by Ella Edon
Abducted by a Fiery Lady
She captured him by mistake, now he must capture her heart willingly...
Ella Edon
Contents
Thank you
About the book
Prologue
1. A Surprising Encounter
2. An unexpected surprise
3. Reaching An Agreement
4. Gathering the Pieces
5. A Plan is Made
6. Considering More Closely
7. Pastries and Perspicacity
8. Concerning Past and Future
9. Of Cages and Freedom
10. No Real Choice
11. In Society Again
12. A Few Possibilities
13. Meeting in the Afternoon
14. Coffee and Conspiring
15. Discussion in a Coffee-house
16. Of Ballgowns and Disguises
17. Identity Revealed
18. Dropping the Mask
19. Discussion in the Dark
20. Discussions and Decisions
21. In the Street
22. Moment of Fear
23. A New Connection
24. A Promise
25. Unexpected Wonders
26. Planning a Future
27. On Trust
28. Needing to Escape
29. Desperate Moment
30. Making a Decision
31. Words are Exchanged
32. A Surprise
33. A Challenge
34. A Frightening Moment
35. A Gathering at Home
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
Afterword
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About the Author
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About the book
She captured him by mistake, now he must capture her heart willingly...
The beautiful and independent Lady Emilia Herston has dedicated her life to caring for her eccentric and loving father the Earl of Mowbray. When he finds himself in a dire financial situation because of the wicked Duke of Elsmoor, Emilia decides to take matters into her own hands...
In a moment of desperation, she abducts the Duke to convince him to pay his debts to her father, but she makes a grand mistake...
Luke Preston, Earl of Westmore finds himself bound and gagged without understanding how and why this happened to him. The only thing that overpowers his agony and curiosity, is the attraction for his mysterious capturer...
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Prologue
“I’m disinclined to dance, usually,” Lord Huller said.
Emilia bit back a wry grin. I can tell, she thought.
She didn’t say it, though. Instead, she stepped back, neatly avoiding his misstep in the dance, then raised a brow.
“Oh?” she said.
“Yes,” he drawled. “It would take a real looker, like yourself, to lure me onto the dance-floor.”
“Oh,” Emilia said – and this time, it was a different sort of “oh.” She felt her grin falter.
She was Lady Emilia, daughter of the Earl of Mowbray, Barton Herston. She was educated, accomplished. To be reduced to an adornment on Huller’s arm was humiliating. How dare he? Real looker, indeed!
“Yes,” he drawled. “Most fetching, you are, in that fine muslin. Very pretty.”
Emilia swallowed her revulsion. “Are you going to the Indies this summer?” she asked.
“Um, no. Why?” Hudson asked, surprise on his face.
“I was wondering if there was going to be a hurricane,” she said mildly.
At that moment, the dance came to an end. Emilia dropped a curtsey, smiling sweetly up at his astonished face. Quickly, she turned and walked off the dance-floor.
As the last cadence of the dance faded into silence, Emilia headed back towards the card-table.
“Papa?” Emilia called out.
There were five older men seated around the table. A head with thick, white hair raised from studying the pile of cards, blue eye the color of the morning sky peering at her.
“That’ll do, Buford,” her father said to the man opposite him. “I surrender this round.”
“Papa…no…” Emilia protested gently, as her father threw his hand of cards onto the table and stood, walking towards her.
“I was losing anyway,” he said, grinning wryly at her. “Come on, sweetheart. What is it?”
Emilia grinned back. Her father might be almost seventy, but when he grinned like that, he looked like a small child.
“I’m fine, Papa,” she said gently. “Really. It’s just Huller.”
“Oh. Difficult sort, eh?” the earl asked. He put a hand on her shoulder, his fingers stiff and swollen with gout, and walked with her across the hall.
Emilia made a face. “The worst sort of difficult.”
“Not fierce, is he?” Papa asked. His bloodshot eyes stretched wide, anger making his jaw tremble. “I’ll give him fierce, if he was!”
“No, Papa,” Emilia soothed. “Just…condescending.” She made a face. “I don’t much like being belittled.”
Her father chuckled. “No, my buttercup. You don’t. Not even I would dare.”
“Oh, Papa.”
They grinned at each other. At the back of Almack’s, there were two doors that led out onto the terrace. The doorframe formed a natural archway. Few people lingered here, as they leaned against the wall, hidden in the shadows.
