Capturing the Bride (The Kidnap Club Book 1)

by Samantha Holt

  “Nice, I know.”

  He uttered the word as though she had said something horrible like…like turd.

  “Regardless, if it was nice, I should not have done it.”

  “There is no harm,” she insisted. “I am not scandalized or upset. I won’t tell anyone.”

  “But I’ll know.” He prodded his chest with a finger. “I am many things, Grace, but I do not break promises, and I vowed I would not touch you.”

  “Vowed to whom?”

  “The others, The Kidnap Club.”

  She swallowed as a knot jarred itself in the top of her throat. “Do you...do you make a habit of, um, touching the other women?”

  “Of course not.”

  If she had a chair nearby, she might have collapsed into relief. Preposterous really. Nash had no doubt kissed and made love to many women in his past, but she loathed the thought of him kissing the other women who had stood in her shoes.

  “So why would you need to make such a vow?”

  His lips slanted. “I have a reputation as somewhat of a rake, Grace. I am surprised you have not figured that out by now.”

  “I can see that you might be considered as such, but you have done nothing that would make me think you might take advantage of a woman. In fact, you have been nothing but kind and gentlemanly.”

  He grimaced. “If you think your thoughts are salacious, you would be shocked by mine.”

  “Oh.”

  “And I would never take advantage of a woman. Ever. But in this situation, it would be too easy for you to fall for me.”

  “Fall for you?”

  “I am your protector, your shoulder to cry on. The one rescuing you from your awful predicament.”

  She peered at him. “I am paying you to rescue me, so I am not wholly certain it counts as rescuing.”

  “My point is, I cannot kiss you again. I will not kiss you again.”

  “It seems a shame really. I think we were quite good at it.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Nice. Even now the word stung.

  Nice.

  The understatement of the decade.

  No, the century.

  Nice.

  Nash curled his lip and closed the door to the stables. The word echoed with his footsteps back to the house. Nice, nice, nice, nice. It hadn’t left him since last night. Every creak he heard, every time he tossed in his bed and the bed frame rattled, it hissed it at him, like a jeer.

  Nice.

  That kiss had been more than nice. It had been compelling, enticing, delectable, titillating...anything but nice.

  It had also been wrong. As he had reminded Grace, he was many things, but he never went back on his word, and he loathed anyone who did so. He knew all too well how a promise broken could ruin everything, including family relationships.

  So was it not better that she thought it simply nice?

  Though, from the way he’d seen her mind working, he suspected she had been working on other ways to explore how nice the kiss was. He couldn’t deny he was doing the same but at least he managed to keep the thoughts to himself. Knowing she was picturing them together was pure and utter torture.

  He strode into the house, grunting a greeting at Mary as she bustled by with an armful of linen.

  “Nash, the food arrived today, and I’ve put a fresh newspaper in the drawing room for you.”

  He paused and muttered a thank you. If Mary thought him rude, she would not be wrong, but she said nothing. He took the stairs two at a time. The last thing he had time for was discussing the food delivery or the latest newspaper. Especially not when he was in danger of embarrassing himself most sincerely thanks to Grace.

  “Grace!” he spluttered, nearly running into her at the top of the stairs.

  “Sorry.” She took a few steps back and peered over her shoulder toward the left wing of the house. Her cheeks were pink, even in the dark light of the hallway.

  “What are you doing?”

  Apart from driving him to the edge of insanity that was.

  “Oh, well...” She rocked on her heels. “I was a little bored, you see, and you were out riding so...”

  “So...?”

  She pursed her lips. He groaned inwardly and focused on the patch of wall behind her where the tapestry had frayed at the edges. Nothing exciting at all. Completely and utterly dull. No lips, no mouths, nothing tempting.

  Because he absolutely would not, most definitely kiss her again. If he did, he could say goodbye to this income and most likely his friends too. He rubbed a hand over his jaw. If this continued, he’d have to admit to Russell he was struggling. Maybe he could come and watch over her instead.

  No, he didn’t want Russell alone with her. The man might not be charming, but he was clever and handsome. Then Grace might want to kiss him instead and there was no way in hell Nash was letting that happen.

  Kisses. Lips. Mouth. Grace’s mouth. His gaze landed on it again and he caught the last of what she was saying.

  “...a look.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I was hoping I might have a look.” She motioned down the hallway. “At the east wing?” she explained when he stared at her blankly. “I tried the door, but it is locked.”

  “Ah.” He patted the pocket of his waistcoat. “I have the key, somewhere.”

  “I thought perhaps you might not want me to look. In case there was something you did not want me seeing.”

  He tugged out the small set of keys. Mary kept the larger set on her person, but he had a few in case he needed to go into any of the other rooms.

  “Did you think perhaps I have a wife hidden in one of the rooms? Or a hideously disfigured relative?”

  She shook her head. “I know you keep them locked because they are derelict, but you are less than forthcoming with information about yourself. One cannot help think you might have a little something to hide.”

  Only a past that he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with.

  “There is little to tell,” he said blithely. “An education at Cambridge, some time spent in London, and then I joined The Kidnap Club.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I think there must be more to you than that.”

