Stealing the Duchess Read online

  Tears burned behind Alexandria’s eyelids and she blinked to keep them at bay. She dared not show her frustration in front of her brother-in-law. Then again, if she did, it would be the first time in history she acted like that in front of a man.

  “I—I understand,” she answered in a whisper.

  “Splendid.” Martin nodded. “That’s all I wanted to say. You can go about your ride now.” He flipped his hand through the air, turned and marched back toward the house.

  Her eyes stung with tears as she hurried back to the horse. The stable boy assisted her on top of Buttercup. As soon as she grasped the reins, she kicked her heels into the animal’s sides and urged the horse into a run. As she guided the horse away from the house, she allowed the tears to break free and spill down her face until her vision blurred.

  Her heart broke to pieces knowing there wasn’t anything her sister could do about this particular problem. If Martin wanted Alexandria out of his house and married to one of his acquaintances, it would happen. After all, he was the earl and people would bow to his command.

  None of this was fair. She was shy around men, and she always would be, so naturally, she’d not be able to convince them that she would make a good wife...or a bad one. Not only that, she wouldn’t be able to get to know the man before he married her. Therefore, how would she know if she was getting a decent husband or not?

  When it became too hard to see, she stopped her horse just inside a group of trees. Leaning her face against Buttercup’s mane, she sobbed harder. What could she do to stop this? What could she possibly say to Martin to make him change his mind? Why didn’t he want her living at their home? Hadn’t she done all she could to not be a burden?

  His words buzzed through her head viciously, churning her stomach. I will be contacting several of my acquaintances to see who would be willing to take you off my hands. Take you off my hands... Off my hands... Her tears fell harder and faster, and she didn’t have the strength to stop them.

  From deep inside the cluster of trees came the snort of another horse. Sucking in her breath, she whipped her head toward the sound. She tried searching for the horse, but her tear-filled eyes kept her blinded. She wiped away the tears and searched again. The bushes moved, and within seconds, a man rushed toward her.

  She blinked, doubting what she saw. Before she had time to react, the man’s large hands reached for her waist and gripped her tightly.

  “What do you think you’re doing—” she demanded, but her breath was ripped from her lungs as he yanked her off Buttercup.

  Thankfully, he didn’t let her drop to the ground. Instead, arms of steel circled around her so tightly it was impossible to wiggle free. She slammed the back of her head against his chest repeatedly, hoping that would make him release her. It didn’t. Pain shot through her skull with each blow, so she stopped.

  “Let me go,” she cried out, struggling harder.

  “I’m sorry, Countess, but I cannot do that.”

  How odd that he’d call her Countess, yet his tone of voice sounded sarcastic, so perhaps he was saying it to be mean and disrespectful.

  He pulled her farther into the wooded area. She screamed louder. The sound startled Buttercup, making the horse jump and run off. Panic tightened in her throat. What in Heaven’s name was this man trying to accomplish? She screamed again, but this time her voice sounded hollow and scratchy.

  His chest shook with laughter. “You can scream all you want, Countess, but nobody will hear you. You’re too far away.”

  “What—what do you want with me?” she asked in a hoarse voice.

  “You shall soon understand my method of madness. But for now, I need to get you out of here.

  Out of here? What did he mean by that?

  The man finally stopped dragging her, but it was only to wrap a large woolen horse blanket around her, covering her head and arms, and then he wound a rope around her arms to secure the covering. She tilted a few times, thinking she’d plummet to the ground, but he continued to hold her and keep her upright.

  Suddenly, he lifted her in his arms and flung her over a horse. As her stomach hit the animal, her breath whooshed from her lungs, but she kept still. She took in deep breaths, trying not to panic. It wouldn’t do her any good anyway. Wiggling wouldn’t do her any good, either because she would probably fall off the horse. She also needed to save her strength for later when she attempted to escape his clutches.

  And she would indeed escape. With a mind like hers, she’d think of something creative.

