His to Hold (Regency Scoundrels Book 1) Read online

  “Watch your barbed tongue, Miss Woodward. Language such as that does not suit you. You do not sound like the proper young lady that you have been raised to become. Why, what would your dear old auntie think?”

  “My delicate manners must be discarded since I am talking to an ignorant ruffian. Besides, you have never heard my aunt swear when she is in high dudgeon. Why she would make your ears burn with her salty vocabulary.”

  “At this rate, Elizabeth,” he said boldly using her first name. “You shall run clear out of insults before dusk, and what shall you do then to amuse yourself?”

  “I detest having to reiterate what I have previously said. But I will, since you seemed too slow to catch on the first time around. Release me!” she shouted this time, and made him wince beneath the shattering blow her trained voice dealt.

  Almost simultaneously, she lifted her right arm and whacked him forcefully with her reticule, which was heavy with coins.

  His jaw snapped back, and his grip slipped for the briefest of moments. But it was all of the time she required. Wriggling free of his slackened fingers, she smiled when she heard him curse a blue streak of vulgarities, some she had never heard before. They obviously had not been in her grandfather’s, aunt or her cousin’s repertoire.

  She began running away from him, even though she had no true idea of where she was going. She’d always been bad with directions, and since she hadn’t planted a foot on American soil in over ten years, she was a little uncertain of the route back to her mansion. But she knew one thing with the utmost confidence. She would have plenty of money to hire a coach to take her back to Her Ladyship’s Kindness, where she’d be safe.

  Her father probably missed her by now. Probably, being the optimal word. Her dear Papa was no doubt rutting with one of his whores, right at the moment. He wouldn’t remember that she was even due in port until some unfortunate soul reminded him. Then he would go into one of his famous tirades, and dismiss whoever had reminded him. But on the other hand, if that person had failed to do so, he would be enraged as well. So essentially, her papa’s people were damned if they did, and damned if they didn’t.

  Her mother had been dead since she was ten. She clung desperately to the memory of her mother, for Susan Woodward had been a most loving mother. Indeed, her mother’s entire side of the family loved Elizabeth dearly.

  Her mother’s father had been an earl and though she could not inherit the title, that had gone to her aunt’s son, as she’d been married to her grandfather’s only child—a boy, he had split his formidable fortune between his two surviving grandchildren making her cousin quite wealthy, and her an heiress as a result.

  The Drakes were an old family who were held in high esteem in Great Britain. That was the true reason for her abrupt departure from England. Her aunt had finally struck to the heart of the matter that existed between her and her cousin. She’d wanted Elizabeth to marry her son…she’d wanted the two houses to unite in marriage, as Raleigh had loved her dearly. The only problem was, she hadn’t returned his love, and she knew her aunt would continue to hound her until she did agree to a marriage between them.

  Of course being married to Raleigh was a distinct improvement to her current predicament. As the blackguard pursuing her quickly shortened the distance between them, her thoughts abandoned her. She was overtaken by him sooner than she had expected. She grunted when he pulled her around. She slammed against his rock solid chest.

  Suddenly, she was more than aware of the startling sensations that rolled between them. The friction of their two fabrics rubbing together made her mind reel. She needed to know who this man was. Why did he arouse such delicious feelings inside of her, and why did she know the haunted look in his beautiful blue eyes?

  She knew she knew him…but from where? The question that had been nagging her for quite some time now, finally spilled out of her mouth.

  “Who are you, sir?”

  “I, Miss Woodward, am your worst nightmare.”

  *****

  Mallory St. Martin stared at the struggling hellcat he held captive in his arms. She began screaming, and he freed one hand and pressed it against her mouth, successfully smothering her screams. She had raised the hand brandishing her parasol to probably whack at him with. He wrestled the parasol from her, and sighed. She just never gave up and he had to admire that kind of spunk.

