KIDNAPPING IS AWKWARD
Meanwhile, up in the Carlington House library
“What are you doing here?” Andrew asked as he regarded Danielle. She was perched on one of the library sofas, the bell skirt of her peach gown spread wide on the cushions.
Pulled from the reverie she’d been experiencing since Lord Breckinridge had taken his leave—the effects of the hastily downed champagne had her feeling delightfully tipsy—Danielle gave a start and narrowed her eyes. “I might ask you the same thing.”
Andrew reached for her hand and kissed the back of it. He didn’t let go, though. “I was looking for you, of course. My brother...” He glanced behind him, as if he feared he’d been followed. “He implied I could find you here.”
Danielle glanced towards the door, as if she feared being discovered alone with him. “I find I’m not yet ready for the Season’s entertainments,” she murmured, one brow arching when her gaze went to the hand he still held.
Lowering himself to one knee, Andrew continued to hold onto her hand. “Then allow me to escort you to someplace more private,” he said before once again kissing the back of her hand.
Inhaling softly, Danielle regarded him with rounded eyes. With him kneeling before her, their heads were level, and she rather liked that she didn’t have to look up at him. “More private than this?”
He nodded. “I think you’ll like it. At least, I hope you do.”
She regarded him with suspicion. “Is it far?”
He furrowed a brow. “Not far. We can be there in ten minutes,” he claimed.
“Walking?”
“We’ll go in the Aimsley coach,” he said, hoping his brother wouldn’t be too upset at discovering he had absconded with the equipage that had brought the two of them to Carlington House. He had warned him.
“My maid isn’t with me today,” Danielle said as an involuntary shiver passed through her. This had to be the kidnapping. “I came with Mother.”
“We can speak with Lady Norwick on our way out,” he suggested. “I’m sure she’ll agree to be your chaperone.”
Danielle scoffed. How would it be a kidnapping if he had permission? “We’ll do no such thing,” she said, rising from the sofa, surprised when her knees seemed perfectly steady. Apparently the effects of the champagne had worn off.
Andrew stood up. He didn’t step back, though, which had him standing impossibly close to her. So close, his legs pushed against the front of her bell-shaped skirts. His hand still gripped her gloved hand, and for a moment she thought he had merely forgotten to let go. But she watched as he once again brought it to his lips and kissed her knuckles.
“If you’re sure,” he finally responded. He lowered the hand to his arm and led her out of the library, down the steps, and out the front door, trying hard not to hurry. Anxiousness had his heart racing. At any moment, he was sure she would change her mind and ask that he take her to her mother.
He relaxed upon seeing the gold-painted crest of the Aimsley earldom on the coach parked nearest to the front door. At least they wouldn’t have to wait for the equipage to be brought ’round.
“Will you at least give me a hint as to where we’re going?” Danielle asked as he waved to the coach driver. The servant immediately moved to open the door, giving Andrew a curious look as Danielle stepped up and into the ancient coach. Although it was old, its navy blue velvet interior was more elegant than most. She took the seat in the direction of travel and watched as Andrew bounded in and sat across from her. “Or at least tell me where you’re taking me?”
Andrew waited until he felt the slight jerk that indicated they were in motion before he said, “To my townhouse.”
Her brows lifted as did her lips. “You have a townhouse?” she asked in disbelief. She couldn’t help the grin that accompanied the query.
Perhaps the champagne was still addling her brain.
He nodded. “I do. I cannot be married and continue to live in Aimsley House,” he claimed. “It wouldn’t be fair to my wife.”
Danielle inhaled softly, suddenly sober. “What wife?” His words implied he was already married.
Blinking, Andrew lost some of his resolve. “Well, whomever agrees to marry me,” he hedged.
“Oh,” she replied, relaxing into the velvet squabs before her brows furrowed. “What’s wrong with Aimsley House?”
He shrugged. “Nothing, of course. But eventually it will be my brother’s house, and his countess will be its mistress,” he explained. “I should think my wife would want to run her own household. Decorate it as she sees fit. Host her own tea parties and such.” He tugged at his cravat, wishing he hadn’t allowed the valet to tie it so tight that morning.
“Have you moved in?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. I only just acquired it this morning,” he explained, relieved his father had readily agreed with his reasoning. It had also helped that he hadn’t even known the earldom was in possession of the property.
