Captured by a Gentleman (Regency Unlaced 6), page 1
Regency Unlaced 6
Captured by a Gentleman
By
Carole Mortimer
USA Today Bestselling Author
COPYRIGHT
Copyright © 2016 Carole Mortimer
Cover Design Copyright © Glass Slipper Designs
Editor: Linda Ingmanson
Formatter: Matthew Mortimer
ISBN: 978-1-910597-35-4 ePub
ISBN: 978-1-910597-34-7 mobi
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All Rights Reserved.
DEDICATIONS
My Wonderful Family
Chapter 1
April, 1817
The Green Man Coaching Inn,
Bedfordshire, England.
“It appears we have an uninvited passenger, Mr. Montgomery.”
Ranulf had been lost in thought as he sat in the parlor of the coaching inn, enjoying a tankard of ale as he waited for his dinner to be served after a full day of traveling. He did not need this added inconvenience.
He had been contemplating his valet having handed in his notice and leaving him just this morning, so that the other man might remain in London with the young maid he had fallen in love with and intended to marry. He had left Ranulf no time to find a replacement to take with him on the long journey back to his home in the Scottish Highlands.
Not that he begrudged Hopkins his shot at happiness. After all, not everyone suffered the same miserable experience with marriage as Ranulf had.
Ha, he very much doubted many men would be foolish enough to take such a treacherous bride as he had!
God knows where he would be right now if that marriage had not ended so abruptly only months after the wedding, with the death of his adulterous wife and the banishment of her lover. Given the choice between serving time in one of the Regent’s prisons, or banishment to the Continent, the other man had chosen the latter. Unsurprisingly. England’s prisons were hellish places few ever emerged from unscathed, if they emerged at all.
Millicent’s death had been a tragic loss for one so young, but not one Ranulf could even pretend to feel sorry about. As for her lover, he had chosen his own fate.
Ranulf was, despite wishing his valet a better fate in marriage than himself, already feeling Hopkins’s absence. The stubble on his jaw told him he was badly in need of his second shave of the day. By the time he reached his home in Scotland, he and his clothes would definitely be looking the worse for wear.
He turned his attention to the coachman standing in the parlor doorway. “An uninvited passenger, Graves?”
“Yes, sir.” The middle-aged man scowled his displeasure. “I found her skulking in the back of the town coach when I went in to collect your overnight trunk.”
“Is this related to the…incidents which occurred in London, do you think?” There had been several of those incidents during the last week of Ranulf’s month-long stay in London.
What appeared to be an attempted robbery as Ranulf left his club one evening, resulting in his being knocked unconscious from a heavy blow to the back of the head. Except nothing had been taken. Not the diamond pin in his neckcloth nor his full purse.
Several nights later, a fire had occurred in the kitchen of Winterbourne House, the London home of Ranulf’s cousin, and where Ranulf happened to be staying. No one had been hurt, but the possibility had been there, nonetheless.
Just yesterday morning, Ranulf’s prize hunter had reared up and tried to dislodge him from its back. An adept horseman, Ranulf had managed to avoid disaster, but the poor horse had been foaming at the mouth and rearing up at anyone who attempted to get near him. Graves finally managed to calm the horse and later discovered there had been a sharp burr beneath the saddle, which had pierced the horse’s flesh the moment Ranulf swung up onto the horse’s back. It could have got there by accident, but when taken into account with those other incidents, it was far too much of a coincidence.
No one had been seriously injured in any of those supposed accidents. Ranulf had suffered a bruised head from the attack, bruised pride when his own horse attempted to throw him, and the house had reeked of smoke for several days after the fire. But there had been no real damage done to life, limb, or property.
Now it appeared someone had been caught hiding in the second carriage transporting Ranulf’s personal effects back to Scotland.
Graves shook his head. “I’m fairly certain not, sir.”
“Why?”
“Call it intuition.” The coachman shrugged. “She definitely boarded the second carriage in London, couldn’t have sneaked aboard at any other time. But I seriously doubt she has anything to do with your other troubles.”
They had left Town late this morning, making the fifty miles to this inn in Bedfordshire in good time for an early dinner. But they had stopped only once along the way, an hour or so for luncheon. In view of those potentially dangerous occurrences in London, one of the grooms had remained with the two carriages and horses at all times, preventing anyone from entering or leaving them.
Which meant Graves was right, and the uninvited passenger had to have entered the carriage before they left London.
“Our uninvited guest is a she?” Ranulf repeated warily.
“A young lady, Mr. Montgomery. From the look and sound of her, a real lady, if I’m not mistaken.”
Ranulf had every confidence his coachman knew the difference between a woman who was a lady and one who was not. Ranulf had visited the homes of several less than ladylike women during his month-long sojourn in London. Even so… “Do not be deceived by an innocent expression, Graves.” As Ranulf had, to his cost.
“I don’t believe I am. Her manner and appearance— No, I’m sure she wasn’t involved in them accidents, sir.”