“Well,” her father said after a moment. “We’ll have to find another suitor for you, eh, my sweetheart? Back to the chalk-board, eh, what?”
Emilia smiled fondly. “Oh, Father,” she said. “I know I can be difficult.”
“Nonsense,” he said firmly. “You are my sweet daughter, and I won’t see you wed to somebody you cannot look in the eye. I wasn’t, so why should you be?”
“Thank you, Papa.” Emilia let out her breath in a long sigh. So many of her friends were forced into loveless matches. Only last month, Lady Arundel had wed a man she barely knew, and was now gone to live with him on the Yorkshire downs. Emilia felt relived and fortunate as she looked up at her father.
“A fine ball, eh?” he said.
“Mm.”
Emilia turned, glancing over the dancers. It was a glittering scene, lit with three hundred candles in crystal chandeliers. She had to admit—it did seem enchanting. Women wore plumes in their hair, men wore black velvet, the pastels and blacks all weaving together on the dance-floor. It should have been beautiful, but it wasn’t. Emilia couldn’t help but think of the secrets, the intrigue, hidden behind those carefree smiles.
She heard a sniff beside her. She turned to see a tear trace down her father’s cheek. Horrified, she reached for his hand.
“Papa?” she whispered, shocked. “What is it?”
He shook his head silently, as he dug in his pocket for a handkerchief.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said. “I was just worrying. Silly, really.”
&nbs
p; “About what?”
He shook his head again, but Emilia sensed it was something big. She took a guess. “Lord Carrington?”
“Yes.” Her father nodded.
Emilia swallowed hard. Lord Alexander Carrington, the Duke of Elsmoor, was her father’s worst problem. He was a member of the Milway Club – a group involved in smuggling and other illegal activities. Carrington was someone to whom her father owed a great deal of money. Emilia knew full well that the Leedgate Club, which her father was a member of, was not exactly a friendly afternoon drinking club, either. Regardless, it didn’t stop her from both adoring him and worrying for him.
Now, as she turned to him, her heart was sinking.
“Father…what can we do? Is it a lot of money?”
Her father didn’t say anything and Emilia wondered if he’d heard. Then, she heard him sniffle. “I can’t tell you, Emilia. I’m embarrassed. What was I thinking?” He laughed, bitterly.
“Father…it’s alright. It can’t be that bad,” she assured him.
He made a face. “We have to do something drastic.”
Emilia looked at him. “Like what?” she asked.
“Like kidnap him,” her father said.
Chapter One
A Surprising Encounter
Luke leaned back in the leather chair and sighed.
Of all the things I wish for most, there’s nothing I wish more than for Carrington to shut up, he mused. He wasn’t about to say anything, of course. Although, he had the suspicion it showed on his face. He tried to wipe the sneer away, but failed.
Of all the things he wanted to hear, another of Carrington’s stories about his latest conquests was not one of them. Opposite him, Alexander Carrington, his grace, the Duke of Elsmoor, paused in his narrative to take a sip of brandy and give Luke a hard stare.
“What?” Luke asked mildly.
Carrington said nothing. He very pointedly said nothing. He tipped back the last of his brandy and slammed the crystal glass on the table, all the while keeping his icy gaze locked on Luke.
Luke frowned. What the deuce is the matter with him?
“I think it’s time I left,” Carrington continued. Again, he was staring at Luke.
Luke shrugged. “If you have some engagement to attend, then…”
“I think I am being encouraged to go,” Carrington said icily.
“Oh! Alex, old boy, not at all,” one of his friends – a fellow Luke barely knew – protested loudly. “We were all waiting to hear what happened next.” He looked put-out, giving Luke a pointed stare.
“I think I’m being encouraged to continue my narrative elsewhere,” Carrington announced.
He lifted his velvet jacket from the peg by the door and shrugged it on. Luke heard a low growl escape the vaguely-familiar man’s throat.
“By gumption, Carrington! I’ll give whatever knave’s putting you off a good lesson…”
“No need, Wiltshire,” Carrington said thinly. “Those of us with interesting lives can go and continue discussing them elsewhere.”
He raised a brow at Luke as he spoke.
Somebody chuckled. Somebody else cheered. On Luke’s left, Lord Canmure drunkenly pushed back his chair, springing to his feet in Luke’s defense.
