“No.”
“For leaving the room and almost getting yourself killed?”
“No.”
“Then pray tell,” he said, slanting her a sideways glance, “what would you like to apologize for?”
Her eyes still pinned to the ground, she huffed out a breath and mumbled something he couldn’t quite hear.
“Louder, Princess. And you really should learn to enunciate.”
She jerked up her chin, scowled, and said in a very clear voice, “I would like to apologize for losing my temper with you earlier. In regards to the clothes,” she clarified when he stared at her blankly. “I suppose, in your own criminal way, you were attempting to be thoughtful when you stole them.”
West blinked. “Why yes,” he said after only the tiniest of pauses, “that is exactly why I, er, borrowed your belongings.”
The truth of it was her things had been taken on a last minute whim. In one of the smaller trunks were her jewels, a collection of glittering diamonds and emeralds and sapphires that would have been the envy of any queen. The dresses he’d stolen as an afterthought, taking them the very morning Emily herself had been tossed into the hackney coach. They’d provided his first insight into the woman he would be kidnapping. Simple yet elegant, the dresses ran the gamut from soft muslin to dressy percale, all in the flowing empire style currently sweeping across England. Looking at them he’d assumed that Lady Emily Wilmington was a timid mouse of a girl, too shy to even wear color beyond the palest yellows and lightest blues.
The joke, as the saying went, was on him.
“I rather thought so when I had taken a moment to mull it over,” Emily said, absently tucked a flyaway curl behind her ear. “I also thought we should establish some rules.”
“Rules?” he repeated warily. For a man who made his living outside the law, West was understandably not overly fond of rules.
As though she could read his mind Emily sighed and said, “You needn’t act as though you have just swallowed a spoonful of unpleasant medicine. Rules are essential for a society to govern itself with structure and discipline. You may not follow them in the traditional sense, but surely there are some rules you adhere to.”
He shrugged. “I prefer to make them up as I go along.”
“I am sure you do. Perhaps then you would be more comfortable giving me your word.”
“My word?” What was the bloody woman trying to do now?
“Yes, your word. Your word that I will be treated fairly and respectfully while I am under your care. Such a promise would greatly alleviate my concerns and remove this pressing need I have to escape whenever an opportunity presents itself.”
If Emily were concerned, she certainly did a very good job of hiding it. In what felt like the blink of an eye she’d gone from the edge of hysteria to calm, cool, and collected. The change was as abrupt as it was startling, and once again West felt as though he were two steps behind, struggling in vain to catch up. For someone who was consistently ahead of the curve, it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. “I already said you would not come to any harm.”
“You’ve said quite a few things. Only half of which I think it wise to believe.”
His eyes narrowed. “Are you calling me a liar, Princess?”
“I most certainly am,” she said without a moment’s hesitation. “Your word, if you would. And in return I shall give you mine as well. If you treat me fairly and respectfully I give you my word I will not attempt to escape.”
West stopped, as did Emily. They turned to face one another, and even though she had to tip her head back she met his gaze unflinchingly.
“I do not wish to be locked away in a room for the duration of my stay,” she continued quietly. “If I were able to choose between the two I would pick guest over prisoner.”
“And if you were not given a choice?”
Her shoulders stiffened. “Then I would make do.”
Looking at Emily, her chin tilted up at a stubborn angle and her eyes filled with smoldering blue fire, West was filled with the sudden urge to bury his hands in her hair and yank her hard against him. He wanted to cover her lips with his own. To kiss her until she was gasping for breath and moaning his name. To feel the swell of her breasts against his chest. To have her feel the jut of his arousal against her abdomen. The attraction was a living, breathing thing inside of him, struggling to get free. The yearning for her was so potent he ached from the strength of it, and his right hand twitched before he managed to exert a layer of control over his emotions.
Self-disgust swept over him in a crashing wave, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Emily was asking for his word he would not harm or mistreat her, and the only thing he could think about was her naked and writhing beneath him.
It had never been his intention to be attracted to the woman he kidnapped. In truth, he’d expected to feel nothing save a mild revulsion, for there was no love lost between West and the upper class.
He held nothing but loathing and disdain for the nobility. To his mind they were all worthless, blood sucking leeches without a thought for the welfare of those less fortunate than themselves. It was why he’d felt no guilt for concocting his kidnapping scheme. Why his conscience – something he did in fact possess – hadn’t been troubled at the idea of plucking a high society miss from behind her wall of wealth and privilege.
Except now he did feel guilt. A great deal of it. Guilt… and the unmistakable burn of lust.
Emily was nothing like he’d expected her to be, just as his reaction to her was unlike anything else he’d ever experienced. She made him want to yank his hair out one second and nibble at her mouth the next. And they’d only been in each other’s company for two days! How he was expected to last until the Duke of Brumleigh paid the ransom for his daughter’s return he had no bloody idea. At first he had thought to remain at his country residence for a few days, mayhap even a week or two, but now the idea of returning to London immediately, while not appealing, certainly seemed to be the wisest course of action.
