The Abducted Heiress

Chapter Three

It took a few seconds for the full import of Jakob’s words to dawn on Desire. As soon as it did her head reared up, her eyes hot with indignation.

‘They didn’t desert me!’ she declared fiercely. ‘And they aren’t a murderous rabble—’

‘They were going to lynch me!’

‘Only because they were shocked and frightened by what happened.’ Desire pushed a strand of wet hair out of her face with her bound hands and glared at him. ‘Abducting helpless females might be all in a day’s work for you, but they were horrified. They’re all better men than you’ll ever be. Any one of them would make three of you!’

‘I didn’t notice they were that fat,’ Jakob retorted, pleased with the success of his ruse. Desire had completely forgotten to hide her scarred cheek.

‘I wasn’t referring to your great hulking bulk!’ she shot back. ‘I was talking about character…courage…integrity. None of them would mistreat a lady.’

‘Because, in their dotage, they can’t remember what a woman is for!’ Jakob had noticed that, with the exception of the steward and a couple of young porters, nearly all the men who’d rushed to Desire’s rescue on the roof had been well over fifty.

‘Because they are honourable!’ Desire snapped.

‘So where are these honourable, creaking gallants in your hour of need?’ Jakob winced slightly and shifted his grip on the oars.

To his relief the tide was finally on the turn. Until now, if he’d stopped rowing, the current would inexorably have carried the small boat back down the Thames towards the burning city.

‘Taking the contents of the house to safety!’ Desire retorted.

Jakob grinned, despite his discomfort. ‘You mean they were more interested in rescuing the virginals than the virgin herself?’ he countered.

Desire gasped with offended dignity at his inflammatory question. Despite the fact that her feet and hands were still tied up, she tried to kick Jakob. Without her hands to stabilise her, she lost her balance on the wooden seat. She fell sideways, then slid ignominiously into the bottom of the boat. The key to the river-gate fell onto the boards beside her.

The little craft rocked alarmingly for several seconds before Jakob managed to restore equilibrium.

‘För bövelen, woman! Are you trying to drown us both!’ he shouted, exasperated.

‘I hope you drown,’ she shouted back, undaunted, from where she was huddled in the shallow puddle of dirty water that slopped over the boards.

‘For God’s sake!’ He reached down to help her up. As soon as he touched her she jerked away, once more rocking the boat. ‘I’ll leave you there if you do that again,’ he warned her.

‘If you untie me, I could get up by myself,’ she said mutinously.

‘If I untie you, you’ll no doubt take a lump out of my skull with an oar,’ he said through gritted teeth.

She sniffed inelegantly, but otherwise didn’t deign to reply.

Jakob sighed, wondering how the devil he’d managed to get himself into such an absurd situation. His plan to provoke her out of her sad mood had worked only too well.

‘If I untie you, will you give me your parole?’ he asked.

‘No.’

‘Stubborn wench.’ He rested for a minute. There were dark bloodstains on the oars, and the palms of his hands were exquisitely painful. ‘Why did your men leave you behind?’ he asked.

‘They didn’t know they did.’ Desire lifted her head clear of the dirty wet planks. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so uncomfortable, but she was determined not to beg.

‘How did they manage to miss you? Did you hide behind the potted orange trees?’ Jakob asked.

Desire was pleased to note that, in addition to his obvious exasperation, he also sounded somewhat harried. She found that minor revelation very gratifying. It made the impossibly handsome, physically overwhelming vagabond a little less intimidating.

‘Arscott took the barge, Benjamin was in charge of the coaches,’ she explained. ‘They both thought I was with the other one.’

‘Why didn’t you leave when you could?’

‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘It’s my home. Do you think—?’ She broke off. ‘Do you think it burned?’ she asked, hating the quiver in her voice, and the humiliating awareness that she was asking her abductor for reassurance.

‘I don’t know, my lady,’ he replied, his tone gentler than usual. ‘The wind has started to drop. Without the wind to drive it on, the fire may not have spread as far as the Strand.’

