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The Abducted Heiress
Claire Thornton
Should she trust this dangerous rogue?Lady Desire Godwin’s gentle existence is rudelyinterrupted when a handsome brigand crosses theparapet of her rooftop garden. She watches, dismayed, asthe impudent stranger is carried off to jail.As the Great Fire rages across London, Jakob Balstonuses the confusion to escape. He fully expects that Desirewill have already fled town. Only, she is still there, at themercy of the flames and…alone.Is his intention rescue or abduction as he rows them bothto safety upstream? He must surely be after her wealth,because no man could possibly want a woman asscarred as she….City of FlamesSmoldering desire at the heart of a burning London



He was a hardy rogue. What did he want with her?
“Am I to be your hostage?” She thought of the chest full of money.
“No,” said Jakob.
“Then why do you want me?” she asked, bewildered.
“I don’t want you,” he replied curtly.
Desire caught her breath. His sharp response cut straight through her defenses, hurting her where she was most vulnerable. She knew full well that her most attractive feature was her inheritance—but it was a long time since she’d been reminded of that quite so brutally. It didn’t matter that Jakob was a brigand who’d just escaped from prison. He was still a handsome man who had no doubt enjoyed many beautiful women.
Shamed and humiliated, she turned her face into her shoulder in an instinctive effort to hide her scarred cheek from her abductor.
It was only when Jakob realized she was trying to conceal her scars that he guessed why his brief comment had wounded her so severely. He muttered a soft curse.

Praise for Claire Thornton
Raven’s Honor
“Claire Thornton has written an exciting historical unlike anything I’ve read this past year. She hooked me within the first few pages and kept me hanging on the edge throughout the rest of this beautifully written love story…. I highly recommend this intoxicating love story.”
—Romance Junkies
Gifford’s Lady
“Claire Thornton is truly gifted in creating stories that are so unusual—with charismatic characters, intriguing plots and subtle humor. Her hero steps off the page and into your heart with his bravery and sensibilities.”
—Romance Junkies
“Thornton offers an inventive plotline and paints a vivid picture with her descriptions.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
“[Abigail] and Gif share a wonderfully tender and intimate love scene that’s one of the best I have read this year…. It’s a standout.”
—All About Romance

The Abducted Heiress
Claire Thornton


All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
Published in Great Britain 2005
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
The Abducted Heiress © 2005 Claire Thornton
ISBN: 978-1-474-09553-2
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Author Note
The stories in the City of Flames trilogy take place in Europe during the reign of Charles II. This was an era of great color, drama and variety. The king scandalized some of his subjects with his many mistresses, but his reign also saw the emergence of modern banking among the London goldsmiths. Actresses appeared for the first time in London theaters, while members of the Royal Society met every week to witness scientific experiments.
Athena Fairchild, Colonel Jakob Balston and the Duke of Kilverdale are cousins, but they’ve led very different lives. Athena grew up in England, Jakob in Sweden, and Kilverdale spent his childhood exiled in France as a result of the war between Charles I and Parliament.
The cousins’ romances take place in various locations, but London is at the heart of the City of Flames trilogy. The cousins all meet the one they love in the city—although Athena’s happiness is destroyed almost before it begins.
Athena’s story, The Defiant Mistress, begins in May 1666 in Venice and the events span the rest of the summer. Jakob’s story, The Abducted Heiress, and Kilverdale’s story, The Vagabond Duchess, both begin in London at the start of September 1666. In the early hours of the morning of September 2 a fire in Pudding Lane will burn out of control….
While I was writing these books I fell in love with the characters and their world. I hope you enjoy reading their stories as much as I enjoyed writing them.



Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue

Prologue
Stockholm, Sweden, 1653
‘What’s wrong, Father? Is it bad news?’ Jakob asked.
Instead of replying, James Balston continued to stare at the letter in his hand.
Jakob’s sense of unease grew stronger. His mother also noticed her husband’s unusual reaction to the letter. Margareta lowered her embroidery to her lap and waited for James to speak, a crease of worry between her eyes.
‘Andrew is dead,’ said James. It was a measure of his shock that he spoke in English.
‘Förlåt?’ Margareta looked at Jakob in confusion. Despite the fact that she and James had been married for eighteen years, she still spoke very little English. ‘Vad sade han?’
‘Andrew är död,’ Jakob automatically repeated his father’s words in Swedish.
‘Åh nej!’ The colour drained from his mother’s face.
The depth of her distress momentarily surprised Jakob. None of them had ever met his cousin Andrew—
Jakob’s wits suddenly caught up with him. Now that Andrew was dead, Jakob’s father was first in line to an English viscountcy. They would all have to go to England. No wonder his mother was so upset.
‘Must we leave at once?’ he asked.
‘No!’ Margareta took a deep breath and visibly calmed herself. ‘We will do as you think best,’ she said to her husband.
‘There’s no immediate rush,’ said James, his tone reassuring. ‘By all accounts my father is in excellent health. But we must make some preparations. Gustaf!’ He raised his voice. ‘Gustaf! Birgitta, tell your brother I want him!’
Jakob’s brother and sister were playing chess at a small table on the other side of the room. Birgitta had lifted her head at the sound of her father’s voice, but Gustaf was still absorbed in studying the chess board. Birgitta gave his shoulder a shove.
‘Father wants you,’ she told him, when he looked up in surprise.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Gustaf apologised. ‘I was engrossed in the game.’
‘I understand,’ said James, a slight smile briefly lightening his expression, ‘but now it is time for you to become engrossed in work.’
Jakob saw a spark of excitement in his brother’s eyes. ‘Am I to join you and Jakob in the counting house?’ Gustaf demanded.
‘Yes.’ James laid aside the letter and divided a thoughtful look between his two sons. ‘Your cousin Andrew is dead,’ he told Gustaf, ‘which means that one day I will have to return to England and so will Jakob. I had hoped that the two of you would be equal partners in the business you will one day inherit from me here in Sweden. But now circumstances have changed,’ he paused, pressing his lips together as he considered the implications of those changes.
Jakob listened with interest and some excitement at the prospect of the adventure that lay ahead of them. He knew his mother was dismayed at the idea of living in a strange country, but surely with the comfort of her family around her she would not find it too difficult. Jakob himself was eager to face the challenge.
‘One day Jakob will inherit the title and estates in England,’ James continued. ‘If he is to do his duty by his inheritance, he will have to make his permanent home in England. He will not be able to take an active part in the merchant business I have established here in Sweden.’
Disappointment suddenly dampened Jakob’s enthusiasm for his new life. He enjoyed working alongside his father, trying to prove he could be just as successful and shrewd a merchant as James. He would be sorry to leave that part of his life behind.
‘You will start working with me tomorrow,’ James said to Gustaf. ‘We must waste no time in teaching you everything you need to know. As for you, Jakob—’ he looked at his older son, a curious mixture of pride and resignation in his eyes ‘—we will have to make other plans for you. You would have made an excellent merchant—but it seems that is not to be your destiny.’

