Or perhaps he’d always been too old for it.
Either way, he didn’t care to revisit this particular worm which had somehow found its way into Eugenia’s mind. Holding her struggling form to keep her from toppling from his shoulder, he carried her through the darkness. Down the staircase. Through the hall.
By the time Torrie reached the door and ventured through the mews to his carriage, he had nearly dropped her thrice, his back ached, and he was struggling to catch his breath. But he managed to gently deposit his prize within before climbing inside himself and slamming the door closed. Two solid raps on the roof, and they were in motion, the coach rattling over the road.
It was done.
He heaved a sigh of relief, allowing his head to relax against the Morocco leather.
“Mmmmm, meeeeee, mrrrrr,” Eugenia squealed, shifting wildly on the squabs in an effort to get her hands free.
Her discontent hadn’t subsided as he had expected it would when they were ensconced in the carriage. If anything, her panic had appeared to increase.
“Calm down, Eugenia,” he cautioned. “You’ll do yourself harm.”
“Raaaaaaaaa!” was her only response.
Not quite what he’d imagined either.
Frowning, he straightened. And that was when he took note, in the flickering glow of the carriage lamp, of what Eugenia was wearing. Which was decidedly unlike anything he’d ever previously seen her don.
Her full breasts were covered. Entirely. Larger, too.
Her gown was not just demure, but subdued. And prim.Proper.The color of it was gray, like the sky before it unleashed rain. Her arms were covered. Her figure, beneath that chaste gown, was not at all the same. He could see it despite the way the garment hung on her frame, as if it had originally been sewn for someone with a much sturdier build.
“Eugenia?” he asked weakly.
“Mrrrrr!” she said, sounding frantic.
He swallowed hard against a knot of dread threatening to rise in his throat and plucked the sack from her head. The wide-eyed woman facing him was not Eugenia at all. No, indeed. She was dark-haired instead of blonde, twin patches of scarlet fury painted on her cheeks.
“Oh God,” he muttered. “Blazing hellfire.”
He’d kidnapped the wrong woman.
“Unnnhiiiiii neeeee,” she said, struggling with the wrists tied behind her back.
“If I remove the gag, do you promise not to scream?” he asked her, wondering just who the devil hehadabsconded with, if not Eugenia.
A servant?
An errant parlor maid?
Sweet Christ, he thought.
“Mmmmfffff,” she said.
Which Torrie took to meanyes, she agreed not to scream.
“I haven’t any intention of hurting you,” he told her, aiming to sound reassuring. No easy feat when he was too aware of how he must look to her, a stranger who had swept into a darkened room, bound, gagged, and spirited her away.
She nodded, telling him something with her eyes, which were brown and quite unlike Eugenia’s blue. Or were Eugenia’s green? He couldn’t recall, and it hardly signified at the moment.
Torrie leaned forward, closing the space between them across the carriage, and made a show of slowly reaching behind her, fingers working on the knot he’d tied with far too much confidence. The blasted cravat was pulled tight. It took him longer than he would have liked for it to loosen, before he was able to slip the gag from her mouth and over her head.
She screamed. A shrill, loud, soul-curdling, ear-destroying shriek.
“Damn it.” He cupped his hand over her mouth. “I said no screaming. You promised.”