This time, when he reached towards her, she let him lift her back on to the seat. As he did so she saw the state of his hands.

She gasped with shock at the painful mess.

‘What happened to them?’

‘It’s not important.’ He took up the oars again. She saw the slight flinch in his eyes, but otherwise his face remained impassive as he continued to row smoothly upriver.

‘You halfwit!’ Desire wasn’t impressed by his stoicism.

She stared at him in confusion for a few moments while she tried to work out how he’d been hurt. At last a possibility suggested itself to her.

‘Were you hurt when you saved me from burning…on the roof?’ she demanded.

He nodded fractionally, his jaw set with determination.

She considered the situation in silence for a few more seconds.

‘Untie me,’ she ordered at last.

He raised one sceptical eyebrow, his expression clearly indicating he wasn’t about to take such a foolhardy risk, and rowed steadily onwards.

‘Numskull! If you untie me, we can wrap the linen round your hands,’ she pointed out. ‘It will protect them from the oars.’

Jakob rested again, apparently considering her suggestion. Now that the tide had fully turned the boat continued to drift upstream, even without his efforts to propel it.

‘You were hurt saving my life,’ Desire said stiffly. ‘I won’t give you my parole, but you can trust me not to…attack you…while we’re in the boat. Where are we going?’ she added, with belated curiosity.

He smiled faintly as he began to unravel the knots at her wrists. ‘Putney,’ he replied.

‘Oh.’ Desire smoothed out the creased linen as she absorbed that information. ‘Give me your hand,’ she instructed Jakob.

He did so, and she wrapped the strip of material carefully around his palm and fingers. She bit her lip as she saw how sore his hands were. She didn’t think the flames had scorched him very badly. But he’d had a few blisters from the fire and rowing had rubbed them raw. He must have been in considerable pain ever since they’d left Godwin House, but he’d never complained—or blamed her because he’d been hurt saving her.

‘No, wait,’ she said, when he moved to pick up the oars again. ‘We can use this to wrap the other one.’ She untied the gag still hanging around her neck and used it to bandage his other hand, touching his sore fingers gently.

‘Thank you,’ he said.

She looked up—straight into his eyes. She’d leant towards him to tend his hands. Their faces were only a few inches apart. His blue eyes were startlingly vivid in his soot-grimed face. His quiet gaze was steady, and unexpectedly gentle.

He didn’t look like a monster. He looked like a pain-weary man who was doing what he had to do without fuss. She felt guilty that she’d taken so long to notice his discomfort. She should have tended to his hands sooner.

The direction of her thoughts disconcerted her. She swayed away from him, annoyed with herself. He had abducted her, very forcibly, from her home. He didn’t deserve her sympathy.

‘Why are we going to Putney?’ she asked.

‘Because it’s convenient. Reasonably convenient,’ he said as he plied the oars again. ‘My hands feel much better,’ he added.

Desire nodded an acknowledgement to his comment, her thoughts distracted. Now she knew their destination, she experienced a shiver of apprehension over what awaited her there.

‘Are you going to…going to give me to someone else, when we get there?’ she asked cautiously.

‘No.’ Jakob cast her a swift glance. ‘I was planning to feed you,’ he said.

‘Feed me!’ Desire was astounded.

‘Aren’t you hungry?’ he demanded. ‘I am. My plan is to obtain food. Clean water. And clothes,’ he added as an obvious afterthought. ‘For both of us. You may have to make do with the housekeeper’s best. But since you normally dress like a washerwoman, I dare say you won’t mind.’

‘I don’t…only when I’m gardening,’ said Desire, defensively smoothing her disreputable skirt. The scorched outer layers had started to dry, but the material closest to her skin was still horribly wet and clammy.

‘Or fire-watching,’ said Jakob, casting a critical eye over her clothes.

‘Is it your house?’ Desire asked, uncomfortable with discussing her clothes.