The very last thing he needed to do was take advantage of a young innocent, which Emily most certainly was, no matter how sharp her tongue or quick her wit. She wasn’t his to spoil, nor his to keep. Something to remember, and something to remind himself whenever his mind began to steer down a path it didn’t belong.
“Very well. You have my word, and I will take yours. You may have the run of the grounds if you’d like. Behind the main house is the stables, and beyond that a small pond and an apple orchard. There are books in the library if you like to read, and parchment in the study if you are partial to drawing.” He truly did want her to think of herself as a guest, West realized. More than that he wanted to please her and, if he were being honest with himself, impress her as well.
“That is very kind of you,” she said.
His lips peeled back to reveal his signature wolfish grin. “I suppose it’s the least I can do after kidnapping you.”
The corners of Emily’s mouth twitched as well. “Yes, well, let it be said you are nothing if not considerate.”
“Shall we continue on to the house?” He extended his arm, ignoring the tiny sparks of sensation that pooled in his gut when Emily lightly rested her hand over his wrist, her ivory fingers standing out in stark contrast against his tanned skin.
“We shall.”
Above them white fluffy clouds moved in lazy disorder across a sky that was slowly descending into dusk. The sun was growing heavy behind the manor, sinking lower and lower with every minute that passed. As they drew closer candles began to glow in each individual window and a middle-aged servant dressed in traditional gray stepped out onto the portico to light the two oil lamps that were affixed to either side of the front door.
“Good evenin’ to ye, your grace,” she said when she turned to face the drive and saw them approaching. The oil lamps ignited, illuminating the portico in a soft glowing light and revealing the servant’s toothy grin.
“Good evening to you as wel
l Mrs. Penny.” Beside him he felt Emily stiffen, and when he looked down he saw she was staring at the servant with a troubled frown. “What is it now?”
“Your staff does know you are not a real duke, don’t they?”
“They do, but most of them are from St. Giles, and they’ve never known me as anything else.”
“How many staff do you employ?” she queried as they stepped past Mrs. Penny and into the front parlor.
“I keep a skeleton staff of four while I am away. If I stay for any length of time Mrs. Penny’s three daughters, a cook, and two footmen come from the closest village,” West explained as he took a quick cursory note of his surroundings, checking to make sure everything was as he’d left it.
Given that he rarely spent more than a few days at a time in the country the house was sparsely decorated, but what furniture there was kept it from looking completely bare. On the first floor, in addition to the front parlor, there was a formal dining room, a large kitchen, a library with an adjoining study, and a glass enclosed solarium that overlooked the apple orchard and duck pond at the back of the estate. A wide staircase with double mahogany railings led to a second floor that boasted a master bedroom complete with an en suite and three smaller rooms, one of which would be Emily’s. He would leave the decision up to her, although he rather thought she would select the Marigold Room – the servant's name for it, not his – for its natural light and openness. It was also the only room in the entire house with a touch of femininity courtesy of floral wallpaper and pink curtains, left unchanged since the previous owner moved out after he lost the estate to West in an unlucky game of cards. A game, he reflected darkly, that had nearly ended in a duel.
More and more the city had come to represent death and darkness, while the country was life and light. He knew he couldn’t be the Duke of St. Giles forever. The title was wearying, the effort it required to stay at the top exhausting, not to mention dangerous. He never knew where the next knife would be coming from. The next bullet. The next fist. Only when he stepped outside the confines of London did he feel as though he could finally draw a true breath, but the business of extricating himself from a life of crime was a complicated one fraught with risks.
Emily moved past him, trailing her fingertips across the curved back of a rosewood settee, every inch lady of the manor even despite her tangled hair and wrinkled dress. It was easy to envision her here. She fit in the refined parlor as he never had, clicking into place like a puzzle piece.
“Would you like a tour?” he asked, his voice oddly gruff. He cleared his throat. Scratched his cheek. He needed to shave, West thought absently. Trim his hair. Put on a new set of clothes. Polish his boots. He propped a shoulder against the wall and leaned into it, watching Emily as she crossed the room and gazed out one of the windows at the setting sun. “There are three bedrooms to choose from upstairs. You may have your pick of which one you like best.”
“I am quite tired. Mayhap a tour of the grounds tomorrow would be best. If I could retire early and have a warm bath drawn up…” She paused and glanced back at him, drawing one corner of her lower lip between her teeth. West knew the gesture wasn’t meant to be a sexual one, but it ignited the flames of his desire all the same.
Hell. He needed a good lay, and quickly. Emily wasn’t even the sort of woman he was normally attracted to. He preferred tall, willowy blondes who knew exactly how to please a man. Emily was too short. Her hair too dark. A manner a bit too cheeky. And she was far, far too innocent for the likes of him.
“Mr. Green?” she asked, her brow creasing. “Did you hear me?”
“Of course,” he said quickly. “I will have Mattie draw you a bath immediately. She is Mrs. Penny’s eldest daughter and will attend you personally while you are here. Would you like some dinner brought up as well?”
She smiled. “That would be lovely, thank you.”
Taking a candle from the nearest windowsill to ward off the encroaching shadows he led her up the stairs to the second floor. After viewing the three bedrooms she selected the Marigold Room, just as he’d predicted.
