A Seduction at Christmas (6 page)

“If you say it again, I shall be very angry with you,” Grace countered. “And the truth is, I’ve missed you, too. At the theater they call me the Scottish lass and they don’t mean it as a compliment. I grow tired of snappish women who believe they are better than me because of where they were born. Most of them can’t even write their own names. I’ve longed for someone who listens to me and when she speaks has my best interests at heart.”

“Even if I don’t approve of a life on the stage?” Fiona asked, pressing her cheeks to dry her tears.

“The best of friends,” Grace answered, “are those willing to help guide us to be better than we thought we could be.”

“Well, if you have any advice for me, please speak up,” Fiona said. “Right now, my world has turned into something more than I can manage.” She swallowed hard before admitting, “I let him kiss me, Grace.”

Her friend’s brows shot up. “Who? Holburn?” Immediately, she turned angry. “Did he force himself on you? If he did, Fiona, I’ll flog him—”

“No, he didn’t,” Fiona said, interrupting her before she continued with the wrong idea. “I
wanted
him to kiss me…and I kissed back,” she admitted, still surprised herself by her reaction to him.

Grace placed her hand on Fiona’s arm and brought them both down to sit on the chairs. She looked Fiona in the eye. “He is the worst person for you to trust. He’s broken hearts all over this city. Of course, to his credit, all the women I’ve heard of are those who can take for themselves, but you are different.”

“In what way?” Fiona asked.

“You are vulnerable.” Grace’s expression softened to pity. “You haven’t the first idea of how to handle a man like him.”

“He hasn’t gotten my skirts up yet,” Fiona said in her defense.

“But he could,” Grace predicted with a wisdom as old as time.

Fiona sat back, unsettled. She couldn’t deny her friend’s words. The Duke of Holburn had occupied a place in her imagination from the first moment she’d laid eyes on him. But she knew better now. She’d met the real man and although he was handsome, she knew better than to tempt the devil.

“The worst part,” she said to Grace, “is that I didn’t receive my twenty pounds from either Hester or him—”

Her voice broke off as an idea so daring, so bold, so dangerous took hold of her. “I will hold him for ransom.”

“Hold who?’ Grace asked, shaking her head as if she already didn’t like the answer.

“The duke. Holburn.”

Grace set her tea down. “I believe such a thing would be a hanging offense.”

“Not if no one knows about it except the duke and I,” Fiona said, the idea gathering momentum. “I will tell him he must ransom himself and I’m going to ask for five hundred pounds.”

“No
,” Grace said.

“Oh,
yes
,” Fiona countered.

“It’s madness.”

“It’s
freedom,
” Fiona answered. She lowered her hand and rubbed Tad’s head as she thought the matter out. The dog closed his eyes, enjoying the attention. “I know that if it is reported to the authorities I could be in a criminal situation, but Holburn won’t turn me over to them. He will not want anyone to know he was bested by a woman.”

“You don’t know that is true,” Grace argued.

Fiona sat forward. “I do know that by the time he comes after me, we’ll be long gone.”

Grace held up her hand, palm forward. “Don’t include me. I’m not part of this. Besides, what are you going to do with that much money? Join your brother in America?”

“America is a wilderness. I want to live somewhere civilized—like Italy.” She liked that idea. “On five hundred pounds we can set ourselves up as wealthy widows.”

Grace frowned. “Why widows?”

“Because widows have freedom.” She put her hand on her empty tea mug and turned it around as she envisioned a new life for them. “We’ll find a lovely villa by a lake out in the country and hire a maid. Who knows what could happen from that point? In Italy, our Scots’ accents will be considered exotic.”

“I don’t speak Italian,” Grace said unmoved.

“We’ll learn,” Fiona assured her.

Grace came to her feet and carried her mug over to the cabinet as she said, “You are talking nonsense.”

Fiona came to her feet. “Don’t dismiss me, Grace. This is an opportunity to change our lives.”

“Like you thought earning twenty pounds would do for you tonight?” Grace countered. “Fiona, don’t be foolish.”

But the idea had taken hold. “I might not receive five hundred pounds,” she admitted, “but
he will pay me something if he wants to leave my rooms and I won’t settle for much less. After all, I saved his life tonight.”

“When you go in front of the magistrate, you can explain that to him,” Grace answered, unmoved.

“Holburn won’t go to the authorities,” Fiona said with certainty. “He has the devil’s own pride. He reminds me of my brother in that manner. He’ll not like paying the ransom, but he’ll do it for no other reason than winning his freedom so he can wring my neck. But the world is a big place. He’s been looking for this Spaniard for years and hasn’t found him. I’ll be prepared to run the moment I receive the money.”

