Kidnapping the Duke

by Killarney Sheffield

  Chapter Four

  Groaning, Felicity dropped the useless flint onto the hearth and collapsed beside it. “Fie and fire! How hard can it be to start one little fire?”

  “Near on impossible the way you are trying to do it.”

  She glanced at the smirking man on the floor, sorely tempted to stick out her tongue at him like a spoiled child. “Oh, do be quiet.” She turned her back on him as he snickered.

  “I could get the fire started in a flash, if you would but untie me.”

  “I may be a simpleton at starting a fire, but, rest assured, I am not daft enough to release you, my lord.” Crossing her arms she glowered at the uncooperative logs and racked her brain for some solution.

  “Fine, suit yourself. You can freeze for all I care.”

  With a sniff she got to her feet. “It is not that cold in here. Besides, if I freeze to death you will too.” Tossing her long blonde braid over her shoulder she stalked to the bedchamber and snatched a thick fur robe off the bed before returning to the parlor. Giving him a haughty look, she wrapped it about her and sat in the rocking chair. Idly she tapped the floor with one foot to make the chair rock and stared out the window at the few remaining leaves clinging in desperation to the tree limbs. Last night had been cold enough without a fire to warm the cottage, and, despite the early sunshine filtering through the trees, tonight would be colder. On the way to fetch the water there had been a nip to the air hinting at an early snowfall.

  The man sighed and shifted on the floor. “The least you could do is fetch me a drink of water.”

  Guilt pricked her conscience. “All right, but you try anything and be warned I shall knock your block off.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Knock my block off? Spoken like a true peasant. Where did you learn such a phrase?”

  She flipped off the fur and headed for the kitchen area. “From Waldon.”

  “Who is Waldon?”

  Rummaging in the cupboard she came up with a tin cup and filled it from the half-empty bottle of apple cider she had partaken of at breakfast. “The boy who tends the chimneys around the merchant district of London.”

  “Very inappropriate company for a young lass, I should think.”

  Scowling, she returned to his side and knelt with the cup. “Thanks to your father, no one at the finishing school would be my friend. I met Waldon when he came to sweep the school’s chimneys. At least he wanted to be my friend.”

  He raised a brow. “He only wanted to be your friend? Nothing more?”

  “Of course not! Why, I am still of noble birth. No matter my circumstances, he would have been daft to pursue me in any way.” Her hand shook slightly as she lowered the cup, spilling a few drops on his cheek before she managed to guide it to his lips. He drank, slow and deep, of the tart liquid, his eyes never leaving hers, their startling blue depths seeming to stare right into her soul. It was an unnerving look, and it made her hands shake more, so she lowered the cup at first sign he was done. The liquid sloshed over the side and splashed his chin as she did so. “Oh fie,” she murmured and wiped it away with the edge of her skirt.

  The sun-kissed skin around his eyes crinkled, as if he sensed her nervousness in his presence. “Thank you.”

  The unexpected thanks made her pause. She kidnapped him and yet he thought to offer his gratitude for a mere drink to quench his thirst…and after she had struck him on the head. Her amazement was quickly tempered with suspicion. Most likely he was attempting to ply her with charm in hopes of securing his freedom. “You are welcome, I suppose.” With a soft snort she arose and returned the cup to the kitchen. “Did you say there was another bucket in the lean to?”

  He shifted on the floor to watch her. “Yes, there should be a number of them there. You should take care of the horses while you are out. It looks as if there is a storm coming.”

  Felicity frowned. “Me? Are the beasts quiet in nature?”

  “Yes, neither would harm a fly.” A half smile rode his lips. “Are you afraid of horses?”

  “No.” She tossed her head in an attempt to look unconcerned. “Not in the least…. I’m just cautious around the creatures.” At his amused look she stood up straighter and then marched from the cottage, shutting the door a little too firmly behind her. Did the cad think she would admit to being unused to the beasts? To show any sign of weakness or incompetence would start him thinking of ways to overthrow his fate, and she was not about to lose control of the situation. She grimaced as she stepped into the dusty lean-to. Her unsuccessful attempt to start a fire already showed him enough of her ineptitude.

  The wind tumbled a handful of leaves across the threshold, scattering them across the swept wooden floor. A glance at the thunderous-looking storm clouds billowing on the horizon convinced her the duke was most likely right about the weather. A stack of straw and another of hay filled the farthest end of the lean to. Between it and the doorway were two wide tie stalls complete with mangers and a couple of wooden barrels. She lifted the lids and looked inside. Clean oats filled each to the brim. Sighing, she gathered up three water pails and headed for the well. This time she made sure to tie the pail to the well rope with a tight double knot before she lowered it into the cavernous opening.

  Having filled two pails with water she lugged them back to the lean-to, set one, a scoop of oats and a forkful of hay in each manger. Lastly she forked a couple loads of straw onto the floor and then leaned the pitchfork against the wall where she had found it. Dusting off her hands, she went around front to deal with the horses.

