Stealing the Heiress (The Kidnap Club Book 2)

by Samantha Holt

  Not only because she wanted this but because she could not let Russell think she had a distaste for his past.

  He remained close, a hand to the small of her back. The touch was intimate, but she liked it. That large hand, pressing lightly against her, removed any worries she might have for her safety.

  Not that she intended to have any. Here was one small chance to prove to herself that she did not just dream of exciting situations, but she could actually follow through.

  She kept her chin raised and headed toward the bar of the taproom, the hairs on the back of her neck pricking at the feel of all the eyes on her. Even Russell, in his fine clothes, did not look like he belonged here, however, she doubted anyone would question his presence. Despite the fine fabrics and well-cut clothing, he never failed to have an air of intimidation.

  She supposed that was because of his past. Gosh, how fascinating the man was. How had he gained wealth? Was it simply because of the kidnapping? Was it something else? How had he been orphaned? What happened next? Of course, she only had two questions now so she would have to think them through exceedingly carefully.

  A short man with a thick head of faded red hair and a matching moustache stood behind the bar, cleaning a tankard with such dedication she imagined he would wear through the metal before long. He didn’t look at them until he rubbed it several times, lifted it to the dim lamplight, and rubbed it again then set it on a shelf behind him.

  “What can I do you for?”

  “Two ales,” Russell replied before Rosamunde could say anything.

  She shut her mouth. She supposed it would be best if they purchased a drink, then the innkeeper might be more obliging. He poured the drinks and shoved them over then Russell pushed some coins across the bar. The exchange happened so swiftly she hardly had time to breathe let alone catch up with Russell as he made his way to a table in the corner by the empty fireplace.

  He put the drink on the table then drew out a chair, cocking his head toward it. “Sit.”

  “But—”

  “Just sit. We’ll ask our questions soon enough.”

  She glanced around and frowned. Why they could not ask now, she could not fathom but Russell knew this inn better than her, so she sank reluctantly onto the chair.

  He followed suit and grabbed the ale, taking a lengthy gulp then swiping the foam from his upper lip.

  Rosamunde peered at the froth on top of the drink. She enjoyed a nice glass of wine or sherry, but she’d never partaken in ale. It looked rather refreshing on such a warm day, so she pulled the tankard toward her.

  “You do not have to drink it.”

  “I want to.” She lifted it and took a long sip. The bitter tang danced on her tongue and she gulped it down. A warm sensation soon reached her fingertips.

  Russell watched her, a brow raised.

  “It’s quite nice actually.”

  His lips tilted. “You have a little...” He leaned forward and swiped what had to have been froth from her lip then licked it from his thumb.

  Eyes wide, she watched the movement, frozen. It wasn’t anymore scandalous than them already having kissed yet she could not help think on how his thumb had touched her mouth. And how his tongue had then touched his thumb. It was as close to kissing as one could get without actually participating in the act.

  He cleared his throat, glanced around, and took another drink.

  “Why are we not asking about Albert?” she whispered.

  “Because the innkeeper does not trust us. He’ll tell us nothing.”

  “How can you tell?”

  He shrugged. “I just know.”

  “So if we have a drink, he’ll trust us.”

  “If we spend enough, he will.”

  “Could we not just, you know, bribe him?” she murmured.

  Russell shook his head. “I know men like him. He makes fine ale and takes pride in it. He won’t take coin for information on his patrons.”

  “I see.” She looked to the innkeeper who had returned to polishing tankards. How he knew all that, she couldn’t fathom, but she trusted Russell to be right. He had so much more experience of life and people than she did. “So it looks as though we are drinking ale for the rest of the afternoon.” She lifted her drink. “Cheers.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Halfway down her third pint, Russell put a hand to Rosamunde’s arm. “When I said we needed to earn the innkeeper’s trust, I did not mean you had to drain every barrel in this place.”

  “Nonsense! Besides, you have drunk as much as I have.”

  “I drink ale on regular occasions. You do not.”

  “I drink wine! Even whiskey sometimes.” Her voice grew louder, and he motioned for her to hush. Although the patrons had returned to their drinks and card games, he didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention, given that both of them had already drawn plenty as it was.

  Not that he blamed anyone for watching Rosamunde. In the dark, dank corner of the inn, she offered up a spark of beauty in her green gown and shimmering fabrics. His presence put an end to any attention, but he had no doubt if he was not here, she would be fighting off admirers.

  And now the bloody woman was sozzled. When he put an ale in front of her, he certainly never expected her to drain it more swiftly than some men he knew then demand another as though she were a Viking at a feast. He shook his head. Would she never cease to surprise him?

  “I suggest you drink it a little more slowly,” he murmured.

  “It’s quite delicious though and thoroughly refreshing.” She looked to the innkeeper and lifted the tankard. “This is quite refreshing, sir,” she bellowed at him.

  The man shook his head, a slight smile on his lips. Perhaps her enthusiasm was working. With any luck, by the time they left, they’d be able to wheedle some information from him.

  “You know I have thought of my second question.” She leaned forward, jabbing a finger at the table. “How did you get involved with the kidnapping?”

