Brandon moved towards the door. She backed up, using a careful sidestepping motion to keep both him and the table in her line of vision. It wouldn’t do for Brandon to play the traitor now. For good measure, Nora fired a shot at the chain holding the chandelier, sending the Venetian crystal confection crashing on to the table, scattering china.
‘What do we do now?’ Brandon asked once they cleared the house and were out in the street.
‘I’ve a horse hidden down the street. I don’t expect those idiots in there to actually wait ten minutes before they come hunting.’ She stuffed the guns into her belt. ‘Now we run.’ Nora sprinted down the street, leaving Brandon to follow, although it never occurred to her that he might not.
Her assumption that he would blindly follow orders and play the hostage-cum-accomplice galled Brandon beyond the point of good sense. The tumult of emotions that had roiled within him all night rose to the fore while he ran after her; all the anxiety of waiting for her to show or not—did she trust him or not?—and the awkward mixture of fear and pride at watching her perform her antics on St John’s white-clothed table. It angered him that she would risk her own life to test him.
Deuce take it, he’d worried himself sick on her behalf and she was using him as a hostage. Jack would get a hearty laugh out of that along with his twenty quid. Clearly their night together hadn’t meant the same to her as it did to him. Well, she wouldn’t get away with it. The game stopped here and it stopped tonight.
They gained the dark corner where the horse waited. Brandon didn’t wait a moment longer. He grabbed for her arm, bringing her to a jarring halt. He spun her around amid a torrent of protests and backed her into a wall, both of his hands now fiercely gripping her shoulders beneath her dark cloak. ‘Listen to me, you little minx. Whatever game you and I are playing is finished. I could have exposed you back there at dinner and I didn’t. You owe me and you’re going to pay,’ he growled in menacing tones.
‘Do you think I’ll kiss you for it or perhaps you hope for something more? Would another night between the sheets be enough to cover my supposed debt?’ She was all sauce and boldness, making the most of their bodies’ close proximity. ‘Any debt I owe you has already been paid. I could have shot you for good measure and ensured no one would follow us since they’d be too busy looking after your wounded self.’
Her brassy behavior, coupled with her cocky assumptions, fired Brandon’s ire further. ‘Stupid fool! You wouldn’t have shot me. You were betting on me behaving more like your accomplice than your hostage the whole while.’
‘What makes you so sure?’
Brandon growled, ‘Because you’d never take an unbound hostage who has a height advantage of five inches and several pounds of brawn. You’d be setting yourself up to be overpowered. Like this.’
In a fast motion, Brandon pulled her to him, trapping her against his chest. He lowered his lips to claim a primitive kiss while she bucked against him in outrage. He used her in rough fashion, finding an outlet for his earlier frustrations over the danger she’d put herself in by storming the party. He tasted salt where her teeth bit the tender flesh of his lips. He revelled in the fight she posed.
Their mouths duelled. She bit. He nipped. Their tongues tangled. Brandon felt the tempo change as their duel became infused with a heat of a different sort. It wasn’t so much the heat of battle that raged between them now, but the heat of passion, of an attraction that, once acknowledged, was not easily quenched. He drew back for a moment to gather breath.
‘How dare you!’ she cried, remembering to be angry at his advances.
‘Tonight, I want something more than kissing from you. I want the truth and I’ll have it as soon as we get to safety.’ He had more to say, but a glimmer in the next lane demanded his attention.
He was loathe to let Nora out of his sight; however, the appearance of lanterns could only belong to a hastily launched search party. His plans were thwarted.
Brandon jerked his head to the west, calling her attention to the cluster of bobbing lights. ‘In the meanwhile, you might want to cultivate some common sense and develop some anxiety over your precarious position.’ He was gratified to note a flicker of concern pass through her as she took in the burgeoning scene.
‘Unhand me at once. You can stay here. Finding you in one piece will take the necessity out of their cold evening search,’ she ordered, taking charge again.
Brandon shook his head and held his ground. ‘No. We’ll do this my way. I’ve had enough of your plans for one evening.’
He knelt on one knee and began rubbing handfuls of dirt into his evening clothes. He smudged his cheek and then proceeded to gather his shirt between his hands and rent the cloth until he looked thoroughly abused. ‘I will go to them and tell them I’ve eluded you. I’ll show them my wound and ask to be taken back to St John’s for bandaging. That way no one will be looking for a trail you might have left behind. You will go on to my estate and await me there. You and I are not finished tonight.’
‘What if I don’t follow your dictates? You cannot force me to show up at your house and turn myself over to your dubious care. How do I know it’s not a trap of your own making?’ she argued coolly, her mind as sane as ever, but Brandon saw the nervousness in her eyes as she assessed the nearing lanterns and raised voices.
‘You don’t have a choice. If you do not comply, I’ll call out the hounds myself. I doubt Eleanor Habersham will appreciate her servants being subjected to the indignities of a house search, to say nothing of having to explain the oddity of her own nocturnal absence.’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’ Nora raged in impotent fury.
‘Follow my wishes and I’ll protect you if needed.’
‘There’s another consideration you’ve overlooked. You don’t have a wound,’ Nora pointed out.
‘Not yet. Give me your dagger.’
Reluctantly, Nora threw back the cuff of her shirt, revealing the hidden sheath and pulled out the dagger, handing it to him handle first.
He gripped it and quickly flashed the sharp blade across the palm of his hand.
Nora stifled an undignified yelp at the sight of dark blood welling in his hand. He’d cut deep, giving himself a realistic gash. Instinctively, she wadded the hem of her cloak to press against the cut. ‘You go too far!’
He stayed her with his good hand. ‘Meet me at the estate in an hour and you can doctor me all you wish.’ With an impish smile that suggested adventure sat well with him, Brandon took off in the direction of the lanterns. His hand hurt like hell. She was probably right—he’d cut it far more deeply than necessary. But he could not deny he’d enjoyed himself immensely tonight. It surprised him to realise that there wasn’t a night in recent memory that he could recall having so much fun despite all that was at risk.
The magnitude of the risk she was taking struck Nora all at once and all too late. She was already ensconced in Brandon’s private rooms, wrapped in a paisley robe she’d liberated from his dressing room and sitting before the fire his valet had kept stoked against my lord’s return later in the evening, when she realised what she had done. She had trusted Stockport unconditionally not once, but twice that evening.
First, he was right. She had indeed bet that he wouldn’t revolt against playing the role of ‘hostage’