  “You can scream all that you like, Elizabeth, but you will not bring anyone to your aid. I’ve effectively disposed of your father’s hired men, and my men are re-supplying The Valiant as we speak. Anyone that wasn’t employed by your dear father has been bought off, as that man is quite tight despite his massive fortune. They will care not whether you scream bloody murder, or go quietly.

  “I, however, would prefer it if you could manage to keep your lovely kissable lips sealed together.” He studied her once again, and felt an unusual sensation course through him when her intense amber coloured eyes flashed with fire. She had passion like no other he’d ever known. She would continue to fight him, he didn’t think she had a submissive soul.

  He watched her for a moment, and studied every facet of her beautiful face. She couldn’t remember him. He knew that by the distant expression in her luminescent eyes. But he remembered her well.

  He knew why she didn’t recognize him. He had looked different when she had seen him last, since they had been at a masquerade ball. When they’d been tangled in each other’s arms, they hadn’t yet unmasked themselves, so really the only way she could recognize him was by the colour of his eyes. He had also been using his native voice and accent, which differed greatly from the raspy voice, and rough sea-faring accent that he currently employed.

  The fire faded from her eyes, only to be replaced by a carefully guarded expression. She became limp in his arms, and stopped beating against him with her fists. Dropping her arms limply to her side, her lack of fight, encouraged him to gingerly remove his hand from over her mouth.

  Her plump rose red lips were puckered into something resembling a sneer. She was trying desperately to seem like she hated him, but there was something in her eyes and body language that told him otherwise.

  He felt certain that if she’d truly desired to escape from him, she could have almost succeeded. She was a force to be reckoned with, as was he. She had met her match, and he could see that was slowly dawning on her. He would have eventually caught her, but he would have at least enjoyed the chase.

  “I shall not scream again,” she whispered.

  Something flickered in her eyes, and he smiled smugly when he recognized it for what it was. She didn’t desire to escape from him, because she wanted to be seduced by him. He entranced her. He made her want to explore him. She liked adventure, and she viewed him as just that—an adventure.

  Her mind might not yet recollect him, but her body still knew him. She responded to him like no other woman ever had, even when he threatened her in such a dire way. In truth, he would no more cause her harm, than he would hurt a member of his own family.

  He had no choice in the matter. He still needed her money—and more than that, he needed his revenge. Her father was a bastard of the first class, and getting her away from his abusive presence was a service to her. He knew the wretched man wouldn’t last much longer, as he already had one foot in the grave.

  One of these days Geoffrey Woodward would shag himself to death. On that day, Mallory would jump for joy. By that time, he’d have Elizabeth safely in England, and she’d be his wife. Then, he could take her money and save his family.

  He could have gone through the normal channels to court her, but he knew he would never get around her dragon of an aunt who wanted her precious boy, Raleigh Drake, the aforementioned Lord Beaconsfield to marry Elizabeth, and she would chase away any other potential suitors that were real contenders for her hand. She was so firm in her path that she would even chase away him—a duke!

  The St. Martins were an old blue-blooded noble family dating back to William the Conq
ueror. Geoffrey Woodward had had a hand in plucking his family’s coffers dry, so in the end, greedy Geoffrey would refill the St. Martin’s bank accounts with his own money, for Mallory would have it all. The fortune that she had inherited from the Drakes, and the fortune she would inherit from her dear papa.

  It would be sweet justice, and he knew that it would add years to his mother’s life.

  He had to take Elizabeth by brute force, because he highly doubted that she would go with him willingly, once she discovered his true intentions.

  Besides, he couldn’t very well demand that she marry him, and expect her to run away with him. He was charming and exceedingly handsome by society’s standards, but even he couldn’t woo Elizabeth that quickly.

  He had two months left to acquire the necessary funds. He had already tried to plunder and loot his way to the bank, but he’d narrowly escaped with his neck intact, and the loot hadn’t turned out to be worth the trouble. Then, he had considered gambling for the funds, but that hadn’t worked out either.