She selected her gowns for their hard-wearing practicality. And with a very conscious awareness that vanity did not become her. She was determined never to make a fool of herself in the fancy silks, laces and brocades more suitable for a beautiful woman. But she had no intention of confiding that information to Jakob. When she was talking to him, more especially when she was arguing with him, she often forgot her appearance for minutes at a time—but she knew he would always be aware of it.

‘No,’ he said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘It’s not my house.’

‘Is the owner expecting you?’

Jakob rolled his eyes. ‘Of course he’s expecting me to row half-naked up the Thames to have supper with him, in the company of an ill-tempered baggage—’

‘I am not an ill-tempered baggage! And since I am bound not to hurt you while we are in the boat, you must not insult me,’ she added haughtily. ‘It is not honourable.’

He threw her a grin that contained a large portion of pure devilment. ‘Very well, my lady,’ he agreed.

Then his eyes narrowed slightly as he flexed his fingers around the oars.

‘I think I should row now,’ Desire announced, unable to suppress a wince in sympathy with his. She was sure his hands must feel as if they were on fire.

It annoyed her that she felt beholden to him, but there was no help for it. Since he’d been injured because of her, she was honour bound to take care of his wounds.

‘Have you rowed a boat before?’ he asked.

‘No. But if you can do it, I’m sure I can,’ she retorted. ‘How hard can it be? We must swap places.’ She started to stand up.

‘Sit down!’ he barked.

She did so, out of sheer surprise.

He heaved in an exasperated breath.

‘Sit still, and be quiet,’ he ordered her. ‘How can one woman be so much trouble?’ he asked the world in general.

‘If you didn’t want the trouble—you shouldn’t have abducted me,’ she returned, with spirit.

‘I didn’t abduct you, I rescued you,’ he shot back.

‘Rescued me? I don’t recall any mention of St George tying his lady in knots when he rescued her!’ Desire said energetically.

‘If she was half as much trouble as you, I’ll wager he did,’ said Jakob. ‘No doubt the chroniclers suppressed the information from the tale to protect the lady’s reputation. Or…’ another alternative occurred to him ‘…to avoid discouraging the chivalrous instincts of future generations of gentlemen.’

‘You’re not a gentleman!’

Jakob raised an insufferably arrogant eyebrow in response.

‘You’re a paid bravo who steals women for upstart fortune-hunters!’ Desire accused him.

‘I haven’t made a career of it!’ Jakob huffed out a breath of pure exasperation. ‘If you had any sense, you’d be trying to ingratiate yourself with me—not insult me.’

‘Ingratiate…? I’ve never tried to ingratiate myself with anyone! Ever! I wouldn’t know how!’

Jakob smiled briefly. ‘I can tell.’

Desire glared at him, her indignation fading as it occurred to her how good-tempered her abductor seemed to be. She’d undoubtedly caused him considerable inconvenience—and repeatedly provoked his exasperation—but he’d never responded with anger. She wasn’t fool enough to believe she could have stopped him if he’d tried to hurt or violate her.

He was a puzzle to her.

‘Whose house are we going to?’ she asked.

‘Kilverdale’s,’ he replied.

‘Kilverdale?’ Desire repeated blankly. ‘The Duke?’

Jakob nodded.

Enlightenment crept over Desire in slow, sickening waves of understanding. She stared at Jakob in shock as every piece of the puzzle finally became clear to her.

On the roof, three days’ ago, she’d believed the brute with the pistol had intended her for his own bride. Now she knew better. He’d been stealing her for another man—the Duke of Kilverdale. And when the original plan had failed, Jakob had returned at the first opportunity to complete the task.

What a fool she’d been. Insensibly she’d begun to trust Jakob’s motives—now she knew better. He’d admitted he’d been a soldier. A mercenary, no doubt. He was still selling his loyalty to the highest bidder. She tasted the acid of bitter disappointment as she absorbed her new understanding. No wonder Jakob had saved her from burning and hadn’t hurt her in any other way. He was being paid to deliver undamaged goods to the Duke.