  He mounted behind her and then lifted her effortlessly, adjusting her body to sit on his lap. The man’s thighs were muscular and felt strangely comfortable underneath her buttocks. Her cheeks burned from imagining what she must look like right now, but she pushed the embarrassment aside and concentrated on breathing normally even if terror spun through her body and caused her limbs to tremble.

  A quick thought skipped through her mind that this would make a great scene in one of her stories. Realization hit her full force. Finally, she was able to experience something she could write about.

  Rolling her eyes, she quickly ushered the idea from her head. Why was she thinking about her writing? Obviously, she’d been kidnapped, and she needed to focus on that. Yet how could she prepare for something she’d never experienced before? And what would happen when the man took her back to his hideout? Shy little Alexandria Templeton would never be able to handle this. One of her characters could, but not her! If the man had friends helping him, how would she be able to communicate with them? Hopefully, there was a woman in his gang of criminals because at least that would give her someone to talk to.

  For a little while, she concentrated on the sounds around her and the rhythm of the horse as they rode. She had no idea in what direction they were headed, but she figured they had been riding a good hour already. Nothing sounded familiar at all. Yet all she could hear were birds chirping occasionally, and of course, the huffing coming from the horse.

  Remarkably enough, his arms were strong, and as she leaned against his chest, and odd fluttering stirred in her bosom. Never had she been this close to a man, and although this was a bad situation to go through for her first physical contact, she couldn’t stop from analyzing the feelings inside of her. The cocoon of his thighs, chest, and strong arms, caused her to relax. Her eyelids grew heavy and she had to fight the urge to sleep. She needed to be alert to whatever was happening to her, and alert to how far they were riding.

  After what seemed forever, the horse slowed. “Whoa, boy,” the man said, his tone deeper than it had been earlier.

  Snapping to awareness, she stiffened and prepared for the worst. Hopefully, he wouldn’t hurt her. In all of the stories when the villains kidnapped the heroines...they were not after a pleasant, social visit. The villains wanted something more, and would stop at nothing to obtain it. This man who’d taken her was probably no different.

  He dismounted and kept one hand on her, saving her from tipping over. He lifted her from the animal as if she was a sack of feathers. Gently, he set her on her feet, and within seconds, the ropes around her loosened and came off. Next, the blanket was removed.

  She blinked against the sudden brightness. As her vision adjusted, she noticed they were at a small, rundown, cottage out in the middle of nowhere. For a moment, she wondered if anyone lived here, but then she noticed the smoke rising from the broken chimney. The fresh aroma of bread baking from within the cottage wafted around her. Her stomach grumbled. How long had it been since she’d last eaten? It couldn’t have been more than two hours, yet, the terror she’d been through since this man took her, made her weak and hungry in the worst way.

  “Countess, may I present your new castle for the next few days.” He swept his hand toward the cottage and bowed slightly as if he were a humble servant.

  She was finally able to get a good look at him. He wore the clothes of one of the stable boys, but he was in no way a boy. Tousled hair framed his face, and he sported
a day’s growth of stubble on his chin and around his mouth, making the outline a charcoal color against his tanned skin. As she’d surmised from being held by him, he was all muscle, from his strong arms to his strong legs.

  When she caught herself gawking, she blushed profoundly and turned away. For certain, her flushed cheeks would show him her further embarrassment. Good Heavens! This man—her kidnapper, no less—was so very handsome. Devilishly so! But she’d never seen him before in her life. Although, he resembled the men in her stories.

  “You’re probably wondering who I am,” he said.

  She sneaked a peak at him from over her shoulder. Her cheeks continued to burn as she nodded.

  “For now, you may call me gray.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Gray—as in the color?”

  He rolled his eyes. “No, Grey—as in the man’s name.”

  Embarrassment washed over her again. She hated feeling stupid, and he made her feel that way now. “Fine,” she mumbled.