“This is lovely,” she said, taking a slow turn around the room. In preparation of the arrival of a ‘special guest’ the servants had put fresh linens on all the beds and scrubbed the floors with pine oil until the old wood gleamed. The scent of it still lingered in the air, a pleasant aroma that brought to mind quiet forest glades and trickling streams.
“I am glad you like it.” West lingered by the door, hesitant to step over the threshold. “I know the circumstances are… well, shall we say unusual, but I want you to be comfortable here.”
Emily completed her circle. “Do you mean that?”
“I do.” The ring of truth in his tone caught him by surprise. Setting the candlestick down on the edge of a writing desk he took one step back, then another, slipping into the darkness of the hallway like a thief into the night. “I will have your belongings brought up so you can change into a clean nightgown after your bath.”
“You stole my nightgowns as well?” she asked, raising one brow.
Recalling the soft, frothy folds of linen and lace he couldn’t help but grin. “Only three or four.”
Emily’s sigh was resigned. “Good evening, Mr. Green.”
His hand tightened on the doorknob before he started to draw it closed. “Good evening… Princess.”
CHAPTER NINE
Emily waited until the door had shut with a firm click before she allowed herself to collapse onto the bed. Throwing an arm across her face she took a deep, calming breath in an attempt to slow her racing pulse but she couldn’t stop her feet from giving an elated kick in the air.
The way West had looked at her! As though he were a wolf and she a rabbit he couldn’t wait to gobble up. The man had been all but drooling, she thought with a delicious shiver. And, God forgive her, she’d liked it.
No one had ever looked at her the way West looked at her. She didn’t think he even realized it showed, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that he desired her. He desired her. Her! It was unbelievable. It was exciting. It was… dangerous.
She sat up so abruptly her head spun and little black dots danced in front of her eyes. Shaking them away she stood up and began to pace the length of the room, the heels of her boots tap tap tapping against the hardwood floor.
This wasn’t a casual flirtation within the safe confines of a parlor or a ballroom while Petunia stood guard. West was not some pandering peacock that cared more about the knot in his cravat than what she was saying. He was a real man. A man with needs. A man with desires. And she was little more than an innocent girl, so far out of her depth the water might as well have been washing over her head. Returning the flirtations of a dandy was one thing; she imagined flirting with West would be something else entirely. Not to mention when this was all over she still had her reputation to consider. Her life to get back to. An advantageous marriage to make.
She could explain away her absence easily enough. No one had seen her leave Hyde Park except for Petunia, and she knew that with the exception of telling her father what had happened her companion would never breathe a word to anyone. She had an aunt who lived in Suffolk, another in Norwich. It would be easy enough to say she’d decided on an impromptu visit and there would be no reason for anyone to refute her claim. After all, she was boring, predictable Emily Wilmington. A bit awkward, to be true, and surely a touch more quirky than was desirable, but certainly not the sort of lady who would ever have even a whisper of scandal attached to her name. Which was undoubtedly why she’d been so thrilled at the thought of an adventure.
All her life she’d been told exactly how her future would go. She would learn how to be a proper lady, make her season debut at the age of sixteen, attend ball after ball and party after party all in the hopes of meeting a sensible, well-to-do man with money in his pocket and a title before his name, marry said man, produce an heir, and spend the rest of her life attending more balls and more parties until
she died of boredom.
No matter that she didn’t want sensible or well to do. To Emily’s mind talking to men who fit the bill of whom she was expected to marry was about as exciting as watching plaster peel off the wall. Which was why, at the rather advanced age of three and twenty, she was still unmarried without a single prospect on the horizon.
Something that would need to change, she thought with a grimace, as soon as she returned to London. In the back of her mind she’d always clung to the fantasy of never marrying. Of traveling the continent instead. Of having more adventures in one lifetime than the average person could have in six. But that was all before she learned of her father’s impending financial ruin. Now she needed to marry the sort of man she’d always taken great pains to avoid, and quickly.
Marrying for money. Her mouth settled into a deep frown. The one thing she thought she would never have to do.
A knock sounded suddenly at the door, growing louder with each passing second until Emily raced across the room and turned the knob.
“Oh.” The girl who had been knocking looked up, her gray eyes widening as the door swung inward. Her hair was red and curly and secured in a loose knot at the nape of her neck. Freckles dotted her nose and cheeks, giving her a youthful appearance that made it difficult to guess her age although Emily wouldn’t have placed her any older than seventeen.
She carried a steaming bucket of water in one hand, the other was still curled in a tight fist. A white towel was draped over her shoulder. More towels, neatly folded, peeked out of a satchel she had secured in the crook of one elbow. “I thought ye might have fallen asleep. The duke said ye had a long journey from London.” She breezed into the bedroom without invitation, chattering as quickly and energetically as a magpie. “I’m Mattie Penny, by the by. Well, Matilda, but no one calls me that except for my mother. She’s the head housekeeper here. Everyone calls her Mrs. Penny, even though her real name is Penelope. She said she saw ye.”
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