Maybe This Time, page 24
Should she be grateful, or afraid of him? For what seemed forever, she vacillated between those two emotions. Fate had delivered her to him. She was not to die yet, and for that she must be grateful. Still . . .
Screwing up her courage, she asked the question she wasn’t certain she wanted answered. “Do you intend me harm?”
“You need not fear me.” He spoke next to her ear, his warm breath rippling down her neck.
“I don’t fear you.” Scrunching her shoulder, she turned her face toward his. “But I insist you tell me why you abducted me.”
“Not now, Alyssa.” He slid his hand up her ribs and halted just beneath the hollow of her breast. “I would remind you, dear lady, that you’re in no position to insist on anything.”
“I’m not your dear lady.” Her voice failed to carry the vehemence she desired. It sounded husky. That was his fault. If his saying her name didn’t make her feel like she’d been caressed, she could have railed at him properly.
“We’ll discuss this under more comfortable circumstances. Hush now.”
His thighs bunched astride her hips. The horse snorted and sped up, making further conversation impossible. What manner of man was he? Affluent and educated—his dress and speech told her that. And for now she supposed she must be content knowing no more. Still, until she knew his intentions, she couldn’t help but to alternately thank and curse him. Silently, of course.
She’d seen him angry at the church. Though directed at Innes, his anger had made her knees weak—an affliction she’d suffered entirely too much today. She didn’t like it. But she’d like having his anger fall on her head even less. And, certain her temper would only goad his, she prudently held her tongue.
Outside London, near a small copse of trees, he reined in and let out a shrill whistle. Her heart thundering, she turned to look at him. “What are we doing? Why have you stopped?”
“It’s all right. You’re safe.”
“Of course, I’m safe. I’m not a fainthearted miss, sir.”
“That, too, is good to know.” An infuriatingly amused curl swerved his lip.
“I fear, you are knowing far too much—” Pursing her lips to go on, she saw his gaze hold on the trees and looked there herself. A carriage pulled by four matching grays appeared. Two men up top, sat dressed to the nines in ornate livery. The hair on her neck prickled. “Who are they?”
“Friends, my dear.”
Before she could remind him again that she was not his dear, the carriage joined them on the road.
“Milord.” The coachman addressed her captor.
Nodding acknowledgement, he dismounted then held his arms out to her.
Milord? Confused, Alyssa slid down. He was a noble? A lord?
“My dear,” he said, “may I introduce Major, my coachman.”
“Milady.” Major inclined his iron-gray head.
Estimating his age near fifty, she met his lively eyes and nodded. Being introduced eased her fear. If her abductor felt free to identify his coachman, to call her his dear, he must not mean her harm. Had he intended those reassurances?
After settling her inside the carriage, he sat down opposite her and rapped against the ceiling, signaling Major to proceed.
“Who are you?” she asked, feeling anger fill the place in her fear had deserted. “And, pray, do answer me, milord. I’ve grown weary of surprises this day.”
His mask rode up on his cheekbones, giving her a glimpse of his straight, white teeth. “I will soon be your husband, Alyssa.”
Shock careened through her. “My what?”
He chuckled, deep and throaty, and draped her legs with a blanket that had been beside her on the seat. “Your husband, milady.” Brushing the cover smooth across her skirt, he tucked the ends under her kid slippers. His hand grazed her silk-hosed ankle. “You feel nearly frozen. Shall I hold you?”
“No.” Her husband? “Are you daft?”
He shrugged. “I’ve been called daft once or twice—and worse. But don’t concern yourself, my dear. My mind is as fit as my body.”
She frowned. “From what I’ve seen thus far, milord, I would say your wits are lost inside your body.”
He looked puzzled. “Was there a compliment hidden in that statement?”
She sent him a chilling smile. “And I thought my insult quite clear.”
“Had you meant it, it would have been. But you lied.”
“I did not.”
“You did,” he countered. “Don’t you want to know where we’re going?”
