She didn’t like that, and he was rewarded when she grinded her teeth yet again. “Are we even going to Southampton?”
The door opened with a whiny creak to reveal West’s coachman and personal valet, a thin, weedy looking man with a thatch of greasy blond hair protruding from the brim of his hat. His jacket was ill fitting and there was a yellow stain on his sloppily tied cravat, but despite his questionable hygiene Niles remained one of West’s most loyal men. He was a bit of a jack-of-all-trades, often taking on two jobs at once, as he was doing now. Once he delivered West and Emily to their final destination he would take the coach straight back to London, making it impossible to trace. He would also ensure things ran smoothly in St. Giles during West’s absence, and was more than capable of handling any emergencies that might arise. In short, he was nothing less than West’s second-in-command.
“Are ye ready?” Niles asked now, his watery brown eyes flicking from West to Emily and back again.
“We are. If you would assist my wife out first—”
“Your wife?” Emily squeaked.
West’s teeth flashed in a grin that would have been the envy of the Cheshire cat. “I told you there were a few things we needed to discuss. You can be my mistress if you like, but you’ll need to pick one or the other. Unless, of course, you would like every male within ten miles breathing down your neck. This is not Grosvenor Square, Princess. Any woman not attached to a man is considered fair game, so I suggest you play whichever part you pick very convincingly.”
“Couldn’t I be your sister?”
“No.”
She scowled at him. “Why ever not?”
“Because they would know it was a lie.” Uncoiling his long, lanky body West leaped down from the carriage and extended his arm. “I would never stare at my sister the way I stare at you.”
Their eyes met, angry blue clashing against amused gold. West waited for her to throw a tantrum – something he knew all women were prone to do when they didn’t get their way – but to his surprise she wrapped her fingers around his forearm and jumped down beside him without so much as a rebellious head toss.
Standing side by side their differences in height could not have been more obvious. The top of Emily’s head barely reached his shoulder, but what she lacked in size she more than made up for in temperament.
“I will pretend to be your mistress,” she said, surprising him yet again, “for if we are going for believability, I doubt anyone would think it plausible that someone like myself would agree to marry someone like you. You are a rogue of the worst order, you know.”
He grinned. “Thank you.”
Her mouth opened. Closed. With a little huff of breath she drove her heel into the ground, shoved her bonnet down over her head, and stomped past him.
CHAPTER THREE
Emily felt as though she had been spun around sideways and dropped on her head. One moment she found West utterly charming, the next she was fighting the urge to leap across the seat and scratch his eyes out. The man was positively insufferable, and she did not have the faintest idea how she was supposed to spend a night in an inn with him!
All of her life Emily had always dreamed of going on a great adventure. Of going somewhere far beyond the suffocating walls of her privileged upbringing. Walls that seemed to be forever shrinking with doors that never opened.
Do this, not that.
Smile at him, not her.
Attend this ball, not that luncheon.
It was all a bit exhausting, to be honest, but how could she admit such a thing out loud when every day her glossy black carriage passed children starving in the streets? And so she remained quiet – or as quiet as she could be – and went along with the flow of society because it was better, and easier, to be a tiny pebble on the bottom of a stream than a large craggy rock being constantly battered by water on both sides.
And yet still her soul yearned for the unknown. She craved excitement. Danger. Romance of a kind she’d only experienced through dime novels smuggled into her room beneath Petunia’s very nose. Now it seemed she’d finally gotten her wish, although she was beginning to fear West Green was more than she’d ever bargained for.
For a moment, standing in front of the inn – a ramshackle white and faded red building of brick and plaster tucked between two houses, all of which looked ready to crumble at any moment– she considered calling for help, but one glance at the sort of people who frequented The Three Pigs had her crowding up against the very man she should have been running away from.