“Then who is she, Graves?”
“That I don’t know. She refused to give me her name, sir. Says she will speak to you and no one else.”
“Indeed?” Ranulf scowled his displeasure. “Then you had better bring her to me.” So much for his intention of relaxing for an hour or so before dinner by downing several tankards of ale and forgetting all about the inconvenient absence of his valet.
If Graves was correct in his summing up of the situation, then, cynical to his core, Ranulf believed there could be only one other reason for a young female to have hidden herself away in a single gentleman’s carriage.
Whoever this young woman was, she would be returned to London posthaste.
Ranulf had not spent the past month fending off marriage-minded mamas and their eagerly available female offspring only to find himself compromised into marriage with accusations of despoiling some innocent. Who was not an innocent at all, if she could be a willing party to such trickery as this.
Ranulf had no intention of ever marrying again, for any reason.
His wife had been unfaithful to him as early as their honeymoon. She had also plotted with her lover to kill Ranulf’s cousin so that Ranulf, instead of only managing the Montgomery estate, might inherit Castle Montgomery and the fortune that went with it.
The irony was Ranulf had never wanted the title of laird or Castle Montgomery, and he had ruthlessly made his own fortune on the Stock Exchange these past eight months. If only Millicent had waited those few extra months. She might not have had the title or the castle, but she would have had all the money she desired.
“—take your hands off me, you—you big oaf!”
Ah, it seemed his ‘guest’ was about to make her grand entrance. As Graves had stated, her voice was that of a refined and educated young lady.
“I demand you take me to Mr. Montgomery at once!” There was the sound of a scuffle, followed by a yelp and muttered grumbling from Graves. “It was intended to hurt,” the female stated without sympathy.
Ranulf’s curiosity was piqued, in spite of himself. Whoever this female was, she was a feisty little baggage.
A vaguely familiar feisty little baggage, he realized, as a limping Graves dragged her into the parlor by keeping a firm grip on her arm while she struggled to be released. The coach driver carried a small leather traveling bag in his other hand, which he now dropped onto the scratched and worn wooden floor of the inn’s parlor.
“Careful with that.” The young woman instantly identified the bag as belonging to her.
Ranulf ignored the plea for help in Graves’s expression, and instead continued to study his ‘guest’.
She was possibly a year above or below twenty, and of average height for a woman. The hair peeping out from beneath her black bonnet was an unusual mixture of red and gold. She had a smooth forehead, delicate brows above deep-brown eyes, and a small upturned nose. Her cheeks were flushed with temper. Full and lush lips were currently twisted into an angry grimace above a small, pointed, and—surprise, surprise!—stubbornly jutting chin.
It was difficult to see her figure, enshrouded as she was in a black cloak from neck to toe, but the beauty of her face would seem to indicate her figure would be equally slender.
She seemed unaware as yet of his presence seated beside the window, her angry countenance fixed on his suffering coachman. “I will see that Mr. Montgomery dismisses you for daring to manhandle me in this way.”
“If
She turned sharply to face him, an even deeper blush suffusing her cheeks, this time with embarrassment rather than temper. “I did not see you sitting there…”
“Obviously.” Ranulf eyed her mockingly, making no move to rise, as he would normally have done in the presence of a lady. Perhaps because, despite her voice and appearance, she was not behaving as a lady should.
Graves had certainly been correct in his opinion of this young woman’s station in life. Even if the now-limping Graves might presently feel like attesting to the contrary.
The little madam continued to stare at Ranulf in shock for several seconds before wrenching her arm out of Graves’s grasp and rushing across the room to throw herself at Ranulf’s booted feet. “I am so pleased to see you, Cousin Ranulf.” Her arms encircled and grasped one of his booted calves. “You should know this—this brute manhandled me by dragging me in here.”
“At my instruction,” he informed her icily, at the same time as he sat forward to try to disentangle her from his limb. His thoughts were racing.
Cousin Ranulf? How on earth could he be cousin to this little hoyden? He only had the one living relative, and his cousin Sin was married and he and his wife were expecting their first child.
No, whoever this hellion was, he was most certainly not her Cousin Ranulf.
Darcy glanced up at Ranulf Montgomery through her thick dark lashes, trying to gauge his reaction. To her presence. To what she had just called him.
The emotions shock and anger immediately came to mind.
Followed by impatience, as he succeeded in pulling her arms from about his calf—and a very muscular calf it was too—before abruptly standing to his impressive height of several inches above six feet.
It was that height, along with the wide and muscular shoulders and chest, tapered waist, and powerful thighs and legs, which had led Darcy to believe Ranulf Montgomery was not only influential enough socially, but also strong enough in body to be the savior she was so in need of.
Except he did not look as if he wished to save her as he stepped around her to glare down his nose at her with arctic-green eyes. “Who the devil are you?”
Very aware of the presence of the coachman and feeling at too much of a disadvantage sitting on the wooden floor, Darcy rose to her feet as gracefully as was possible in the circumstances. She had already suffered enough useless indignation in the melodrama of having launched herself at this gentleman’s booted feet.