  They turned their heads and eyed her as she approached. Swallowing, she sidled up to the smaller of the two. The animal sniffed her and then rubbed against her shoulder as she untied it from the hitching rail. Careful to keep her feet as far from it as possible, she led it to the tie stall and secured it to the ring in the wall with enough rope for it to lower its head to sniff the straw. That was not so hard. Well pleased with herself and full of confidence, she headed back to escort the larger saddle horse to house with its partner.

  The tall chestnut whinnied and shuffled its feet as she approached. Gathering her courage, she reached for its halter rope. The wind chose that most inopportune moment to tease the leaves on the ground and flap her skirts about her legs, frightening the animal. With a jerk and a roll of his eyes, the horse threw up his head and danced at the end of his tether. In her haste to keep from being trod upon she retreated, tumbling backward onto her bottom. Scrambling to her feet, she groaned as she pulled her backside from a pile of cold, green manure. “Fie and fire! You dumb beast, toppling me into the turds, and I with no way to heat water to bathe.” With a shake of her fist she twisted her skirt into a knot and tucked the end in the waistband of her pink sash.

  Slowly she stepped to the now quiet animal and reached for the lead. It snorted and jerked its head, but otherwise stood for her to untie the rope. Heaving a sigh of relief, she tugged on it to encourage the horse to follow and returned to the stable. Once she had the second animal secure beside the first, she contemplated the saddles on the beasts. It seemed a simple matter of undoing one strap on the large chestnut and two straps on the pack animal. After unsaddling them both, she hung the tack on the partition between the two stalls with satisfaction, shut the lean-to doors tight and returned to the well to fill a pail with water for washing.

  When she entered the hunting lodge she glanced at the duke. He lay on the floor as she had left him, eyes closed. He cracked open one eye and watched her set the pail by the door. “Ah, back I see. Did you have any trouble?”

  “No,” she lied, brushing a hand over the greenish smudge on her backside.

  His gaze followed her hand and he smirked. “I shall endeavor to teach you how to start a fire so you may wash the excrement off before you make my meal.”

  Face burning, she wisely held her tongue and crossed to the fireplace. “Perhaps some better wood would help.”

  “The wood is fine.” The skin around his blue eyes crinkled with
amusement. “Take a handful of the wood curls in the basket there and place them under the smaller kindling beneath the logs.”

  Grudgingly, she did as he bid. “Now what?”

  “Now strike the flint, holding it atop the curls so the sparks land on them as you strike it.”

  After a couple brisk strokes, a spark landed on the curls and began to smolder.

  “There you go, now blow on it.”

  Hard pressed to contain her glee at her accomplishment, she leaned forward and blew. The spark flared, flickered and went out. “Oh fie!” With a huff, she sat back on her heels. The duke chuckled and she glowered at him.

  Clearing his throat he resumed a serious facial expression. “Try it again, this time blow gently on the ember.”

  Annoyed by his condescending tone, she tried again, blowing softer this time. The ember flickered and then flared to life, licking at the kindling like a starving cat lapping cream. A triumphant grin rode her lips. “Ha! I did it.”

  The duke grinned. “So you did.”

  Dusting off her hands, she hurried to the small chamber to retrieve the copper bathing tub. She dragged it into place in front of the fire, poured the bucket of water into the big iron kettle and swung it on its hook over the flames to heat. Two more pails filled the kettle. She brought an extra one for drinking and doing the evening dishes.

  Arms akimbo, she studied the prone man on the floor. “You need to crawl into the servants’ chamber so I may bathe.”

  “I beg your pardon?” He blinked.

  “I cannot very well bathe with you lying there watching me. It would be highly indecent.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “So you expect me to worm all the way over there? I think not.”

  “Any gentleman would do so to allow a lady some privacy.”

  “Who said I was a gentleman?” His snicker was drowned out by a loud gust of wind rattling the window panes. Glancing out the window, he sobered. “You had best retrieve my things from the doorstep before they get wet.”

  Stomping to the door, she flung it open, letting the wind bang it against the wall. Laboriously she dragged the three sacks and the gun inside before glaring at him. “Are you still here?”

  “Yes, I am not going anywhere it seems,” he drawled.

  Felicity slammed the door, jerked off her sash, and stalked over to him. “Then you shall wear a blindfold.” By the time she had the blindfold secured, a change of clothing and a towel readied, the water over the fire was warm and the room toasty. She filled the tub, undressed, and tossed a handful of bathing fragrance in the water as she stepped in. A sigh slipped from her as she sank into the heavenly warmth and inhaled the heady scent of cinnamon and cloves.

  “Are you baking a pie?”

  Irritated, she glanced at him to be sure he was still blindfolded. “No, ’tis my bathing salts.”

  “Um…smells delectable.”

  Determined to ignore him, she leaned back and closed her eyes.

  * * *

  William focused on the sound of the water sloshing in the tub, his own imaginings bringing about the image of the lady naked, stroking the soap along her supple limbs. Stifling a groan, he tried to shift to ease his awakening manhood. Trussed up like a Candlemas goose was even more uncomfortable when one’s manhood took interest in the womanly activity happening scant feet from him, blindfold or no blindfold.

  In effort to divert his mind, he began to count in his head. However, the feat seemed impossible when he lost track, not once but twice, before he even reached thirty. He shifted again and groaned. Granted it had been a while since he had visited a lovely courtesan…. Bloody hell.

