Page 8 of The Untamed Duke (The Secret Crusaders #3)

CHAPTER 8

J ournal of the Duke of Foxworth:

One of man’s most important roles is protecting the females in his care. Sisters, daughters, wards, and, of course, his wife. It is vital to protect those who are vulnerable, whether or not they wish for such protection. This is especially true for high-spirited ladies who delve into danger at every opportunity, taking no care for their own safety. Even when one is not officially responsible, a true gentleman will still protect her with his life.

After all, she may very well become his.

“Cease your knavery immediately!” The bundle of glorious femininity struggled in his grip, and it was all he could do to keep his movements measured, to only touch her as necessary to secure her.

The need to possess battled with the need to comfort, as he maneuvered her so she wouldn’t scratch her delicate skin. “I told you I was going to kidnap you.”

“You said you were going to attempt to kidnap me!” she cried. “You were tied up at the time.”

“I always get what I want.” Right now, he wanted her. For retribution, of course.

Only that wasn’t quite true.

Focus! He wouldn’t have her at all if they didn’t leave London post haste. Already Bradenton could be launching a search of the streets. No doubt the man would use every resource available to retrieve the precious woman. “As I said, there was always a kidnapping.” He leaned into the scent of violets and sweetness. “But it was yours.”

“Oh!” She tried to move past him, yet he held her carefully. “You can’t do this!”

“I believe we’ve already established what I can and will do.” He allowed a slow, curved smile. “Perhaps it will do you good. Teach you not to take chances with yourself.”

“You don’t teach me anything.” She ground her teeth. “I will get out of here the moment you leave.”

“The carriage will be locked from the outside.” He sabotaged her plan in an instant.

“You’ll hurt yourself if you try to escape.”

“You won’t get away with this.” She glowered. “Are you planning to keep me locked in the carriage the entire time?”

“Of course not.” He rubbed his raw wrists. “As soon as we reach the estate, you will have the run of the manor. Consider it a holiday. In a few days, I will return you safely home.”

She hesitated, bit that plump lower lip. When she spoke, there was an uncharacteristic catch to her voice. “You do not plan to compromise me?”

He drew back. The thought of forcing a woman sickened him like little else. “I am a gentleman. You will not be ravished.”

The sides of her lips turned down ever-so-slightly.

He tightened. This woman may not be as physically strong as him, yet she held far more power than she realized. “That is, unless you wish for it.”

“I have no intention of allowing you to compromise me,” she snapped. Then she sat up primly, as if in a ton drawing room, and not in a carriage about to be spirited away. “I do not enjoy such activities with you.”

“Really?” He lowered his voice. “Are you certain?”

She grew pink. And pinker. And pinker.

“Tell me, my lady,” he murmured. “Are you planning to initiate something?”

Even in the dim light, he could see her stiffen. “Most certainly not. If you try something, I will make my feelings perfectly clear.”

“Will you?” He raised an eyebrow. “Just like with the kiss?”

Now she turned as red as a theater actress’ lips. “I did not kiss you.” She held his gaze, then looked away. “Fine, I did kiss you, but only because the strain of the night affected my sensibilities.”

“You could have pulled back any time.” He kept his gaze steady. “Why didn’t you?”

She hesitated, her eyes liquid and unblinking. Suddenly, her control wavered, as she whispered in a barely audible voice, “I don’t know.”

Neither did he.

He dropped his hand. “I will always stop if you wish.”

Her eyes darted back and forth, as she nodded.

The distinct clopping of hooves emerged from outside. Tension thickened the air, as they locked eyes. By its quiet cadence, it was a well-appointed conveyance, expensive, luxurious, characteristic of the nobility. Hushed voices sounded, their words ever-louder as the vibrations increased. Then an unmistakable utterance: “We’ll find her.”

Who else would they be searching for, so soon after the abduction, so close to its source?

Had they already been discovered?

Sophia flushed. “One scream, and they’ll know I’m here.”

The assertion was undoubtedly correct. One scream and she would be his permanently .

He should remind her of the consequences, the inevitable outcome should they be discovered: a match, whether she liked it or not.

Instead, he said nothing.

