Saying I Do To The Scoundrel

This Miss, untouched as newly fallen snow, wanted him to kidnap someone? He gaped at her. ‘I’m guessing it would be someone you find annoying.’

‘Not really,’ she muttered.

‘My skin has an aversion to rope burns—’ he touched his neck ‘—so even though I am honoured to be selected, I decline.’ He clasped the door, knowing he would have to send her on her way quickly and not really wanting to.

He just needed to be left alone. ‘Out.’

‘You must listen.’ She held up both palms.

He shook his head and reached for her arm. The simple touch of her brought back the memories he lived with, blurring his vision. He had to get the woman out of his life. Now. He backed away, not wanting to stir any memories of a woman’s softness. Those memories had taunted him, wrapping their dark, nettled cloak around him, until he discovered they would not sting so much if he appeased them with drink.

He stepped around her and touched the door.

‘You would get away with it, I’m sure,’ her voice pleaded.

He stilled. Before he could stop anything, the soap aroma tangled around him. His throat contracted and, for a second, he couldn’t speak.

‘Get out and don’t come back.’ His voice returned with force.

Her eyes widened and he pushed the thought of her fear away.

‘Leave,’ he snarled, snapping his teeth together on the word. ‘You.’ His voice spoke with the authority of a hammer on an anvil. ‘Must leave.’ His arm slashed in the direction of the door. ‘Go.’

She stared at him and he realised her cheeks had no colour.

‘You must do this.’ Her eyes begged. ‘I’ll die if you don’t.’

Chapter Two

She meant the words. He could tell by her widened eyes. But just because she meant them, it didn’t mean they were true.

‘Well.’ She drew in a breath and crossed her arms, stilling that ridiculous purse with glass beads. ‘I understand if you might be too weak to help an innocent lady.’ The bravado in her voice ended on a tremble. She pulled in a deep breath. ‘After all, you near reek of spirits and I do suppose you could do with a bit of a wash and a shave, and for that matter a good haircut, but might you suggest someone who will do my errand as I have spent a good morning pursuing you and I do not have much time to waste finding someone else.’

‘You do not have time to waste, yet you are appearing on my doorstep?’ he asked, quietly. ‘Perhaps you should be at—your home—not wasting time there?’ he said.

Her shoulders rose and her chin jutted, but her eyes didn’t follow through on the confidence. ‘I am here to offer you employment.’

‘Do I look as though I want employment?’ His lips turned up.

‘I have set myself on a course and I will see it to the end. Goodness knows it cannot get any worse.’ She adjusted her bonnet.

‘Whatever that end may be.’ He forced the words through his teeth. ‘I must compliment you on the bonnet. No one would ever notice you about in such inconspicuous wear.’

She eyed him as if he were untouchable. ‘This bonnet was made by Annabel Pierce and is of the finest quality in the world.’

‘La-de-doodle.’ He leaned forward. ‘Do you think she might make one for me?’

‘She would not let you step foot in her fine establishment.’ She tightened her shoulders ever closer. ‘Are you considering the plan?’

He might as well let her have her say. He’d not fall back asleep easily when she left and he’d be lying, looking up at the ceiling and thinking about her, and wondering what she’d wanted.

‘How much money is to be made?’ Soft words from hard lips.

She appraised him, then she moved to the chair, sitting as if she prepared for a portrait.

He slid into his seat, then gave a twist, making the legs scrape slightly against the floor.

‘What’s your name, Love?’ he asked the woman as she sat across from him.

She slowly blinked and looked at him. ‘You’ll find out if—if—I decide to hire you.’ Her chin dropped. She placed her palms flat on the table, and leaned forward. ‘And do not call me love.’

‘Well.’ He clasped his hands behind his head and pushed back. ‘You kind of look like a Nigel to me. So you can keep your name secret for ever, for all I care. I’ll just think of you as Nigel and, if the magistrate catches me risking my neck for you, I’ll be able to say I owe it all to Nigel.’

‘Do not call me that.’

‘You know my name, do you not? Surely you found out while you were asking questions.’ He looked at her and she averted her eyes and a hint of blush stained her cheeks. He grinned.

Her words were stronger. ‘Brandt is all I know of your name.’

He looked down, dismissing her, and let the front legs of his chair thump to the floor.