Chapter One
The Strand, Saturday 1 September 1666
Lady Desire Godwin stood in the middle of her rooftop garden, looking around at the results of her afternoon’s labour. This small Eden above London was her domain and her sole creation. Servants kept the water cistern filled for her. Soon she would have her porters carry the orange trees down into the stove house to protect them from the first frosts. But she did all the other work in the elevated garden herself.
The early evening air was heavy with the sultry heat of late summer. Desire pulled off her broad-brimmed straw hat and brushed an earth-stained hand across her damp forehead. When she was finally satisfied that her sanctuary was in order, she lifted her gaze to look beyond the parapet.
The sun was setting, painting the western sky in glowing shades of gold and crimson. The earthenware-tiled roofs and church spires of London stretched away towards the east, deceptively peaceful beneath the honeyed evening light.
Desire tried to conjure an image of people hurrying or loitering through the streets and alleyways. She had little experience to draw upon. She had never been part of the jostling crowds. She rarely left the safety of Godwin House. The last time had been five years ago, when she’d watched the King’s coronation procession from the window of an upper room on Cheapside.
From the corner of her eye she saw a sparrow swoop down to bathe in a shallow dish of water she provided for the birds. She turned her head to watch it, smiling at the pretty sight. The heady scent of stocks drifted on the warm air. A bee buzzed lazily among the flower heads. The sparrow ducked its head beneath the water, tossing a myriad glistening droplets over its back and half-opened wings.
A scraping sound from the other side of the wall disturbed the tranquillity of her haven. She frowned in puzzlement and took a step towards the unfamiliar noise, startling the sparrow into flight.
A man’s head appeared over the top of the parapet. Desire swayed back in shock. An instant later the man’s shoulders came into view. Desire stared in disbelief as a stranger vaulted on to her roof, landing neatly on his feet a short distance away from her.
She gazed at the intruder in frank astonishment, her heart thudding with surprise. She was too startled to be frightened—or even to hide her face.
It was years since she’d last met a stranger. And she’d never before laid eyes on a man who looked like this. An angel who had taken mortal form.
His eyes were the infinite blue of a summer sky. His face the most beautiful Desire had ever seen. His features were finely carved, yet full of masculine strength. He wore his blond hair long, according to the fashion of the times. The setting sun gilded his flowing locks, transforming them into a cascade of liquid gold about his shoulders.
He looked just like the archangel Desire had seen once in a stained-glass window. All the colours in the picture had been given heavenly radiance by the sunlight streaming through the glass. This man reminded her of that shining, golden image. He was too perfect to be made of human flesh and blood.
His flesh was smooth and firm, his skin bronzed like Apollo’s by the rays of the sinking sun. He possessed the perfection of youth, but it was coupled with the strength and virile power of full maturity.
He wore only a white linen shirt and dark breeches. Beneath the shirt Desire could see the contours of lean, hard muscles. The shirt was open at the neck and the soft fabric revealed the uncompromising breadth of his shoulders. Desire’s gaze travelled downwards, taking account of his flat stomach and narrow hips, and the long, powerful length of his legs.
Her eyes returned briefly to his perfect face…
And then she gasped with shock. Finally remembering what she so rarely completely forgot.
The man standing before her was perfect.
But she was not.
Shame and distress thundered through her. She half-raised her hands to cover her face, then turned her back on him instead. Now, belatedly, she trembled with shock at his abrupt intrusion. Confused questions raced through her mind, but she didn’t yet trust her voice to challenge his trespass into her private domain.

Jakob was contending with some surprises of his own. He had been told that Lady Desire Godwin lived a reclusive life in her grand mansion on the Strand. He’d assumed her reticence was the result of sensible prudence, since apparently she had neither father or guardian to protect her. He had also been told that Lady Desire was usually to be found in her rooftop garden. He had therefore imagined her reclining gracefully in a shady bower, attired in silks and satin.
Instead he’d surprised a work-dishevelled woman wearing simple, unfashionable garments. Her skirt had obviously been torn and mended several times in the past. To Jakob’s pleasure, the soft fabric of her bodice revealed the natural contours of her slim, shapely body. It seemed the lady had chosen not to endure the discomfort of heavy boning while she worked. Jakob admired her good sense, even as he wondered whether she could possibly be the woman he sought.
Her hands were stained with earth. Her face was beaded with perspiration, and there was a streak of dirt across her forehead. He had been told that Lady Desire was thirty years of age, but this woman appeared to be several years younger. Her chestnut hair was pinned haphazardly on top of her head in a style that owed more to convenience than fashion. The low sunlight burnished her errant curls to a rich red. A few tendrils, which had escaped the pins, were darkened with perspiration and stuck to her damp face.
Far more startling than her clothes were the scars on her face. They were blemishes that had no place on a woman so young, shapely and obviously full of healthy energy. The pale scars ridged one cheek, puckering skin that should have been smooth and youthful. The fairness of her other cheek revealed the beauty that should have been her birthright. The comparison between what her appearance could have been, and what it was, was cruel in its simple starkness.
Confusion held Jakob silent for several long seconds. How had she come to be so badly injured? Smallpox scars were not unusual among all sections of the population, but these scars looked more like the wounds a soldier might receive in battle. He felt a surge of pity for her, even as the analytical part of his mind strove to make sense of what he’d discovered. Was this the heiress he sought? Were the scars the reason for her seclusion? Or was this simply a maidservant toiling in the lady’s garden?
The lady stared at him in equal confusion, for which he could hardly blame her. But there was an expression of wonder, almost awe, in her warm, velvet brown eyes he didn’t understand at all. By rights she should have been haranguing him for his trespass or calling her servants to throw him out.
Instead she gazed at him as if he were a mirage, or some kind of ghostly vision. Jakob wondered briefly if the accident that had marred her body had also robbed her of her wits.
At that very instant, her expression changed. From wonder to horror. A variety of shifting emotions flickered in her eyes. Distress, shame, anger.
Her hands half-lifted towards her face. Then she turned her back on him.
The soldier in him was profoundly shocked that she chose a response which left her so defenceless. The man in him noticed the graceful line of her slim neck, exposed by her upswept hair. The skin of her nape was pale and soft, emphasising her vulnerability. Jakob cursed himself as his body tightened with unexpected desire for hers—even as he felt an equally strong, conflicting compulsion to comfort her.
He kept his hands resolutely by his sides and cleared his mind of everything but the reason he had scaled the wall of Godwin House. He was running out of time. He needed to make sure of the lady’s identity. He cleared his throat.
‘Do I have the honour of addressing Lady Desire Godwin?’ he asked.