Luke just raised a brow.
I don’t care if he thinks my life is interesting or not. I know that I find his quite boring.
He didn’t air that thought, however— he just gave Carrington a mild stare.
“If you want to go elsewhere, then, feel free. I’ll stay on a while longer.”
The room bristled with imminent violence. Carrington drew in a breath. His friends had all stood from the card-table and flanked him. On Luke’s side of the table, only Canmure and Exfield stayed. Luke, out of everyone in the room, was the only one who remained seated.
“If you’re so pitiable that you want to stay here and mope about Stella Longfield, then you can stay,” his adversary hissed.
Luke blinked. Outwardly, he stayed calm. Inwardly, he reeled from the blast. Stella Longfield! That was a cruel slap.
Few people, save Luke’s immediate friends, knew about his brief, but ill-fated romance. He had been truly interested in Lady Stella, but her attachment seemed superficial. She’d left town with only a distant goodbye, heading up to Yorkshire, where she’d become affianced to a Mr. Huntstone. Luke still mourned her loss.
Carrington held his gaze in open challenge.
“I think what I choose to think about when I drink is no matter for open discussion,” he said lightly.
This time, he did push back his chair. He felt his hand go to his belt as Carrington drew out one of his silk gloves. He felt that stony gray gaze hold his, and he stared back. The room tensed with the promise of violence.
“Well, lads, it’s time to light the lamps, what?” a voice mumbled indistinctly.
Luke let out a breath as the proprietor of Milway House, an old ex-soldier by the name of Major Banksfield, came in. He didn’t look at either faction, but went straight to the wall and started to pour the lamp-oil. All the same, Luke and every other man in the room knew the old Major’s policy about dueling. They knew he would go straight to the newly-created Watch and report them all. This, in turn, would attract the ire of the Prince Regent, who was vehemently against such scandal.
“I won’t forget this,” Carrington murmured.
“I might remember, too,” Luke replied insolently.
Carrington, who had been halfway to the door, turned around and glared at him. He was about to come back to Luke, but one of his friends, Wainsley, laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Come on, Alexander,” he said. “You know we should go.”
Carrington shot Luke a hard glare, but left. Their booted feet echoed down the hallway, then even that sound disappeared.
Luke leaned back in the chair, relaxing as he heard their horses leave the stables.
“That was close,” Exfield said. “What a clod-pate, eh?”
“Nothing happened, Exfield,” Luke said mildly, stretching as he shifted on the leather seat. He pretended nonchalance, but in truth, he was still tense from the encounter.
A duel with Carrington was no idle threat – the fellow was rumored to have shot an army officer recently. Nobody knew if it was true, but certainly Carrington’s skill with a pistol was well-known, and it wasn’t something Luke wanted to encounter first-hand. He lifted the remains of his brandy and drank it, wincing at the bad taste.
“This club could surely get better brandy?” he asked Canmure.
Canmure, Luke’s longtime friend from their Oxford days, gave him a squint-eyed stare. Whatever the quality of the brandy, he had been drinking it steadily since they arrived mid-afternoon, and was in no fit state to comment on anything.
Luke turned away, staring into the fire.
The Milway Club, like so many of the clubs in London, had many layers. On the surface, it was simply a place for a drink, cards, and relaxation. Luke knew there was prostitution involved, but he himself had never gone up to the rooms above the card-room. He also knew there were other aspects to the club, involving contraband and illegal trade, but he did not participate in them.
I wish sometimes that I could escape London. Life in the Indies seemed much better— more authentic.
He closed his brown eyes, recalling the feel of sunlight, bronzing his skin. The scent of spice on the air. The humid heat of the forests and the sound of myriad bright-feathered birds.
“Is this the card-room?” a voice said at the door.
Luke’s eyes shot open in surprise. He saw Exfield shoot to his feet, and Canmure turned his head, blearily staring in the direction of the doorway.
Luke looked there, too, and stared.
A young woman stood in the doorway. She was well-dressed, in a white muslin gown, which was trimmed with blue, and a blue jacket. Her bonnet was white, the ribbon-ties were blue satin. It was none of that which held his gaze, however, nor – though his eyes wandered
there – her trim figure and high bust. It was her eyes. They were brown and warm as summer sun. Those beautiful eyes looked straight into his.