  Frustration reached its peak when his nose began to itch. In desperation he turned his head and tried to rub it on his shoulder. When that didn’t work, he twisted his neck as far as he could, to scratch it on the floor. The rough boards did the trick, relieving his torment, but it snagged the edge of the silky material tied across his eyes. By the time his itch was satisfied the blindfold hung askew across his face, leaving him with a one-eyed view. Turning his head the other way, he fixed his gaze on the tub bathed in firelight.

  The petite blonde sat in the tub. Her now damp hair curled about her in pale gold waves. As he watched, she ran a bar of soap seductively up her arm, tilted back her head and washed across her swan-like neck and back down across her small, perky breasts.

  With effort he held back his groan of desire. Could he get in a worse predicament? He licked his lips. This was sheer torture. Little by little his breeches got tighter and tighter until he squirmed. “Bloody hell, please say you are done.”

  She glanced in his direction. Her eyes widened and then, with a little shriek, she dropped the soap and flung an arm across her breasts. “Close your eyes!”

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “’Tis the honorable thing to do.”

  “Who says I’m honorable?” He snickered.

  Her face turned a becoming shade of pink. “I command you to!”

  “Make me.” Would she call his bluff? He almost hoped so for the satisfaction of seeing all her nakedness. The little exposed in the tub was tantalizing.

  “Oh…fie on you!” She slid down in the tub, her knees poking above the edge.

  How long would she stay in the tub? The minutes ticked by as she stared at the wall with both arms across her breasts. He glanced at the fire, already low and threatening to go out without more wood. He gave her ten minutes at most. It was a little over that he figured when she sat up with a snort.

  “Please close your eyes so I may get out of the water. It is beginning to grow cold.” Her teeth chattered and she sniffled.

  “If I give you such courtesy, you must lend me the same.”

  “You want to bathe?”

  He shook his head. “I want you to untie me.”

  “No.” She shook her head and pressed her lips into a thin line.

  “All right then, enjoy your cold water.” He pinned her with a challenging gaze. How badly did she want to get out of the tub?

  After a few moments she sighed. “All right, I’ll untie you if you close your eyes.”

  He grinned. “Agreed.” He closed his eyes and turned his head to face the ceiling. Water sloshed. Cloth slid across skin, and then soft footsteps padded past him. Puzzled, he opened his eyes as the woman breezed past into the master bedchamber and shut the door.

  “Hey, you promised to untie me.”

  “I had my fingers crossed beneath the water,” she returned through the closed door.

  “That’s childish,” he scolded. “We had an agreement. That’s not fair.”

  “Now who is sounding childish?”

  With a groan he stared up at the smoke tarnished wooden beams on the ceiling. Bested by a girl. Fie!

  The woman exited the bedchamber dressed in a clean day dress of soft pink velvet and matching slippers. Her damp hair hung loose down her back. Without a word she strolled by him into the kitchen. Pots and pans clanged for a few moments, and then she was back with a small caldron.

  Felicity hung the pot over the fire to simmer. “The pantry is well stocked with dry supplies, but some fresh ingredients would be welcome.”

  “Does this mean you at least know how to cook better than you start a fire?” William grumbled, his back aching from lying so long on the hard floor.

  She made a face at him and strolled back to the kitchen. “I spent many of my school breaks sitting in the kitchen with Mrs. Wicky.”

  For lack of anything better to do, he asked, “Who is Mrs. Wicky?”

  “My aunt’s cook. My aunt was seldom in London, so there wasn’t much to do on school holidays but rattle around in the old townhouse. Mrs. Wicky was always very kind to me though.”

  “She was paid to be, I’m sure.”

  A snort was her only response. A moment later and she was back with a kettle, which she hung over the fire beside the caldron.

  “How is it you can cook, yet you cannot start a f
ire?”

  She shrugged. “I never had to start one. I have never actually cooked either.” When William groaned, she glared at him. “It cannot be that hard. Besides, Mrs. Wicky made it look easy.”

  “Wonderful,” William muttered. “I have been kidnapped and will die of exposure and starvation before I can be ransomed.”

  Chapter Five

  Frowning, Felicity stirred the pot of beans. Though they had simmered above the fire in water with slivers of bacon and garlic for over an hour they were still hard as rocks. She sniffed; however there was hardly an odor. What had she done wrong? The cook always took the beans and simmered them for an hour over the fire and then served them.

  “Is something amiss?”

  She glanced over her shoulder at the man who seemed resigned to his trussed-up fate on the floor. “The beans are still hard.”

  “Did you soak them over night?”

  “What?” Crossing her arms she scowled at him. “Why ever would I do that?”

  With a roll of his eyes he smirked. “You have to soak them over night to soften them before you cook them.”

  “Oh.” Sighing she dropped her arms to her side. “Now what are we going to eat for supper?” The man’s stomach growled. He sounded as hungry as she was. Another night of cold cheese and bread it was going to be.

  “There are some fresh provisions in my packs there.” He tilted his chin toward the forgotten bundles by the door. “I believe cook packed some eggs and some thick slices of ham for an easy meal my first night at the lodge.”