“If you are baking, then I shouldn’t keep you,” she politely suggested.
“No you shouldn’t. But as I said, here we are. Now, get inside.”
He marched her into the house at gun point.
As soon as they were inside, he closed and locked the door. While he slid the night bolts into place, she had a fleeting thought of running upstairs and attempting to dash out the front door.
“I wouldn’t try anything rash, Lady Thief. Pistols have a tendency to go off, and I’m sure your dear Mama and Papa wouldn’t want to have to explain the circumstances of your demise.” A deep rumbling laugh rose up in his chest. “Could you just imagine what the matrons of thehaut tonwould make of it? They would be besides themselves with glee.”
She hated him, but that laugh did something to her body. Sent heat racing down her spine. Victoria chided herself.No.This was the horrible duke who had humiliated her and now held her captive—she did not find him the least bit attractive. But the gentle way his powerful hands held the delicate herbs had her swallowing deep.
I must be hallucinating in my fear.
There could be no other explanation for the mad thoughts which now ran freely through her head.
He ushered her into the kitchen, where to her relief she found a warm and inviting scene of domesticity. It was all rather cozy. The Duke of Spice might be a brute, but he kept a welcoming hearth.
Less welcoming was the length of rope he produced from under the kitchen bench and promptly used to tie her firmly to a chair. Her hands were secured behind her back so she could not escape. He knelt in front of her and used the free end of the rope to tie her ankles together.
“Pardon me laying hands on your person. But I would suggest that we are already well outside the bounds of social propriety,” he said, as he touched her skin. She would have taken him to task, but her gaze was fixed on his strong, muscular thighs. The way his breeches clung to them had her fully convinced that she had indeed let go of her sanity.
He got to his feet. “Now let’s see how those scones are coming along.”
The duke opened the oven and taking out a tray, set it on the table. He pressed his fingers to the top of a scone. “Hmm, a little while longer, I think. The top isn’t quite cooked through.”
His nonchalant tone was one of a man well acquainted with baking in the middle of the night, while also holding someone captive in his house. He put the tray back into the oven. “Do you bake, Lady Victoria?”
It was the first time he had used her proper name. She’d been getting rather used to him calling her Lady Thief. It had a teasing ring to it.
“No. My mother won’t let me near the kitchens at Mowbray House. Says a young lady of my standing shouldn’t be the least bit interested in such matters.”
He scoffed a laugh. “But running around and breaking into people’s homes to rob them is acceptable?”
Victoria sighed. “No. But I didn’t break into your home, I was merely strolling in your garden. And the gate was unlocked. One could almost say you invited me in.”
He came closer, pulling up another chair to sit in front of her. Her gaze took in the rough stubble on his chin. The small food stain on the front of his shirt caught her eye.
She had a sudden compulsion to want to lick that spot clean.
“I have many questions—how you go about answering them depends on you. My suggestion would be to tell me the truth, as I don’t make a habit of torturing women.” He screwed up his face. “Actually, I haven’t ever had a female prisoner before. Congratulations, you are my first.”
The aroma of the scones reached her nose. She couldn’t help herself. “What do you put in your scones? They smell delicious.”
His face lit up in what could only be described as pure delight. “Really? They smell good to you. Well that’s high praise. What with your excellent palate.”
He was mocking her. She really ought to take offence. But trussed to a chair and at his mercy didn’t leave her with such options.
“I’m serious. In fact, if you were to ever get to know me, you would understand that I take food very seriously indeed. Your Grace.”
His brows furrowed. “Your Grace? I think we can dispense with the formalities don’t you, sweet Victoria. My name is Robert, and as my private captive, you may feel free to use my first name. In fact, I insist.”
She glanced down at her bound feet and softly sighed. “I don’t think that would be appropriate. As you say I am your captive. Familiarity and all that.”
He shifted the chair closer, and leaned in, taking her by the chin and lifting her face. She caught the scent of his cologne. But it was his gray blue eyes which held her attention. There wereflecks of green in them. And a kindness that took her breath away.
“Victoria, what are we going to do about all this?” She understood the meaning in his words—he wasn’t just talking about their current predicament. He meant their fight over the newspaper articles.
She cleared her throat. “You could always resign fromthe Morning Herald. There is no shame in admitting that you are no longer up to the task.”
