The Abducted Heiress. Claire Thornton

alternative occurred to him ‘…to avoid discouraging the chivalrous instincts of future generations of gentlemen.’

      ‘You’re not a gentleman!’

      Jakob raised an insufferably arrogant eyebrow in response.

      ‘You’re a paid bravo who steals women for upstart fortune-hunters!’ Desire accused him.

      ‘I haven’t made a career of it!’ Jakob huffed out a breath of pure exasperation. ‘If you had any sense, you’d be trying to ingratiate yourself with me—not insult me.’

      ‘Ingratiate…? I’ve never tried to ingratiate myself with anyone! Ever! I wouldn’t know how!’

      Jakob smiled briefly. ‘I can tell.’

      Desire glared at him, her indignation fading as it occurred to her how good-tempered her abductor seemed to be. She’d undoubtedly caused him considerable inconvenience—and repeatedly provoked his exasperation—but he’d never responded with anger. She wasn’t fool enough to believe she could have stopped him if he’d tried to hurt or violate her.

      He was a puzzle to her.

      ‘Whose house are we going to?’ she asked.

      ‘Kilverdale’s,’ he replied.

      ‘Kilverdale?’ Desire repeated blankly. ‘The Duke?’

      Jakob nodded.

      Enlightenment crept over Desire in slow, sickening waves of understanding. She stared at Jakob in shock as every piece of the puzzle finally became clear to her.

      On the roof, three days’ ago, she’d believed the brute with the pistol had intended her for his own bride. Now she knew better. He’d been stealing her for another man—the Duke of Kilverdale. And when the original plan had failed, Jakob had returned at the first opportunity to complete the task.

      What a fool she’d been. Insensibly she’d begun to trust Jakob’s motives—now she knew better. He’d admitted he’d been a soldier. A mercenary, no doubt. He was still selling his loyalty to the highest bidder. She tasted the acid of bitter disappointment as she absorbed her new understanding. No wonder Jakob had saved her from burning and hadn’t hurt her in any other way. He was being paid to deliver undamaged goods to the Duke.

      ‘How much?’ she croaked.

      ‘What?’ He looked at her blankly.

      ‘How much is he paying you for me?’ she demanded.

      ‘Who?’

      ‘Kilverdale! How much is he paying you?’ her voice rose angrily.

      ‘Kilverdale?’ Jakob sounded dumbfounded by her question, but Desire was too upset to notice.

      ‘I’ll double it,’ she promised him. ‘If you take me to Arscott, I’ll give you twice as much as the Duke is paying you. I swear I can.’

      She lurched forward, sinking on to her knees in front of Jakob. The boat rocked as she seized one of his knees, gripping it urgently in her anxiety to make him attend her.

      ‘I’ll pay you,’ she repeated, staring desperately into his eyes to see if her words were having any effect on him. ‘From my chest. Arscott rescued it from the fire. Take me to him. You’ll be rich. Don’t give me to Kilverdale. Please! Don’t give me to him!’

      Her voice cracked on her last words. Panic threatened to overwhelm her.

      ‘Don’t give me to him,’ she whispered, starting to tremble as the full horror of her situation finally came home to her.

      Jakob released the oars, letting the boat drift as he gave all his attention to Desire. He was shaken by the sight of her begging on her knees before him, stunned by her obvious terror. Until now he’d only been aware of her courage, not her fear. Why did Kilverdale’s name reduce her to panic? The Duke had a reputation for being something of a rake, but he wasn’t cruel to his female conquests.

      ‘I’m not giving you to anyone, älskling,’ Jakob said gently.

      She was so close to him, on her knees between his spread legs. He put his hands on her waist, feeling how she trembled. He stroked his bandaged hands reassuringly up and down her sides. Her bodice wasn’t boned and he could feel the supple warmth of her body through the fabric. Her fingers clutched convulsively at his leg. Despite her obvious distress he couldn’t help finding the situation arousing. He knew that wasn’t her intention. He doubted if she was even aware that she was touching him.

      Her face was white beneath the grime of the fire, her eyes wide with fear. She stared at him desperately for a few seconds longer, then abruptly closed her eyes and lowered her head. A deep shudder coursed through her body.

      He pushed a strand of wet hair behind her ear with sore fingertips. The bandages she’d wrapped around his hands were already soiled and ragged.

      ‘I’m not giving you to anyone, älskling,’ he repeated softly. ‘No one is going to hurt you. You saved my life on your roof. Now I’m doing my best to protect you from harm. And when you are safely restored to your home, I will be insulted if you open your treasure chest for me.’

      Another shiver rippled through Desire. She kept her head resolutely bowed. He wasn’t sure if she’d comprehended—or even heard—what he’d just said.

      He gave in to temptation and slipped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer until she was cradled against his chest. Over her head he could see the thick, horrifying pall of smoke which shrouded the now distant London. He’d been watching it through all the twists and turns of the river since they’d left the Strand. He wondered if any of the city was left. How had the fire started? Were any of the rumours he’d heard while he was trapped in Newgate true?

      Desire still trembled against him, neither resisting nor yielding to him. He held her close, needing the comfort of her warm supple body in his arms as much as he suspected she needed his reassurance. Well, perhaps he wasn’t her ideal comforter, he acknowledged, with a wry twist of his lips, but he was the best available.

      ‘You’re safe, milady,’ he murmured against her tangled hair. ‘No one will hurt you now.’

      Desire kept her eyes tightly closed. She heard Jakob’s reassurances, but she didn’t know how to respond to them. She didn’t know how she’d ended up in his arms. Her cheek was pressed against the firm plane of his upper chest. Her head nestled under his chin. She felt him stroke her back and a gentle touch against her hair.

      One of her palms lay flat against his shoulder. As her panic subsided she became acutely aware of his hard, half-naked male body against hers, surrounding her with his virile strength. The sensation was unfamiliar. Disturbing, but not entirely unpleasant. Her pulse rate began to increase once more, not from blind terror this time, but from a peculiar mixture of excitement, shyness and illicit pleasure.

      It was shocking to let Jakob hold her like this. She was shocked at herself that she could enjoy it even a little bit. But she did. She tried to tell herself it was just because it was so long since anyone had held her in a comforting embrace—but she knew it was more than that. Her fingers flexed against his skin. She wanted to slide her hand over his torso, explore all the firm planes and ridges of his muscles with her fingertips—not just her eyes.

      ‘No one will hurt you,’ he said softly, and she remembered Kilverdale.

      She jerked against him in a silent protest at being reminded of the humiliation that lay ahead of her.

      ‘Älskling, you have my word,’ Jakob promised her. She felt his words vibrating deep in his chest. ‘I did not take you for Kilverdale. I will not let him—or anyone else—harm you.’

      ‘Not Kilverdale?’ she whispered, not quite able to believe the reassurance.

      ‘Not Kilverdale,’ Jakob confirmed. ‘He does not even know I’ve met you. He certainly isn’t expecting you to arrive at his house. There’s nothing