Kidnapped with a Knight: A Steamy Regency Romance (Ravishing Regencies Book 0.5) Read online

  No one would have passed up the chance to speak to the Duke of Northmere’s heir.

  But now…

  “Is that it? Can I go now?”

  She was standing up before him, her hands on her hips, evidently eager to leave the spectacle he had created for her.

  Edmund smiled. “I think you missed somewhere to look.”

  If he had thought she would be scandalised, he was wrong.

  Her eyebrow raised and a mischievous smile crept across her face. “I must tell you, sir, that I already looked there, but I could not find anything worth speaking of.”

  Mr Groats guffawed at the shocked look on Edmund’s face. “Ah, but she has one over you, sir!”

  “And I have one over you,” countered Edmund, trying to ignore the heat of embarrassment surging through his body. “For though she has not found anything of interest, she has also found no cards. Your coin, sir, as per our agreement.”

  The dirty smile that adorned Mr Groats’ face vanished, and he glanced at his companion.

  Edmund held his breath.

  The companion shook his head imperceptively, and Mr Groats threw down two half crowns.

  “Until next time,” said Edmund, his voice a little hoarse after the breath he had been holding escaped. “Always good to play with you, Mr Groats. Now, where do you think you are going?”

  His hand reached out and grabbed at the wrist of the pretty young thing who had searched him. She could not be much older than eighteen, and yet she looked world weary. Someone who had a little coin on them ready to lose, perhaps.

  “Going?” Her voice was cold and it matched her eyes, which were glaring at him. “My work here is done, sir. You have proven yourself no liar and no cheat.”

  “But am I any good at cards, or is it just luck?” Edmund sat down and opened his arms expressively. “Come and find out. Play me, join our game.”

  He had expected the woman to laugh, to scoff and walk away; the final part of the play which they had acted out for the benefit of all the inhabitants of the King’s Head.

  But she did not. The woman smiled slowly and looked around the table. “Our game, sir? I see no others who are willing to play you.”

  “Then prove them wrong,” countered Edmund. God, he could quip with this woman all day. Beauty and brains, a deadly combination. “Show them how a lady plays, and prove them all cowards for refusing to take a seat at the table where luck is smiling down upon me.”

  Ninety nine women out of one hundred would have walked away from him at that point, laughing at his nonsense and chalking him up as a bit of a scoundrel.

  But not this one. Her dark eyes moved over his face, as though searching out some sort of truth from them. Edmund allowed his smile to widen ever so slightly. She would not be able to resist.

  “What is your name, sir?” Her voice was gentle, and she took one step closer to the table.

  Edmund swallowed. He had always promised himself he would never lie, never give a false name, but for some reason the instinct to lie did not surface with her.

  “Sir Edmund Northmere.”

  The room stirred a little as faces turned to look at him.

  The woman raised an eyebrow. “Sir Edmund, is it? Seems like a strange place for you to be the day before Christmas, Sir Edmund, if that is your real name.”

  “And what is your name?”

  His question caused her smile to widen. “Molly. Molly Kimble.”

  Molly Kimble. It suited her perfectly from her golden hair to the practical and frequently mended gown to the sensible shoes.

  Molly Kimble.

  “Well then, Miss Kimble,” Edmund said quietly. “Are you ready to play?”

  For a moment, perhaps one that he did not see clearly, a flicker of hesitation moved across Miss Kimble’s face.

  “You…you will teach me?”

  Edmund’s smile widened. Even better, a complete novice. He could take a few shillings from her and be home within the hour.

  “I will do my best to teach you the rules of the game,” he said magnanimously. “Come.”

  Pulling out a chair, he indicated that she should be seated.

  Why was his heart beating so rapidly? Why did it suddenly matter that this woman, a woman he had literally picked out of the air and knew nothing of, sat beside him? Why did he need her closer?

  Miss Kimble lowered herself slowly into the chair, and smiled nervously. “I only have one shilling to bet.”

