Page 17 of Captured by the Earl (The Secret Crusaders #2)

CHAPTER 17

L ondon Society News:

The excitement is building. The ton awaits. As events grow closer, anything can happen.

The masquerade. The return of Lady Emma’s father.

Dare I say the return of a certain masked rescuer?

Emma crept along the passage, the small lantern clutched in her hand. Despite the fire, the candle holder felt cold in her palms, its flame far too small to illuminate the darkened tunnels. Its low light swirled on the walls, the scent of smoke filling her nostrils. Moonlight entered from tiny hidden windows, yet only created shadows upon shadows.

Sounds came, creaking, moaning, scurrying, their identity unknown and threatening. The settling of the house, the wind, or something far more sinister… it was impossible to tell. Something moved close to her, and she gasped, pressing against a hard, damp wall. A large mouse scurried past, stopping just long enough to give a threatening glare, before continuing on its journey.

Her heart thumped against the wall of her chest, drawing far too much breath from lungs coated in the dust of the tunnels. She had walked toward Peyton’s room, yet the path had twisted and turned, with no definitive indication of any entrances. She’d heard voices a few times, but none belonged to Peyton, and she was loathe to reveal herself and invite the questions that could bring scandal. Of course, she may have no choice, for the way back to her own room was lost amidst the numerous turns. What if something happened and no one knew where to find her? She could be here for days and by then she could be–

Seized.

She screamed, yet the sound was smothered by the large hand clamped over her mouth. Her feet left the ground as she was lifted up, up, up through the darkness. She kicked and struggled, yet her efforts were useless.

She was captured.

Her captor strode swiftly yet silently through the tunnels, expertly navigating the twisting paths like a tiger through the jungle. She was flush against a hard chest, held by hands as powerful as iron shackles. Where was he taking her? What did he want with her? Most importantly…

Who was he?

A minute or an hour passed. Her heart thundered as she squirmed and wriggled, yet his firm grip never wavered. She managed slight sounds but not a scream, as he followed an unknown path. She shifted, and he allowed it, his hold lightening ever-so-slightly. They passed through a beam of moonlight, illuminating her captor’s features.

Peyton?

Relief flooded her, chasing away the mortal fear. Whatever reasons Peyton had for his presence, or his current decision to kidnap her again , he would not harm her. She shut her eyes, allowed a brief moment of gratitude these would not be her last moments on Earth. She opened them, straightened herself as best she could while being kidnapped, and glared.

Recognition of her recognition flashed in his eyes, among a million other indescribable emotions. Yet regret was not among them, and he showed no weakness as he finally stopped in the darkness, casting them deep into the shadows. She couldn’t see him.

But she could feel him.

His presence surrounded her, usurping her every sense. He still held her tightly, one hand under her legs, the other behind her back. Heat and hardness dominated his touch, the perfect foil to her softness. Skin to skin, burning and heated under the thin clothing. The sound of her own heart beating pounded in her ears, set to the tempo of her ragged breathing. He was a born predator, larger than life, muscles defined, all grace and unparalleled power.

She opened her mouth.

“Don’t scream unless you wish the entire household to know we’re alone in the tunnels.”

She stilled.

“Do you promise you’ll be quiet?”

She hesitated, yet hadn’t a choice. “Put me down this instant,” she hissed.

“No.”

“You can’t say no.”

“I believe I just did.”

She struggled against his hold once more, yet it was as effective as fighting a brick wall. He held control of the situation – and her. “How many times do you plan on kidnapping me?”

His expression was calm, a man in total and utter power. “Based on your proclivity to put yourself in danger, I’d say quite a lot.”

The sound of voices came from outside the tunnel, and suddenly he was in motion once more, an unstoppable force with her his unwilling passenger. He moved as if carrying no weight, his breath coming evenly and without effort.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded. “Why were you in the tunnels?”

He answered none of her questions, instead striding as if he ruled the world. Then he was going toward a wall, pushing some sort of lever. A panel opened, and he stepped through a thin portal. The panel shut behind them.

They were in his bedroom.

Alone.

He stepped into a magnificent room filled with oversized furniture and ornate adornments. Moonlight streamed from huge windows rising two stories high, showcasing the seemingly endless expanse of land Peyton owned. A fire crackled in a massive marble fireplace, bathing the room in warmth.

The world turned as he shifted, lowering her gently to the ground. Still, he never fully released her, as she stood on shaky legs and sucked in a deep breath of air laden with his scent. He never seemed so massive, or powerful, as he looked down at her with unmistakable possessiveness.

Focus. Fight. Be strong.

She straightened, stood to her full height of a head shorter than him, and glared. “You, sir, are in a great deal of trouble.”

