“Your father and I have history. He will come because it is I who has you.”
“You are arrogant.”
He spread his hands out in front of him and shrugged. “You are now my hostage. Your father will show his face and he will bend to my demands. Not arrogance. Merely fact.”
“My father hasn’t been south of Edinburgh in a decade—he knows better than to come to London. It would mean certain death and he’s not going to lay down his life, even to save mine.”
“So you’re not entirely selfish then? You do think about others some of the time?”
“Don’t make the mistake of thinking you know me just because you spent a few months parading as my servant.”
He inclined his head in her direction but the look in his shadowed gaze still mocked.
“Are you going to tell me what he has that is so valuable he might risk his own neck to give it back? He’s a wanted man in England and over half the continent.”
“No. No I’m not.”
Daniella huffed and sank back. She waited for ten long breaths, waited for the marquess to relax, for his breathing to become rhythmic. And then she launched herself towards the carriage door. She kicked out with one foot while her hands closed about the door handle.
But before she could push the timber and glass outwards, before she could jump into the street and hand her fate to whatever lay out there, two hands gripped her hips and effortlessly pulled her backwards. They landed in a heap on the carriage floor, her back pressed against his chest. With a shriek, Daniella began to struggle, to lash out but, wedged as they were between the benches, her struggles did nothing but increase her own panic.
At her ear, the Marquess of Lasterton’s hot breath whispered, “I told you, you’re mine now.”
Chapter Three
To say James was furious would be an understatement. Every part of his body seethed, his blood boiled and if he clenched his teeth any harder, he would finish up with a mouthful of dust.
“Would you—?”
“No,” he snapped. His arse hurt as if the devil had slapped it. When they’d gone down, one of Daniella’s elbows had landed squarely in his gut, momentarily winding him and taking more than a little of his dignity at the same time. He took in a shaky breath and wondered where in London they were, and how long he would have to hold her on the floor so she didn’t try that again.
“Don’t you know you could have been killed?” he bit out after a long, tense silence.
“I doubt that,” she huffed, the rigid line of her back making her arse bones dig into his thighs. He wondered where her petticoats were—for, as surely as he was a man, the chit wasn’t wearing any.
“You’re not going anywhere without me.”
“And you can’t watch me every second of the day. I will not let you kidnap me.”
“You don’t have any choice in the matter, otherwise the term ‘kidnap’ wouldn’t apply.”
She huffed again. “Would you let me up?”
“I find I like it here.” His arms slid around her body until he almost embraced her. Perhaps such inappropriate actions would wake up her sense of self-preservation.
Obviously a month of witnessing the wild antics of Daniella Germaine had taken their toll on his sanity. He hadn’t been near a woman, a stiff drink or a game of cards in half a year. Right at that moment, when he should have been banging his head against the carriage floor to shake loose some common sense, only two of his longings rose to the surface.
When the carriage came to a halt and the door was thrown wide open, Daniella braced her legs and tried to launch herself through the portal again. This time James let her go. His man would catch her.
“Is everything—? Oomph.” Hobson did catch her and then he smoothly hoisted her body over his broad shoulder.
She smothered a screech but pushed in vain at his servant’s back. It was too dark for any of his neighbours to see their movements and if Daniella wanted to return to the seven seas she would keep her head down and her mouth shut.
He gestured Hobson up the garden path to the front door. They arrived in the hall of his townhouse just in time to see his butler skid to a stop on the polished tile, his wig askew and his shirt tails only half tucked in.
“Uh…my lord?”
James deliberately ignored his servant’s dishevelled appearance since he knew his own was far worse. “Ah, there you are, McDougal. I know it’s late but do you think Mrs McDougal might prepare a few sandwiches for Miss Germaine?”
His very staid, very proper butler looked from James to Hobson to the woman hanging over Hobson’s shoulder and then back to James again. “And tea, my lord?”
“Tea, Daniella?”
Her muffled response sounded more like “go to hell” than “yes please” so James shook his head and turned down the corridor towards his study, beckoning for Hobson to follow. Opposite the door to his inner sanctum was a small room beneath the stairs with a very sturdy door on it and no window. For an hour or so, Miss Germaine would have to cool her heels while he figured out precisely what his next move would be. Her rash behaviour meant his timeline would have to be as carefully amended as his original campaign had been laid out.
“In there,” he said to Hobson, holding the door open.
“Are you sure you couldn’t put her in one of the upstairs bedrooms? It would be more comfortable.”
He shook his head. He didn’t need his partner in crime to go soft on him now. “She was about to throw herself from a