  Edmund smiled kindly. “Well then, let me let you half a crown – no, I insist Miss Kimble! Anything for a lady who has done me such a service.”

  Her dark eyes widened as he pushed the pile of silver totalling half a crown towards her. “And those are the cards?”

  Edmund’s hands picked them up and started shuffling them rapidly. “These are the cards.”

  It took but five minutes to explain the simplest form of poker to her, though Edmund had to focus to ensure he taught them correctly. Those dark eyes followed his fingers and darted towards him so often that he found he dropped a few, and was forced to pick them from the table.

  “I am sure I understand now,” she said with a slow smile. “Are…are we ready for the first hand?”

  There was something so innocent about her, so gentle and soft. Edmund wanted to wrap her own in his greatcoat and carry him to his bed, but he could not think like that. He needed to win back that half a crown, and more.

  The cards were dealt and he looks at his carefully. A bad hand, damnit. He could potentially get a two pair if another seven appeared from the deck, but he may have to cut his losses on this one.

  “And then we bet?”

  Edmund smiled. “Now we bet.”

  She was eager to throw money down, and as the five cards appeared on the table, Edmund’s heart soared. Two pairs, and one pair was Jacks. Even better, she had bet the entire half a crown he had loaned her, along with another six shillings of her own.

  Miss Kimble’s smile was a little hesitant, but the pink in her cheeks betrayed her excitement. “And now we reveal?”

  Edmund’s smile, never far from his face since she had sat down with him. “Indeed – oh, and yes, I have two pairs. Now you must not be too disheartened, Miss Kimble, I can lend you another shilling or two.”

  Edmund had already reached forward to pull his winnings towards him when Miss Kimble’s voice interrupted him – and the soft and innocent tone had disappeared.

  “Do you mind, Sir Edmund? Those are my coins you are taking there – I’ve always known a flush to beat two pairs.”

  Edmund looked up and saw a knowing grin on Miss Kimble’s face.

  “Really,” she said pityingly. “You may be a knight, but you are very stupid.”

  Molly swallowed and tried not to take too much pleasure from the look of genuine horror on her opponent’s face.

  Sir Edmund, indeed. What a ridiculous name to give oneself – he could have made anything up, and he chose that?

  “What I may have failed to mention, Mr Northmere,” she said sweetly, “is that I have been playing poker since I was seven, and winning almost every hand since I was nine. Did I forget to mention that?”

  A strangled noise came out of Mr Northmere as she leaned forward and swept the coins into her purse. That was almost a pound in silver: over a month’s earnings with her brothers. What she could do with that sort of money…

  “You have the advantage of me,” Mr Northmere managed to say.

  Molly grinned “I know. Ready for the next hand?”

  She should not do this, she really should not. This was a part of her old life, the life she had just spent the best part of an hour convincing her brothers she did not want.

  But there was nothing like this: the thrill of the chase, the thumping of your heart as you played the gentleman, that little smile you gave him to push him over the edge and make him grasp for what he knew was too good to be true.

  Look at him. All dark hair and handsome features – for there was no d
enying it, he was handsome. But there was just a hint of fear in his eyes, and he looked a little too disappointed that the best part of a pound had disappeared into her pocket.

  “One more hand then,” she said generously, leaning forward slightly so that her gown dipped at the front.

  Mr Northmere swallowed and Molly hated herself. Was that all she was, then? Feminine wiles to get what she wanted, a pretty little bird, honey for the pot?

  Didn’t she want to be something more?

  “Thinking about it though, I must get back,” she said hastily, rising from the table. “I need to – ”

  “No, stay.”

  He had spoken so gently, but that was not the reason Molly hesitated. Up until now, Mr Northmere had believed himself to be the conman, and now he had realised he was the one being conned.

  But his voice; it was soft, gentle, with no pleading or wit. Just honesty, pure honesty.

  It had been a long time since she had heard that.