  He grasped her upper arm and led her to the front door, opened it, and shoved her inside. She stumbled, but thankfully, didn’t fall. That, too, would have been humiliating.

  He followed her in and closed the door behind him.

  The furnishings in this front room were few, and extremely worn. There was only one couch that had once been red and gold, she was certain, but it was frayed around the edges, and sections of the faded cushion were so badly worn the stuffing was coming out. There was another cushioned chair against the other wall. She had no idea what color it used to be, but it had turned brown over the years. Spots of yellow were littered over it and she wasn’t certain if those splotches were supposed to be there or not. Two regular wooden chairs sat near the fireplace, but they looked so rickety, she didn’t dare sit on either of them.

  So many questions ran through her head, and yet she couldn’t ask. It wasn’t her nature to question authority...or question a man about anything, really. Unfortunately, the man named Grey wasn’t supplying her with answers, and curiosity would drive her insane.

  Her sister’s words echoed through Alexandria’s head. For once, you need to put yourself in your character’s role and talk to a man. I think you’d be surprised how easy it is.

  Alexandria’s heartbeat quickened and moisture formed on her palms. Could she really do that? Could she indeed talk to a strange man like her characters did and have the self-confidence she needed?

  She switched her attention to Grey. He’d moved to the fireplace and using a poker, broke the burning logs. He was powerfully handsome, indeed. She could never talk to a man who looked so incredibly attractive. If she were to talk to him, she wouldn’t be able to look directly at him. If she met his stare, she’d become tongue-tied for sure.

  There was no other way out of this dilemma, though. She must become one of her characters. The sooner the better.

  THREE

  Inwardly seething, Julian Grey Stanford studied the Countess of Linden. He’d actually expected more from this woman; more screaming, kicking, and biting. But once he had placed her on his horse, she’d ceased her resistance. Their ride to the cottage was really less than an hour, but he wanted to make the countess think they’d traveled farther, so he kept riding around the vicinity.

  It hadn’t taken long for her body to relax against him, and that was when havoc had invaded all of his senses. Not only did she smell like fresh cut spring flowers, but her soft body pressed against him so intimately, that his lonely mind couldn’t stop from imagining what could possibly happen between them. Naturally, she’d be vulnerable, and they’d be alone inside the cottage. It hadn’t mattered that she was married because all he could think about was how he hadn’t held a woman like this for so very long. Once his mind reached that point, Julian knew it was time to stop their little ride and break the physical contact between them. In fact, soon he would tie her to a chair, so that he could head out back and take a dip in the cold stream not far from the cottage. He needed to do something to cool his ardor...and fast.

  As he’d untied her bound wrists, he’d expected her to spout words no respectable lady would say, or at least threaten him in some way—not that any of it would matter—but again, the woman surprised him by doing none of that.

  Her beauty also surprised him. His cousin, Martin, would have certainly found a lovely lady to claim as his wife, but Julian never figured her to be this beautiful.

  The Countess of Linden wore a light purple riding habit, and the outfit hugged her slender form quite nicely. Her bonnet had fallen off during the skirmish. Locks of blonde hair escaped a once well-coiffed bun to give her a disheveled appearance.

  A few moments earlier when she had gazed upon him as if he was nothing but sweetmeats she wanted to devour, he had to bite the side of his cheek to keep from grinning. Well, perhaps devour wasn’t quite the word since she’d looked stunned by her indecent thoughts only seconds afterwards.

  Her gaze studied the floor for several awkward moments before she took deep breaths and then cleared her throat. “Do...do you intend to starve me, Sir?”

  He arched an eyebrow. What an odd thing to ask. “No.”

  “Then...would it be permissible to...eat something now?” Her voice squeaked.

  He couldn’t understand why she’d be hungry when he’d spied her no more than three hours ago at the manor sitting near the dining room window eating her breakfast. “You are hungry?”

  Her head snapped up and she met his stare with wide eyes. “But of course! Would I have asked otherwise?”