‘Do you want to listen or not?’ The voice rose at the end, a note of panic in it.

He shrugged, put his elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand.

She clasped her hands in her lap. ‘It’s simple really. You’ll do the kidnapping in the morning. The footman should be no problem. Try not to kill the older man—very important as he will pay the ransom. You’ll handle a ransom note. Collect the blunt. Take a thousand pounds of it, give me nineteen thousand pounds and be on your way.’

‘Kidnapping. I could work in a quick nab as I walked to the tavern. Nothing to it.’ He smiled, leaning towards her, his eyes shining. ‘Aren’t you being overly generous?’ he asked, pretending puzzlement. ‘And—’ he raised his head high and put his palms flat on the table ‘—how greedy I feel. For a woman such as you, a man should risk his life for no coin. A simple kidnapping. How much effort can such a thing take?’

She raised her chin, tilted her head sideways a bit and took in a breath, then looked to the reticule. ‘I have the details worked out exactly.’ She spread the ties and lifted a folded piece of paper. Then she looked at his eyes and flinched. She lowered her hand, slipping the note away. ‘You’ll just have to follow my guide. I believe I have the mind of a master criminal.’

‘And what crimes have you committed in the past, Nigel?’ he asked, his voice softening. She didn’t raise her eyes.

‘Surely you are jesting.’ He stood and walked to the bed, knelt on one knee. He felt under the bed and pulled out a shirt, or what was once a shirt, and tossed it into the corner.

He pushed himself back to his feet and frowned, then he leaned down, tossed another garment aside and found an extra bottle, thankful he’d remembered to bring home some breakfast.

He held the liquid towards her, raising his brows. She grimaced and he popped the cork and put the neck to his lips.

He caught her eyes as he lowered the drink, his gaze flickering across a shelf decorated with empty bottles. And another peg with a new coat. He’d forgotten about that coat.

She spoke, her eyes on the wall. ‘I’m sincere about this kidnapping. It has to be done. It will be done.’ She shrugged. ‘There is no alternative.’ She pulled at her bonnet.

‘Look, Nigel.’ He held the cork in one hand and the bottle comfortably in the other one. ‘No blackguard worth hiring is going to do all the work and let you have more than half the bounty. You’d be lucky to get a pound. Who are you going to complain to if you don’t get a penny?’

‘I’ll report them to the magistrate,’ she challenged him with her voice.

‘They hang women as well.’ He put the bottle on the table in front of her, keeping his fingers around it. ‘Breaks up the monotony.’

* * *

Katherine could not marry Fillmore. As her stepfather blocked her escapes, Fillmore’s long fingers kept inching closer to her.

She had called the one in front of her a beast. But she feared marriage to Fillmore would uncover the true meaning of the words.

Her stepfather had plans for the banns to be read for her marriage—even though she hadn’t accepted his nephew. She couldn’t imagine any woman desperate enough to marry Fillmore without force.

Fillmore wore the tight buff pantaloons—very tight buff pantaloons—and on occasion those breeches concealed little more than what she’d glimpsed on the heathen’s bed. He would sit across from her and sprawl his legs longer, tightening the fabric. And then he’d snicker, and she’d want to leave, and Augustine would make her stay and listen to him talk.

The thought of Fillmore’s rolling flesh pressing against her body and his grasping fingers reaching for her, and she never again having the right to move aside...

She’d seen the flash of pleasure in Fillmore’s face when she’d stepped away to excuse herself and he’d somehow always managed to be between her and the door. It was a dance of sorts then. He’d grasp her hand to raise it, pulling it near his lips to brush a kiss above, but it wasn’t the kiss she avoided—it was the trousers. They always brushed against her skirts. Always. His smile sickened her.

Fillmore would not have turned his back if she’d walked in on him without clothes on. Never.

She’d seen the irritation in this man’s face and that had convinced her he was safer than Fillmore. Her jittery stomach calmed and she appraised him.

He didn’t know how much she needed him and she didn’t think he cared. He kept looking at her as if he had the secrets of the universe and she had nothing but pretty parasols—of course, she did have pretty parasols, but he had no right to sneer at her so because of it.

The man was a scoundrel—but she inspected the fingers clenching the bottle. Normal, sturdy fingers. Clean and trim.

She looked at him and smiled, and she knew, if she had one bit of perfection about her, it rested in the pleasantness she could emit with the evenness of her teeth and the upturn of her lips.