The horses’ rhythm slowed. Voices grew louder and louder. No names were uttered, yet every word made increasingly clear their target’s identity. The horses moved slower still, the voices louder. Slower and louder, slower and louder. Sophia leaned forward, her lips parted. The hooves stopped…

Then picked up again.

He released a breath, even as she traversed from the redness of earlier to the paleness of the moon above. Her breathing had shallowed, and he had to stop himself from reaching for her. Emotions swirled, yet whether relief or disappointment was not clear. Perhaps both.

An owl hooted, and in the distance, another carriage. They were still in a populated area of London, and discovery was not only possible, but likely, the longer they lingered. “Time to depart.”

She said nothing.

“The journey is only half a day. If you need anything, knock on the roof. I will hear you.”

She glared at him. “What’s to stop me from following you out of the carriage?”

He gave a wicked smile. “Do I need to restrain you?”

She gasped, scooted back. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

“Then I suppose I shall employ a different strategy.”

“What–”

He kissed her.

This time there was no slow opening, no tender beginning. The kiss was an onslaught of passion, an expression of the hunger she denied. Of course, if she pulled back or showed any resistance, he would have ended it immediately.

Instead she pressed into the kiss.

That was his lass. The instinctual thought drifted into his mind as he caressed her lips, probing the intoxicating allure that was Lady Sophia Hawkins. The kiss started as a diversion, yet it captured him in thrall. She was perfection and promise, luscious curves and irresistible softness.

Sophia moaned softly, the small sound as powerful as any queen’s command. Strength infused him, and a feeling of utter rightness. He accepted her surrender, demanding more, yet she demanded as well, pressing her small body into his. The need to take control, to possess, enveloped him.

Yet he couldn’t claim her. Not yet.

Even as desire surged anew, he pulled back. He couldn’t take her now, in a wobbly carriage parked in a backstreet alley. Even if he would do the right thing in the end, that was not the man he was.

The kiss had been for a reason. More than one, if he was honest with himself, but first to distract her, to allow the kidnapping. It was time. With one last press of his lips, he broke away. For a moment, she stayed motionless, her eyes still closed, her lips plump, swollen and pink, and so very tempting. He leapt to the door, exiting the carriage before she even opened her eyes.

He slammed the door with a loud thump, then slid the lock into place. Satisfaction surged, as he never expected, even as a loud crash shook the entire carriage. It was too late. The lock held fast.

“Open the door this instant!” The hiss was loud, yet measured, signaling she still remembered the dangers of being caught. Not that anyone was likely to hear in the desolate alley, with the carriage of earlier out of sight. Soon, they would be far from danger.

He pulled his coat around him. “Just relax, my lady. The journey is not long. If you become hungry or cold, the basket on the floor contains a blanket and refreshments.”

“You’ll regret this.” The banging came again, yet lower this time, an acknowledgement of its futility, perhaps. He climbed into the seat and took hold of the reins. With low snorts, the horses stepped forward to the main road, leading to the edge of London and beyond.

The minutes passed in a leisurely manner, far from the evening’s frenzied events. The night was cool and calm, the sky cloudless above. A few times Sophia demanded her release, but when he didn’t answer, she eventually quieted down. Soon, they left the populated areas behind, embarking onto the quieter, darker countryside. They passed few carriages, and fortunately none stopped.

Sophia’s argument had been compelling, and for the briefest of moments, doubt surfaced. Could there be any truth to her claim that Bradenton hadn’t committed the crimes his father accused? The duke was highly respected among the ton, known for his fervent support of social action and numerous charitable activities.

However, the evidence was just too great. His father had written the accusations in his private journal, with him as the only audience. He had died the day of the duel, with a mysterious burial conducted under even more mysterious circumstances. Yet despite that, a sliver of doubt could have existed if not for his father’s man of business, who had confirmed the duel in explicit detail. When his father had fallen on the field, unable to lift even his gun, Bradenton had shot him point blank.

A man like that deserved retribution.

The carriage rocked, and he frowned. He had locked Sophia in for her own safety, to avoid her leaping from the moving carriage and injuring herself. As the coach wobbled once more, he pulled back on the reins, yet before he could stop, a few muffled oaths came from inside, filled with anger, but not fear or pain, including a very creative description of what she planned to do with his overbearing, domineering, ridiculously tight–

He chuckled. His lass was feisty indeed.