“And how are you going to leave so quickly?” Grace wondered.

Fiona spread her hands to indicate the bareness of the room. “Other than Tad and the clothes on my back, is there anything else I need from this place? I could be gone in the morning. Of course, I may need some help. If you don’t want to leave with me, will you at least help, even a little?”

Her friend stood silent. Her glance went from Fiona to the curtained doorway. “It’s madness.”

“The best plans usually are. Besides, I come from a long line of daredevils.”

“Yes, and look where your brother is now.”

“Happy,” Fiona answered. “He left for America without even a backward glance.”

Again, Grace looked at the doorway. “Is he tied up now?” she asked.

Fiona walked over and picked up the rope she’d set on the cabinet before she made the tea. “He will be in a few minutes.”

At last, Grace capitulated. “I’ll help you as much as I can, Fiona, but be warned—Holburn isn’t the sort of man a wise woman crosses,” she advised soberly.

“I’ll remember that,” Fiona promised. “Any other advice?”

“Yes, you’d best make certain those knots are good and tight.”

N
ick didn’t want to wake. He didn’t want to open his eyes, but a blast of cold air was not going to let him sleep. His valet, Gannon, must have left a window open, which was decidedly odd. Gannon never made mistakes.

Furthermore, his gut hurt. True, there were many mornings he felt this way. Excessive drinking was never good for one’s constitution. However, today was worse. His stomach muscles felt as if they had been turned inside out. Or perhaps the pain was more distinctive because it was his
mind
that was sharper—

Nick was startled to realize
he was sober
.

His mind was actually
alert
.

He couldn’t remember a time since boyhood when he’d been so aware of his senses. It was as if his body had been purged of all poisons.

Nick lay still. While he’d always meant to change his ways, he was uncertain if he was enjoying this new sensation. He felt like hell. His head might be clear but his body had obviously been trounced on by a herd of goats. Even the muscles in his earlobes ached.

A drink would take those muscle aches away.

Slowly, Nick opened his eyes and swore.
This
was not his bedroom in Holburn House. He closed and opened his eyes again before accepting that what he saw was real. He really was in a tiny room that resembled a prison. The place was tidy but nothing could hide the squalor. The walls really were a drab gray from years of soot. The air smelled of a hundred different meals being cooked and from someplace in the building, above or below him, a baby cried, while from another quarter a man gave in to his morning hacking.

Instead of a feathered mattress, he lay on one filled with straw and lumpy in all the wrong places. His stockinged feet—the only clothing he was wearing—hung off the end of the bed.

Thankfully, the sheets smelled clean, but a wise man would climb out of this bed before bugs found him. Nick started to rise—and couldn’t.

“What the bloody—?” Ropes banded his body, which had been covered by a thin quilt.

At that moment, he heard a sound at the open window beside the bed.

A huge dog, the size of a small deer, leapt into the room. He gave Nick no more than a passing glance as he padded through a curtain hung across one side of the room.

Nick amended his earlier theory: he obviously
was
drunk.

A hand pulled the curtain back and a serious-eyed young woman entered the room. The dog followed her in, sitting on his haunches by her side.

She wore a simple plain blue wool dress, the clothing of a shop girl, and yet carried herself with the air of a queen.

His Oracle.

Memory returned with a vengeance. The details were still murky but he remembered
her
…and the potion she’d poured into his drink. After that, events were unclear. All he remembered was being violently ill.

She was just as lovely as he remembered, although this morning, her eyes were tired. He almost felt sorry for her until she said in her crisp accent, “You are my prisoner, Your Grace.”

“That is one of the most ridiculous statements
I’ve ever heard anyone make,” he replied. “Now come untie me.”

“I can’t,” she answered.

“You can,” he said.

“You threatened to harm me—”

“I’m certain with good reason,” he cut in. He didn’t have patience. He needed a pint, or a little cider to take the edge off the morning. “Now, untie these knots and fetch me something to drink. Then, we can reminisce about last night.” Before she could respond, a wild, almost dreamlike thought struck him. “Did we really have Irishmen shooting at us…or was I having a bad dream?”

“They weren’t shooting at us. They were shooting at
you.
They had other plans for me.”

“Did I shoot back?” he wanted to know, the haze starting to lift from his memory.

“Yes, you did.”

Now he remembered all. “I merely wounded the man. I’d wanted him dead. They shot Hester Bowen. They were aiming at me and they shot her.” He frowned at the young woman. “Your name is Fiona.” He caressed the word, giving it three distinct, flowing syllables.

