Lord Mumford's Minx

by Alexandra Ivy

  “You are wrong.” She tilted her chin to a defiant angle. “Lord Mumford and Lord Bidwell both know the truth.”

  A sudden, fierce flare of fury rippled over his handsome features.

  “They can prove nothing.”

  “They will see you in Newgate.”

  His hands clenched as if he was barely resisting the urge to hit her.

  “Be silent,” he commanded.

  “Or you will harm me?” she demanded. Despite the fear clutching at her stomach, Cassie battled to face him squarely. He would never have the satisfaction of seeing her beg. “You must realize that this is all too late. You will never gain control of Stanholte Estate. No matter what happens to me.”

  “It will be mine.” The scar stood out in pale contrast to his flushed skin. “It belongs to me.”

  “Never.”

  His hand rose, and Cassie prepared herself for the coming blow, but before it could land, a large, pock marked man stumbled into the room.

  “Guv.”

  With a low snarl, the villain turned to stab the intruder with a murderous glare.

  “What is it?”

  The man blanched in fear. “Men approaching.”

  “Are you certain they are coming here?”

  “Aye.”

  “Get my carriage,” he snapped. Cassie felt a surge of hope that was swiftly snatched away as her captor reached into the pocket of his coat to withdraw a pistol. “It seems this is good-bye, my dear.”

  A sense of irony struck Cassie as she watched the barrel of the gun point directly at her heart. It was becoming a familiar sight, and once again there was nothing she could do to prevent the horrible end. Then, without warning, Miss Stowe suddenly jumped to her feet.

  “No! Stop!” she screamed.

  Instinctively, the man turned toward the older woman, and Cassie knew in a heartbeat he would kill her without a second thought. She couldn’t allow the woman to be harmed.

  Not giving herself time to think, Cassie gritted her teeth and with all her might ran forward and bowled straight into the unsuspecting cad. A loud shot retorted through the room as Cassie hit the floor with a heavy thud.

  Just for a moment, the world seemed to whirl about her head and she battled to maintain consciousness. She could not afford to black out now. But the blow to her head proved too great, and even as she struggled to remain awake, a heavy darkness rushed up to greet her.

  * * *

  After what might have been minutes or hours, Cassie at last pried open her heavy lids to make the shocking discovery she was being held tight in the arms of Lord Mumford and he was stroking her hair in the most intimate fashion.

  “Cassie . . . Cassie, my love,” he murmured as her gaze fluttered upward. “Are you harmed?”

  She took a moment to realize she was settled on Luke’s lap and that the room was strangely empty. She also realized that the warmth of his body was creating a very delightful tingle of pleasure through her weak form.

  “No, I do not think so,” she replied, attempting to focus her fuzzy thoughts. “What of Miss Stowe?”

  His beloved countenance was pale and tight with the need to control his emotions.

  “She is shaken, but unharmed.”

  “Thank God.” Cassie breathed a sigh of relief. She had been terrified she had been too late. Then a small frown tugged at her brow. “How did you find me?”

  “Your groom came to say that you had been kidnapped. I knew approximately where the scoundrel was hiding, but without your pearls I would never have gotten here in time.”

  Cassie felt a pang of remorse. When the men had dragged her toward the abandoned building, she realized that no one would think to search for her in such a place. Not without some clue that she was within. She had nothing to drop that would not also attract the attention of her captors, until she recalled the delicate pearls that hung about her neck. She had known that Luke would immediately recognize the pearls. Just as she had known he would come for her.

  “Your mother’s beautiful pearls,” she sighed.

  “It does not matter. I will buy you another necklace. A dozen necklaces.”

  An abrupt shudder wracked her slender frame. Even now, wrapped in his arms, she could not believe that she was safe.

  “I was so frightened.”

  His arms tightened. “You have no need to ever be frightened again, my love.”

  “That man . . .” Her eyes darkened at the memory of her kidnapper. “He said he was my uncle.”

  He grimaced at her trembling words. “Yes, I know.”

  “He said he deserved my inheritance.”

  “He was clearly unbalanced.” Luke pulled back to regard her with a solemn expression. “A man embittered to the point of madness.”

  She shuddered again. “Yes.”

  His hand moved to gently cup her face, his sweet breath brushing her cheek.

  “He will never trouble you again.”

  She felt lost in the depth of his blue gaze.

  “Where is he?”

  “Biddies is hauling him to the magistrate. He will soon be locked in prison.”

  She slowly released her breath, unable to believe the whole miserable nightmare was over.

  “I am safe.”

  “Yes.” An indefinable emotion rippled over the lean features. “You can now go home.”

  “Home.” An unconscious frown marred her forehead.

  For so long all she had wanted was to be able to return to Devonshire and resume her peaceful life. It was all that mattered. Now she gazed at the dark features that had become so endearingly familiar and wondered how she could bear to leave.

  “That is what you wanted, is it not?”

  A curious flare of pain ravaged her heart.

  “Of course,” she forced herself to say.

  “I shall be very happy for you,” he said; then his features abruptly twisted with a pained expression. “No. I am lying.”