“They do not seem especially friendly,” she whispered, staring in apprehension at the gentlemen (a very loose term) who were lounging around the front door. One was picking at his teeth with a pocket knife, the other was scratching his privates without a care for who was watching, and the third eyed her back in turn, his mouth splitting into a smile to reveal gums blackened with rot.
“Not especially,” West agreed.
“Why would you bring me here?” Despite the fact that he was, in fact, a criminal with a black reputation that far preceded him, Emily had found West rather reasonable for a kidnapper… until now. She balked in the middle of the path, digging her heels into the dry soil and stubbornly holding her ground when he tugged on her arm. “If you think for one minute I am going into that place you are more crazy than you think I am.”
He turned, blocking her view of the three men. She was forced to crane her neck back to meet his gaze, and she swallowed hard when she saw the sternness in his expression. “This is not a democracy, Princess. Until your father’s money is sitting in my pocket you obey me now, without question.” His hand tightened around her arm, fingers digging into her skin hard enough to cause her to flinch. “Do you understand?”
Emily set her jaw. Her rebellious nature demanded she contradict him, but her practical side had her giving a jerky nod. In truth, what choice did she have? She was lucky he hadn’t left her bound and gagged in the hackney coach. Emily was by no means an expert on kidnapping, but she imagined that was how it usually went: the victim was kept in a dark, dingy room, their hands tied behind them and a rag stuffed in their mouth to muffle their screams.
Think of it as an adventure, she told herself as West propelled her forward. The kind of grand adventure you’ve always wanted to go on. It shall all be over soon, and you will not come to any harm. You heard West – he has never hurt a woman or a child.
“Smile,” he hissed in her ear as they reached the front door and the man who’d been groping himself grunted a hello and stepped to the side, allowing them to pass. “You are my mistress, remember? You are happy to be with me.”
Emily pasted a smile on her face as they stepped into The Three Pigs.
The interior was dimly lit with lanterns set on circular tables. The floor was worn smooth, the walls plain and unadorned with decoration save a mounted deer head coated in a thick layer of dust. A bar ran the length of the far right side and a few patrons, looking well into their cups despite the relatively early hour, glanced up from their mugs of ale to watch in mild interest as West towed Emily through the haphazard maze of tables and chairs and up a narrow staircase that creaked with every step.
She followed him in apprehensive silence down a dark hallway. He stopped in front of the second to last door and, after procuring a plain silver key from the front pocket of his waistcoat, opened it to reveal a room the size of a linen closet.
A tiny bed, more appropriate for a child than an adult, took up the majority of the space. Other than that, there was only a porcelain washbasin resting on a stool with a cracked mirror hanging above it and a single wooden chair tucked into the corner.
Stepping around the edge of the bed Emily went to the mirror, intent on removing the film of dust that clung to the glass, only to recoil in horror when she saw the washbasin was filled with dirty water.
“This is where I have to stay?” Emily was no delicate rose, but even she had her limitations, and having to sleep in the same room as a stra
nger’s filthy bathwater was one of them.
“No,” West corrected as he closed and locked the door behind him, “this is where we are staying.”
She spun around, an objection already forming between her lips. It withered and died when she found herself faced with West’s chest. He’d moved silently across the room (no great feat, given the size) and suddenly the cramped quarters they’d shared in the carriage seemed vast as a ballroom compared to this. A step of retreat brought her up against the stool. A step to the side and she was crowded against the bed. There was nowhere else to go. She was trapped, run to ground as though she were a rabbit and West the fox.
“Did you have something you would like to say, Lady Emily?” he asked silkily.
She could feel his eyes upon her, but she dared not look up and meet his gaze. She tried to swallow, but her throat felt dry and tight. Something fluttered in her belly. Something unfamiliar. Something not entirely unpleasant.
Was this what she’d read about in her novels? Was this what lust felt like? Did her dry throat and quivering stomach indicate she desired West? Did it mean she wanted him?
Lust.
Desire.
Need.
Three things Emily had never experienced. Three things she’d always secretly wondered about.