She nodded, watching him warily as if she hid a secret.

He plowed on, trying to make sense of it all. “Hester didn’t deserve that. I wish I’d killed the
man. Those small pistols aren’t always reliable when you are aiming at a man while in a moving coach.”

Her head tilted in surprise. “Do you shoot people often?”

“Only when necessary,” he answered enjoying the response. He relaxed and took a moment to give her a good look over. Drunk or sober, she was a beauty. And being tied up was rather intriguing…

“I thought I was waiting for Andres Ramigio,” he said, “but you arrived instead. And you thought you were to meet Belkins.”

“Who told you the Spaniard would be there,” she answered.

Nick looked up at the ceiling, thinking. “There’s a mystery here,” he said, speaking more to himself than Fiona. “But why? It doesn’t make sense.”

She took a step closer to the bed. “Hester wanted to teach Lord Belkins a lesson. He’d jilted her without offering a parting gift. So she sent him a note from Annie Jenkins arranging a private supper at the Swan.”

“Who is Annie Jenkins?”

“She is my neighbor,” Fiona said. “But she eloped yesterday morning and asked me to go in her place.”

“And why would you do that?” Nick wanted to
know, searching for anything that made sense out of last night.

“Hester was going to pay me twenty pounds.”

“Ah, yes,
money
.” Nick remembered his coin purse. “Isn’t that the reason for everything?” He took in her body, noting all the assets that a woman could use to make money, and felt disappointment.

He’d wanted her to be better than that. She wasn’t. “Twenty pounds seems a pittance to what a woman like you could earn.”

Indignation brought color to her cheeks and a flash of fire to her brown eyes. “I’m not a whore.”

“Of course you aren’t,” Nick agreed briskly. “Neither is Hester Bowen or any of her friends. And
I’m
practically ready for sainthood.” He smiled, his lips twisting cynically. “I don’t know why I’m irritated with you. You are nothing but a pawn in this game. A beautiful plaything who can be bought for twenty pounds.”

Her hands formed fists at her side. “How dare you insult me?”

He laughed, the sound bitter. “You insulted yourself for twenty pounds. Now, untie me and let’s be done with this. Someone attempted to murder me last night and I’d like to discover who.”

Her jaw tightened. Her eyes had grown large in her face as he spoke, but she didn’t move.

Nick frowned. “You aren’t going to untie me, are you?”

It took her lips a second to form the word, “No.” She was obviously aware he wouldn’t like her answer.

She was right.

He kept his voice quiet, controlled, silky—the better to make her realize she’d best do as he said. “Do you know who I am, Fiona? How powerful I am?”

She nodded, and then dispelled his notion that she feared him by saying, “But right now, you are naked and tied to my bed and there isn’t anyone who knows where you are save for myself. You are at
my
mercy, Your Grace. And if you want to be free, you’ll be paying me
five hundred
pounds for the privilege.”

Now it was Nick’s turn to be speechless.

“What was it you called me, Your Grace? A plaything? A pawn?” She smiled at him. “I don’t believe those words apply any longer. You’ll have to choose new names for me.”

Oh, he had names for her. They spewed from his mouth. To her credit, she held her ground, his words bouncing off her. She was a proud, stubborn
queen who listened to him with a complacent half smile.

Nick took hold of his temper. “I’ll not pay you. Not even a shilling.”

“Then you may rot in that bed,” she said pleasantly.

He had to hand it to her, the Scottish lass had courage. Most men quaked in their boots when Nick lost his temper. She hadn’t flinched. “Kidnapping is a hanging offense, Fee,” he reminded her.

The threat didn’t phase her, but her nose wrinkled at the nickname. He’d use it more often.

“Sometimes we must risk hanging to survive, Your Grace,” she announced. “Tad, guard.” The dog at her side lowered into a menacing stance, his dark eyes taking on purpose. “He’s dangerous, Your Grace. A man-eater—”

“Like his mistress?” Nick shot back.

“Yes,” she agreed. “So you’d best beware of
both
of us because you are now dependent upon me to eat, to drink and…to do other things.”

He laughed, realizing she wasn’t as invincible as she wished to pretend. “Other things?” he questioned, letting the innuendo of the words flow through his voice. It helped that, in a hair’s second, his mind had conjured all sorts of possibilities and his body had fallen suit.

She noticed the change in him. Hot color came to her cheeks.

Nick grinned, enjoying her discomfort while also admiring it. Life hadn’t hardened her yet. It would be a pity when it did.