An impossibly handsome gentleman she knew to be in his early thirties, as well as tall and imposing.
His fashionably overlong hair was dark and disheveled, but there were hints of red amid the brown. He had dark slashes for eyebrows, those arctic-green eyes, an arrogant blade of a nose set between sculptured cheekbones, and a surprisingly sensual mouth above a square and determined jaw. Which currently looked in need of a shave. Although she could not deny that dark shadow of a beard about his jawline added to Ranulf Montgomery’s air of rugged and dangerous attraction.
Handsome good looks which Darcy had been taken with the first time she saw him.
Indeed, she had been as struck by him as he now showed not a hint of recognition for her.
“I am Miss Darcy Ambridge.” She curtseyed. “Cousin to your late wife Millicent,” she added, as her name elicited no more recognition than her appearance had.
Darcy frowned her puzzlement as, if anything, Ranulf Montgomery’s expression became even icier at the mention of his late wife’s name.
She had attended Ranulf and Millicent’s wedding a year ago, followed by Millicent’s funeral a mere four months later. So perhaps Ranulf’s icy demeanor was a mask to hide the grief he must still feel at losing his wife so soon after they were married? He certainly no longer looked like the laughing and easygoing man he had been on his wedding day. He seemed to have aged far more than a single year since that happy occasion. The lines beside his eyes and bracketing his sculpted lips had certainly not been there then.
Darcy placed her hand on his muscular forearm. “I am so sorry for your loss.”
“I would prefer you tell me what the devil you were doing hiding in my carriage rather than offer me insincere platitudes regarding Millicent’s death.” His tone was as cold and unyielding as his demeanor.
Her eyes widened. “Insincere? I assure you, I am most sincere in my sympathies.” She and Millicent had not been particularly close, her cousin being several years older than she, but Millicent had seemed pleasant enough on the few occasions their two families had reason to socialize.
A nerve pulsed in Ranulf’s tightly clenched jaw. “Then you are very much alone in those feelings of regret.”
Darcy had no idea what he could mean by such a remark. Was Ranulf saying he felt no pain at Millicent’s unexpected death? No unhappiness for the loss of his wife?
Or perhaps he was merely adept at hiding his feelings? Preferred to keep his grief private?
After all, the married couple had only recently returned to Scotland, following their four-month-long honeymoon, when Millicent was killed in a riding accident.
Theirs had been a fairy-tale wedding, followed by three months touring the Continent, then another month spent enjoying the London Season. Darcy had seen the couple out and about together several times, as they attended the same social events. The two of them had seemed happy enough together.
“You may go, Graves.” Ranulf now spoke abruptly to his coachman. “I will call for you when Miss Ambridge is ready to return to London.”
“Return?” Darcy repeated sharply once the coachman had left and closed the door behind him. “I cannot go back to London! Oh please.” She grasped his arm. “Please do not send me back there!”
Ranulf found himself deeply irritated at the way this young woman was constantly touching and grabbing at him in a wholly inappropriate and familiar manner.
So, yes, he was deeply irritated.
And, to his chagrin, more than a little aroused.
Having enjoyed several robust sexual encounters during the month he had spent in London on business, Ranulf had no explanation as to why he should now find himself aroused by this young woman. Especially when knowing Darcy Ambridge to be related to his treacherous and adulterous wife should have nullified any such physical reaction on his part.
He could even see a look of Millicent about her, now that he knew of the association. In the arch of her brows and the curve of her cheeks. Her eyes were brown, where Millicent’s had been a guileless blue, but nevertheless, this woman looked at him with that same limpid—false?—innocence that her cousin had.
His traitorous cock obviously made no such distinction, now hard and aching uncomfortably in arousal at this woman’s undoubted beauty, the softness of her skin, and the hot spice of her womanly perfume.
Damn it to hell!
“You will most certainly be returning to London,” Ranulf informed her coldly. “As quickly as a carriage can be arranged to carry you there.”
He may have been played the fool once by Millicent. He was not about to be so again by her cousin.
Certainly not by the tears now trickling prettily down Miss Darcy Ambridge’s pale cheeks. Crocodile tears, Ranulf dismissed, of the kind Millicent had used to cry when she wished to get her own way over a new bonnet or gown.
He had not been deeply in love with Millicent, or she him, but they had seemed to like each other well enough for marriage. Ranulf had believed a deeper affection might grow between them and that their marriage would be a long and contented one.
At the time, Ranulf had political ambitions, and Millicent was the daughter of a powerful member of the government. While London would not have been Ranulf’s first choice of residence, he had been willing to spend at least half a year there, pleasing his wife while at the same time pursuing a political career.
While he had been making enquiries regarding buying a suitable house for them in London and organizing his political plans accordingly, Millicent had been throwing up her skirts and parting her legs for the man who was not only her lover but also the coconspirator in disposing of Ranulf’s cousin.
