The Kidnapped Bride (Redcakes)

by Heather Hiestand

  She had a gentle flush to her face now, but he didn’t know how much energy would survive a trip up and down the tenement stairs.

  “Can you afford to give her a little money?” she asked. “I’m sure she would keep Hester one more night. Although I do feel better, and Hester could sleep next to me, as you said.”

  “Better not tae risk it. What if you’re contagious?”

  She yawned again and sniffed experimentally. “I feel fine. Do you think the slavers will return?”

  “The ship was gone, remember?”

  “I was so tired before. Now I remember.” A smile of surpassing sweetness widened her mouth. He’d thought her attractive before, but her smile transformed her into a young woman of great beauty.

  He felt himself twitch, harden, then ruthlessly pushed his lust away, tried to put it in a box and lock it. Why did she have to be so lovely, spirited, and adventure-loving? He might go so far as to say she was a female version of himself, with much worse luck. Of course, she’d been ill-prepared for her first attempt at adventure.

  She sat up and untied the cloak. As it dropped from her shoulders to puddle on the bed, he wondered if she knew how dangerous it was to disrobe in front of an aroused male. Thankfully, his brother was playing unwitting chaperone in the next room, and the door was open.

  He stared at her toes, peeking out of ruined stockings. She probably had blisters. “Poor lass. Do you need help with your shoes? Never mind, let me help. I don’t want ye getting dizzy again.” He found her shoes at the foot of the bed and slipped the damp, cracked disasters back on her feet. “We need to get you new shoes.”

  She scoffed. “You don’t say. Well, they are good enough for the tenement. Are you sure there’s food for all of us?”

  “We had enough packed for a journey, just in case,” he admitted ruefully.

  “You thought you were going to whisk me back to England, didn’t you?”

  “I had that thought, yes.” He wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

  “You understand about Hester? Why I can’t leave?”

  “I understand your feelings, yes.” He did, and he’d have done the same in her place.

  “I’ll never forgive you if you try to separate us. I might think you were a decent human being if I had your word you wouldn’t try.”

  With those haunted blue orbs regarding him so steadily, what could he say? “I won’t try, Beth. I take protecting the innocent very seriously, and who is more innocent than a baby?”

  She nodded. “Very well.” She slid to her feet, wincing a little.

  “Is the room swaying?”

  She put a hand to her tangled hair. “No, but I must look like an utter slattern.”

  “A few pins would do wonders.”

  “At least I am fairly clean, thanks to that bath in your tower prison.” She quirked her lips, sharing the joke with him.

  “I’m glad ye realized you really weren’t locked in.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I’ll give you the benefit of trust on that matter.”

  He glanced around the room. “I suppose there is no hope of finding pins.”

  “The maid has not been in to clean up this mess,” she agreed. “But my pins might still be here. Why would they have stolen such humble items?”

  He lifted his fingers, wiggled them. “Maybe a braid, for now?”

  “Good idea.”

  He stepped out of the room to give her a little privacy. John lifted up his eyebrows when he entered the main room.

  “She ailing?”

  “Seems a world better. Did ye divide up the food?”

  “No.” John tapped the hamper, which rattled plumply.

  “And I’ll need a few shillings,” Dougal said. “We don’t want tae give Mrs. Shaw too much, though.”

  “Haven’t you any money on you?”

  “Of course, but I don’t want to use my funds. What if something goes wrong again? I might need every bit.”

  John sighed dramatically and tossed him a handful of shillings, then bent over the hamper. By the time they had wrapped one small chicken and a loaf of bread, plus placed a couple of apples into a snowy white napkin, Beth had appeared in the doorway.

  She wore a tattered black dress that hung on her long, angular body. As she was too thin, the braid he’d suggested elongated her neck even further, giving her the look of a swan. Her hair, a lustrous yellow with a darker hue beneath, was shiny and smooth, however, and he’d no sooner seen the braid than he wanted to undo it. The rain and bath had taken the black dye from her locks.