Desire’s head jerked up. The stranger had spoken to her. There was an exotic quality to his words, as if English wasn’t his first language. Perhaps he really was an angel of the Lord.
It had been so long since Desire had had contact with the outside world that the notion of an angel coming to call on her hardly seemed more unlikely than the sudden appearance of a strange man in her personal Eden.
But, if he was an angel, she thought chaotically, he ought to have descended down on to her roof from the heavens—not climbed up to it from the ground. Maybe he was a fallen angel…
‘Lady Desire?’ he repeated, with soft urgency.
She took a deep breath. It was time to regain control of events. This was her roof. Angel or no, she was entitled to an explanation for this intrusion. She turned around slowly, clutching her hat before her in both hands like a shield. But she held her head resolutely high, making no effort to conceal her face. It was too late to hide. She’d already gaped in amazement at the stranger for so long he’d had time to trace each of her ugly scars.
‘Who are you?’ she demanded.
As she spoke, she forced herself to look up and meet his eyes, expecting to see revulsion or pity in his gaze. When she’d momentarily forgotten her own appearance, it had been easy to gaze at his male beauty—now it was hard to look into his face.
But she saw nothing in his clear blue eyes except puzzlement and a certain amount of impatience.
The sun had fallen below the horizon and he no longer glowed with angelic radiance. He looked entirely like a mortal man. A very tall, powerful, athletic man who had scaled her wall like a brigand.
‘Who are you?’ Fear sharpened her voice. ‘What do you want?’
‘Jakob Smith,’ he replied. ‘My lady—’
‘You aren’t English,’ she said, suspicious that a man of such exotic appearance truly owned such a commonplace name.
She saw another flicker of impatience, or possibly exasperation, flash in his beautiful eyes.
‘My mother is Swedish, my father was English,’ he replied crisply. ‘My pedigree, however, has no relevance to the current circumstances.’
‘Are you suggesting mine has?’ Desire demanded, astounded by his effrontery.
Despite the bizarre nature of their encounter, she no longer felt overawed by him. She was well aware of the hazards of fortune hunters. Her steward, Walter Arscott, had impressed upon her the need for caution. Only a few months ago Arscott had told her about Lord Rochester’s recent attempt to abduct an heiress from her carriage as she travelled through Charing Cross. Lord Rochester had botched the abduction and been put in the Tower for his pains, but he was not the only fortune hunter in England. The stranger on her roof, handsome though he appeared, was probably just a more enterprising example of the breed. It was time to exert her authority
‘Did you invade my garden to—?’ she began.
‘Are you Lady Desire?’ Jakob Smith snapped, startling her with his urgency. As he spoke he threw a quick glance over her shoulder.
Desire automatically followed his gaze, feeling a flutter of uneasiness as his impatience communicated itself to her. To her relief, there was no one else on the roof, but it gave her an idea.
‘My servants will be here soon—to carry down the orange trees,’ she improvised. ‘Stout fellows. They have to be to lift such burdens. You should escape before they get here.’
Jakob Smith grinned briefly, a dazzling expression on his already handsome features. ‘If that were true, you wouldn’t warn me,’ he pointed out. ‘You’d keep me here so they could seize me.’
‘I would?’ Desire rubbed her temple with gritty fingers, then realised she’d probably put a dirty mark on her face. She snatched her hand away and glared at him. ‘You haven’t answered my question,’ she reminded him. ‘What are you doing—’
‘But you’ve answered mine,’ he replied, smiling faintly. ‘Your servants, your orange trees, my lady,’ he added by way of explanation. ‘And we don’t have much time.’ He glanced beyond her again and swore softly.
Desire threw a quick look over her shoulder—and this time her cold shiver of apprehension was justified. There were two more strangers walking towards her across the roof. Unlike Jakob Smith, they bore no resemblance to angels.
The leader was dressed in a green doublet and breeches. He wore a sword at his side and—Desire’s apprehension turned to fear as she focussed on his right hand—he carried a pistol.
