The Abducted Heiress. Claire Thornton

on her situation. It wasn’t good. She was bound hand and foot in the power of a man who should have been languishing in Newgate, awaiting his trial. Not only that, none of her household even knew she was missing. There would be no hue and cry for her until it was far too late. She bit her lip, wishing she’d had the good sense to leave with Arscott in the barge that morning. But it was too late to repine over her decision now.

      Her gaze narrowed on Jakob. He was a hardy rogue. What did he want with her, now that the man he’d served was dead?

      ‘Are you to be my bridegroom now?’ she demanded.

      ‘No.’

      She stared at him, confounded by his brief reply. ‘Arscott shot the other one,’ she reminded him.

      Jakob grinned briefly, but there was no amusement in his eyes.

      ‘As you say,’ he agreed. ‘I value my continued good health too much to risk a similar fate. Is that—’ he timed the rhythm of his words to fit easily into that of the oars ‘—how you’ve managed to remain unwed so long? Your steward shoots all your hopeful suitors?’

      ‘What? No, of course not!’ Desire frowned at him. ‘What do you want then? Ransom? Am I to be your hostage?’

      She thought of the chest full of money Arscott had taken away with him.

      ‘No,’ said Jakob.

      ‘Then why do you want me?’ she asked, bewildered.

      ‘I don’t want you,’ he replied curtly.

      Desire caught her breath. His sharp response cut straight through her defences, hurting her where she was most vulnerable. She knew full well that her most attractive feature was her inheritance—but it was a long time since she’d been reminded of that quite so brutally. It didn’t matter that Jakob was a brigand who’d just escaped from prison. He was still a handsome man who had no doubt enjoyed many beautiful women. His sharp rejection was deeply wounding.

      Shamed and humiliated, she bent her head to gaze hazily at her bound hands. For the first time since her ordeal began she felt tears pricking her eyes. She was determined not to cry. She turned her face into her shoulder in an instinctive effort to hide her scarred cheek from her abductor.

      Jakob saw the moment the fight left Desire. It baffled him. One minute she was matching him point for point, the next she hunched her shoulders and turned her head away from him.

      It was only when he realised she was trying to conceal her scars that he guessed why his brief comment had wounded her so severely. He muttered a soft curse. It hadn’t occurred to him she’d interpret his barely considered words as a rejection. If anything, he’d intended them to be comforting—a reassurance that he had no intention of raping her.

      He’d been surprised by her scars the first time he’d seen her, but now he barely noticed them. From the moment she’d held the pistol on him, her beautiful brown eyes blazing with anger, he’d been far more impressed by her fiery personality. Even after such a brief acquaintance he knew her to be brave and resolute. He didn’t understand why she’d been alone on the roof of Godwin House—but he suspected it had been by her own choice. She’d already demonstrated she wasn’t the kind of person who fled in panic from danger.

      He was sorry he’d inadvertently hurt her, but he was irritated with her for being ashamed of her scars. She ought to hold her head up proudly and damn him for his impudence—not cringe from him like a mistreated puppy. Somewhat to his surprise, he realised he was also angry with whoever had taught her to feel that shame.

      He gritted his teeth with annoyance and pain. Desire had escaped lightly from the fire in her petticoats, but both of Jakob’s hands were blistered and sore from his efforts to quench the flames. Now every pull on the oars caused him intense discomfort. He wasn’t in the mood to ease Desire’s distress with gentle words.

      ‘So why did your murderous rabble of a household desert you?’ he asked, and waited with interest to see how she would respond to his wantonly insulting question.

      Chapter Three

      It took a few seconds for the full import of Jakob’s words to dawn on Desire. As soon as it did her head reared up, her eyes hot with indignation.

      ‘They didn’t desert me!’ she declared fiercely. ‘And they aren’t a murderous rabble—’

      ‘They were going to lynch me!’

      ‘Only because they were shocked and frightened by what happened.’ Desire pushed a strand of wet hair out of her face with her bound hands and glared at him. ‘Abducting helpless females might be all in a day’s work for you, but they were horrified. They’re all better men than you’ll ever be. Any one of them would make three of you!’

      ‘I didn’t notice they were that fat,’ Jakob retorted, pleased with the success of his ruse. Desire had completely forgotten to hide her scarred cheek.

      ‘I wasn’t referring to your great hulking bulk!’ she shot back. ‘I was talking about character…courage…integrity. None of them would mistreat a lady.’

      ‘Because, in their dotage, they can’t remember what a woman is for!’ Jakob had noticed that, with the exception of the steward and a couple of young porters, nearly all the men who’d rushed to Desire’s rescue on the roof had been well over fifty.

      ‘Because they are honourable!’ Desire snapped.

      ‘So where are these honourable, creaking gallants in your hour of need?’ Jakob winced slightly and shifted his grip on the oars.

      To his relief the tide was finally on the turn. Until now, if he’d stopped rowing, the current would inexorably have carried the small boat back down the Thames towards the burning city.

      ‘Taking the contents of the house to safety!’ Desire retorted.

      Jakob grinned, despite his discomfort. ‘You mean they were more interested in rescuing the virginals than the virgin herself?’ he countered.

      Desire gasped with offended dignity at his inflammatory question. Despite the fact that her feet and hands were still tied up, she tried to kick Jakob. Without her hands to stabilise her, she lost her balance on the wooden seat. She fell sideways, then slid ignominiously into the bottom of the boat. The key to the river-gate fell onto the boards beside her.

      The little craft rocked alarmingly for several seconds before Jakob managed to restore equilibrium.

      ‘För bövelen, woman! Are you trying to drown us both!’ he shouted, exasperated.

      ‘I hope you drown,’ she shouted back, undaunted, from where she was huddled in the shallow puddle of dirty water that slopped over the boards.

      ‘For God’s sake!’ He reached down to help her up. As soon as he touched her she jerked away, once more rocking the boat. ‘I’ll leave you there if you do that again,’ he warned her.

      ‘If you untie me, I could get up by myself,’ she said mutinously.

      ‘If I untie you, you’ll no doubt take a lump out of my skull with an oar,’ he said through gritted teeth.

      She sniffed inelegantly, but otherwise didn’t deign to reply.

      Jakob sighed, wondering how the devil he’d managed to get himself into such an absurd situation. His plan to provoke her out of her sad mood had worked only too well.

      ‘If I untie you, will you give me your parole?’ he asked.

      ‘No.’

      ‘Stubborn wench.’ He rested for a minute. There were dark bloodstains on the oars, and the palms of his hands were exquisitely painful. ‘Why did your men leave you behind?’ he asked.

      ‘They didn’t know they did.’ Desire lifted her head clear of the dirty wet planks. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so uncomfortable, but she was determined not to beg.