  “What?”

  “I shall not be happy.” His gaze seared over her pale face with a glittering intensity. “I shall be miserable every moment if you are not at my side.”

  The squalid room, the musty dampness and even her earlier terror faded away as a delicious heat spread through her body.

  “Luke—”

  “I love you. I adore you.” His hand moved to trail over her parted lips. “I want you to be my wife.”

  He spoke the words that she had secretly longed to hear for days, perhaps weeks, but Cassie warily guarded her heart. She had never thought to fall in love. After her parents’ deaths she had been too frightened to open herself up to such loss again. But against her will, Luke had managed to win his way into her affections, slowly stealing her heart. Now she knew she could never be satisfied with his misplaced sense of honor and duty. It had to be love or nothing.

  “I am out of danger. There is no more need to protect me.”

  His eyes darkened, the scent of his warm body surrounding her.

  “My desire to protect you was only a portion of why I have forced my way into your life,” he confessed, his voice oddly husky. “I had to be near you, because I love you.”

  “Oh—”

  “And from this moment there will be no more forcing. I was wrong,” he startled her by saying. “You must be free to make your own choices. And if you choose to return to Devonshire, then I must step aside.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. Was this humble man the arrogant stranger who had burst into her life?

  “And if I stay?” she asked in soft tones.

  She could hear him catch his breath sharply.

  “If you stay, then I will never, ever let you go.”

  A soaring happiness filled her heart. She had come to London to save her home and instead had discovered that home was merely a place to be with the one she loved. She was home so long as he held her in his arms.

  “I love you, Luke.”

  He pulled her tightly against his chest, thoroughly disregarding the impr
opriety of his behavior. Not that Cassie intended to complain. She was enjoying his embrace far too much.

  “And you will marry me?” he demanded, the hint of uncertainty in his eyes touching her heart.

  “And I will marry you,” she agreed, an impish smile touching her full lips. “But I do not promise to be the most comfortable of wives.”

  A low, decidedly wicked chuckle filled the room.

  “Ah, my beloved minx, I would not have it any other way.”

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  Alexandra Ivy’s next romantic suspense thriller

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  Prologue

  A voice in the back of Jeannie Smith’s mind whispered that she should be resigned to her ugly fate.

  She’d always known that she was going to come to a bad end. Everyone had said so. Her mother said it just before the older woman had run off with her latest lover. Her grandparents said it when they’d kicked her out of their house when she was just sixteen. And even her pimp said it when he’d caught sight of the infected track marks on her inner arms.

  A bad end was what happened to girls like her.

  And it wasn’t like she hadn’t had any warning. Since she’d started working as a whore she’d been beaten, robbed, and dumped in the gutter. It’d only gotten worse when she’d left the streets of Kansas City to become a lot lizard.

  Trolling the truck stops and rest areas along the interstate was considered the lowest of the lowest, even for whores. Which meant that it was only for the most desperate women.

  But even after all the beatings and rough sex she’d been forced to endure, nothing had taught her the true meaning of horror until the john who’d picked her tonight.

  Which was weird, really.

  He was so handsome.

  Dark skin, glossy black hair and rich brown eyes.

  The sort of dude who could have any woman he wanted.

  Of course, that might explain why she hadn’t instantly been wary when he’d urged her into the long trailer attached to his semi-truck. Not even when she realized it was equipped with a freezer. It was better than doing the john against the wall of the diner. Or on the hard gravel of the lot.

  But as she climbed into the back of the trailer, she caught sight of the other men already waiting for her. Shit, she was in trouble.

  She jerked her arm, struggling to free herself from her companion’s grip.

  “Hey, there was nothing said about this being a party,” she protested.

  One of the men stepped forward, his face wrapped in shadows.

  “It took you long enough,” he snapped. “There’s a half dozen whores out there. What were you doing?”

  The john holding her arm flinched. Clearly the other dude was in charge.

  “You said she had to be a blond. This was the first one I could find.

  The man in charge snorted. “Well, while you were dillydallying the rest of us nearly froze off our balls.”

  There was a grumble of agreement from the shadows at the back of the trailer. Jeannie hissed in fear. How many were there? Four? Five? Maybe even more?

  “You cleaned up from the last one?” the man holding her rasped, clearly attempting to hide his nerves behind an air of bluster.

  “Of course,” the other stranger drawled. “Our previous guest is hidden with the others. Now it’s time for some more fun.”

  The numbing sense of resignation was abruptly replaced with a savage need to fight back.

  Maybe her destiny had been decided on the dismal day she’d been born. Maybe her fate was to die in a bad way.

  But by God, she’d spent twenty years fighting to survive.

  She wasn’t going down easily.

  She struggled against the bastards as they strapped her down and ripped off her clothes. And even when they took turns raping her.

  She struggled until her original john was standing over her bruised and bloody body, a crowbar in his hand.