  “I am sure some other gentleman will wish to play with you, now your luck has turned,” Molly said lightly. She would not allow herself to become entangled with a gentleman.

  The last time she had fallen to a soft voice and a handsome face, she had ended it watching that man hang from rope.

  “I am sure they will,” Mr Northmere said wryly. “But I would like to play with you.”

  Molly hesitated. Every fibre of her being wanted to stay with him, and that was not a reaction typically stirred by gentlemen in the King’s Head.

  Mr Northmere was different. Whether or not his foolish title was anything to go by, he was evidently a man who had fallen on hard times. The waistcoat was fraying at the edges, but it was real silk, and at least half the buttons were still brass.

  The others had been replaced, poorly, by wooden replicas carved poorly.

  A gentleman then, at least. One who knew his way around a pack of cards, likely lost his fortune to gambling.

  That was surely the only reason he could be here.

  His grey eyes caught hers, and Molly’s breath caught in her throat. He was so handsome, and the way he was looking at her was so intoxicating. She could barely breath, and a hand unconsciously moved to her chest.

  “One more hand,” she said finally. “And do not allow me to regret it, Mr Northmere.”

  Molly lowered herself back onto the table and made a promise to herself in silence. It really would just be one more hand. She would not allow herself to get tied up in all that nonsense, for though Mr Northmere was certainly cut from a different cloth as her Charlie, it was the same pattern.

  “So,” she said lightly as he dealt out another hand. “What is a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?”

  Mr Northmere snorted and picked up his cards. “Quite a presumption, Miss Kimble. How do you know I am nice?”

  And you have made quite a presumption, Molly thought silently as she glanced down at her cards, that I am Miss Kimble. But then, how could he know? She had sold the ring for what little gold there had been in there months ago.

  Two queens, and a queen on the table. Interesting.

  “‘Tis not hard to fathom, Mr Northmere,” she said quietly, placing a shilling into the middle of the table. “The way you speak, the way you sit. You were raised a gentleman, weren’t you?”

  Her eyes glanced at him and she allowed just a hint of a smile. He returned it and placed a shilling in the middle of the table.

  “Born and bred,” he said easily, leaning back in his seat. “But that does not immediately follow that I have followed the teachings of my childhood.”

  Molly snorted. “I would not have guessed so, finding you in this place.”

  Mr Northmere did not immediately respond, instead placing the next card on the table. Molly did her best to keep her face impassive. A Jack, worse luck. She needed that fourth queen.

  “Actually,” he said quietly, and Molly was forced to lean a little closer to catch his words, “I am not nice at all, Miss Kimble. Quite the reverse, I am afraid.”

  Molly stared at him, genuinely intrigued now. “I do not believe it. Look at you, I bet you have family absolutely rolling in gold. You do not need to be here, winning small pieces of coin from me.”

  And neither do you, she told herself silently, though her heart rate was quickening. Why are you sitting here with this gentleman, when you should be over there, forcing your brothers onto the straight and narrow?

  Because, a small part of her heart whispered, because this man makes you feel exciting. Makes you feel wanted. You can see the way he looks at you. He desires you, and it has been too long since a man looked at you with anything less than indifference.

  Besides, he is a gentleman. It was pleasant to sit her and exchange quips. It almost made her feel like a lady.

  Mr Northmere chuckled, but Molly knew enough of pain to see that it masked sorrow. “My family has disowned me, Miss Kimble. I am a knight, to be sure, but I should have been something far greater.”

  3

  How long had it been: an hour? Three?

  Edmund wasn’t sure whether he would be able to walk when he stood up, he was so intoxicated with Miss Molly Kimble.

  She laughed as she dealt the next hand. “Have you not received enough punishment, Sir Edmund?”

  Her lips and eyes teased him as she glanced at him through those dark eyelashes.

  Edmund swallowed. He should walk away, he knew it. He should leave the King’s Head and not come back here for a few months, because if Miss Kimble has moved onto this patch, there was no possibility of competing with her.