  Elizabeth was most assuredly a better gambler than he was. So, the only other option was marrying an heiress. But he couldn’t settle for any heiress. Oh, no, Mallory St. Martin had to set his eyes on the richest one of them all, and when he made her his wife, and Geoffrey realized that his only daughter was married to him…well, then, he would have his sweet revenge.

  Since desire flared in her eyes, he would make sure that as soon as they set foot on English soil that she would be nearly begging him to make her an honest woman. And he’d make sure that on the road to ruination, she’d take pleasure in each and every damnable step.

  “Shall you come with me willingly?” he inquired, regretting the question as soon as he uttered it.

  “Rot in the fires of hell, you bastard,” she shot back. Wrenching around in his grasp, she kicked him in the shins. And she was off again. Damn, she had fire. Too much fire come to think of it.

  Will you never learn, Mallory?

  He sped after her, knocked over a few barrels, and nearly colliding with a flower cart. She was faster than she had been the last time. Maybe the full meaning of his intentions had finally soaked into her cunning brain.

  The spot where she had kicked him still smarted, and he knew that he was swearing like a common street rat. He shouldn’t have expected anything less from a St. Martin, no matter how distantly they were related. He knew that the previous Lord Beaconsfield had been married to a St. Martin, one that was located distantly on their family tree.

  Elizabeth took after that side of her family, and had molten fire coursing through her blood. If she had reacted any differently, he would have been appalled, and genuinely worried. After all, how would he be able to stand the voyage back with a shrew that acted like a true blue Woodward?

  He came up upon her, when she’d been cornered by two of his men. He gave them a look that told them to get back to work. Then he easily scooped her up into his arms.

  Her tantalizing bottom rubbed up against his abdomen, and he had to grit his teeth to control the red-hot desire that pulsed through him. He was tempted to take her aboard The Valiant straight away and make sweet torturous love to her. He would have her screaming, oh aye, but she’d be screaming for more, and begging him to kiss her again and again.

  “Let me go, you scoundrel,” she cried, thrashing out with all of the strength and energy that she could muster. She was a hellion of the worst sort. If he succeeded in getting her aboard The Valiant without losing an eye, or having a few bruises in some rather personal locations, then he’d be eternally grateful. He ducked when one of her swinging elbows made its way toward his head.

  “Christ’s teeth, woman, you are pushing me toward the brink!” She stilled for just a moment, and then resumed her struggling.

  “Well, that’s bloody good for me, then!” Her voice was laced with hard-edged malice, and he nearly dropped her at the intensity of it. To think that she was the same tame and timid creature, he had fallen in love with at Lady Belmont’s Ball. Apparently, she acted much differently when under the watchful eyes of her aunt.

  “I wouldn’t be saying that. In case you still haven’t figured out who I am, then you will be discovering one of my identities in due course. And, I will not be surprised if you faint dead away.”

  “I have a strong constitution, sir. I do not faint like so many of my sister women.”

  “Aye, and I’m a bloody saint!” he snorted, and then grunted when her elbow slammed into his gut. He stepped onto the plank leading up to The Valiant, and caught the perceptive eye of his cook. His men were singing shanties while they went about their work.

  “Welcome aboard, Captain,” his cook said, eyeing Elizabeth with inquiring eyes. He puffed on the pipe he held in his heads, and silently sized Elizabeth up. “I take it, that she’s the booty we came for?” Seamus Riley’s Limerick accent was thick, and sometimes hard to understand, but this time Mallory understood him completely.

  “Aye,” he answered, earning a reprieve from Elizabeth’s magnificent struggles, when she stopped to inspect Seamus.

  “You are an Irishman,” she declared, seemingly perplexed.

  “Aye, an’ you are an uppity young miss,” Seamus rebutted, “Captain, you’re going to have a time of it with this one, she looks like trouble,” he said, chuckling as he left the deck to go down into the galley.

  “Do you always speak so eloquently?” Mallory asked, as one of his men handed him some rope.

