REPERCUSSIONS OF A KIDNAPPING
Meanwhile, at the Comber townhouse
A grimace made Andrew appear far older than his one-and-twenty years. He was beginning to wish he hadn’t followed the late earl’s instructions to kidnap Lady Danielle. “I won’t keep you here against your will, Danny,” he whispered. “I promise. If you don’t wish to wed me, then merely tell me now, and I’ll return you to Carlington House. Or Norwick House, if you prefer,” he said on a sigh. “I promise I won’t ever call on you again. You can remain unmarried and go off to the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies and Greece by yourself. Mayhap I’ll find someone else to marry, and our paths will cross in Rome. Or Athens.” Just saying the words had him feeling sick.
Danielle straightened in her chair. “Oh, no, Andrew Comber,” she replied, her hands going to her hips. “You’re not getting off that easy,” she announced.
“What? I’m not?”
She huffed and stood, which had Andrew quickly coming to his feet. He watched as she moved to the window.
“Danny, what is it?” he asked, hurrying to join her. He looked out, wondering what she might be in search of.
“Do you see him?” she asked as she angled her head first right and then left.
“Him who?”
“My father,” she said, exasperated. “I was sure I spotted him across the street. When we first arrived,” she claimed before moving away from the window. She headed for the door.
“I haven’t seen him since yesterday,” Andrew replied as he followed her out of the parlor and up the stairs to the second floor. “Or last night, I suppose it was,” he murmured when he recalled his nightmare. “What did you mean when you said I wasn’t going to get off easy?” he asked as they reached the corridor.
“You’re going to doexactlyas my father commanded,” she said as she began opening doors and glancing in.
Andrew’s eyes rounded. “I am?”
Danielle threw open another door, poked her head in, and moved onto the next. Upon opening this one, she stilled. “Oh,” she breathed, annoyed she sounded like her mother.
“This is the mistress suite,” he murmured. “I hope you like peach,” he added, noting how her gown’s color matched that of the counterpane and drapes, the upholstered chair in front of the dressing table, and the japanned screen in one corner.
She turned and gave him a wan grin. “Asks the man who is wearing a rather decorative peach waistcoat,” she teased. “I almost didn’t recognize you because of it,” she added. “I suppose my father suggested you wear that color?” she asked as her hands gripped her skirts and held them out as if to display their matching shade of peach.
Andrew shook his head. “Anthony did, actually. It’s his waistcoat. He thought we should switch places today, but it seems you and your sister can tell us apart regardless of what we wear.”
She scoffed. “Of course we can. We’ve known you since you were in leading strings.”
He inhaled and stepped forward, closing the space between them. “You’re rather beautiful in peach. Surrounded by peach.”
Danielle stared up at him. “As are you,” she whispered, watching as his face lowered toward hers. Their foreheads touched before his lips settled on her lips. A moment later, and he had his arms around her back, pulling her against his front until her curves filled his voids.
When her arms finally wrapped around his neck, Andrew coaxed her mouth open with the tip of his tongue, sliding it over her teeth. He tasted the biscuit she’d eaten and the tea she had drunk before her tongue finally tangled with his.
Desperate for air, he pulled away and suckled her lower lip before finally allowing the kiss to end. “I could do that all day with you,” he whispered.
She stared up at him. “I would let you,” she replied.
“Does that mean you’ll marry me?” he asked in a whisper.
Her eyes darted toward the bed. “Mayhap after you’ve thoroughly ruined me,” she teased.
“Danny,” he scolded, but he glanced down to discover she was already undoing his topcoat buttons.
“I think I should like to try what you showed me in the first color plate we looked at,” she said, feeling rather emboldened.
Andrew blinked. “You would?” He noted how she was nearly finished undoing his waistcoat buttons.
“If that goes well, then you can be St. George,” she went on, pushing the coats from his torso.
“I can?”