“Is your courage wavering, Fee?” he chided. “Or was it that you were thinking of ‘other’ things and grew distracted?”

Her brows snapped together. “You are a
beast.
” With those words, she turned and marched back through the curtain.

Nick glowered at where she’d disappeared for a moment, but then he couldn’t help but smile.

How was she going to keep him tied up? Or do “other” things?
She blushed every time she looked at him. All he had to do was look at her suggestively or say something sexual to make her run from the room.

She’d also saved his life last night. He remembered all now. Without her, he would have been an easy mark for the Irishmen.

Still, that didn’t mean he would let her ransom him. “You won’t find me an easy captive, love,” he called out. “You’ll have to work for that five hundred pounds.”

“Tad, growl,” she answered back.

The big dog lowered his head and made a low
menacing sound, but Nick wasn’t afraid. In fact, his head didn’t hurt so much and he was beginning to feel entertained.

“Nice puppy,” he said. “You may have one of my leg bones after I’ve rotted in this bed.”

Tad gave him a wolfish grin as if he’d enjoy the chewing.

“That did not go well,” Grace mouthed to Fiona on the other side of the curtain. Her eyes were as big as saucers. Holburn’s clothes hung off a line that was strung across the room. They’d spent the night cleaning his clothes the best they could.

“It went
fine
,” Fiona snapped. “And I’ll not take a penny less just because he’s
so irritating
.”

“I’ve never seen you so emotional,” Grace observed.

Fiona jabbed a finger in the direction of the curtain. “I
saved
that man’s life,” she said in a furious whisper. “I
carried
him through the streets of London and does he care? No! The only true reason I tied him up was to protect myself from his insane temper when he woke. And I’m glad I did,” she said, moving toward the hearth.

From the other room, Holburn bellowed, “I’m hungry.”

Fiona scowled at the curtain. “He needs to be
quiet,” Grace worried. “What if Mr. Simon or someone else hears him?”

“Fee, it’s time for one of those ‘other’ things,” Holburn yelled. “I’m hungry, Fee.”

“I thought you didn’t like being called Fee?” Grace said.

“I don’t,” Fiona answered. Only her brother had been allowed to call her “Fee.” How like the Duke of Holburn to instinctively know how to annoy her.

“Fee-e-e,” he called. “Fee-e-ed me.”

Now he was being silly. “He’s testing us,” Fiona said. “He doesn’t believe I am serious.” She stomped over to the hearth. She picked up a bowl from her cabinet shelf.

“What are you doing?” Grace asked as Fiona started ladling the remains of the porridge the two of them had made and eaten for their breakfast.

“He’s hungry,” Fiona said.

“But you can’t feed him
that
,” Grace said, hurrying over to the hearth. Keeping her voice low, she said, “He’s a
duke
.”

“He’s a
prisoner
,” Fiona corrected, aiming the last word toward the curtain.

“Dukes don’t eat porridge for breakfast,” Grace answered.

“They do if they are hungry,” Fiona replied.

“I’m hungry,” Holburn complained from the other room. “I want a steak and a glass of ale, Fee.”

“Oh, yes, porridge it is,” Fiona muttered to herself. She picked up a spoon and headed toward the curtain.

Grace stopped her. “We must do something about his shouting. His voice carries.”

“I know exactly what to do,” Fiona answered. She set down the porridge bowl long enough to take his neck cloth off the line. It was still a bit damp. She rolled it up, held it by one finger as she picked up the bowl and went through the curtain.

Holburn greeted her with, “It’s about bloody time. Tad and I were growing lonely. Next time, you’d best be a bit more quick about it—”

She cut him off by stuffing a spoonful of porridge in his mouth.

His expression turned comical. He tasted the gruel and then all but gagged. “What is this?”

“Your breakfast, Your Grace,” she said serenely. She’d set the porridge and rolled neck cloth on the bedside table so that she could close the open window. “Here now, I don’t want you to take a chill. Tad uses this window to go back and forth to do his business.”

Still frowning over the taste of the porridge, Holburn said, “He can jump a floor’s height?”

“There is a shed against the building. He can climb his way up.”

The duke considered her a moment. “You don’t fear I’ll use this information to plan an escape?”

She picked up the porridge bowl, making a great show of stirring the lumpy gruel, as she said, “I spent hours tying you down last night. I don’t believe you will be going anywhere.” She deliberately kept Grace’s involvement a secret. Holburn didn’t need to know everything.

“Open up,” she coaxed him, holding up a spoonful of porridge.