  He placed Elizabeth down on her feet, and pulled her hands out in front of her. Her reticule still hung around her wrist. He slipped it off her wrist, and tied her hands together.

  She was nearly spitting molten fire now, and he was enjoying every moment of it. He dragged her down to her cabin. Pushing her into it, he slammed the door, and locked it. Tucking the key back into his pocket, he opened the reticule, and peered inside.

  Hells Bells, but the woman confounded him. Nestled safely inside of her reticule was a small pistol, the sort that was made just for a lady.

  Chapter Two

  Elizabeth paced the cabin restlessly. By the looks of things, her blond Adonis’s men had already filled Captain Treacher’s cabin with their captain’s belongings.

  Blast the man!

  She had to find out what his Christian name was. Either that or she had to continue searching her tired brain for his identity. She knew she’d met him at some previous time, and it was not as one of her father’s employees. All that she had to do was hit the nail on the head.

  You must think, Elizabeth. Just think!

  Searching her mind, she turned around to walk the length of the cabin. She was pacing, a sure sign that he had affected her deeply. She chewed on her lower lip, and glanced down at the rope that was tied around her wrists.

  Arching her eyebrow, she tried to fight against the bonds. She let out a shocked gasp, when the ropes slithered away from her wrist, at the teeniest of tugs.

  “Well, I’ll be damned!” Pitching the rope across the cabin, she stalked toward the door.

  This time when she placed her hands on him, she’d make sure that some bodily damage was done. She stopped mid-step, and reached out with her extraordinarily perceptive hearing.

  Voices murmured right outside of the cabin. She recognized the one voice as her bloody kidnapper. The other voice, however, was one she did not recognize.

  “I hope she’s worth it, Captain,” The foreign voice said in a barely audible tone.

  “Oh, she’s well worth it,” Rafe answered.

  So that was her captor’s name.

  “Rafe.” She rolled it over her tongue, and it came out as the barest of whispers. She shrugged at the caress in her voice.

  Maybe in different circumstances, she would have been willing to better acquaint herself with him. But as it was, she had to reach Her Ladyship’s Kindness. Unbeknownst to her father, at the age of fifteen, she had recruited her own spies and planted them at Her Ladyship’s Kindness, and at several of their oth
er estates and plantations.

  Her spies had been ferreting information back to her ever since. In their little game of cat-and-mouse, she’d been forced to hire her own spies as a mere survival strategy.

  Her father had put her through hell and back, and she’d be damned if he’d rob her of the inheritance her mother had left her—the inheritance her father controlled until his death. She had informants on both sides of the pond, and on their scattering of estates in the Caribbean. Her grandfather never should have endowed his daughter with such a hefty dowry. If he hadn’t…none of Lady Susan’s money would have gone to her bastard of a father. Her father had used the money to amass a financial empire. As the youngest son of a British viscount, he’d inherited precious little from his father’s estate.

  Her spies had supplied her with invaluable information over the years, and she couldn’t make do without them. She had her now deceased grandfather to thank for giving her the means to employ these people. He had hated the fact that his daughter had married a monster, and lost her fortune to Geoffrey, upon marrying him.

  The last damning piece of information had reached her about a month ago. In the detailed missive, her hired man had told her that her father’s health weakened with each passing day.

  The news hadn’t come as a surprise to her. Her father gorged himself on wine and rich food. And he bedded a different woman nearly every night. He was a pig of the foulest sort.

  She had to reach Her Ladyship’s Kindness before he croaked it, because if she didn’t, she might not be there for the reading of the will. If she wasn’t present, she couldn’t be assured that someone would not tamper with it.

  She lost interest in their conversation as Rafe had quickly changed subjects. He was a sharp man, and he had probably guessed that she would be listening at the door. Ever so quietly, she walked toward the door, thanking God for blessing her with lightness of step. Extracting a pin from her hair, she was about to slip it into the lock when she heard heavy footfalls approaching.