The most intimate moment she ever shared with a man had been a chaste kiss on the cheek, and although it’d been delivered by one of England’s most eligible bachelors and single-handedly spun the gossip wheel into full speed, the kiss had elicited nothing more than a vague sense of pleasantness. It was certainly nothing compared to what she felt now, and she and West were not even touching! Well, almost not touching Emily corrected as she measured the space between them in one darting glance.
She knew that her feelings were wrong. She knew acting on them would be preposterous. And yet she still couldn’t help but wonder…
“Lady Emily?”
“Hmmm?” she replied absently.
“You are staring.”
Her gaze jerked guiltily to West’s face and she immediately blushed. Damn emotions. Why couldn’t she control them like all of her friends did? On a whim they could be cold as ice, melt a man’s heart with one sensual smile, or giggle at something a suitor said that was not at all amusing. All of her life Emily had tried – and failed – to imitate them, but she was a woman who wore her emotions on her sleeve. If she was happy, everyone knew it. If she was sad, everyone knew it. And if she was rapidly developing an attraction towards her kidnapper… well, he knew it.
Taking a deep breath she averted her eyes to the side. “You simply cannot stay in the same room with me, Mr. Green. I fear it is not at all appropriate and—what are you doing?” she gasped when he cupped her jaw and tilted her head until she was forced to look up at him.
“You’ve never been with a man, have you?”
Her blush intensified until she feared her entire face and chest was a bright tomato red. How utterly embarrassing. “I really do not think that is any of your concern.”
His thumb skimmed lightly across her cheek. “You haven’t,” he said confidently.
The butterflies in her stomach had transformed into birds. The way he was looking at her… It was a wonder she didn’t melt into a puddle at his feet. “And how would you know that?”
“A man can tell these things. You are as innocent now as when you were born.” He leaned forward, lowering his mouth towards hers until she could feel the warmth of his breath. It smelled, she thought dazedly, like peppermints. Her lips parted in anticipation, but at the very last moment he angled his head to the side. “And you will remain that way while you are under my care.” He released her abruptly and stepped back. When her knees buckled she sagged against the stool, too overwhelmed with lust to care when she jostled the washbasin and sent soiled water lapping up and over one side.
“I will order us food and have fresh water brought up. I am afraid you will have to wait to bathe until we reach our final destination.”
She blinked, attempting to refocus. “That… that is quite all right.”
A smile toyed with one side of his mouth. “You will, of course, remain in the room. In case you have any designs on leaving, I fear I must tell you the door locks from the outside as well.”
It wasn’t until West had left, locking the door behind him – as promised – that Emily realized he’d distracted her on purpose.
CHAPTER FOUR
Emily wasn’t a vain woman by any means, but even she could not ignore the fact that after being thrown inside a dirty carriage and driven down a dusty road with sweat running down her face and back, she looked a mess.
Removing her bonnet and cloak, she tossed them both aside onto the chair, not quite daring to put anything - soiled or not – on the bed. If the washbasin was filled with a filmy layer of grime, she shuddered to think of what unhygienic horrors lingered beneath the sheets.
“You are certainly a long way from home,” she told her reflection once she’d cleaned off the mirror the best she could with her glove.
An unfamiliar woman stared back at her out of the dingy glass, and even though it was foolish Emily blinked twice to make sure the pink-faced, wild-haired lady was, in fact, actually her. Heavens, was it any wonder West hadn’t kissed her? She looked an absolute fright!
As the daughter of a duke, Emily was accustomed to a bevy of maids attending her every morning before she ever stepped outside her bedroom. There was one for her hair, one for her face, one to select the clothes she would wear that day. No curl was left untended. No blemish uncovered. It was their job to make her look flawless; a life-sized doll that would complement her father’s status. If they saw her now there was little doubt they would run screaming in the opposite direction.