“You won’t guide me so easily, milord. I did not lie,” she insisted, knowing she’d lied through her teeth. “Where are we going?”
“You lied.” He smiled.
Alyssa vowed she’d not explode. “Milord, I’ve had just about enough—”
He yawned.
She scowled at him. “You’re rude, too.”
“I’m bored. If you insist on telling falsehoods, my dear, you must learn to become poker-faced.”
“You’re annoying me.”
“Good. Perhaps if you grow sufficiently annoyed, you’ll ask where we’re going.”
“You are the most arrogant man, I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet. Now where are you taking me?”
“I am arrogant,” he confessed, not sounding at all repentant. “We are en route to Scotland. Gretna Green, to be precise. You will marry me there. Then we’ll retire to my country estate for our ‘going away.’”
Alyssa stared open-mouthed at him. “I’ll not marry you.”
“We’ll stop in Carlisle for fresh horses,” he continued as though she’d voiced no objection. “I expect you to pay for them—the parson, too—though, of course, I’ll provide the necessary funds.” He smiled. “Brides are not prone to carrying their reticules on their walks down the aisle. Why is that, do you suppose?”
“You’re mad,” Alyssa said, finding only enough of her voice to whisper. How could the daft man smile at her?
“Quite the contrary, I assure you. If the validity of our marriage is challenged for reasons of duress—I would remind you that I did kidnap you, my dear—we must have a witness able to testify that you paid for the horses. Any charge of duress will then be nullified.”
He looked so pleased with himself. “I’m not likely to forget that you abducted me, milord. And, since you did, pray tell me, why should I do what you ask? I would think you’d be concerned with the imminent dangling of your feet from the cinching of a noose around your neck.”
He flashed her a wicked grin that lifted his mask and crooked up the left side of his mouth just enough to set her heart to thumping. “I’ll not hang, my dear. I wouldn’t think of making you a grieving widow. No,” he leaned back against the seat and gave his legs a lazy stretch. “I prefer that our marriage be a long one.”
She scowled at him. “You’ve not answered my question. Why should I do as you ask?”
Like a sleek, dark cat, he leaned forward. Their faces very close, his breath warmed her cheeks. “Because you’re mine.”
She opened her mouth to rail at him, then closed it without uttering a word. When she thought she could speak without screaming, she uncurled her fists. “I belong to myself, milord.”
His voice lost its light banter and he resumed his lazy sprawl. “You were nearly Innes’s. I sensed you weren’t wedding him of your own free will. Was I mistaken?”
“No.” She confessed to what everyone present in the church had known. “You were not.”
“You might as well wed me, you know. Even if I returned you to London—which, of course, I shall not do—none would believe your virtue intact. Especially those who witnessed the abandoned kiss you gave me in the church. Thank you, incidentally, for that kiss. It was most pleasant, dear lady.”
Hearing amusement in his voice, she shot him a haughty look. “I’ve reminded you several times, sir, I am not your dear lady. And no gentleman would mention that kiss.”
“You’ve already said I’m no gentleman,” he reminded her.
“An assessment you’ve proven correct.”
“And never disclaimed.”
“You’re a lord,” she challenged. Didn’t the dull-wit realize he’d been insulted?
“Indeed I am. But then so is Innes.” He stroked his jaw, looking every inch a rakehell. “Tell me, my dear. Do you consider him a gentleman?”
She wanted to slap him. He knew she hated Innes. Why did the cad persist in taunting her? As stubborn as he was offensive, she refused to answer him.
He laughed. “He won’t marry you now, you know.”
In that, he was right—thank God. Still, her pride insisted she contradict him. “Lord Innes is my betrothed.”
“Was.”
“The man isn’t dead, milord.” She remembered the odd angle of Innes’s jaw. “Is he?”
“No. But he is no longer your betrothed.”
“I can’t say that displeases me,” she admitted, not sure quite what to make of her captor. “It’s a relief to be free.”
“You are not free.” His hard look lent sharp emphasis to his contradiction. “You’re mine.”