“Am I?” he murmured, leaning closer. “I could say the same to you.”

That was inescapably true. “Once again you kidnapped me. Invaded my personal space. Made me feel… things.”

“Things?” His eyes flashed. “What things?”

Excited. Alive. Hopeful.

“Frustrated, irritated and angry. You had no right to kidnap me!”

“I had every right.” He edged closer. “When you put yourself in danger I will protect you.”

“You will do nothing of the–” She stopped, swallowed. “What do you mean danger?”

The hesitation was small, minute even. Yet it matched the momentary unease in his eyes, the secrets he betrayed before the calm response. “The tunnels, of course. I imagine no one knew if your adventures.”

She paused.

“I thought not. What if something happened to you? How would we find you?”

It was true, and exactly as she’d feared. Yet anxiety aside, it was an unlikely danger. The probability of something happening was miniscule, and someone would hear her if she screamed. The tunnels were no secret. Was there another danger?

“You found me.” She searched his face. “What were you doing there?”

“I heard you, of course.”

It was entirely possible. She had moved through the tunnels with the grace of a moose, shrieking several times at real and imaginary creatures. Yet something still did not seem right, like a jigsaw piece that almost, yet didn’t, quite fit. “How did you move so quickly?”

His gaze shuttered. “I visited here as a child. We spent a lot of time exploring.”

Yet even with familiarity of the tunnels, he’d moved extremely fast, and quietly. He folded his arms across his chest. “Time for you to answer some questions.”

She tightened. She had no answers, at least not the type he would accept. “I don’t have to answer to you.”

His harsh glare said otherwise. “Why were you in the tunnels?”

Exploring. Investigating. Trying to discover his secrets. “I was curious.”

“Curious about some dark, dank tunnels?” He cocked his head to the side. “What exactly intrigued you?”

“Nothing in particular.”

“Do you expect me to believe that?”

Of course not. He was far too intelligent to be fooled by her attempts at evasion. Yet they were necessary, for if she gave up control, he would never release it. “Why does anyone explore anything? After Catherine’s fascinating stories, I had to see for myself.”

“That would explain why you took a peek,” he agreed. “Perhaps why you took a step inside. Not why you would wander far from your room in the middle of the night.” He paused for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “I know you didn’t just decide to go for a stroll in those dark tunnels. Tell me the truth.”

Heat blossomed in her cheeks, as the urge to do exactly as he demanded rose. Did he suspect she had an ulterior reason for her nocturnal wanderings? “I already told you. I was simply curious. Why did you kidnap me?”

His gaze hardened. “As I said, the tunnels are dangerous. If not for the physical dangers, the risk of scandal. I wanted to return you to your room as soon as possible.”

“This is not my room.”

“I know.”

Her heart stilled, continued with a loud thump. “You could have just told me to leave.”

He moved closer. “Tell me, Lady Emma, would you have preferred I politely inquire whether I could escort you back to you room? Asked if you wanted to take a leisurely stroll? As I said, the walls are thin. Do you believe the other guests would have simply ignored the voices, or would you have preferred to be discovered?”

She opened her mouth, yet the protests caught in her throat. Discovery in the tunnels would have been disastrous indeed, even for a supposedly betrothed couple. Bad enough, perhaps, to require a special license.

“I imagine your mother would have demanded an offer, even in the absence of your father. That or sent us to Scotland posthaste. If this is what you’d prefer, we could return to the tunnels right now.”

She shook her head curtly. His argument made sense, partly, yet it still didn’t explain why he spirited her away like some sort of medieval warrior. He shifted slightly, and the candlelight caught on his silhouette. There was something familiar about it…

“What are you thinking?”

She brought her eyes up. And abruptly the arguments, anger and indignation vanished. He was all warrior, forged by strength, with no sign of the calm and carefree lord he portrayed. Every reason why she had investigated him, and why she still should, returned.

“I am your betrothed.” He reached out, tracing a finger along her arm. She leaned closer. “For a little while longer, at least.”

Her heart sank like a rock to the bottom of the ocean. Did he mean… “Are you going to release me?”

“Never.”

She sucked in a breath. “But you said–”

“What happens to couples who were once betrothed?”

“The groom falls into a pit of alligators?”

He shook his head.

“The bride sends him on a log to America?”

“Try again.”

“They get married.” She breathed heavily. “But I–”

He leaned down. He was going to kiss her.

She should resist. Could resist. Would resist.

Didn’t resist.

He tasted of heat and danger, with a dash of spice and a taste of something too sweet too name. She moaned as he pressed closer, testing and tasting and caressing. She responded the only way she could:

Embracing what she craved.