  “Nothing of note, I can assure you.”

  Unless one counted lots of debts, too much time at the gaming tables, and a father who cut him off.

  He opened the door to the east wing, leaving it ajar so the light could penetrate the long, dark hallway. It smelled of must and damp. He moved in front of her, easing her back with a hand to her arm. “I haven’t been in here in a few months so be careful. The floor is rotten in a few places.”

  “What a shame this house is suffering. It would be so sad to see it fall apart.”

  He nodded. It would. He’d spent several happy summers here as a boy until his father had purchased a house closer to the coast. Then the building had been forgotten about.

  Just as he had.

  “I intend to see it all repaired but as you can imagine, it would cost a large sum, and I am rather in want of funds at present.” He took her hand to lead her down the corridor. “I always loved this house.” He smiled. “One day, though, I shall see it restored to its former glory.”

  “THAT SOUNDS LOVELY. But why does no one else care for this house?”

  His jaw tightened and Grace almost regretted the question. She saw the love and admiration in his face for the house whenever he spoke of it. She had to wonder why his father, wherever he was, did not get involved in repairing a house that must be worth a fortune.

  “For some reason, I am the only one in my family with any attachment to it. I suppose it is because I was here a lot when my parents were travelling.”

  She nodded and peered down the darkened corridor. A whistle of wind echoed down in and she stilled. “Perhaps this is not such a good idea. There might be rats.”

  “I thought you liked animals.”

  “Rats are rodents.”

  “You said the floors are rotten,
what if we fall through a hole?”

  “I said this floor is. The lower floor is still in excellent condition.”

  “When did you last step foot in there again?”

  “A few months ago,” he replied casually.

  “So there could be holes there now.”

  “It would not deteriorate that quickly.” He shook his head with a grin. “Come now, do you not trust me to keep you safe?”

  She pursed her lips and looked into the darkened shadows of his face where she could just make out his amused gaze. “There is nothing wrong with being cautious, you know.”

  “Not at all. So long as it does not prevent one from enjoying life to the fullest.”

  “Are you ever cautious, Nash?”

  He took a moment before answering, “Probably not.”

  “You really should try it sometimes.”

  “Just as you should try to be bolder at times.” He tugged on her hand. “Come on, this shall be worth it, I promise.”

  “Very well.” She allowed him to guide her down the darkened staircase. “Though, I should like to point out that it is all very easy for you to talk about taking chances.”

  He aided her down the last step into the gloom. A little sliver of light escaped from around a door ahead of them, guiding them forward. “How so?”

  “Well, you are a man, and you are strong, and from a good family. I assume. You are allowed to be bold.”

  He stopped by the door. “I suppose you are right.” Turning the knob, he pushed it open and she blinked in the sudden light.

  Any thoughts of boldness or caution left her when she peered into the room. A grand ballroom spread out before her. Though shutters concealed every tall window, a huge glass dome that mimicked the one in the entrance hall let in swathes of beautiful colored light. She slipped her hand out of Nash’s and stepped forward, her shoes tapping on the marbled floor until she reached the center of the room, right beneath the dome. She craned her neck to make out the stained-glass patterns above.

  “This is beautiful.”

  He joined her in the middle of the room. “Yes, it is.”

  She glanced down to find him staring at her. Her throat tightened and she fought to draw in her next breath.

  Looking quickly away, he gestured around the room. “It didn’t see many balls when I was younger, but my grandfather spent most of his time in the country and preferred to host them here.”

  “It seems such a shame this space is not used.”

  “I hope to put it to use one day.”

  Grace peered down at where her shoes peeked out from her hem. She did not much want to think about Nash dancing around the ballroom with some elegant woman on his arm. A woman who would most likely be his wife. After all, nobility had to marry at some point.

  She moved away from him in a bid to escape the silly jealousy pouring through her. She had no claim over this man and had anyone asked her a few weeks ago if she had ever experienced the emotion, she would have decried it as a waste of time.

  It still was. As tired and as old as this building was, it was a reminder of the differences between them. He was bold, she was cautious. She came from a simple life, he did not. He would go on to be a lord one day while she would find herself tucked away with her aunt somewhere, likely living the life of a spinster.

  She did a circle of the room and stopped by a family portrait. Their clothing appeared relatively modern, so she had to assume the painting was not old. “Who is this?”

  Nash took her hand to lead her away. “No one in particular.”

  She rooted her feet and studied the painting. Two parents, three children—one older girl, a little boy who could not be more than two years of age, and a baby in the mother’s arms. She leaned in to look closer. “Is this little boy you?”

  “Yes, handsome little fellow, was I not? Now, let us take a look—”

  “And these are your parents, and your siblings?”

  “Yes, yes,” he said, impatience edging his voice.

  “I did not know you had siblings.”

  “It never really came up.” He tried to pull her away again. “Why do we not—”

  “Why would you not mention such a thing?”

  He blew out a breath. “Because it does not matter, Grace. I do not see them and that is all there is to it.”

  “You don’t see your family? Any of them?”