‘They don’t hang well-born women.’ She let her words fall to little more than a murmur. ‘We are not smart enough to think of unseemly acts. All our days are spent thinking of ways to beautify ourselves so we may please a man.’

She raised a hand as if she’d just set her tea cup on the tray to be removed by the maid. Her words flowed into the room. ‘You would not double-cross me. And, if you did, my tear-stained face as I huddled in the magistrate’s office, pouring out my heart—’ Her voice hardened. ‘I assure you if the money were gone, my emotions would be truly distraught—I would be able to convince anyone of my innocence while I pointed a delicate finger right at you.’

‘We can’t talk without an agreement on equal shares,’ he spoke. ‘I can’t think why you would go to the rot of kidnapping anyone for a sum as small as that. It’s foolish to risk your neck for so little.’

He frowned. The chair was askew from the table and he straightened it and sat, showing no more interest than if he were sitting at the tavern to discuss whatever men discussed when they had nothing to talk about.

‘I’m not greedy.’ She put both gloved hands on the table. ‘And, this is a personal matter as well as a kidnapping.’

When she said personal, his gaze bounced to the ceiling and back. She gave him another of her haughtiest glares.

‘Half-share for me, at least. Assuming we agree.’ He scratched at his whiskers, his eyes never leaving her face. Even as he bargained, his eyelids drifted down as if he wanted to fall back asleep.

She blinked several times.

He scratched again.

She gave a silent sigh and a condemning glance at his beard.

‘Half-shares,’ he repeated.

She reached out and delicately tapped the brandy bottle on the table. ‘You may raise the ransom another five thousand pounds for yourself. I know you need funds to finance your efforts to keep the tavern owners from starvation.’ Her eyes settled on his chin. ‘And you do fear wearing out a razor strop so I suppose your coin doesn’t stretch for ever.’ She waved the words away, letting him know the money wasn’t worth a squabble. ‘I would hate to see you perish for lack of liquid,’ she grumbled.

‘My dear well-bred miss.’ His eyes half-closed. ‘You must learn to snort with your mouth shut. It’s more becoming a lady.’

‘Perfectly acceptable for a Nigel, though.’ She gave a toss of her head.

‘And don’t worry about me running out of good liquor.’ He let his eyelids drop again. ‘Or bad.’ He looked at the shelf. Various shapes. Ready to be taken back to the tavern to be refilled. ‘My hand is never far from a bottle. Or a barrel.’

He didn’t plan to kidnap anyone. For one thing, among many others, he didn’t see her being able to keep her mouth closed. He could see her at an event, leaning to another flowery sort and whispering, ‘Did you happen to read about the kidnapping in The Times? Let me tell you, I have quite the criminal mind and I’m such a good judge of character I had no trouble finding a disreputable kidnapper. Would you like his name in case you have need of him?’

He didn’t know what was wrong with him, but he didn’t want her running the streets searching out someone who would actually agree with her plan and somehow separate her from her chaperon and abuse her. Apparently the drink hadn’t clouded his mind as much as he’d thought.

‘You know you will have to tell me the particulars.’ He rubbed his hand across his eyes, wishing he were rested. He thought it ironic he would always feel exhausted and still have to fight to sleep.

‘Are we in agreement?’ She stretched her arm out and for a moment he expected her to touch his hand. He tensed. He wanted no closeness with her. Something inside himself warned him not to let her touch him.

‘Surely it’s not someone of aristocratic birth you would want kidnapped?’

And for the first time, she looked guilty.

‘That’s frowned upon, you know.’ He could not believe he was having this conversation. Only his curiosity kept him speaking to her. He’d never abducted anyone. He’d spent too many years keeping his distance from people. The last thing he’d do was capture another person whom he might have to feed and water occasionally.

She nodded. ‘I said I had a personal reason and I assure you it’s a just one.’

‘Someone in the royal family?’ he asked, eyebrows lifted.

‘Do not jest. Anyone could have listened to what I’ve said and figured out who I wanted kidnapped.’ She interlaced her fingers, letting them rest on the table.

He paused, scowling. In this strange dream he was having he must have slept through one of the important parts.

She touched her chest and leaned towards him. ‘Me.’ She spoke softly. ‘I need you to kidnap me.’

