Abducted By A Fiery Lady (Historical Regency Romance)

by Ella Edon

  She stepped back to let him get up into the coach. He frowned at her. They stood opposite one another in the doorway, at a confused stalemate.

  “Milady?”

  “Sir?”

  She blushed as he gestured to the door. Of course! He was waiting for her to get in! She lifted herself up the two metal steps and sat down heavily on the leather seat, cheeks flaming.

  “I have still got manners,” Luke reproached, stepping up into the carriage. He sat down opposite her. Instantly, Emilia became aware of the proximity of his knees – they were the width of her hand away, no more. She could feel the heat of his skin through her silk skirts, and she flushed crimson.

  If anybody sees me, I’m going to be disgraced!

  No fashionable young woman would be caught alone in a coach with a strange man! The thought was scandal.

  Oddly enough, the notion made her smile, a delicious tingle starting in her belly and working its way up to her cheeks.

  It was almost as exciting as a masque. With costumes and coverings over the eyes, nobody could tell who was who. Indiscretions could happen and nobody was disgraced. Being here was almost that tense.

  “On, lads,” Harris called, and the horses stepped neatly out of the drive, into the rising morning.

  Emilia leaned back, eyes closed, as they rattled over the cobbles. The wan daylight filtered in and she felt her excitement give way to wearisome tension as they rattled out across the cobblestones.

  She shot upright as Luke shouted in vexation, eyes flashing open.

  The sight before her made her laugh, almost as much as his shock had that morning. Face red, brow damp, he was fighting with the curtains.

  “Why are they sewn together?” he demanded.

  Emilia raised a brow. “Do you think I’m stupid? That I’d let you shout and scream and show your face to every passerby on the route past the park?”

  He sighed. She saw his cheeks lift as he grinned. She felt his admiration. She smiled shyly back.

  “Very clever,” he said.

  She smiled at him. “I’m still not opening the curtains,” she said. “However much you flatter me.”

  “I assure you— I don’t flatter,” he said lightly. His eyes met hers.

  Emilia felt a slow flush of heat through her body. His eyes – that striking blue – glowed in the pale light of the carriage. They held hers with peculiar intensity. He had a small wrinkle in the corner of them, the product of many similar smiles, no doubt. His eyes held hers and it felt as intimate as if they had clasped hands.

  Emilia swallowed hard and looked at her fingers.

  “Your solicitor is in Goldsmith Street?”

  “Um, yes,” he nodded. “Very good. How did you deduce that, may I ask?”

  She raised a brow. “Father’s solicitor is also in Goldsmith Street,” she said mildly. “I think almost everyone has a solicitor there.”

  He laughed. “That’s likely true.”

  She grinned. “I imagine everybody in London, all flocking here for their legal matters. What if they all had to come on the same day?”

  “Well, the street would be blocked for miles.”

  They both chuckled. The coach slewed sideways around a corner, and Emilia’s knees bumped into his.

  “Sorry,” she gasped.

  “Easy, there,” Luke said softly. He reached out to steady her. Emilia felt his touch warm her skin.

  Her eyes held his again. Inside, her heart was pounding like a horse’s hoofbeats. She looked into his eyes and she saw a strange look in them, one that clenched inside her like a fist. He leaned forward fractionally, knee still pressed against her leg, and she felt herself melting, then she tensed.

  “You will not take liberties, Lord Westmore.”

  “No, milady.”

  He leaned back against the seat. His eyes sparkled at her, and she felt as if they looked at her in a peculiar way. It was a way that she’d seen men look at women, but only rarely, seen directed toward her. And never by somebody who made her feel like Luke did. She went red.

  “We must be almost there,” she said. “That was Baker Street.”

  “Goldsmith Avenue,” the coachman called down.

  “Very good.”

  Emilia blushed. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” she echoed.

  “Again, I was not flattering.”

  She frowned at him censoriously, but he was already alighting from the coach. He held out his hand and she stepped down. Her ankles were jarred a little by the sidewalk.

  “This way,” he said. He stepped towards the gutter, so that she could walk without danger of her skirts being soiled. She felt her heart glow at the prospect. They went up the street towards the bustling commerce where the seamstresses and jewelry-makers had their shops.

  “Easy, milady,” Luke said, as a fellow in a top-hat almost bowled into her. He linked his arm through hers, sheltering her with his body. “Mind your step!” he shouted at the fellow.

  Emilia saw the man turn around and give Luke a hard glance. Luke shrugged. They carried on.

  “Sir, you needn’t,” Emilia said, tensing her arm. It was linked through his, her wrist pressed against his chest. She could feel the rise and fall of his breathing and the soft linen of his doublet. It felt nice.

  “I disagree,” he said lightly, smiling at her. “If we appear to be together, it will arouse altogether less suspicion. Don’t you agree?”

