CHAPTER8
Lord Lordly was in quite a huff.
Pen was not surprised. She knew she had been pressing him too far. But when the tender lover had vanished, replaced by the haughty lord, she had not been able to resist needling him. Her reward was to be bundled rudely into his carriage and secreted to a destination unknown.
She eyed him now, seated opposite her in the swaying conveyance, and could not keep her wicked impulses under control.
Pen nudged his booted foot with hers. “Where are you taking me, Lord Lordly?”
His lips compressed into a disapproving line. “To a place where I can make certain you will not cause me further trouble.”
Hmm.The alarm which had been gnawing at her ever since he had claimed he received word that Aidan was being held for ransom by unknown miscreants grew stronger. The heightened concern was as much for herself as for her friend. If he had indeed managed to find himself in such a scrape, she would hardly be surprised. However, she could only imagine what manner of fiend would do something so dastardly. Aidan was forever pockets to let, his vowels scattered about London. Perhaps he had crossed the wrong man.
But regardless of where Aidan was, Pen found herself being held similarly captive. Only, the viscount had not spoken of ransoms.
“You realize, do you not, that my family will come looking for me when I fail to return?” she asked with a calm she did not feel.
Oh, it was not that she feared the man seated opposite her. Nothing he had done thus far gave her cause to suspect he would hurt her. Rather, it was the notion of what her brothers might do, should they discover where she had gone and with whom.
“Let them look as they please,” he drawled, his countenance impassive. “It would be little different from the games I am being forced to play with my own brother.”
“Yes, but we are not responsible for whatever ill has befallen Aidan,” she reminded him.
“Lord Aidan,” he corrected. “And the matter of whether or not you and your siblings are responsible remains to be seen.”
The insufferable oaf.
Had it been a mere hour before that he had been bringing her to the heights of pleasure with his exquisitely knowing touch? It seemed impossible to believe the cold, gruff lord before her was the same ardent lover who had kissed her as if he wanted to consume her.
Pen stifled the urge to kick him in his lordly shin. “You truly believe we have secreted him somewhere and are demanding ransom? Why should we be bothered to do such a thing?”
“You would be able to double your largesse with such an action, would you not? And who better to make your quarry than a reckless blockhead who is always flitting about, drowning himself in petticoats and drink?”
His estimation of Aidan was once more insulting. She would have defended him, but she was feeling rather vexed with her friend at the moment. If he had not insisted upon this wretched, terrible idea of his, she would not be trapped in this carriage with his arrogant brother. And she most definitely would not have kissed him or allowed him to remove various articles of clothing, and she certainly would never have given him liberty to touch her intimately.
Best not to think of such things at the moment.
Aye, that was true.
She pinned her handsome enemy with a glare. “There is a flaw in your logic, Lordly. Hasn’t it occurred to you that I’ve already told you we are not, nor were we ever, betrothed? Therefore, there ain’t a need for your blood money to keep me from sullying your family name. I don’t want to marry your brother, nor am I holding him prisoner, you conceited lout.”
He continued observing her with a dispassionate stare, apparently unmoved. “A lout, am I? You did not seem to think me one earlier.”
Heat simmered through her at the reference to what had passed between them in the drawing room. Ruthlessly, she banished it. “And you did not seem to think me a dogged fortune hunter earlier either, or the sort of lady who would take her friend captive and hold him for ransom. Yet, here we are.”
“Indeed, here we are.” His long fingers strummed lightly on his thigh, as if he were impatient to arrive at their destination.
And likely, he was.
Pen, on the other hand, was not. “Where are you taking me?” she asked again.
Her attempt to evade him at their previous stop had led to the viscount chasing her down the street and catching her, before hauling her over his shoulder and depositing her in his carriage. If his coachman, who had been watching the events unfold, thought it odd for his employer to be running about London with his gentleman friend, he wisely kept silent.
There was only so much resistance one could put up against a man thrice her size. Short of stabbing or shooting him, that was. And she had no desire to find herself in the hulks over the maiming or murder of Lord Lordly. He had caused her enough trouble thus far, thank you.
“To my town house, Miss Sutton.”
He was being so formal. And proper.
But she knew what those sculpted aristocratic lips felt like on hers. And on her breasts.
She swallowed, chasing the reminder. “Your town house? You cannot be serious.”
The carriage came to a halt.
He inclined his head. “Deadly serious, my dear. Be warned that if you cause me any problems, I shall not hesitate to lock you in the attics.”
Ah, so that had not been his original plan.
“You are bringing me to your home as a guest?” she asked.
“The hour is late. I’ve nowhere else to take you. I have an aching head, my brother is missing, and you vex me mightily.”
A shadow passed over his handsome face. Sadness? Irritation? She could not be certain.
“If you are intending to ravish me, I must warn you I will not hesitate to bludgeon you with the nearest sharp object,” she told him for good measure.
His lips twitched. “Indeed?”
She nodded. “A fire poker shall do nicely.”