  “None of your clothing survived?” John asked, apparently taken aback by seeing her in the same clothing she’d worn at Alix Hall.

  “No. There’s nothing fit for more than washing rags.”

  “Someone must have been very angry with your Manfred Cross.”

  “Do slavers and jewel thieves have anything in common?” she asked.

  “The same people who can afford slaves could also afford gems,” Dougal said. “That’s my thought, anyway.”

  She nodded soberly and they went downstairs. When Mrs. Shaw opened the door, Hester pushed around her legs and latched onto Beth. Dougal was glad to see Beth pick up the child easily, with no hint of dizziness. He handed the old woman the napkin and money, and she agreed to keep Hester for one more night. Beth embraced the child tightly, but Hester went back to her guardian willingly enough.

  “She’s a kind soul,” Beth said as she and Dougal went back upstairs, after saying good-bye to John. “My dream would be to have a little flat for all three of us, but I’ll have to go into service now. I don’t know how long she’ll be able to care for Hester, but good food makes so much difference, I find, in one’s stamina.”

  Dougal kept his thoughts to himself. He hadn’t told her that John had contacted both Hatbrook House and Redcake’s Tea Shop and Emporium. He’d included the address of Beth’s flat and contact information for John’s man of business in Edinburgh. By the next morning, they should have revealed Beth’s secrets to the family.

  Beth seemed to have some notion that tomorrow everything would change. She glanced at him uneasily when they reached her flat.

  Beth felt as if bees buzzed just beneath her skin as the evening progressed. Dougal had laid out a simple meal on the scarred table where she had prepared so many meals for herself and Freddie over the past months. She wondered if this would be the last meal she’d eat here. The rent was due the next day, and her small stash of coins, which had been under the mattress, was gone. Dougal Alexander had said Freddie had a stash of money too, but he’d taken it and hadn’t returned it to her.

  Tomorrow, after the private investigator had proved to himself that no one was coming to kidnap her again, he would go away. She’d have to look for employment immediately. Would the landlord give her any money for the bed, the table? Or had they been here all along? When Freddie found this place and moved her in, she hadn’t known what it contained. The landlord would lie if Freddie had purchased what was left. No, there would be no money from the remaining contents.

  She hoped the baron had been generous with coins to Mrs. Shaw, so that she’d be inclined to be kind for another few days, until Beth could pay her more. But who would pay her so quickly? She thought of the streets with a shudder. No, she would not stoop so low as that. Other than her shoes, her clothing was respectable enough. She could even write herself a character reference, as Lady Elizabeth Shield, for Beth Cross. That would make her experienced. But what would she be? A lady’s maid? Not with hands like hers. She stared at her callused, reddened fingers with disgust. Too young to be a housekeeper or a cook. Was she still pretty enough to be a parlormaid?

  She marched back into the flat’s main room, where Mr. Alexander was feeding the fireplace with bits of broken furniture. Since the curtain had been ripped down, she could see rain dripping down the single window in the room.

  “On nights like this, it is hard to believe May is so close,” she said.

  “I
t will be warmer then, at least, if not drier.”

  “The pieces from Hester’s little bed are bigger than those chair backs,” she commented. “I’ll get them for you.”

  He turned away from the fire. “No, don’t trouble yourself, lass. Save your strength.”

  “I wonder if you’ve seen my writing desk? I had a little one, with paper and ink.”

  He scratched the side of his mouth with one long, elegant finger, drawing her attention to his sensuous lips. Her insides melted a little. Once she went into service, men like him would be forever out of her reach. Why hadn’t she met someone like him during her Season? She supposed he was like her brothers, too busy living life on his own terms to bother with parties and musicales. They were new men, with better things to do. And she was a new woman. For better or worse, she had forged a new life and identity. Her biggest problem had been relying too much on someone whose best skills ran to the criminal.

  Given her adventures, and knowing what happened to housemaids, she considered the investigator again. She’d retained her virginity, but how much longer would that be possible? Wouldn’t it be fine to take a moment for herself, to experience physical passion with a man like Dougal Alexander?