  And not just on poker. She was intoxicating, overwhelming, every one of his senses unable to cope with her.

  Every sense except touch. His fingers burned with longing to reach out and touch her hand again, but her fingers moved too quickly as she dealt the cards and then moved back to retrieve her own.

  “Now, what is your bet?”

  Edmund jumped, startled from his reverie. Miss Kimble was smiling at him over her cards, her lips soft and causing every rational thought to disappear.

  “I…” Edmund flushed and hated his body for displaying the weakness.

  How many women had he courted before, when he had been wealthy? How many women since had he charmed, both out of pocket and out of their clothes?

  Countless. But none of them had been as wily as Miss Kimble, and none of them had been this good at cards.

  “Sixpence,” he said hoarsely, throwing down the coin. “And I will raise you a penny for every raise you throw down.”

  He had to stay in control – and more importantly, he had to start winning. His landlady Mrs Bird was not one to take kindly to late payments, and he was already overdue.

  Miss Kimble did not take her eyes from him as she placed down a sixpence and then revealed the next card.

  Edmund stared at it, and then looked hurriedly at the hand he had not even bothered to glance at before betting.

  Every fibre of his being forced his eyes not to widened. He had the makings of the best hand there was; a Royal flush was just a Queen of Hearts away.

  “Ready to bet again?”

  Edmund raised his eyes above his cards and saw Miss Kimble tilt her head slightly as she smiled.

  His groin tightened. It was impossible not to be aware of the irony, but if he could play this calmly and coolly, he could recoup some of those winnings, and perhaps a little more.

  With a feigned grimace that he immediately halted, he said, “Well…another sixpence, then.”

  Miss Kimble smiled as she picked up a silver coin from her pile. “One of these, you mean?”

  Edmund nodded. This was not the time to trust his voice to stay steady. How long had it been since he had seen a hand like this?

  She twirled the coin in her fingers and Edmund was utterly transfixed, unable to look away from the spinning coin nor the elegant fingers which made it move so smoothly.

  And then it was gone, placed down on the table.


  “I will see your sixpence, and now let us see the card.”

  Edmund tried not to hold his breath as she lifted up the next card, and his heart started thumping wildly against his chest as the Queen of Hearts was revealed.

  He glanced at his cards again, and then back at the table. No, his eyes were not deceiving him. A Royal Flush, right when he needed one. This was going to be as good as that New Year’s Eve game with George, when he had walked away six pounds wealthier.

  Well, perhaps not that good. There was only a pound on the table, but it was a pound he needed.

  “It is your bet, Sir Edmund,” Miss Kimble said softly below the hubbub of the room. “If you are willing to make it.”

  Edmund looked at her – looked at her properly for the first time. “Why are you here, Miss Kimble?”

  He was right; there was an immediate reaction there of fear and confusion.

  “What do you mean?” She said stiffly. All the fluidity of her body was gone, as though a poker had been forced up her corset.

  “I mean, you must have better things to do, surely, than sit here with a stranger and play poker,” said Edmund easily, leaning back in his seat. “If I did not know any better, I would say you were lonely.”

  Miss Kimble raised an eyebrow. “Lonely? Sir Edmund, you do not even know me.”

  “By God, I would like to.”

  The words had escaped his lips before he could do anything to stop them, and he could see by the slightly astonished look on her face that she had heard him.

  And yet she did not walk away. She was not repulsed by him, more intrigued by him, if her next statement was anything to go by.

  “You would, would you?”

  Edmund swallowed. This had all of a sudden become rather serious, and it appeared that if he played his cards right, he would be a winner – and in more ways than one.

  “Yes,” he said in a strangled voice. “Miss Kimble, I would like to take you with me from this place and make love to you.”

  It was another gamble but he had certainly read her right. There was no astonished gasp, no frown of disapproval. She did not throw down her cards and walk away, or shout that he was dishonouring her by even mentioning it.