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“I desire a special license bearing the names of Lord Westfall and myself, an unmarked but comfortable carriage with a coachman and footmen who will only obey my orders, a pistol, and the marquess delivered to said carriage.”
Adel’s mouth fell open in shock, and amusement leaped into the duke’s eyes.
“Done,” he drawled with an evident measure of satisfaction.
“Oh dear,” said Adel, her hands fluttering to her throat.
Evie smiled. Oh dear, indeed.
Chapter Thirteen
Richard glanced through the window into the torrential downpour washing away the stench and grime of the day. He downed the brandy he had been nursing and stubbed the cheroot out on an ashtray. He felt on edge, discomfited, and the source of his discontent could no longer be ignored. Evie. It had been two days since she had departed his estate, and in that time, he doubted he’d gotten more than a couple of hours’ sleep. He’d tried to forget all his troubles by working, yet his mind was still consumed with her. Yesterday she had sent a carriage for his daughter to have tea with her at Rosette Park, and Emily and the children had bundled themselves off to see her. Instead of working like he’d planned, his thoughts had been consumed with everything about Evie—her laughter, the way she had romped with the children, the sweet piquancy of her kisses, hell, she had tasted like sin and all that was forbidden. And he had been such a fool for taking a bite of her fruit.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and a stiff wind blew through the partially open windows in the library. He peered into the black, starless sky. Grateful the rain had eased to a slight drizzle, he quickly exited the library and headed outside through the side doors. Once in the gardens, he inhaled the cold, crisp air into his lungs.
He walked along the puddled, beaten path, thinking about his recent decisions and what he would need to do to proceed in securing his daughter’s happiness, and dare he admit it, his own. Lord Ashford had arrived less than an hour after Evie’s departure, and even before they had descended on Kencourt Manor, Richard had known he would never offer for Honoria.
Even if he had not seduced Evie, he would have ceased correspondence with Lord Ashford. Lady Honoria was not the right fit for his muddled family. The distaste on her face as she had studied his children had filled him with cold disgust. She had been unable to hide her shock at the realization they all resided with him. Richard had been amused at the unruffled pretense she had tried to assume. She’d even had the gall to enquire if he would ship them away to an orphanage or boarding s
chool soon. Despite Ashford recently inheriting the earldom from his father’s passing, their distinction in society was far below Evie and her family. Yet to Evie’s credit she was far less concerned than Lady Honoria with society’s opinion. After luncheon, he had informed Ashford he had wasted his trip, and the following morning their party had once again departed to London.
He supposed he would have to continue his reluctant hunt for a wife. Yet…he could do nothing until he knew if he had gotten Evie with child. A surge of possessiveness went through him at the thought of her carrying his baby. Christ. He scrubbed a hand over his face, ruefully admitting he was in a bind.
What was he to do about Evie? It seemed a question he had been asking himself for six long years. It was about time he found the blasted answer to it.
An unusual sound in the dark had Richard slowing his steps, canting his head to one side and listening. He heard nothing, yet a warning signal prickled over his skin. After a few seconds, he moved forward with stealth, flaring his senses.
Two shadows suddenly lurched at him. His reaction swift and brutal, he slammed his elbow into one of their faces, gripped the other into a hip lock, and threw him. Before he could take stock of the situation, a body slammed into him from behind, propelling him forward. He managed to find purchase on the wet grass, but before he could retaliate, a blow bore him to the ground. Instinct warned him to stay still, to pretend as if he had been knocked out while he catalogued the situation.
The children had remained at Rosette Park, and would not return to Kencourt Manor until tomorrow, so he had no need to worry about their safety. Most of his staff were able bodied men, well able to defend their lives if necessary. His butler and valet were both men he had met in the war and could be quite merciless when needed.
Two men flanked either side of him and hauled him up, trying to lift his body and carry him away from his estate.
Interesting.
His mind shifted through a host of possibilities, thinking which of his enemies would be so bold. He listened to the footfalls traveling with him and counted at least four men. His lips curved. They should have sent more men to take him. A subtle tension invaded his limbs as he prepared to twist from his captors and reach for the knife hidden in his boot, then one of the men spoke.
“We have him, Your Grace. We didn’t have to break into the library. He was already outside.”
Your Grace?
“Deliver him to the carriage, and be careful. The marquess is one of London’s most ruthless men, he will not be pleased when he comes to.”
Wolverton? What the hell was going on? Why would one of his closest friends be orchestrating his capture? Curious to see where this scenario was heading, Richard remained a dead weight and allowed them to grunt and carry him to a carriage. He was pushed inside, the door slammed, and then it rattled into motion.
Her scent of roses and jasmine invaded his lungs before he saw Evie. The acute pleasure of being near her again so soon had his heart stirring to a faster rhythm, and a whisper of desire floated through his veins. Richard pushed himself up and settled against the squab.
“What errant nonsense is this?”
…
The sight of Richard filled Evie with a rush of pain. Gritting her teeth against the emotions, she took a deep breath to steady her courage. No welcoming warmth lit his expression. His eyes narrowed, and in the barely-there light in the carriage, he appeared a bit too sinister for comfort.
“Evie, what is the meaning of this?”
She firmed her shoulders and resolve. “I believe it is evident. You are being kidnapped,” she said smoothly. “We are bound for the moors of Scotland to an estate of His Grace’s. A priest will be waiting, along with a few men to persuade your compliance.”
“Surely you jest?”