Making a face at her reflection, she began to pluck the metal pins from her hair one by one. Within moments a frizzy halo of dark curls surrounded her head, hair pinging every which way. Dirt smeared her left cheek, and she rubbed it away with the glove she hadn’t used to clean the mirror before discarding both of them on the floor. She would have liked to do the same to her wrinkled dress, but since that would leave her quite literally standing about in her unmentionables, she made do with straightening the bust line and refashioning the green sash around her waist.
Fixing her hair took a bit longer. After several frustrating minutes of twisting and pulling she managed to fashion it into a simple braid that fell down the middle of her back. She’d barely finished tying off the end with a bit of ribbon when a quiet knock sounded at the door.
“H-hello?” she called, uncertain if she’d been imagining things.
Another knock, this one louder than the last.
Frowning, Emily went to the door and closed her hand around the brass knob. She hadn’t anticipated anyone other than West coming to the room, and after seeing the sort of characters frequenting the pub she was rather glad he’d been able to lock the door from the outside. “Yes, can I help you?”
“I’m here tae deliver ye food.” It was a female voice, accented with a soft Scottish burr. The knot of tension that had formed between Emily’s shoulder blades instantly unraveled.
“Wonderful. If you could set it down outside the door, that would be lovely.”
“I canna do that,” the girl said, sounding vaguely disgruntled. “It would be stolen quick as a wink and I would lose a half day’s wages. Open the door and I’ll be on my way.”
Emily would have liked nothing better. At the mere mention of food her stomach had growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten anything since before she and Petunia set out for their morning walk. It already seemed so long ago – days instead of hours – and she was positively ravenous. Unfortunately, it seemed she would have to wait until West returned. Unless… unless she didn’t wait. Heart pounding, she pressed her nose up against the crack between the door and the wall and whispered urgently, “The truth is I have been kidnapped! I am being held here against my will. My kidnapper has locked me in
, and he could return any minute. Is there any way you can help me?” When her request was met with silence, she added desperately, “My father is a duke. He would surely pay a sizable reward for my return.”
“Kidnapped?” the girl said at last. “Are ye sure?”
Was she sure? Emily’s forehead creased. What an odd question. “Yes, quite sure. Please, you must help me.”
“And ye say your father is a duke?”
Emily gave the doorknob a frustrated rattle. “Yes, yes. Hurry, if you would.”
Another pause before the girl said reluctantly, “I donna have a key.”
No key… Think, Emily told herself. There has to be something! This could be your only chance at freedom! She ran a hand down the length of her braid. When her fingers glanced off a metal hairpin she sucked in a breath and promptly yanked the pin out, ignoring the twinge of pain in her scalp as a few hairs came out along with it. “What about a hair pin? Would that work? Could you use it to jostle the lock open?”
“I suppose I could try…”
That was good enough for Emily. Crouching, she carefully slid the pin beneath the door and waited, hands clasped against her chest, as she heard the lock being jingled this way and that. Breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding escaped in a loud whoosh of air when the door suddenly sprang open to reveal a wide-eyed girl, no more than fifteen or sixteen, with curly brown hair tucked up sloppily beneath a white cap and a plain gray dress that seemed a size too large for her gangly frame.
“It worked,” she said, visibly shocked.
Throwing out her arms, Emily gave her rescuer an impulsive hug. “It worked!” she agreed with a breathless laugh. “But we have to hurry. Is there somewhere private we can go? Somewhere we cannot be found?”
Somewhere I can figure out what in the world I am going to do next?
It wasn’t as though she were stranded somewhere in London where she could hail a coach with the flick of a wrist to take her home. She was in the middle of the countryside, in a town she didn’t recognize, with people she didn’t trust. Emily bit her lip. She was not accustomed to making decisions on her own. If she wanted to attend a luncheon the carriage was brought round without a second thought. If she needed a new dress the seamstress was called upon that very day. If she desired partridge stuffed with sweet herbs she had only to say it and Cook made it so.
The Duke of St. Giles Page 3