  Chapter 7

  “Where are you going to sleep tonight?” Beth asked, her voice going husky from the sensual thoughts that had taken over her mind.

  He pointed to the doorway. She saw a cushion and a thick blanket piled up next it.

  “That won’t be very comfortable.”

  “The lintel was chipped away, so the door can’t lock. I have tae keep you safe.”

  “You’ll get hurt if someone pushes open the door.”

  He gave her that saucy Alexander grin. “I have fast reflexes.”

  She stepped toward him, allowing her hips to sway. Her diet of late had precluded the kind of food that would put the meat on her hips and chest that so enticed a man, but she’d seen his sharp gaze on her and chose to believe he was attracted to her, rather than just watching her as a business matter.

  “Can’t we find some other way to bar the door?” she asked.

  “Not short of nailing it closed.”

  She tapped her index finger on her lips. “Did you know there is a lock on the bedroom door? I found the key on the floor after your brother repaired the bed.”

  “Good. Lock it.” He turned back to the fire.

  She glared at his back, frustrated, then let her gaze drift down his coat. “Do you know you have a ripped hem?”

  He glanced at her. “I do?”

  “Yes, in the back.” Her hand opened as she resisted the urge to touch him, then tossed propriety aside. “Here.” She took the fabric of his coat in her fingers. “No, you can’t see without taking it off.”

  Her hands reached to his shoulders before he could protest. She slid the fabric down his shoulders, feeling the attractive bulge of muscle as she worked his sleeves off his arms. Then she flipped the coat and showed him.

  “I’d ask ye to fix it, but I haven’t seen your sewing box anywhere.”

  “I saw you feeding wicker scraps into the fire earlier. That was probably my basket. Have you seen a pincushion or thread?”

  “No, nor scissors.”

  “Why would the slavers bother to steal those?” she asked.

  “Your neighbors may have taken advantage after the slavers left.”

  She was glad this was her last night here. “I’m afraid your wardrobe is becoming as disreputable as mine.”

  “Ye don’t have any wardrobe,” he drawled.

  “No, just the clothes on my back,” she agreed. She swept one hand gracefully from her shoulder to her waist, gratified when his gaze followed the movement.

  “Would ye like a glass of wine?” he asked. “We still have half a bottle.”

  “No. The glass I had went straight to my head.” It might even be true, thin as she was. “But you go ahead.”

  While he was pulling the stopper from the bottle, she said, “I think you should sleep with me.”

  When he looked up in alarm, she blushed prettily. “In the bedroom, I mean, behind the lock. I’ll sleep better knowing you are safe too.”

  His eyes narrowed and he set down the bottle. “I suppose I could sleep across the doorway in there.”

  “How uncomfortable,” she said, making a face.

  “Lady Elizabeth, I am no fool. What is your intention with this display of charm?”

  She blinked at him. “I want you to sleep close to me. I’ll feel safer.”

  “Ye didn’t have any trouble sleeping in the tower room.”

  “That was far away from here. I was attacked on the stairs just below us, you know.”

  He regarded her closely, then seemed to decide she was being honest. “Fine. I’ll sleep across the doorway in the bedroom. I suppose there is nothing in this room worth stealing, and the other residents will know that by now.”

  “You think people who live here destroyed the furnishings?”

  “Yes,” he said frankly. “The slavers carried ye off. I doubt they knocked you out, then carried you back up here. Either some residents who saw you kidnapped did it, or the slavers sent associates once you’d been taken tae that warehouse.”

  She shivered. “I don’t want to stay here any longer.”

  “Do ye want to go to a hotel tonight?”

  She shook her head. “No, not while Hester is in the building. I just mean I’m leaving tomorrow. Forever.”

  He nodded. “I agree with that.”

  “But for now, we have one night.” She tried to smile seductively at him, but she’d tried that with Freddie too and look where it had gotten her.