‘How much?’ she croaked.

‘What?’ He looked at her blankly.

‘How much is he paying you for me?’ she demanded.

‘Who?’

‘Kilverdale! How much is he paying you?’ her voice rose angrily.

‘Kilverdale?’ Jakob sounded dumbfounded by her question, but Desire was too upset to notice.

‘I’ll double it,’ she promised him. ‘If you take me to Arscott, I’ll give you twice as much as the Duke is paying you. I swear I can.’

She lurched forward, sinking on to her knees in front of Jakob. The boat rocked as she seized one of his knees, gripping it urgently in her anxiety to make him attend her.

‘I’ll pay you,’ she repeated, staring desperately into his eyes to see if her words were having any effect on him. ‘From my chest. Arscott rescued it from the fire. Take me to him. You’ll be rich. Don’t give me to Kilverdale. Please! Don’t give me to him!’

Her voice cracked on her last words. Panic threatened to overwhelm her.

‘Don’t give me to him,’ she whispered, starting to tremble as the full horror of her situation finally came home to her.

Jakob released the oars, letting the boat drift as he gave all his attention to Desire. He was shaken by the sight of her begging on her knees before him, stunned by her obvious terror. Until now he’d only been aware of her courage, not her fear. Why did Kilverdale’s name reduce her to panic? The Duke had a reputation for being something of a rake, but he wasn’t cruel to his female conquests.

‘I’m not giving you to anyone, älskling,’ Jakob said gently.

She was so close to him, on her knees between his spread legs. He put his hands on her waist, feeling how she trembled. He stroked his bandaged hands reassuringly up and down her sides. Her bodice wasn’t boned and he could feel the supple warmth of her body through the fabric. Her fingers clutched convulsively at his leg. Despite her obvious distress he couldn’t help finding the situation arousing. He knew that wasn’t her intention. He doubted if she was even aware that she was touching him.

Her face was white beneath the grime of the fire, her eyes wide with fear. She stared at him desperately for a few seconds longer, then abruptly closed her eyes and lowered her head. A deep shudder coursed through her body.

He pushed a strand of wet hair behind her ear with sore fingertips. The bandages she’d wrapped around his hands were already soiled and ragged.

‘I’m not giving you to anyone, älskling,’ he repeated softly. ‘No one is going to hurt you. You saved my life on your roof. Now I’m doing my best to protect you from harm. And when you are safely restored to your home, I will be insulted if you open your treasure chest for me.’

Another shiver rippled through Desire. She kept her head resolutely bowed. He wasn’t sure if she’d comprehended—or even heard—what he’d just said.

He gave in to temptation and slipped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer until she was cradled against his chest. Over her head he could see the thick, horrifying pall of smoke which shrouded the now distant London. He’d been watching it through all the twists and turns of the river since they’d left the Strand. He wondered if any of the city was left. How had the fire started? Were any of the rumours he’d heard while he was trapped in Newgate true?

Desire still trembled against him, neither resisting nor yielding to him. He held her close, needing the comfort of her warm supple body in his arms as much as he suspected she needed his reassurance. Well, perhaps he wasn’t her ideal comforter, he acknowledged, with a wry twist of his lips, but he was the best available.

‘You’re safe, milady,’ he murmured against her tangled hair. ‘No one will hurt you now.’

Desire kept her eyes tightly closed. She heard Jakob’s reassurances, but she didn’t know how to respond to them. She didn’t know how she’d ended up in his arms. Her cheek was pressed against the firm plane of his upper chest. Her head nestled under his chin. She felt him stroke her back and a gentle touch against her hair.

One of her palms lay flat against his shoulder. As her panic subsided she became acutely aware of his hard, half-naked male body against hers, surrounding her with his virile strength. The sensation was unfamiliar. Disturbing, but not entirely unpleasant. Her pulse rate began to increase once more, not from blind terror this time, but from a peculiar mixture of excitement, shyness and illicit pleasure.