  The sudden snip in her tone startled him at first, only because she’d been so shy thus far. Yet, she was now beginning to resemble the countess he’d been told about.

  Julian folded his arms over his chest and lifted his chin. “Well, my lady, if you will come with me into the kitchen—”

  “Why can I not stay here by the fire?”

  “I don’t trust that you won’t try and escape. Although, I’m certain you won’t get very far before I catch you, I’m really not in the mood to run after you.”

  She huffed and threw him a scowl. “I assure you, I’m very hungry.”

  “Then please,” he swept his arm toward the kitchen, “let’s adjourn into the other room so I can prepare you something to eat.”

  Her mouth tightened and she stomped past him into the room. Grinning, he followed. Soon she’d learn who was in command here, and it wasn’t the high and mighty Countess of Linden, that was for certain.

  As she walked into the kitchen, she came to an abrupt stop. He sidestepped her quickly to keep from bumping into her. The hurried movement brought a twinge of pain to his left leg. He gritted his teeth and tried to rub the ache from his knee. His injury was still rather new, and he needed to remember to give the wound time to heal. Unfortunately, all he’d planned to accomplish now wouldn’t allow him much time to be patient. He’d just have to endure the agony from time to time, and get used to it.

  He studied her disgusted expression as her gaze swept around the room, and he tried to see this room as she was seeing it for the first time. So perhaps he should have cleaned a little better, but considering this cottage was on his friend’s estate and it hadn’t been used for several years, it was no wonder the place was filthy.

  Dented, old pans hung on the walls, the copper had faded many years ago. The shelves on the walls were in need of dusting—as were the canisters and bowls filling them—and the floor was in dire need of being swept and mopped, as well. At least the two fireplaces worked properly. One held a large black kettle of boiling water, and the other held the baking bread that smelled as if it might be done. The table near the only window in the room was as rickety as the three chairs surrounding it.

  Julian moved to the fireplace that cooked the baking bread he’d prepared earlier this morning. He used a cloth to slowly lift the lid. The pleasant aroma filled the air, and he closed his eyes, breathing in the scent deeply. It smelled just like the way he’d made it while living by himself
near London when he was a police inspector. The other officers had praised him countless times on how excellent he cooked.

  He glanced around the small space and toward the shelves, searching for some plates, but so far he was yet to see any.

  “Is there something I can do to help?” she asked in a small voice.

  He peeked at her and crinkled his forehead. A countess offering to help in a kitchen? How odd. “If you can find some plates for our bread and some cups for our tea, that would be most helpful.”

  She moved past him, and the skirt of her riding habit brushed across his legs. Her sweet fragrance filled his head. Now he recognized the flower. Lilacs. As much as he enjoyed a woman’s scent, he tried really hard not to enjoy this particular woman’s smell. He didn’t want to like her. She was the enemy’s wife, and he only wanted one thing from her.

  A confession.

  Julian was convinced Martin was the reason the original Earl of Linden, Julian’s father, and his brother, Forbes, had died so quickly. The physicians had written to Julian and explained his family’s sickness was a form of the plague. What confused Julian was wondering why this illness only took Father and Forbes’ lives, and yet it hadn’t made anyone else in the estate sick.

  Very curious. As was the suspicious accident that nearly took his life shortly after hearing of his father and brother’s deaths. He was still surprised that he hadn’t died in the cannon blast. However, he would probably always walk with a limp because of his injury. The other two police inspectors hadn’t been as fortunate, and they both lost their lives.

  He rubbed his left leg, grateful that the surgeon hadn’t removed his limb. By the grace of God, his leg was saved as well as his own life. Of course, the flesh wounds were still very sore, and he had to take care not to get an infection. By this point, Julian realized none of these mishaps were accidental, especially since they only targeted the Stanford men.

  “I can’t find any dishes,” the countess said in an irritable voice. “It’s hard to believe you would plan a kidnapping and not have the supplies to take care of your prisoner.”