Saying I Do To The Scoundrel. Liz Tyner

her tea cup on the tray to be removed by the maid. Her words flowed into the room. ‘You would not double-cross me. And, if you did, my tear-stained face as I huddled in the magistrate’s office, pouring out my heart—’ Her voice hardened. ‘I assure you if the money were gone, my emotions would be truly distraught—I would be able to convince anyone of my innocence while I pointed a delicate finger right at you.’

      ‘We can’t talk without an agreement on equal shares,’ he spoke. ‘I can’t think why you would go to the rot of kidnapping anyone for a sum as small as that. It’s foolish to risk your neck for so little.’

      He frowned. The chair was askew from the table and he straightened it and sat, showing no more interest than if he were sitting at the tavern to discuss whatever men discussed when they had nothing to talk about.

      ‘I’m not greedy.’ She put both gloved hands on the table. ‘And, this is a personal matter as well as a kidnapping.’

      When she said personal, his gaze bounced to the ceiling and back. She gave him another of her haughtiest glares.

      ‘Half-share for me, at least. Assuming we agree.’ He scratched at his whiskers, his eyes never leaving her face. Even as he bargained, his eyelids drifted down as if he wanted to fall back asleep.

      She blinked several times.

      He scratched again.

      She gave a silent sigh and a condemning glance at his beard.

      ‘Half-shares,’ he repeated.

      She reached out and delicately tapped the brandy bottle on the table. ‘You may raise the ransom another five thousand pounds for yourself. I know you need funds to finance your efforts to keep the tavern owners from starvation.’ Her eyes settled on his chin. ‘And you do fear wearing out a razor strop so I suppose your coin doesn’t stretch for ever.’ She waved the words away, letting him know the money wasn’t worth a squabble. ‘I would hate to see you perish for lack of liquid,’ she grumbled.

      ‘My dear well-bred miss.’ His eyes half-closed. ‘You must learn to snort with your mouth shut. It’s more becoming a lady.’

      ‘Perfectly acceptable for a Nigel, though.’ She gave a toss of her head.

      ‘And don’t worry about me running out of good liquor.’ He let his eyelids drop again. ‘Or bad.’ He looked at the shelf. Various shapes. Ready to be taken back to the tavern to be refilled. ‘My hand is never far from a bottle. Or a barrel.’

      He didn’t plan to kidnap anyone. For one thing, among many others, he didn’t see her being able to keep her mouth closed. He could see her at an event, leaning to another flowery sort and whispering, ‘Did you happen to read about the kidnapping in The Times? Let me tell you, I have quite the criminal mind and I’m such a good judge of character I had no trouble finding a disreputable kidnapper. Would you like his name in case you have need of him?’

      He didn’t know what was wrong with him, but he didn’t want her running the streets searching out someone who would actually agree with her plan and somehow separate her from her chaperon and abuse her. Apparently the drink hadn’t clouded his mind as much as he’d thought.

      ‘You know you will have to tell me the particulars.’ He rubbed his hand across his eyes, wishing he were rested. He thought it ironic he would always feel exhausted and still have to fight to sleep.

      ‘Are we in agreement?’ She stretched her arm out and for a moment he expected her to touch his hand. He tensed. He wanted no closeness with her. Something inside himself warned him not to let her touch him.

      ‘Surely it’s not someone of aristocratic birth you would want kidnapped?’

      And for the first time, she looked guilty.

      ‘That’s frowned upon, you know.’ He could not believe he was having this conversation. Only his curiosity kept him speaking to her. He’d never abducted anyone. He’d spent too many years keeping his distance from people. The last thing he’d do was capture another person whom he might have to feed and water occasionally.

      She nodded. ‘I said I had a personal reason and I assure you it’s a just one.’

      ‘Someone in the royal family?’ he asked, eyebrows lifted.

      ‘Do not jest. Anyone could have listened to what I’ve said and figured out who I wanted kidnapped.’ She interlaced her fingers, letting them rest on the table.

      He paused, scowling. In this strange dream he was having he must have slept through one of the important parts.

      She touched her chest and leaned towards him. ‘Me.’ She spoke softly. ‘I need you to kidnap me.’

       Chapter Three

      He moved his head sideways, but his eyes remained on her. He stated, ‘You’re kidnapping yourself for the money?’

      He saw the prim set of her shoulders. The clothing she wore, too much warmth for the weather, hadn’t been cobbled together by a person saving on expense. The ridiculous lace around the edge of her cloak and her ribbons didn’t come without a price.

      ‘Yes. It’s only a pittance of what I should have. My stepfather’s taken it all.’

      ‘You believe he’ll pay the ransom?’ He was more than curious. He was interested.

      ‘Yes. He wants me to marry his nephew, Fillmore.’ She leaned closer. ‘My stepfather does just as his nephew says. They are closer than a father and a son.’ She waved her gloved hand.

      She shook her head. ‘Fillmore believes I should be his bride. I cannot take a step when he is in the house without watching for him and he is getting more and more determined every day. Rooms are being painted for him and furniture reupholstered. When that is finished next month, he is planning to move into the house—as my husband. I must be gone before then.’

      He eyed the chit. ‘All I need to do is kidnap you—but you will be willingly kidnapped. Secure the ransom. Take my half and we part friends.’

      Her eyes flickered when he said half.

      ‘How old are you?’ he asked.

      She backed away. ‘I am old enough.’

      ‘You’re on the shelf.’ He saw the quick dart of her eyes and the firming of her lips. She adjusted her gloves.

      ‘I have accepted one marriage proposal—’ She frowned at him. ‘I accepted a proposal which enraged my stepfather. I met a man when visiting my cousin. I thought the man a bit forward when he indicated he wanted to marry me the second time we’d spoken. But he was of decent family and excellent reputation. Bookish. A bit older than I had hoped for, but I saw no reason to decline.’ She gave a wistful smile. ‘I thought him sweet.’

      She shrugged. ‘My stepfather wouldn’t listen. He refused the match. Refused to let me call on anyone for a year or more. Had a load of manure delivered to the man’s door. He only lets me go about now because he’s encouraged by his efforts with Fillmore.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘This morning I’m buying hair ribbons so Fillmore might be impressed.’ She gave her bonnet a flick.

      Bending forward towards Brandt, she moved the bottle aside with the back of her hand. ‘My stepfather is not a kind man. Do not forget. If you have to hit him—’

      ‘It makes me no difference.’ Brandt put the bottle back in place.

      ‘It would if you were in my shoes. He expects gratitude on my part for his extreme kindness in allowing me to marry Fillmore. Stepfather says to be Fillmore’s wife is the most noble of goals and Fillmore is the best that can be found. I’m sure he’s not the best, even when comparing him with slimy things found under rocks.’

      ‘I don’t care if Fillmore is a snake or a saint.’ He didn’t.