She lifted her chin. “And how did you arrive at this conclusion?”
The horses slowed to a stop. “Major?” her captor called out.
“No worry,” the coachman called back.
The stop remained unexplained, but her captor didn’t appear uneasy. The blasted man seemed relaxed. He turned on the seat and his knee brushed against her thigh. She jerked away and glared at him. Though he held her glare, she couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t glare back, and, feeling petty, she looked away.
They sat in silence for long minutes. Battling the urge to tap her fingers on the carriage wall, she heard the coachman climb back atop the box. Soon they were again on their way.
The quiet night and rhythmic motion of the carriage conspired against her. Her eyelids grew more and more heavy. Weary, still recovering from the fever, she fought the affects of the day’s excitements. But the needs of her body claimed victory, and soon her eyes drifted closed.
“ALYSSA? ALYSSA, wake up.”
She was so warm, so comfortable. “Just a few more minutes, Meg,” she mumbled, snuggling deeper. Slowly, she became aware of a pleasant scent. A man’s scent! Wrapped in a man’s arms! Gasping, she bolted upright.
“Careful.” Chuckling, he steadied her, his hands at her waist. “I’m sorry to disturb your rest, but we are in Carlisle. You must pay for the horses.”
She sat on his lap? Mortified, she tried to free herself, but he refused to release her. “I won’t do it.” Fighting him was futile—he was twice her size—and unwilling to expend wasteful energy, she stilled.
“You will do as I’ve asked,” he insisted. “I want only to protect you, Alyssa. And I will protect you. Please do not force me to implement harsh methods against you to do so.”
Only to protect you. His words niggled at some long forgotten memory. But, like his signet ring, recalling where or when she’d encountered them escaped her. His threat was clear. She’d have to be a fool not to know that he’d meant it. “Are you always so forward, milord?”
“Yes.” He pressed the funds into her hand and closed her fingers around them. “Give all of this to the stablemaster. There’s a hundred-guinea fee included for the witness. I want him to recall you.”
She had to remind herself not to shout. The man was slow-witted. He must be. Nothing else could explain his behavior. “Shouldn’t a witness know more than my face? Must you stand at my side masked like a highwayman?”
“A valid point. I knew you’d be quick-minded as well as beautiful.” His smile wobbled his mask. “Be still now. I don’t wish to drop you on your elegant—”
“That’s quite enough, milord,” she said in her most haughty voice. But, taking his advice to heart, she dared only shallow breaths for fear her backside would leave his hard thighs and meet with the harder carriage floor.
He reached up and untied his mask. Alyssa found she was trembling. Though honesty forced her to admit she trembled not in fear, but in anticipation.
His raven hair curled long on his neck, a bit too long to be fashionable, but oh so attractive. His clean jaw shaped a strong and arrogant face, the perfect foil for his eyes. They were his most remarkable feature, the clearest gray she’d ever seen. Striking. Haunting.
“You’re staring, my dear lady. Could it be that you’re bemused? By God, I believe you are.”
Bemused fit her feelings precisely, but she’d die before admitting it to him. He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen, stirring something deep inside her. Shifting on his lap, she gave him a good frown. “Not hardly, milord. Actually, you’re quite ordinary,” she lied. “And arrogant.”
“Ah, it’s too late for falsehoods, milady.” His eyes danced mischief. “You were caught with the truth in your eyes.”
She lifted her chin a fraction, then stared down her nose at him. “You are no gentleman.”
He laughed. “So you’ve said. Permit me, however, to introduce my disreputable self.” He nodded and deposited her on the seat. “Kevan Buchannan, seventh earl of Sussex, milady.”
Before she could respond, he alighted from the carriage and assisted her down.
With him beside her, she paid the stablemaster for the horses, smiled at his delighted look on taking the funds, and returned to the carriage, knowing all the while that now she must do something to forestall this marriage. Yet she’d didn’t feel the urgency to take the drastic measures that she had with Innes. And she didn’t understand why she didn’t. Both men were criminals. One a murderer, the other a kidnapper.