It was shocking to let Jakob hold her like this. She was shocked at herself that she could enjoy it even a little bit. But she did. She tried to tell herself it was just because it was so long since anyone had held her in a comforting embrace—but she knew it was more than that. Her fingers flexed against his skin. She wanted to slide her hand over his torso, explore all the firm planes and ridges of his muscles with her fingertips—not just her eyes.

‘No one will hurt you,’ he said softly, and she remembered Kilverdale.

She jerked against him in a silent protest at being reminded of the humiliation that lay ahead of her.

‘Älskling, you have my word,’ Jakob promised her. She felt his words vibrating deep in his chest. ‘I did not take you for Kilverdale. I will not let him—or anyone else—harm you.’

‘Not Kilverdale?’ she whispered, not quite able to believe the reassurance.

‘Not Kilverdale,’ Jakob confirmed. ‘He does not even know I’ve met you. He certainly isn’t expecting you to arrive at his house. There’s nothing to fear. But why are you so afraid of the Duke?’

‘I’m not afraid of him.’ Desire lifted her head indignantly. ‘He is a hateful slug and I loathe him. But I am not afraid of him.’

‘Hateful slug?’ Jakob murmured disbelievingly. ‘In silk brocade and lace?’

His face was very close to hers. His cheeks were grimed with soot, but she could see the small, pale smile creases around his eyes. After a moment she saw his gaze drop to focus on her mouth. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. Excitement fluttered behind her ribs. She found herself looking at his mouth. It was quite beautiful. His lips were well shaped, firm and sensual.

Unfamiliar tension wound through her belly. Of its own accord, her hand began to slide over his body. She heard his quick intake of breath, felt the crinkled hair on his chest tickle her fingers. Her breathing grew quick and shallow. She felt the rapid rise and fall of Jakob’s broad chest beneath her hand. His blue eyes darkened until they were almost black.

In a breathtaking instant he took her captive. His powerful thighs closed, holding her hips still. He curved one possessive arm around her waist, while his other hand gripped the back of her head.

Then he kissed her.

His action stunned Desire. No one had ever kissed her on the mouth before. She was unprepared for the strength of her physical and emotional response. One moment she wanted to wrench herself out of Jakob’s dominating embrace. The next second she wanted to press closer to him. Her thoughts were too chaotic to allow her to take rational action.

His lips were warm against her mouth, sometimes commanding, at other times gently coaxing. His tongue stroked her lower lip, half-scandalising her, even as she experienced a new throbbing deep in her belly. She gasped, stirring restlessly between his legs. His tongue immediately probed between her parted lips. She was overwhelmed with the virile taste and smell of him.

The deep, compelling needs that consumed her suddenly became too powerful. Too unfamiliar. Alarming in their wild intensity.

She jerked her head away from Jakob’s. Turned her face aside as she panted for breath.

After a moment she felt his legs relax their grip on her hips. He still held her in his arms, but she was trembling so much she might have collapsed if he’d released her. She didn’t look at him, but she could almost see the disturbing tension that pulsed between their bodies.

Her hand was still pressed against his naked shoulder. She snatched it away, curling it into a fist she hugged protectively to her body. As her heartbeat slowed a little, no longer thundering in her ears, she realised Jakob’s breathing was also ragged.

For several long moments they remained frozen in the same position, neither making any attempt to speak. At last Jakob cleared his throat.

‘You were well named, my Lady Desire,’ he said hoarsely, a hint of wry amusement in his voice.

‘No!’ Desire threw him a startled glance, then scrambled out of his reach to the relative safety of the wooden seat opposite him.

‘My father desired a child. A child who would live,’ she said vehemently. ‘“Hope deferred maketh the heart sick,”’ she quoted furiously from the Bible. ‘“But when the desire cometh, it is a tree of life.” None of his other children survived. It was in gratitude to God’s mercy Father named me. Not…not…I am not wanton!’