  “Only if nobody I know sees me,” she murmured. Her heart sank. All she needed was one of the town gossips to catch her with a man, and no chaperone in sight!

  “I agree,” he said. “Which is why we’re in luck. Here is the office.”

  Emilia swallowed hard. He was pointing to an office with thick, diamond-paned windows, a sign that said, “Mr. B. Harville, Solicitor,” over the door.

  “Very well,” she said. She hesitated at the door. Should she go in with him?

  “I’ll wait here,” she declared, as he went in through the door, pausing on the threshold. “When you come out, I’ll join you.”

  He grinned. “As you wish, milady.”

  Emilia nodded and he went in, shutting the door carefully behind him. The doorbell clinked, and then she was alone.

  “Good,” she said. Her words were unconvincing, even to her. She felt strange, standing there alone in the street without him. She hesitated in the door, then shook herself.

  “Come on, Emilia Herston,” she said firmly. “Forget about him. He’s busy, and you’re free awhile.”

  She walked across the street to where a silversmith had his premises. She looked idly over the collection, and felt her heart twist in her chest as she looked back at the office.

  “Take care, Luke,” she thought to herself. She already missed him.

  Chapter Six

  Considering More Closely

  Luke stood in the doorway of Mr. Harville’s office. He shifted uncomfortably, checking his hair in the reflection on the inside of the window. He had left the house in his shirt-sleeves, with no top-hat to speak of. He hadn’t even had a chance to brush his hair! He felt quite uneasy.

  “Lord Westmore?”

  Mr. Emery, the assistant at the office, looked up at him in surprised.

  “Yes?” Luke replied tensely. He ran a nervous hand through his hair again. He had no idea how disarrayed he appeared! It was truly awkward. As it was, the man was staring at him as if he’d just seen him waken from the dead. “I say…is there a reason why you’re giving me such an odd look?”

  “N…no, sir!” Mr. Emery swallowed hard. “I just…we heard you’d gone missing, sir. We had a message that you were going to be presumed dead in a week!”

  “Presumed dead!” Luke was outraged. “Well, I say! I’m very much alive, thank you! And, as it happens, I’m safe. If I hadn’t been, it would have done me no good whatsoever to simply presume me dead.”

  “Um, no sir,” the assistant agreed.

  “No, indeed,” Luke felt quite shaken. If he had bee
n kidnapped by bandits, would they have made an equally deplorable effort to find him?

  As it was, the man looked quite embarrassed. Avoiding Luke’s gaze, he stood.

  “I’ll just find out if Mr. Harville is ready for you, sir.”

  Luke said nothing, just stepped back from the doorway as the fellow hurried out. He wasn’t long, returning within the minute.

  “Mr. Harville is ready for you.”

  “Thank you.” Luke walked past him into the inner office.

  “Lord Westmore!” His solicitor – a smooth-faced young man with a half-asleep expression, stood as he entered. “What a pleasure.”

  “I believe you thought me deceased.”

  “Um, no, sir. Not for a week yet, sir.”

  “Not scheduled yet, eh?” Luke raised a brow.

  The solicitor chuckled lightly. “Something like that.” He held out his hand to shake Luke’s. “Well, it’s good to see you alive and well, sir.”

  “I’m glad,” Luke replied mildly. “At least someone isn’t all too keen to look at my will.” He shook Harville’s hand briskly and sat down on the proffered seat. He felt desperately uncomfortable, like he was being eaten alive by ants. He didn’t have any documents with him, not even his seal-ring, which had been left behind in his London apartment.

  “Harville,” he spoke swiftly. “I don’t want to discuss my accounts, but…”

  “They’re very healthy,” his solicitor beamed. “We had an increase in your investments last week, with a…”

  “I don’t want to discuss my accounts,” Luke interrupted, more firmly this time. “I want to discuss the details of my Uncle Ranvier’s estate.”

  “Oh.” The fellow looked disappointed. “That is another matter.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  They regarded each other across the table. The fellow had brown eyes, with glints of ocher in them, like polished sandstone. He studied Luke with a frosty stare.

  “As you wish,” Harville murmured, and dug about in his desk drawer, producing a blotter. “Here we are. Now, before I divulge any details of the estate, will you please show me the Ellington seal-ring?”

  “What?” Luke exploded. “I don’t have it! Why should I?”

  It was on the sideboard, next to the Preston one. In his memory, he could see it clearly, could even see the tray and the inkwell that always sat beside them on the windowsill. He swore.

  Opposite him, the solicitor shrugged. “I’m sorry, sir. No seal-ring, no discussion. It’s for your own safety…”

  “Damn it!” Luke hissed. He was desperate. Who knew what was happening outside? He might be made captive the moment he walked through the door! As far as he knew, he had only this chance to find out about Ranvier’s dealings before being hauled back to that horrid study again!