She would have died on marrying Innes, but was the rakehell who’d kidnapped her any better? In these modern days, what kind of lord would kidnap a wife?
When they were again underway, she looked at the handsome man sitting opposite her. “Are you truly Lord Buchannan? I admit I’m fatigued, milord. My perception might be askew. I believe you wealthy and educated, but I am not so weary that I accept your identity without question. What you’ve told me appears a Banbury tale.”
His chest swelled. “My dear lady, I am not accustomed to having my identity—or my word—questioned.”
“You abducted me,” she argued. “That is not the behavior one would expect from a man of noble birth.”
“One must follow the dictates of one’s conscience. I am who I profess to be.”
Unimpressed by his lofty manner, Alyssa stared at him.
“I see you require proof.” He sighed. “Very well.”
He raised his walking stick. Alyssa flattened herself against the seat. “Don’t you dare strike—” She fell silent under his scalding glare.
Without a word, he tapped the head of his stick against the inner roof. Heat burned her face, and she felt certain she’d die from embarrassment.
The carriage drew to a halt, and he turned toward the window. “Major, kindly inform the lady of my identity.”
The coachman’s voice rang out from atop the box. “Kevan Buchannan, seventh earl of Sussex.”
“Thank you, Major.” Lord Buchannan grinned at her, softening his inflexible features. “You may proceed.”
Far from soothing, Major’s affirmation upset Alyssa more. Why would a noble commit such a heinous crime as kidnapping?
Blunt, she decided. He must be penniless. “Milord,” she said in a soft voice, wishing to give him no offense. He had saved her from Innes and sure death, after all. She supposed he deserved civility, if not kindness. “I expect your reasons for wanting to marry me have to do with straitened circumstances—”
“You said you believed me wealthy,” he interrupted. “You were correct. I have no need of your funds, nor do I desire your dowry. You may keep it for pin money.”
Alyssa swallowed hard. She had no dowry. She had nothing. Her father and Innes had seen to that. “Then why—”
“I am twenty-seven,” he interrupted. “It’s time I marry. You are twenty-two, outspoken, opinionated, and in dire need of a husband. Regardless of your father’s poor influence, you are of good stock and gentle birth. Simply put, my dear, we suit.”
Alyssa shot him a look of pure disgust. This Lord Buchannan knew a bit about her and her father. But how much? Did he know her father was done up? She couldn’t bear him, or anyone, knowing that. Bankrupt. Debtor’s prison. Death.
She swallowed a knot of fear. Dear God, in leaving as she had, what had she done? Though her father had condemned her, she could not condemn him. “I can’t marry you.”
He took her hand in his, entwining their fingers. “You have no choice, my dear.” His voice wasn’t unkindly.
A warm tingle coursed up her arm to her shoulder. She jerked her hand free. “Why must you steal a wife? A woman betrothed to another man?”
“I thought I’d made that clear.” He frowned, “You were betrothed to another. You aren’t anymore.”
“I hate to appear bold, milord, but more often than not your explanations leave a great deal to be desired.”
“Perhaps.” He shrugged. “I’d hoped to spare your tender feelings.”
He leaned forward and clasped her hands in his. Was the regret in his eyes genuine? Her wariness doubled.
“You are no longer betrothed to Innes,” he said softly. “You are betrothed to me.”
“I don’t understand why you insist—”
“Innes wagered you, my dear,” he interrupted. “And he lost.”
Spots flooded her vision. She fought to keep from swooning. She wasn’t fainthearted, but the fever, the shocks, threatened to have her becoming so. “You are deceiving me, milord.” She forced her voice strong. “How dare you utter such untruths?”
He reached into his pocket and withdrew five cards. “I won you with this hand.”
He passed her the cards. Their fingers brushed and a little tingle scattered up her arm. Two twos and two fours. The fifth card was the ace of hearts. “This proves nothing,” she insisted.