Chapter Three

He moved his head sideways, but his eyes remained on her. He stated, ‘You’re kidnapping yourself for the money?’

He saw the prim set of her shoulders. The clothing she wore, too much warmth for the weather, hadn’t been cobbled together by a person saving on expense. The ridiculous lace around the edge of her cloak and her ribbons didn’t come without a price.

‘Yes. It’s only a pittance of what I should have. My stepfather’s taken it all.’

‘You believe he’ll pay the ransom?’ He was more than curious. He was interested.

‘Yes. He wants me to marry his nephew, Fillmore.’ She leaned closer. ‘My stepfather does just as his nephew says. They are closer than a father and a son.’ She waved her gloved hand.

She shook her head. ‘Fillmore believes I should be his bride. I cannot take a step when he is in the house without watching for him and he is getting more and more determined every day. Rooms are being painted for him and furniture reupholstered. When that is finished next month, he is planning to move into the house—as my husband. I must be gone before then.’

He eyed the chit. ‘All I need to do is kidnap you—but you will be willingly kidnapped. Secure the ransom. Take my half and we part friends.’

Her eyes flickered when he said half.

‘How old are you?’ he asked.

She backed away. ‘I am old enough.’

‘You’re on the shelf.’ He saw the quick dart of her eyes and the firming of her lips. She adjusted her gloves.

‘I have accepted one marriage proposal—’ She frowned at him. ‘I accepted a proposal which enraged my stepfather. I met a man when visiting my cousin. I thought the man a bit forward when he indicated he wanted to marry me the second time we’d spoken. But he was of decent family and excellent reputation. Bookish. A bit older than I had hoped for, but I saw no reason to decline.’ She gave a wistful smile. ‘I thought him sweet.’

She shrugged. ‘My stepfather wouldn’t listen. He refused the match. Refused to let me call on anyone for a year or more. Had a load of manure delivered to the man’s door. He only lets me go about now because he’s encouraged by his efforts with Fillmore.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘This morning I’m buying hair ribbons so Fillmore might be impressed.’ She gave her bonnet a flick.

Bending forward towards Brandt, she moved the bottle aside with the back of her hand. ‘My stepfather is not a kind man. Do not forget. If you have to hit him—’

‘It makes me no difference.’ Brandt put the bottle back in place.

‘It would if you were in my shoes. He expects gratitude on my part for his extreme kindness in allowing me to marry Fillmore. Stepfather says to be Fillmore’s wife is the most noble of goals and Fillmore is the best that can be found. I’m sure he’s not the best, even when comparing him with slimy things found under rocks.’

‘I don’t care if Fillmore is a snake or a saint.’ He didn’t. What she did with her life, or who walked through her memories later was not his concern.

‘Nor do I care as long as Fillmore’s far away from me. At first, when my stepfather sent a maid to summon me to see Fillmore, I would find him in the shadows outside my room waiting. Now Fillmore summons me himself and he barely knocks before the door opens into my bedchamber. He looks at me and my skin feels tainted.’

Katherine watched as the scoundrel paused, then took a swallow and he didn’t speak.

He moved the chair back a bit to stretch his legs and she noticed he was careful not to touch her. She thought he sorted the plan in his mind.

He stood and she looked up at him and placed her hands in her lap. His size overpowered her. Her heart skipped a beat. But, that was why she had chosen him. She needed a man who could threaten with his presence. Who looked capable of violence.

This man appeared suited to danger. The darkness about him didn’t stop with his clothes or his face. It seeped from the air he breathed. She couldn’t really examine him as she would have liked. If she tried, something tickled in her throat and she felt warmth in her chest, then she had to turn away.

‘I would need one more thing, of course, to agree.’ He stopped and gave a smile even a mother wouldn’t believe.

She waited.

‘I would need to know the lady’s name.’

‘My name is Miss Katherine Wilder.’ She aligned her bonnet. ‘Miss Katherine Louisa May Wilder.’ She waited, the room silent.

‘As the one risking so much, on merely a lady’s word, you understand if I cannot agree to the methods used in our business, I will respectfully decline and never see or hear you again.’

She made a clucking noise. ‘I agree as I do not see how you will be able to fault me in any way. I assure you, I have read many novels and have learned much about crime. I did not lie when I claimed I have the mind of a master criminal. This will be as easy as picking an apple from a tree.’