  The solicitor frowned. “You might mind your manners, sir. I know I’m only a solicitor, but…”

  “I need help!” Luke exploded, shooting to his feet, all calm evaporating. “I don’t know when I’m going to be able to come here again. Ranvier needs me. I have to do this today!”

  The solicitor shrugged, but Luke saw a lightening in his expression. He felt a faint glimmer of hope.

  “I can show you,” the fellow nodded. “Just sign this piece of paper…here, and here…” He pointed. Luke signed eagerly, feeling his forehead damp with sweat as the relief permeated through him like fine tea in hot water.

  “There,” Luke announced, signing with a florid hand, then passing back the quill. “Now. Can we see them, please?”

  “Of course,” the fellow nodded briskly. “I can’t say that you’ll be pleased to see them, though,” he warned. “The investments took a few blows last week…I might have warned him that imported mirrors were a bad plan this year, with our own glassmakers starting to produce…”

  “Show me,” Luke demanded raggedly

  He looked through the sheets, feeling his heart beat faster. It was terrible! Over the past month, Ranvier’s accounts had lost a quarter of their total worth.

  “How did this happen?” he groaned.

  The solicitor raised a brow. “Bad management,” he said. “Mostly. Unwise choices, spending…” He shrugged. “It happens. You seem upset.”

  “I am upset!” Luke shouted. “My uncle’s ailing! He relies on this cash. He…” He sighed, shaking his head. In his mind, his governess reminded him not to air his laundry in public. The solicitor didn’t need to listen to his tale of woe.

  “I regret this has happened, Lord Westmore,” Harville said gently, as Luke leaned back in the chair, utterly finished. “I assure you that I will do my utter best to remedy the situation. We could, perhaps, pull some of the funds out of rope-making and invest in cotton. I have the feeling that cotton is going to grow this year – if you’ll pardon the pun…”

  Luke closed his eyes. He sent an internal plea to whomever was listening, for strength. He nodded.

  “Whatever you think best.”

  “Very good.” Harville nodded. “If you’ll sign here, and, um…here…We can set the investment in motion.”

  “Thanks,” Luke whispered.

  He signed where he was told.

  After what felt like hours of torment, but which must rightly have only been ten minutes, he stood and pushed back the chair.

  “I take it our business is finished for the day?” he asked.

  “Very satisfactory, milord,” the solicitor nodded, standing up. He held out his hand to shake Luke’s, the same bland grin on his face as when Luke had arrived. “I will be pleased to report the growth in stocks, when you return.

  “If I can ever return,” Luke muttered.

  “Sir?” Harville frowned. “Um…should I tell your steward you’re alive? He was rather anxious about you.”

  Luke smiled, a grin laden with irony. “Well, he’s not in my will, so he’s probably less cheerful than most about it. Yes, by all means tell him. It’s be nice to think someone’s looking for me.”

  Before his solicitor could ask any difficult questions, he stepped heavily out into the street.

  In the daylight, he blinked. Where was Emilia? He was surprised that he was disappointed, at first.

  “I ought to make a run for it,” he whispered.

  Oddly enough, he wanted to see her again, to at least say goodbye. He looked around.

  “Business concluded?” a feminine voice asked from his left. Luke spun round. Emilia stood up from where she’d been leaning against the window-display.

  “Yes…yes.” He nodded briskly, feeling just a tiny bit unnerved. He always did, whenever she stared up at him with that disconcerting blue gaze. He reached in his pocket for his handkerchief, found it and dabbed at his brow. He closed his eyes, utterly drained as he leaned on the lintel.

  “Bad news?” Emilia asked. He felt her hand on his elbow.

  He went stiff. His heart, which was tired and depressed, thudded cheerfully at her touch. He turned and smiled down at her, feeling his whole body melting.

  “It’s alright,” he said softly. “Not so bad.”

  She looked up at him, a world of sympathy in those blue eyes.

  “If it’s bad, you can tell me. Mayhap we can do something.”

  He smiled, feeling thankful.

  “I wish we could,” he murmured. “And, thank you.”

  “Of course,” she said.

  For the second time in two days, their eyes met. She looked at him tenderly. Her lips parted as she licked them, and he felt his body ache. He wanted, so badly, to be alone with her. He imagined kissing her, and how sweet her lips would taste.

  “We should go,” he said, realizing that they were standing in the open and he was risking her reputation just by being here, alone with her in public.

  “I suppose,” she said softly.

  “You suppose?”

  She shrugged. “It’s silly,” she said. “I wish we could just go to a coffee house together. It sounds like you need to talk.”

  He smiled.
“It’s not so bad.” It was worse than bad. But he didn’t feel that terrible right now. Right now, all he wanted was to sit with her in a cozy coffee house tête à tête.

  “If we walk to the end of the street, Harris will be waiting for us,” she said. She sounded reluctant. He frowned.

  “Am I free to leave?”