lady Clearbury again, see if she has any idea of Lord Pembroke’s schedule. Maybe we can engineer some moment alone with Lady Pembroke.”

  “I’ll wait for word from you.” Russell rose. “Oh, that Miss Haversham...”

  Guy grimaced. Just when he thought he’d forgotten all about her.

  “What about her?”

  “She’s meeting with Rosie this afternoon. Wants to ask her all about her attempted kidnapping.”

  A harsh curse word nearly escaped him. “And your wife agreed?”

  Russell shrugged. “You know Rosie. I can’t tell her what to do and I certainly don’t intend to start now.”