He’d told Sophia his plan was solely about revenge, yet perhaps more motivated him. Now he had days to explore the mystery that was this beautiful lady.

Ways she should have responded to Foxworth’s kiss:

1. Demanded he immediately stop.

2. Pinched his nose so he would he immediately stop.

3. Overpowered him until he stopped and used the opportunity to escape.

All right, three was never going to happen, mainly because he was twice her size and as powerful as a mountain. However the other two were distinct possibilities. Unfortunately, what she actually did was far different:

1. Sighed, moaned and made other assorted noises.

2. Curled her toes, while other parts of her body did interesting things.

3. Kissed him for all she was worth.

What was wrong with her? She had just explained how his previous kiss – kisses – didn’t affect her. Then he kissed her, the world turned all topsy-turvy and she just sat by while he locked her in the carriage. Likely he could have driven to the moon before she tried to escape.

Now it was too late. The carriage had been ambling for hours, first over the roads of London, then through the telltale rumbles of country roads. The sounds of civilization were far behind, replaced by the rustling of night creatures.

Like it or not, she was Foxworth’s prisoner.

She tried to stay focused, making a list of all the ways she could – would – exact revenge. If Priscilla were here, she would recommend bopping him on the head with a vase, and Emma would suggest the use of an alligator. So far her best plan involved his overbearing, domineering, ridiculously tight–

Minutes and then hours passed, and she started to drift, repeatedly jerking herself awake. She loathed accepting anything from Foxworth, yet she had missed dinner and her throat was parched. She reached into the large wicker basket, retrieving a crusty loaf of bread and a platter of savory pastries. There was also a casket of wine, cheeses and even some sweets. As she bit into a sweet apple tart that had clearly been baked that day, she softened just a little.

No.

A thoughtful kidnapper was still a kidnapper.

Once full, the lure of slumber grew harder to resist. The sun still hadn’t risen, and her eyes drifted lower and lower, until she finally surrendered to sleep. Yet if she’d hoped for a reprieve from the untamed duke, it was not to be granted. Foxworth appeared in her dreams, with his wicked smile, clever eyes and commanding presence. He took her lips again and again, eliciting her surrender a thousand and one times.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, the cadence of the carriage rolling to a stop broke through. Yet slumber was recalcitrant, clutching her, even as she shifted on the narrow seat. Then the man from her dreams returned, bringing warmth, comfort, and strength. She burrowed into the source of heat, more comfortable than she ever remembered, as she was in motion once more.

The seconds blurred together, as new sensations emerged: the scent of the outside air, not like London but fresh and sweet, and the beautiful melody of night birds. When a chill stung, a warm presence vanquished it. Suddenly she was being lowered onto a feathery surface, sinking into a cool, plush cloud. She gave a tiny mewl of protest as the source of warmth left, settled as his presence hovered again. Then the dream slipped away and darkness captured her.

Kenneth gazed at the woman sleeping on the massive four poster bed. Her lithe form lay sprawled under rose-colored sheets, creamy perfection among shimmery silk. The dress molded to generous curves, outlining tempting rises and alluring falls. Her cheeks were tinged pink, her lips parted as charcoal eyelashes fluttered.

The trip had been blissfully uneventful, with no brigands and no sword-toting dukes arriving to avenge their sisters. He travelled straight through, without leaving his charge for even a moment. No doubt Bradenton would launch a discreet manhunt, yet he was unlikely to find them. The estate was owned by his mother’s family, with no relation to the dukedom. His scheme had worked, at least for now.

When he opened the coach to find Sophia curled into a tiny ball, he’d been unable to stop an unexpected tenderness. He should have woken her, yet instead he’d grasped her, held her safe and close as he carried her inside. When he placed her in the bed, it took every bit of strength not to stay. It wasn’t about desire or physical attraction, but the inescapable urge to protect her from any and all harm, to shield her from the danger she endlessly courted, to simply be with her.

Less scandalous than intimacy, it was far more dangerous.

If only they met without the context of revenge, the specter of her brother. If they had been strangers, the path would have been theirs to forge.

This trip would provide the perfect opportunity to further his goals. That she would try to escape was without a doubt, yet he would not allow her to leave until he was ready…

If he ever was.