  He seemed unaware of her intentions. “We have four pistols and a knife or two. We’ll be fine unless an army attacks.”

  “You are such a man,” she said.

  His muscles bunched under his shirtsleeves at her artless words. “Let’s hope I don’t have to prove my manhood tonight.”

  “Oh, but I’d quite like you to.”

  His eyebrows rose.

  She stared at his arms, wondering how it would feel to be wrapped protectively in them. Could she forget the gloomy future for one night if he cradled her in his warmth? “I could use your strength, Dougal. May I call you Dougal?”

  “I built ye a fire,” he countered. “That is a fair show of manliness.”

  “A tweeny could do that,” she scoffed.

  “I had tae break up damaged furniture,” he protested. “You didn’t have any actual wood.”

  “I must have used the last of it a couple of days ago.” She sighed. “As you can see, I had limited funds and too many mouths to feed.”

  “That will all change now.”

  No, it won’t. But she would take this last night of freedom for herself. Something good, rather than the degradation that might be her future. She stepped toward him, put her hands around the corded strength of one forearm. “Lend me your strength, Dougal. For just this night.”

  “If ye were a widow, perhaps.”

  She sensed he was weakening. “I am just a maid. Only Beth. Please, Dougal.”

  “Ye don’t know what you’re asking. The way you were raised—”

  “I have so much ugliness to forget. Give me a night of careless passion on this last night here, some pleasant memory. A man who wants me. I know you do. I’ve seen the way your gaze caresses my face.”

  “Lady Elizabeth . . .”

  “No,” she demanded, moving her fingers to his thick, solid upper arm. “Beth. Think of me as that anonymous girl who ran to you for help in Leith. Think of this as a reward.”

  “I don’t need a reward for saving your life.”

  His voice had gone hoarse. Did that mean he felt some passion? She had too little experience in these matters. But she let her fingers drift north, around the rounded strength of his shoulders, to his neck, which had the first roughness of a dark beard coming.

  “You are not a dandy.”

&nb
sp; “I’m a Scotsman.”

  She smiled. “A verra bonny lad. Where is your plaid, and a patch of heather to lay me down on?”

  “Very amusing.” He took her hands from his chin and dropped them to her sides, though he didn’t let them go.

  His hands were large, and she couldn’t move her fingers. Her thumbs, though, they were a different matter. She caressed the warm flesh at his wrists, just under his shirt cuffs.

  “Ye shouldn’t try tae bewitch me,” he rasped.

  “On the contrary, sir. I’m trying very hard,” she whispered. “Come, your fire has warmed the flat a little, but my bed will be very cold and uncomfortable without you.”

  “You’re not a virgin,” he said, with a touch of hope in his voice.

  She bowed her head slightly, knowing fear would give her away if she lifted her gaze to his. But she didn’t respond. After a moment he nodded, as if coming to a decision. In a swift move, he plucked her off the floor and settled her into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed the edge of his jaw. Yes, this.

  His eyes drifted closed as her lips met his skin. He bumped into the doorway.

  “Ow,” he complained.

  “Poor wee laddie. I’ll kiss the hurts away,” she said, meaning to kiss his dark head where he’d crunched his skull.

  But instead, he turned, and her lips found his instead. Her very bones melted as he met her, openmouthed, hot, and wanting. She’d always heard from the girls in London that you knew if a man wanted you by the bulges under his trousers, but with Dougal, she knew by his kiss. Clinging to him, meeting him with each slide of lips, each angle of head, she scarcely knew where they were. They could be in Edinburgh, or London, or the jungles of Africa, for all she cared. It was only this kiss, this breath, this strength of strong arms holding her, that mattered.

  She’d already given herself to him, whether he knew it or not.

  Then she was falling, but only to the soft wool of the cloak on her bed. His arm left her legs and trailed up her body, lifting her skirts. She felt a molten heat between her legs. Tendrils of fire licked at each place his fingers touched.

  “I like this dress,” he said, undoing the buttons. “Easy to get ye out of it.”