  Well, it was an easy enough question. At least it was not about his past. “I met a friend through one of my business ventures...”

  She lifted a finger. “So you have friends? Interesting. But I think, in fairness, you should elaborate on this business venture. It is hardly fair to answer my question vaguely.”

  He sighed. “Very well. This friend invested in a speculation at the same time I did.”

  “Invested. So you do have money.”

  Quite a lot but he was not going to admit that.

  “Continue,” she ordered, gesturing with her hand.

  “He needed someone with few connections and lack of fear.” Russell gestured to himself. “He had me marked out as that sort of man and he was not wrong.”

  “You do look fearless,” she agreed.

  “His cousin needed help escaping a violent marriage, but it is not easy for a woman of stature to escape such things. So he arranged to have her kidnapped. That was where I came in.”

  “So you spirited her away and prevented her husband from tracking her down.”

  “Yes, she ended up in Ireland I believe.” He paused. “That was your third question.”

  She shook her head, sending curls bouncing around her face. “No, that was a statement not a question.” She leaned back and sipped her ale. “Then you found that other women needed such a service.”

  He nodded.

  “It seems a great shame that such a thing is needed but I can understand why, and I must say, I think you are a fine man for doing such a thing. Even if you do sometimes kidnap the wrong woman.” She grinned.

  “I’m not a fine man. It pays handsomely.” He shifted forward. “And I would rather you did not mention the kidnap thing.” He looked around. “Someone might get the wrong idea.”

  “Oh goodness.” She sucked in a breath. “Someone might try to rescue me from you.” Rosamunde laughed. “Though I do not think anyone would be brave enough to go up against you. You are very strong. I know, because I remember you pinnin
g me down. I could tell you were strong then and I felt your muscles.”

  Russell had little vanity and being strong merely meant it was easier to survive in life. That didn’t mean, however, that he did not like she had noticed. He closed his eyes briefly and regretted it when images of her wriggling beneath him flared through his mind.

  It didn’t matter what she thought of him. He didn’t care. Not one jot. He just had to remember that.

  “I think you’ve had enough ale.” He tried to reach for the drink, but she moved it away from him.

  “Let me just finish this.”

  “No more after that.” He nodded toward the innkeeper. “I think we can ask our questions soon enough.”

  “Oh good. I so hope he has information on Uncle Albert.”

  “Why is it you are so worried about him, but your family is not?”

  She pouted. “I already told you they think I’m silly and over imaginative.”

  “But why do you care so much? He’s a grown man and, by the sounds of it, experienced in the world. Surely he can look after himself?”

  She sighed and traced a scratch on the table with a finger. “Have you ever felt alone?” She grimaced. “Of course you have.”

  Russell didn’t reply. He’d been alone for as long as he could remember. It had been easier that way, though. He didn’t have anyone else to worry about. Sometimes, he was even grateful for it. If he’d had a sibling to look after, life on the streets would have been even harder.

  “Uncle Albert understands me. He sees me.”

  Russell frowned.

  “He sees who I want to be, not just a young, noble woman who is destined to marry and embroider and play the piano. Through him, I can live.” Her eyes glistened slightly. “Truly live.”

  “I see.”

  “You likely do not. You have always done whatever you want.”

  “There are few choices given to an orphan on the streets of London.”

  She paused. “No, I suppose there aren’t.” Her mouth curved. “We are alike then. You understand what it is like to have little choice in your future.”

  “We are not alike,” he said, more to himself than her.

  Rosamunde sighed and patted his hand. “We are, Russell. We really are.”

  “YOU KNOW, I’M not certain why we have to drink wine at dinner.” Rosamunde swayed a little as they headed toward her family home. “I think we should drink ale instead.”

  Looping an arm around her waist, Russell pulled her tight into his side before she could get in the way of an elderly couple ambling along the pavement. “I think you should avoid any drink for a while.”

  “It’s a shame they hadn’t seen my uncle in a while.” She gave a dramatic sigh. “Everyone thinks I’m being silly. Even you, I’d wager. Everyone always says what an active imagination I have.”

  “I do not think you are silly.”

  “Is it my fault that life is so terribly dull? I do not think it is.” She hiccupped. “Everyone expects women to stay at home and take tea and run the household and look pretty and stay quiet.”

  His lips quirked. “I do not think you possess the ability to remain quiet.”

  “Well, precisely.” She leaned more heavily into him. “I was never meant for this dull life, I’m sure. I was meant to sail on the high seas. Or explore uncharted territory.”

  She glanced up at him, enjoying being in his hold far too much. The world swayed a little. Perhaps she should not have partaken in that third ale, but it really had been most refreshing, and she had felt so daring, gulping down such a masculine drink.

  “I think you’d miss your family too much,” he said.

  She shook her head from side to side in exaggerated movements. “They are so noisy and always just…there. Do you know what I mean?” She grimaced. “Oh I suppose you do not.” Pausing, she tugged away from his side and turned to face him, clasping her hands in front of her and dropping her gaze. “Sorry.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry about. It is hardly your fault you have family and I do not.”

  “But you must think me selfish.”

