The Hostage Bride

‘Madre de Dios!’

For one frantic, terrifying moment the car swerved violently but a second later he had both himself and the powerful vehicle back under control.

‘Stop that!’ he snarled through gritted teeth. ‘Don’t be so damn stupid, woman! Do you want to kill us both?’

‘Where you’re concerned, don’t tempt me,’ Felicity muttered but already she was having second—and third—thoughts about the wisdom of her actions. The wild movement of the car had thrown her to one side, bruising her arm, and the few seconds of sheer panic she had felt at just the thought of what might have happened if there had been any other traffic on the road was enough to have her hastily rethinking.

She sank back onto her seat, struggling to appear outwardly calm while inside her thoughts were whirling frantically, trying to come up with some possible explanation for what was happening.

Had the chauffeur gone completely mad? What could he possibly hope for as a result of his actions?

‘Look—you…’ she tried again, struggling to force her voice to sound firm and full of a confidence she was far from feeling.

Those dark eyes flicked up swiftly, meeting hers in the rear-view mirror and holding her gaze for the space of a heartbeat before returning to their concentration on the road.

‘My name is Rico,’ he said unexpectedly.

Rico? She’d be a fool to believe that—because he’d be all sorts of an idiot to give her his real name. And one thing she didn’t believe that this Rico was, was a fool. There was too much intelligence in that face, too much natural cunning in the black coffee-coloured gaze he turned on her to merit any such description.

But Rico suited him. It was a rogue’s name, an outlaw’s name. She could just imagine him playing the role of a brigand or a bandit in some wild adventure film.

But this was no film; nor was it, in her opinion at least, any sort of an adventure.

‘Then—Rico—I think you’ve got this all wrong. You’ve made a terrible mistake.’

‘No mistake.’

The flat comment was accompanied by a brusque shake of his head.

‘I know exactly what I’m doing.’

‘But—I think you must have the wrong person.’ It was the only explanation she could come up with.

‘You’re not Felicity Hamilton?’

His sarcasm scraped brutally on already raw nerves.

‘Well, yes, I said I was—but you’ve still got it wrong. I—I’m not rich, you know, and nor is my father.’ She wouldn’t have been forced into marrying Edward if that had been the case.

‘I’m not interested in money.’

‘But then—why…?’

Her voice failed completely, drying to a painful croak as she thought of the only other possible reason there might be for this man to abduct her in this way. Nightmare thoughts filled her head so that she could almost feel the colour leaching from her cheeks, her heart clenching in panic.

‘Stop this car! Stop it at once!’

She had no hope that he would obey her but still it twisted every nerve to see how determinedly he ignored her, the total lack of response he made.

‘I said, stop!’

But even as she spoke a sudden hope flared. They were approaching a particularly tricky bend. The car would have to slow down to manoeuvre round it. If she could just get the door open… Carefully she edged forward, inching her fingers onto the handle.

‘It’s locked.’

The words scythed through her hopes in an instant, cutting them off completely. Once more her gaze went to the mirror, meeting that knowing look with a sense of appalled horror.

‘Central locking,’ he supplied helpfully.

With a gesture he indicated a button on the door at his side.

‘You can’t get out until I let you out.’

It was foolish she knew but just for a second she ignored him. She had to. She couldn’t just give in without a fight.

But no matter how hard she tugged and twisted, the door handle remained stubbornly unmoveable and at last she had to abandon the futile struggle and sit back again.

‘You might as well give up and make it easy on yourself.’

Disturbingly, his voice sounded almost gentle, and he had actually managed to inject into it a faint note of concern—one that she had no doubt at all was in no way sincere.

‘We have a long journey ahead of us and you’ll only cause yourself more distress if you keep this up.’

‘A long journey? Where are we going?’

But her attempt to sound artless and innocent didn’t slip past his defences as she had hoped. Instead it earned her another of those slanting glances, half sardonically amused, half reproachful of the fact that she might think he would believe her.

‘You’ll find out when we get there,’ he tossed over his shoulder. ‘So why don’t you sit back and enjoy the ride?’

‘Enjoying myself is the furthest thing from my mind!’

‘Well, yes…’

He moved his broad shoulders in a shrug that revealed his total indifference to her retort.

‘But you’ll be a lot more comfortable—and safer—if you sit back, fasten your seatbelt and try to relax.’

He was negotiating a roundabout as he spoke and, reading the road signs, Felicity saw that they were heading for the motorway that led away from her hometown and directly to London.

‘You’re taking a risk, aren’t you?’ she said sharply. ‘I can read—and I can see where we’re heading.’

Another indifferent shrug was his only response. Was he really so confident that he didn’t care if she guessed at the route he was taking?

‘Doesn’t that worry you?’

‘Should it?’ he drawled and, as if to emphasise how little he cared, he finally pulled off the peaked chauffeur’s cap and tossed it onto the seat beside him, raking one tanned hand through the sleek darkness of the hair he had revealed. Then glancing up into the mirror again, he grinned widely and wickedly just once, straight into her watchful grey eyes.

Felicity’s heart kicked wildly, banging hard against her ribs and she bit down sharply on her lower lip, trying to hold back the cry of shock that almost escaped her.