‘I believe a lady named Eve said something similar once.’

‘Yes.’ Katherine regarded him patiently. ‘Since I do want to be tossed out, you’ve nothing to complain about.’

‘No. No complaints at all.’ He crossed his bare arms in front of his chest.

She averted her eyes again. The man should put on his shirt.

‘Tell me more.’ Brandt tapped his fingertips of his right hand against the muscles of his left arm.

She dropped her eyes.

‘Continue.’ He kept tapping.

She tugged her cloak around herself.

‘Are you chilled?’ he asked, his voice holding the innocence of a rector in church. ‘Wearing a cloak on such a warm day?’

She didn’t answer immediately, but pulled at the edge of her glove. ‘I wish,’ she continued, ‘to be abducted from in front of Almack’s on Sunday morning.’

She heard a strange noise from his lips and glared at him. She was certain he tittered. Men were not meant to titter.

‘Surely Tuesday or Wednesday night would be better. I can’t remember which night the lovelies race to Almack’s.’

‘It would be my preference as well.’ She kept her chin high and used the same distance she used when scolding a maid. ‘But the carriages swarm the street. They’d block the way as we left.’ She leaned a bit towards Brandt and lowered her voice. ‘To have a successful plan one must anticipate all possibilities.’ Then she stood and her voice regained its command. ‘I am only about with my stepfather on Sunday morning. He insists we attend services as a show of our perfection. Besides, it’s the only time he doesn’t have a weapon at hand.’

‘A weapon?’ His brows furrowed. ‘That’s something I might need to take into consideration.’

‘I did for you.’ She made a fist. ‘I want him to be frightened as well. I want him to think that, in one moment, a blackguard could take him away.’

‘Why didn’t you choose to have him robbed and killed?’

‘They don’t hang well-born women,’ she spoke with a bit of a sniff. ‘But I wouldn’t wish to be the first and, while I don’t love the man, I can’t be responsible for his murder.’ Her eyebrows rose. ‘If you wish to throw in a few punches his way, I would not suggest more than six. He’s spindly.’ She held up one finger. ‘But absolutely no blood. Our laundress has no time for frivolities.’

‘How many punches would be the exact number you prefer?’

‘Let me see your fists.’

He held up a hand, fingers closed.

She examined his knuckles. ‘Perhaps you should not punch him. He’s thin, old and, well, I don’t know if he could survive.’

‘What if he decides to protect you and I must throttle him?’ Brandt lifted his eyebrows.

‘He will not.’ She gently shook her head. She tried not to let her face show Brandt how inept he was in the ways of crime. ‘Simply follow the plan. Don’t worry about anything else. I will be carried away by you and you will not deviate from my instructions.’

He shut his eyes, waited a few seconds and then opened them.

‘This is life or death,’ she snapped out the words.

He shook his head and moved back to the chair. He again propped an elbow on the table and rested his cheek on it. ‘Continue. I’m listening.’

The raptness in his face didn’t fool her. He already overacted. She lowered her eyes and used one finger to touch the table and moved as if following the path of the carriage. ‘I’ll pretend illness to get my stepfather to stop the carriage. You’ll be waiting by the bookseller’s with a gig—out of sight.’ She indicated an intersection, touching the table. ‘When the carriage stops, you’ll wrench open the door and pull me out.’ She raised her eyes to his. ‘My carriage is not attended by anyone foolhardy enough to risk the plan by attacking you, but you may bring a discharged weapon to make sure of our success.’

‘I must have a gig and a weapon.’ He held out an open palm.

She shook her head. ‘You may reimburse yourself from the ransom money. If—’ she leaned closer ‘—you purchase the necessary tools instead of stealing them.’

‘I must have blunt.’ He waved an arm around the room. ‘You see nothing to sell. And I’ll not steal a pistol or a horse.’ He again put his palm out. ‘No one would have a bit of trouble fashioning a rope necklace for me.’

She leaned back and reached inside her cloak. She took a purse from the depth of her clothing, but paused before handing it to him. ‘It’s taken me four years to get this much.’ She raked her eyes over him. ‘Don’t squander it.’

He took the leather, used a finger to loosen the ties and looked inside. He frowned and raised his eyes. ‘I suppose this will buy a knife and a saddle.’