Liz Tyner - Saying I Do To The Scoundrel

The old woman laughed. ‘You have to admit he doesn’t wish to kidnap anyone. That speaks highly of him.’

‘Yes, but we...’ She groaned, increased her speed, and put a hand to her hip. ‘I will just have to do it myself. I can, I’m sure.’

‘You need ransom money and a place to hide. And Fillmore has to believe it. The only way your stepfather will pay anything to have you returned is if his nephew says he must.’

‘We have to have someone Augustine doesn’t know,’ Katherine agreed, searching for a hackney. ‘That scruff of a man can do it.’

‘I wouldn’t call him a scruff. If you’re going down an ill-got path, he’d be the place to begin.’

‘I don’t want to go down any paths. I want to hide. Peacefully. In the country. With you and Gussie.’

A donkey and cart awaited them, a young man with obsidian hair holding the reins of the donkey.

Few people were on the street and she didn’t want any of Augustine’s friends happening upon her. She’d known better than to request the carriage. Augustine would have needed it for some reason or other. Or worse, he might have insisted he would go along. When they were trapped in a carriage, he complained or chastised with every turn of the wheels.

‘Child. The lad will kidnap you,’ the old woman insisted, helping Katherine into the cart. ‘He’s got the sight of you and he won’t be able to walk away. Remember, when you find yourself alone with him—don’t breathe the same air as he does. Men put off an elixir or something. I’ve thought on it for years and can’t get it figured for sure. I think it’s the way they breathe and it blinds us. Blinds us. Pulls our senses right out of our body. Makes us forget about all else, but having our way with them.’ She shook her head. ‘You don’t need to be wasting your virtue.’ She raised her voice. ‘And do not breathe in when he’s close enough to sniff.’

The old woman jumped into the cart with the same spry step as the youth and called to the donkey to move.

She mopped her brow with a handkerchief she pulled from her pocket. ‘Lad’s rather sturdier looking than I expected.’ She mumbled something else, turning her head sideways so Katherine couldn’t hear her over the hooves.

Katherine thought back to the man. ‘I’d like to see him cleaned up a bit.’

‘Ho. Ho. Take my word for it. This one would clean up sparkly as a new guinea. You’d best be hoping he don’t clean up none around you, child.’ She nudged Katherine’s foot with her booted one. ‘I’ve not seen many like him in my life. You be keeping your toes on your hem when he’s about or your skirt might be flying over your head on its own.’

Katherine raised her chin. ‘I’m not a jade.’

‘Don’t matter. He’s full of elixir. I could tell that the moment I laid eyes on him.’

* * *

The house welcomed Katherine, but only from the outside. At the front, filigree bowers for ivy stood almost six feet tall on either side of the door. When her father lived, servants kept the ivy trimmed enough so that visitors could see the metal underneath. But now no one could read the inset of her mother and father’s initials in the filigree.

Katherine hurried into the house through the servants’ entrance, avoiding the butler, Weddle. He reported Katherine’s every move to her stepfather.

Her stepfather must believe the kidnapping.

Witnesses. They would need good witnesses.

Katherine thought of sending a discreet note to The Times so an engraver could be present. She would simply curl up her toes and swoon to have the kidnapping on the front of The Times .

Her dagger’s blade barely stretched longer than her hand, and she wondered if she should take it with her. The knife rested against the base of her bed’s headboard so a maid wouldn’t see it—although she doubted any would care. Her thoughts caught on Brandt’s face. She should have told him not to get near a razor or soap for the next few days. Surely he’d not decide to clean up for the occasion—but one never could be certain what a foxed man would decide if left on his own.

Katherine certainly hoped to savour her adventure. She would be kidnapped in front of Almack’s. This was a waltz no one would ever forget. She would scream or screech or whatever was needed to call attention to the deed. Then, she would be overcome with the terror of the moment.

‘Where have you been?’ The words pounded at her the moment she left the stairs.

Her stepfather glared as if he knew she plotted against him.

The old man had seemed pleasant enough when he’d courted her mother. He hadn’t changed the day after, or the week after, but within a year, she knew the man who she’d first met was a sham.

‘We were shopping for the ribbons I mentioned last night,’ Katherine answered. ‘I do want to look presentable.’ She tilted her head down, but kept her eyes on him. She didn’t want him suspecting anything but obedience. ‘I’m to have a suitor tonight.’

‘You’d best give him the right answer when he asks you the question.’ Her stepfather’s brows creased. ‘Fillmore’s a good lad and I don’t want him disappointed. You can’t do any better than him for a husband anyway.’

‘He does have an adequate nose.’ She moved on to the stairs to go past her stepfather. He reached out his hand, gripping her arm.

She couldn’t move.

‘You’d best not be criticising your future husband.’ Her stepfather’s gaze pierced her. ‘I only tell you this for your own good. He will not take it well to have a disobedient wife.’

His fingers pressed harder into her skin.

‘I understand,’ she said, head down.

He flung her arm aside.

* * *

That evening, she mostly kept her eyes on her food as Fillmore stared across the table at her.

Fillmore’s fork stopped midway to his mouth, then he plopped his food between his lips, gulped and spoke. ‘I’m pleased to be able to sit and gaze at you.’ She could swear his nose hairs quivered with anticipation of their union.

Then he reached up and scratched his head. He was always scratching his head and sometimes other places. She shut her eyes and put a hand over her stomach, telling herself to be calm.

Fillmore clinked his fork against his plate. The noise captured Katherine’s attention and she realised the clatter had been on purpose so she would look his way.

‘Thank you.’ She spoke quietly, unable to look at his glistening eyes.

Her stepfather stood, a servant sliding his chair back. ‘I think I’ll retire early.’ Augustine waggled a finger at Fillmore. ‘Why don’t you two spend some time in the library after the meal? I’m sure you have much to talk about.’

Augustine turned his eyes to her, threat in his face, and walked by without speaking, leaving the scent of a trunk full of mouse nests in his wake.

She sat proud, kept her face serene, as her mother had taught her. Her mother had been her closest friend. Katherine still ached when she walked by the bare room where her mother had rested while she was sick.

Fillmore smiled across at Katherine, a pink flush on his cheeks and a brief lift of his eyebrows. She glanced away. He moved, standing beside her. A footman pulled out her chair so she could rise and Fillmore offered his arm. She took it and forced a pleasant look on her face as they walked to the study. Her jaw began to ache.

‘You’re looking extraordinarily beautiful today, Sweeting.’ Fillmore pushed the door closed behind them.

‘Thank you,’ she answered, ignoring the whiff of medicinal which lingered in the room.

Fillmore led her to the sofa and she saw his tongue slide across his upper lip.

She extricated her arm and moved to a high-backed chair near the wall, unable to keep herself from putting as much distance as possible between them.