by Lori Devoti
“Enough.”
“Then you don’t watch enough television.”
“I despise it.”
“You despise television? How do you survive?”
He smiled again and held out his hand, splitting the distance between them although if she moved, he’d bridge it. “Verra well, actually. Snuggle close. It’s rather chill out.”
Jolie turned ninety degrees from him to pick up her books before turning back. She needed the time and the barrier. She didn’t answer until she’d finished. And then the words were directed to the center of his chest. “I’m plenty warm, thank you.”
“Then take my hand because I ask it.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
She was right. There wasn’t much space between them for him to reach out and take her hand. He also took the books and folded them into the free hand, making her stack look tiny. He then compounded everything by planting her against his side with little more than a hairsbreadth of gap between them. The contact sparked. Engaged. Flared. Nobody had warned her of Scotland’s humidity problem. Or maybe the heat in these old buildings to blame. It was clear she should have splurged and bought conditioner for her hair and a huge vat of lotion for her skin as well.
“How do you move so quickly?”
He smiled down at her as if she were a child and should already know. “The same way I do everything. Come. Your chariot awaits.”
“Chariot? A real chariot?”
“Verra well. ‘Tis actually a Rolls.”
“You have a Rolls…Royce?’ Her voice was missing on the second word.
“I have several. I brought the Phantom tonight. Does that make you more amenable to sup?”
“Which…version?”
“Of what? Sup?”
“Phantom.”
“I think it’s the third. I liked the lines.”
“No way. That’s from 1936.”
“Mayhap.” He shrugged, moving her with the motion. “I’d have to check.”
“That’s the one with Suicide Doors, isn’t it?”
“I believe it’s called a coach body. You like motor cars?”
“You’re joking.”
“I never joke.”
“You’re lying, then.”
“Oh! What a tangled web we weave. When first we practice to deceive.”
“You’re quoting Scott? How trite.”
“You ken your Scott?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” she replied acerbically.
“Yet Clare’s sharp questions must I shun. Must separate Constance from the Nun.”
“You do know the poem.”
He opened the library’s front door for her, having walked them across the entire span of floor from the table to here in mere moments. Without thought of a step, either. Not one. Jolie frowned slightly at how that could be possible and then caught her breath in absolute wonder.
“Your chariot, Miss Jolie.”
The duke said it with another grand arm gesture toward the drive below them, holding her books out as if they weighed nothing. His action was a clue for the driver dressed in nondescript dark clothing to get out and hold open the back door. The car had suicide doors all right. It was just like she’d always dreamt.
“That’s…a real Rolls Royce Phantom. Looks like 1936. Maybe 1937. In mint condition.”
“It is?”
“Of course it is. And you know it.”
He turned her to face him with a move of his hand. Or pivoted to face her without any move at all, and breathed down on her evenly for several counts until she looked up. Such a thing as being mesmerized in place was totally unacceptable. His chauffeur was watching. The entire world was probably keeping tabs through cameras, and all she could see was silver-hued eyes and perfect features. She was totally afraid he’d kiss her. Right there. In front of everyone. And wondering why she wanted him to.
“I have lots of cars.”
“Like that one?” It was a gasp.
“Aye.”
“Wow. I mean…wow.”
“If I’d known it took a recitation of my belongings to get your acquiescence, I’d have started sooner. Much sooner.”
Cold water could’ve been tossed one her with that statement with the same effect. Jolie stiffened, putting her sweatshirt and jeans clad form against solid mass of man.
“Nice try,” she managed between set teeth.
“At what?”
“I’m new to this country but even I recognize a world class playboy, although I never thought I’d be bothered by one. You can take your belongings and—just what do you think you’re doing?”
They were at the open door of the car, stopping her words mid-sentence, and then he maneuvered her into a large, plush back seat. And he’d joined her, shoving his sword down his shoulder and dropping her books on the floor at the same moment the door closed.
“That’s it! I’m screaming!” Her voice was at that level now, but the plush interior seemed to just swallow it. She was also mentally castigating herself for not replacing the mace they’d taken from her at Airport Security.
“You needn’t bother. Barnes is deaf.”
The chauffeur got in the front seat and cocked his head. She watched him listen to the destination, although it came in a strange language. Then he shut the glass partition and turned forward again, starting the engine.
“He’s not deaf,” Jolie remarked without inflection.
“Oh. Except to my voice. Did I forget to mention that part?”
“You’re a duke, right?” Jolie put her fingers to her temples. “And you’re a gentleman. Gentlemen don’t kidnap women. Especially gentlemen that look like you. They don’t have to.”
“This is nae kidnap.”
He was still calm-sounding. There wasn’t a hint of major exertion from struggling with her. Jolie massaged her forehead. She’d struggled, hadn’t she? What had she done other than been easily lifted and transported? Without one bit of fight. She moved her hands away and scooted to the side, right next to the padded door that had real wood inlaid in it. She ran her hand along it. No handle. The man was not only a kidnapper. He used a stalker vehicle. Then she remembered. The handles would be at the front of the door…because his car had suicide doors.
“Would you like some champagne?”
“I’d like out.”
He’d leaned forward on the seat, scraping steel with his sword hilt on the side she couldn’t see, as he opened an ice bucket. He scooped out a bottle and a glass and then looked over at her, making her heart swoop to the pit of her stomach.
“Nae,” he said finally, and popped the lid of the bottle off.
“Why not?”
“You haven’t had champagne yet.”
“You can’t kidnap American citizens. Someone will look for me. I have to check in for class. You can’t just—”
“Who said anything about a kidnap?”
“Abduction then. But that’s splitting hairs.”
“I’m na’ abducting you, lass.”
“What do you call it?”
“A verra difficult supper date. Thus far.”
Jolie snorted. She couldn’t help it. This was a dream of some kind. It had to be. Any minute she’d awaken atop the library table and find reality. She’d be back in the hallowed halls of the medieval literature section, trying to keep her mind on words while love passed her completely by. As usual. Nothing in her life was remotely romantic. She should be used to it by now.
She’d landed at Heathrow last Saturday and taken the train to Glasgow - sleeper car. Then she’d booked herself into the dorm with her luggage. All by herself. Following that, she’d met Janet Fitzby, her roommate. And that was followed by meeting one of Janet’s men. That was on…Monday. On Tuesday, she met another one of Janet’s men. Last night…which would be Wednesday…she met two more men friends; one on the heels of the other. Tonight it was Kelvin. All of them men friends with fringe benefits. Nowhere in the paperwork that Jolie signe
d to get here was it mentioned that her roommate was easy. That jarred with every bone of Jolie’s body. She wasn’t prudish. Not…exactly. She just wanted the right man. One she cared about. And one who cared about her. One who wouldn’t force—
“Here. Cease the recriminations and enjoy the eve.”
It was the deep bass voice of her abductor. Jolie shook her head to clear it. “You’re unbelievably arrogant, Thoran.”
“As you’ve already brought forth. Try the champagne. ‘Tis ’68.”
“Of course it is.”
“What?”
“The champagne. I’m not surprised you stock that year.”
“I doona’ as a matter of course. Barnes procured that particular bottle for me. He knew you’d like it.”
“I don’t like anything about this.”
“Trust me. You will,” he replied and handed her the champagne flute.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
About the Author
Acknowledgements
