Liz Tyner - Saying I Do To The Scoundrel

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.’