  There was a brief hesitation as he gazed down at her. Almost as if the man wasn’t certain he was prepared to commit the ultimate sin. Then, with the shadowed man whispering in his ear, he at last lifted the crowbar, swinging it with desperate power. There was an odd whistling sound as the metal cut through the icy air. Jeannie was strangely mesmerized by the sheer horror of what was happening. At least until she felt a blast of pain as it connected with the side of her face.

  Then she felt nothing.

  A bad end...

  Chapter One

  DECEMBER 20TH

  ROCKY MOUNTAINS

  The large overnight envelope was waiting for Carmen Jacobs on the porch.

  She grimaced as she glanced through the frosty window of the front door. Her first instinct was to ignore the unwelcomed reminder of the outside world.

  She’d rented the isolated cabin in the Rocky Mountains precisely to forget the demands of her high-profile career. Or at least, that’s what she’d told her literary agent. And in part, it was true. She’d spent the past twelve months flying from city to city to sign copies of her blockbuster book, THE HEART OF A PREDATOR. Her hectic schedule had also included TV and radio interviews as well as speaking engagements. She’d even spent a month in California, teaching a creative writing class.

  Soon it would all start again when the paperback version of the book was released.

  She deserved a break.

  But the deeper need to retreat to this cabin in the dead of winter was to avoid the yearly madness that was a mandatory part of the Christmas season. She wasn’t a Grinch. Okay, maybe she was a little bit of a Grinch. But it wasn’t her fault. She was a woman without a family. And, if she was honest, without any close friends.

  Usually it didn’t bother her to be alone. In fact, she preferred to concentrate on her career without being encumbered by people who would be a constant distraction.

  At this time of year, however, she couldn’t help but feel the lack of intimate companionships. Maybe it was the sappy commercials. Or the sight of giggling children who darted through the stores. Or the distant memories of when she hadn’t been alone.

  Whatever the reason, she always felt the urge to retreat from the world during this time of year. And despite the fact she’d just celebrated her twenty sixth birthday, she had the necessary funds to grant her wish.

  Sipping her morning cup of hot chocolate, she watched as the snow lazily drifted from the clouds, coating the porch in a pristine layer of white.

  In a few more minutes the envelope would be hidden.

  Problem solved.

  She took another sip. And then another. The snow continued to float in the air. Silent. Hypnotic.

  A swirling cloud of peace.

  She tried to force herself to turn away. Her plans for the day included a long, hot bath. A leisurely lunch. Some primetime romance in the form of a paperback novel. And later, a bottle of wine in front of the fire.

  Nowhere in her schedule was a mysterious envelope.

  Unfortunately, Carmen had one deeply imbedded character flaw.

  Curiosity.

  It was the reason she’d snooped on her eighth-grade teacher after catching sight of the woman disappearing into a storage shed with the principal. That little adventure had gotten her kicked out of school. Probably because she’d posted the pictures she’d taken on the classroom bulletin board.

  Three years later that same curiosity had urged her to sneak into her grandparents’ attic to try and peek inside the small safe that had once belonged to her parents. She hadn’t managed to open it, but she’d been caught in the act. Her grandfather had grounded her for a month and her grandmother had cried. The tears had hurt more than being forced to miss the spring formal.

  On the brighter side, her curiosity had inspired her to become a journalist. And later to interview five of the most prolific serial killers to ever terrorize North America. The book she’d written after the nerv
e-wrenching meetings had become a number one bestseller and launched her into the world of fleeting fame.

  Like disco balls and Crocs.

  With a grimace she set her half-empty mug on a nearby table. She wasn’t going to be able to relax until she knew what was in the envelope.

  She might as well get it over with.

  Wrapping the belt of her heavy robe tighter, she reluctantly pulled open the door. An instant blast of frigid air slammed into her with shocking force. Crap. The cabin had looked so picturesque in the brochure. The pine trees. The snow. The majestic mountains.

  She hadn’t really considered just how freaking cold it would be.

  Now she scurried forward, her fuzzy slippers sliding over the icy surface. She bent down, snatching the envelope off the edge of the porch. Next year she was going to a sandy beach with lots of sun and fun.

  Straightening, she paused to glance around, ensuring there was no one lurking in the small clearing. Then, with a small shiver, she darted back through the door and closed it behind her.

  She brushed off the few flakes that clung to her robe before she grabbed her mug of hot chocolate and returned to the kitchen. Since she’d arrived ten days ago, the cozy room had become her favorite spot in the cabin. The wood-planked floors. The open-beamed ceiling. The worn table that was set near a window that overlooked the frozen back garden. There was even an open fireplace where she’d toasted marshmallows last night.

  Now she moved to pour out the old cocoa in the sink and rinsed out her mug. She wasn’t an obsessive neat-freak, but she preferred to keep her surroundings organized. A psychiatrist would no doubt tell her it had something to do with her need to control some small aspect of her life. She preferred to think that she was just tidy.

  Taking a seat at the table, she wavered one last time. She should toss the envelope into the fire she’d stoked to life while she was brewing her morning cup of cocoa. Snap, crackle, pop and all her troubles would be gone. Instead, she gave a rueful shake of her head and turned it over to stare at the front.