The Abducted Heiress

‘Were you hurt when you saved me from burning…on the roof?’ she demanded.

He nodded fractionally, his jaw set with determination.

She considered the situation in silence for a few more seconds.

‘Untie me,’ she ordered at last.

He raised one sceptical eyebrow, his expression clearly indicating he wasn’t about to take such a foolhardy risk, and rowed steadily onwards.

‘Numskull! If you untie me, we can wrap the linen round your hands,’ she pointed out. ‘It will protect them from the oars.’

Jakob rested again, apparently considering her suggestion. Now that the tide had fully turned the boat continued to drift upstream, even without his efforts to propel it.

‘You were hurt saving my life,’ Desire said stiffly. ‘I won’t give you my parole, but you can trust me not to…attack you…while we’re in the boat. Where are we going?’ she added, with belated curiosity.

He smiled faintly as he began to unravel the knots at her wrists. ‘Putney,’ he replied.

‘Oh.’ Desire smoothed out the creased linen as she absorbed that information. ‘Give me your hand,’ she instructed Jakob.

He did so, and she wrapped the strip of material carefully around his palm and fingers. She bit her lip as she saw how sore his hands were. She didn’t think the flames had scorched him very badly. But he’d had a few blisters from the fire and rowing had rubbed them raw. He must have been in considerable pain ever since they’d left Godwin House, but he’d never complained—or blamed her because he’d been hurt saving her.

‘No, wait,’ she said, when he moved to pick up the oars again. ‘We can use this to wrap the other one.’ She untied the gag still hanging around her neck and used it to bandage his other hand, touching his sore fingers gently.

‘Thank you,’ he said.

She looked up—straight into his eyes. She’d leant towards him to tend his hands. Their faces were only a few inches apart. His blue eyes were startlingly vivid in his soot-grimed face. His quiet gaze was steady, and unexpectedly gentle.

He didn’t look like a monster. He looked like a pain-weary man who was doing what he had to do without fuss. She felt guilty that she’d taken so long to notice his discomfort. She should have tended to his hands sooner.

The direction of her thoughts disconcerted her. She swayed away from him, annoyed with herself. He had abducted her, very forcibly, from her home. He didn’t deserve her sympathy.

‘Why are we going to Putney?’ she asked.

‘Because it’s convenient. Reasonably convenient,’ he said as he plied the oars again. ‘My hands feel much better,’ he added.

Desire nodded an acknowledgement to his comment, her thoughts distracted. Now she knew their destination, she experienced a shiver of apprehension over what awaited her there.

‘Are you going to…going to give me to someone else, when we get there?’ she asked cautiously.

‘No.’ Jakob cast her a swift glance. ‘I was planning to feed you,’ he said.

‘Feed me!’ Desire was astounded.

‘Aren’t you hungry?’ he demanded. ‘I am. My plan is to obtain food. Clean water. And clothes,’ he added as an obvious afterthought. ‘For both of us. You may have to make do with the housekeeper’s best. But since you normally dress like a washerwoman, I dare say you won’t mind.’

‘I don’t…only when I’m gardening,’ said Desire, defensively smoothing her disreputable skirt. The scorched outer layers had started to dry, but the material closest to her skin was still horribly wet and clammy.

‘Or fire-watching,’ said Jakob, casting a critical eye over her clothes.

‘Is it your house?’ Desire asked, uncomfortable with discussing her clothes.

She selected her gowns for their hard-wearing practicality. And with a very conscious awareness that vanity did not become her. She was determined never to make a fool of herself in the fancy silks, laces and brocades more suitable for a beautiful woman. But she had no intention of confiding that information to Jakob. When she was talking to him, more especially when she was arguing with him, she often forgot her appearance for minutes at a time—but she knew he would always be aware of it.

‘No,’ he said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘It’s not my house.’

‘Is the owner expecting you?’

Jakob rolled his eyes. ‘Of course he’s expecting me to row half-naked up the Thames to have supper with him, in the company of an ill-tempered baggage—’

‘I am not an ill-tempered baggage! And since I am bound not to hurt you while we are in the boat, you must not insult me,’ she added haughtily. ‘It is not honourable.’

He threw her a grin that contained a large portion of pure devilment. ‘Very well, my lady,’ he agreed.

Then his eyes narrowed slightly as he flexed his fingers around the oars.

‘I think I should row now,’ Desire announced, unable to suppress a wince in sympathy with his. She was sure his hands must feel as if they were on fire.

It annoyed her that she felt beholden to him, but there was no help for it. Since he’d been injured because of her, she was honour bound to take care of his wounds.

‘Have you rowed a boat before?’ he asked.

‘No. But if you can do it, I’m sure I can,’ she retorted. ‘How hard can it be? We must swap places.’ She started to stand up.

‘Sit down!’ he barked.

She did so, out of sheer surprise.

He heaved in an exasperated breath.

‘Sit still, and be quiet,’ he ordered her. ‘How can one woman be so much trouble?’ he asked the world in general.

‘If you didn’t want the trouble—you shouldn’t have abducted me,’ she returned, with spirit.

‘I didn’t abduct you, I rescued you,’ he shot back.

‘Rescued me? I don’t recall any mention of St George tying his lady in knots when he rescued her!’ Desire said energetically.

‘If she was half as much trouble as you, I’ll wager he did,’ said Jakob. ‘No doubt the chroniclers suppressed the information from the tale to protect the lady’s reputation. Or…’ another 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!’