  “Not one jot.”

  She cocked her head. It was hard to fathom what it must have been like to grow up on one’s own with no one to rely on. She had to admit, she did appreciate their support even if they drove her mad at times.

  “Do you not wish you had family? Even a quiet one without hundreds of dogs?”

  He shrugged. “Why would I? I am beholden to no one. I like it that way.”

  She closed the gap between them, stumbling slightly and placing her hands upon his chest to steady herself. He peered down at her, his brow slightly furrowed. Their kiss flashed through her mind and it took all her willpower not to rise up on her toes and press her lips to his.

  “You must find such an existence lonely, surely? After all, no man is an island.”

  “John Donne’s Devotions,” he murmured.

  “I didn’t even know that was from that sermon. You are curiously well read.”

  “For a penniless orphan you mean,” he said dryly.

  She scowled. “Certainly not. I always had you marked as a clever man.”

  “Even when I mistakenly kidnapped you?”

  “Well, I shall admit that was not your cleverest moment.”

  He nodded toward her house. “Come, we are not far, and I suspect you shall want your bed soon.”

  “Not at all. I feel quite awake.” A yawn overtook her, and she tried to mask it behind a hand.

  Russell chuckled. “You should most certainly sleep, or you’ll awaken with a sore head.”

  “It is not like I drank that much.”

  “You certainly drank enough.” He pulled her into him again and led her to the front door.

  When he unhooked his arm from around her, she could not hold back a disappointed sigh. They might have made no progress on finding Uncle Albert, but she had rather enjoyed today. The ale had been delicious, and she had enjoyed being somewhere different. More to the point, she learned a lot about Russell, and she had enjoyed that more than anything.

  He leaned past her and twisted the doorknob, gesturing for her to go inside. “Go get some rest.”

  “What shall we do next?”

  “We still have other locations to explore. Let’s concentrate on those.”

  “You are not tired of my presence yet then.” She beamed at him.

  “I am exceedingly tired of your presence,” he said, his lips pressed together.

  She narrowed her gaze at him, seeing the tiniest spark of something in his gaze. She gasped. “Goodness, you are teasing me. I had no idea you were capable of such a thing.”

  “I’m capable of many things, Rosamunde.”

  The air in her lungs froze. Had he meant for his words to have another meaning? The glint in his eyes vanished and she saw his jaw flex. She parted her lips and leaned in. It was no good, she had to try again, had to see if a second kiss would be as wonderful as the first.

  “Rosie!”

  Russell jerked back and Rosamunde whirled to find her mother in the doorway. She glanced between the two of them then smiled broadly.

  “And Mr. Russell. How lovely to see you again.”

  He ducked his head. “And you, Lady Hopsbridge.”

  “Good afternoon, Mother,” Rosamunde said formally. She might be a widow and entirely capable of making her own decisions, but she rather felt like a child at the moment who had been caught stealing slices of cake from the kitchen.

  Her mother gave her a bemused look. “Good afternoon, Rosie.” She turned her attention to Russell. “Mr. Russell, I am glad to see you actually. I was hoping you might join us for a dinner party tomorrow night. Just a small gathering.”

  “Not a small gathering,” Rosamunde muttered. It was likely to be much of the family and Russell would probably loathe it. She twisted to view him. “I’m certain Mr. Russell—”

  “Mr. Russell can speak for himself, I am sure,” her mother said
.

  Rosamunde held her breath while waiting for his response. He’d say no. There was no chance he wanted to spend extra time with any of them, even her.

  He looked toward Rosamunde, not taking his gaze off her when he responded, “I’d be delighted, my lady.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Russell eyed the shiny door knocker, just able to make out his reflection in the brass. He grimaced to himself. What was he doing here? Why had he even said yes to dinner?

  Hell, why had they even invited him?

  Perhaps he was there for their amusement. Maybe Rosamunde had even told them about his background. Let’s all get our entertainment from the orphan who likely has no idea how to behave at a dinner party.

  Well, he did not do dinner parties, but he knew how to pretend with the best of them. It was how he’d survived this long.

  He blew out a breath and tried to ignore the thud of his heart beating in his ears. He’d faced the enemy in battle, slept on the streets, and kidnapped countless women—willing women, naturally. So why the hell did a mere dinner terrify him so?

  Likely because he wasn’t pretending when it came to Rosamunde.

  He shook away the thought as the door opened and a butler gestured him inside. He handed over his hat and gloves and glanced around, hating that he immediately sought out Rosamunde. His heart gave a little skip as soon as he spotted her. He almost suspected he’d said her name aloud because her attention immediately shot to him. Her lips curved, her eyes warmed, and he swore there was no feeling on Earth like having Lady Rosamunde Stanley’s full attention. It should be damn well bottled and sold for hundreds of pounds.

  She hastened over, her dark blue silk skirts moving elegantly with her body, clinging to her curves. He forced himself to unclench his jaw and keep his expression neutral.

  And not damn well leer over her.

  “You came!”

  He inclined his head.

  “I shall admit, I thought you might not. I know Mama bullied you into this.”

  “No one can bully me into doing anything I do not wish to do.”