He touched, smoothed, fondled . It felt so good, so perfect. Yet he was hiding secrets far deeper than her own, using distractions she couldn’t resist. The struggle resumed, not with him but within herself. With every bit of strength, she pulled back.

He released her lips, yet not her hands, with a gaze that said he could read every thought in her traitorous mind. Possessiveness blazed in his eyes. How would she ever escape him?

Did she even want to?

She fought for strength. “You will release me from the betrothal.” Her voice was low and breathy, belying demands she was no longer certain she wanted. “Just like you stopped the kidnapping.”

“Who said I’m done kidnapping you?”

Her heart quickened, yet not from fear. Not from concern or anger, despite how she tried to conjure them.

No, it was pure unadulterated excitement.

“You have to let me go.”

“Are you so sure about that?” he murmured. “What are you going to do if I don’t?”

Kiss him.

She pressed her lips to his, smoothing over hard muscles, glorying as he took possession of the kiss, and her. Wandering fingers loosened laces, palms cupping sensitive places, bare skin to bare skin. A tantalizing fog entered her mind, as he touched everywhere, yet it wasn’t enough. She needed to be even closer. Yet first…

She pulled back, only this time without the strength – or desire – to fight the inevitable. She gazed into passion-filled eyes, devoid of their unusual control.

“Are you all right?” Worry clouded his desire. “Do you want to stop?”

His thoughtful concern made her even more certain. “I want this, but first I want to make clear, this is not my consent to our betrothal becoming real.”

His lips quirked up at the sides. He nipped at her neck. A streak of desire shot all the way down to her–

“I understand.”

She relaxed.

“You’ve already agreed to the betrothal.”

“What? No, I haven’t–”

He took her lips again.

And she was lost.

Danger lurked.

In more than one place, with the potential to destroy lives and transform futures. Emma had interrupted him before he’d learned what Trenton planned for the masquerade, yet the peril was unmistakable. By the criminal’s musings, he had increased the size of his operation tenfold, raising the stakes and bringing untold danger. Their plan was massive, bold, life-threatening.

And Philip had missed every single detail.

If only he’d heard their deliberations, it might have been enough to put a succinct end to Trenton. Now he would move blindly, hoping to prevent what he did not know. Yet what choice did he have but to attend the masquerade ready to fight? Too bad he couldn’t play the part of masked fighter instead of lord without a care.

Or could he?

No, it was impossible. He risked his life every time he donned that disguise, both literally and figuratively. Yet if it was the only way to stop Trenton, he may not have a choice. Perhaps he would bring the disguise to the masquerade, just in case…

Emma stirred, shifting slightly. The silky sheet slipped down to reveal a perfect breast, and he resisted the urge to kiss its rosy peak. Instead he brought the cover up, tucking it securely around her.

The danger with Emma may not be life-threatening, but it was just as life-changing. She had infiltrated his life, exposing emotions and shattering walls. For her sake, he had to keep his secrets close, yet even that may be beyond his control. Every instinct said she lied when she claimed she was simply exploring the tunnels. She was investigating something, likely him, placing her in danger. He would not allow it.

She stirred again, and he softened. Despite every instinct clamoring otherwise, for now he had to return her. He moved carefully and quietly, placing two hands under her supple form. She was all generous curves and silky softness, as desire roared to life once more. He was like a youth just entered manhood, yet only one woman held any allure.

He moved quickly into the tunnels, through the hidden panel and into her chamber. She shifted again as he padded over the plush carpets and lay her down on the silken sheets.

He frowned. He couldn’t leave her without any covering. He glanced around, stopped at the night shift draped over the chair. He grasped the silky fabric.

Dressing Emma was pure torture. Her skin was as soft as rose petals, her body perfectly formed. She moaned softly in her slumber.

“All will be well,” he murmured. “I shall care for you, and I will always protect you.”

She calmed at his voice, a small smile playing upon her lips. He loved this part of her as much as he loved the sassy spitfire. She was the perfect combination of gentle softness and feminine strength.

He took a step.

“Wait.”

He turned at the sleepy voice. He sat down on the bed next to her and grasped her hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“That’s all right.” Her eyes betrayed surprise as she glanced around, looked down at her gown. “How did you dress me without waking me? I’m usually such a light sleeper.”

“I can move fairly quietly.”

“Yes, you can.” Her gaze turned contemplative.

Uh-oh. He stood. “I should be returning to my room. We both need sleep.”

He took a step, yet stopped at the low, quiet voice behind him. “Don’t go yet.”

He turned. “Is there something else you wish to tell me?”

Her gaze was completely clear, as she nodded. “I know your secret.”