  “No,” he snapped. “Not my father, not my mother, not my sisters.”

  “Oh.” She tilted her head. “But why?”

  He dropped her hand. “None of them like me very much, that is why. Now, shall we continue?”

  So much of her wished to ask more but his tense posture and hard jaw prevented her. For some reason, Nash did not wish to share anything about his family with her. What secret was he hiding?

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Bloody hell,” Nash muttered under his breath. He shoved back his blankets and rose from bed, putting a hand to the post of the bed and battling with the curtains around it to escape.

  When he finally freed himself, he blinked in the darkness, trying to fathom the source of the sound. It had definitely been a crash of some kind, something falling or breaking perhaps. But he couldn’t see any sign of anything once his eyes had adjusted.

  He stilled.

  Bloody hell.

  Grace.

  Someone had found them. Someone was trying to get to her.

  He’d damn well kill them.

  He raced out of the bedroom and barged through her door, fists raised. The window was ajar, curtains blowing in the aggressive wind. He heard the splatter of rain upon the glass. But there was no one.

  No one except Grace huddled on her bed, her knees pulled up against her chest, her eyes wide. He released a breath and lowered his fists. “What happened?”

  “The...the wind. It must have blown open the window.”

  He moved over to the window to see the pane had cracked with the force of the wind and the lock had broken away from the wood frame. Once he had retrieved a taper and lit a candle, he spied broken glass near the side of her bed.

  “Do not move,” he ordered.

  She shook her head vigorously.

  Thankfully the window had not entirely shattered and only a few large shards of glass sat beneath the window. He hated to think what might have happened had it shattered completely. Grace could have been severely hurt. Damn it, he should have checked the room better, ensured it was in good repair.

  At least it was not what he had thought, and her wretched fiancé had not come to steal her away from him.

  That was, from this house.

  Not from him. He didn’t own her.

  His insides itched uncomfortably with the knowledge that a strong part of him would very much like to own her. To have the freedom to kiss her and touch her and listen to all her insistent questions and encourage her to take a chance every now and then.

  He scooped up the few shards and tucked them into a handkerchief then set it on the small table by the fireplace. Finally, he turned to Grace. Still curled up in a tiny ball, her eyes wide, her skin pale. She shivered and gripped her legs tighter.

  “You cannot stay here,” he said. “You’ll freeze. Let us get you into one of the other bedrooms and I’ll have a fire lit.”

  “I-I do not think I can move.”

  “I’ve cleared away the glass, you shall be quite safe from harm.”

  She shook her head.

  Frowning, Nash eased down onto the bed beside her, his weight on the mattress making it sink so that she ended up leaning into him. He snatched a blanket from the bottom of the bed and pulled it up over her. “Grace?”

  Her wide gaze met his. “I thought...” She inhaled a shuddery breath. “I thought it was my uncle. Or Mr. Worthington come to get me.”

  “I thought that for a moment too.”

  Her chin quivered. “I was so scared and all I could do was sit here, frozen.”

  He looped an arm around her
shoulder to draw her close. “You’re safe now,” he soothed. “I will never, ever let anything happen to you.”

  It was a lie, of course. Once she turned one and twenty, this would be over, and he’d likely never see her again. What happened to her in future would not be up to him.

  She nodded, pressing her face into his chest and curling her fingers around the collar of his shirt as though it was a lifeline. He concentrated carefully on taking steady breaths and ignoring the brush of her fingers against his bare skin. Now was most certainly not the time to think about how he was only wearing a shirt with nothing beneath it and she was in a mere slip of shift and from what he had seen of her before, she wouldn’t have anything on underneath it either.

  Not the time at all.

  His breaths grew hotter, the hairs on the back of his neck pricked. Good God, what a cad he was. Here she was, terrified, and he could only think about how easy it would be to slip a hand up her thighs and find out exactly what was beneath the white fabric.

  “I bet you are never scared of anything,” she murmured against his chest.

  “Not at all.” He rubbed her shoulder with his free hand. “I was extremely scared something had happened to you only moments ago.”

  She lifted her head and peered up at him. The wind tugged at the loose strands of hair around her face and her eyes glistened. “In truth?”

  “In truth,” he said solemnly.

  “I know it is your job to look out for me, but I cannot help but like it,” she confessed.

  “I like it too,” he admitted softly.

  Her mouth parted and her tongue darted out briefly to sweep over her bottom lip. Never before had he envied a tongue, but he did right now. He wanted to be the one tasting her, exploring her mouth. He wanted it more than his next, uncomfortable, heated breath.

  Grace didn’t move, even though she had to know what was coming. Here she was scolding herself for being scared yet she had little idea how her courage was becoming the undoing of him.

  “Why is it so hard to resist you?” he muttered gruffly, before lowering his mouth to hers.

  THIS WAS A different sort of a kiss. It was tender, soft, seeking. The wind from the broken window breezed over her skin, bringing welcome relief from the heat boiling inside her. Nash tasted her as though she were some rare delicacy. It was enough to make her head spin and any thoughts of her uncle or anyone trying to take her away fled. All that remained was Nash.