The other man carried neither sword nor pistol, only a short, brutal cudgel and a man’s doublet.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ said Smith in a hasty under-voice as the men approached. ‘I won’t let any harm come to you.’
‘You serpent!’ Desire whirled away from him.
As the two men came closer the second man threw the doublet in Smith’s direction.
‘Next time look after your own gear,’ he said roughly.
‘I told you to seize the lady—not dally with a serving wench,’ said the man with the pistol to Jakob Smith. ‘Where’s your mistress, doxy?’ For the first time he gave his full attention to Desire.
She saw the moment he noticed her scars. Surprise, then contempt appeared in his eyes as he waited impatiently for her answer.
Red-hot rage erupted within her. She was so angry she forgot to be frightened.
‘Get off my roof!’ She pointed one emphatic hand in the direction they had to take. ‘Get off now!’
The man with the pistol stared at her—then he laughed. ‘Your roof?’ he jeered. ‘You’re too ugly to be so pert. Where’s your lady?’ His tone abruptly became much more menacing as he waved the pistol in her direction.
Desire’s racing heart skipped a beat. She was still angry—but now she had been reminded she was also in grave danger. She glanced quickly between the three men. All her senses seemed sharper than normal. Her confusion when Jakob Smith had first appeared was now replaced with intense alertness.
The lout with the cudgel appeared bored. Jakob Smith stood relaxed but vigilant. Unlike the other two men, he carried no obvious weapon—but he didn’t need one. He’d already demonstrated his strength and agility when he climbed on to the roof. If he decided to manhandle her, Desire knew she’d stand no chance against him. It was a terrifying thought.
‘Where’s Lady Desire?’ The man in the green doublet threatened her again with his pistol.
‘There’s no need to abuse the wench,’ Jakob Smith said curtly, moving between them.
‘Keep your mouth shut! You’re paid to obey orders, not give them!’ Green Doublet snarled. ‘Stand away from her and watch we’re not interrupted.’ For a second he pointed his pistol at Jakob, not Desire, to reinforce his command.
Jakob stepped quietly aside, though his large body remained poised for action.
Desire took advantage of their momentary distraction to retreat a couple of places. For a few seconds her knees had weakened with shock, but now strength flowed back into her legs. Wit, not brute force, must be her salvation. If they fell into an argument, she might have a chance to escape.
‘Stand still!’ Green Doublet pointed his pistol at her. ‘Where’s your mistress?’
‘I’ll—I’ll get her for you,’ she offered, remembering too late that Jakob Smith already knew her identity.
Her gaze whipped to his face. She expected any moment to hear him denounce her. He was frowning—but she saw he was looking at the man with the pistol, not at her.
’I’m not a fool, you doxy!’ Green Doublet sneered.
Another surge of fear spiked through her. She stared at him, afraid he’d guessed who she was—but he just laughed scornfully. ‘You won’t get her—you’ll warn her! Tell me where she is?’
‘Oh.’ Desire’s relief was so great she could hardly speak. She was ashamed of hiding in the guise of a servant, but she didn’t know what else to do. She had no weapon and no way of raising the alarm without putting herself in immediate jeopardy. But she was afraid for the safety of her household. She couldn’t let these criminals rampage through the house threatening her staff.
‘Why do you want her…Lady Desire?’ she demanded, playing for time. ‘What’s she to you?’
‘A bride, you doxy! Now—’ he lunged forward and seized her upper arm ‘—tell me where she is!’
Desire pitched towards him. Then instinctively dug in her heels and pulled away from him, appalled at his words.
His bride?
Her foot scraped against the oak boards surrounding a raised flowerbed. She nearly fell. Her heart pounded with panic. She managed to save herself, then changed direction so that the corner of the bed was between her and her attacker.
An outraged shout from the other end of the rooftop startled them both, interrupting their desperate tug-of-war. A musket shot roared in Desire’s ears and the man pitched forwards into the plants. He still had a grip on her arm and he dragged her down with him. The scent of bruised lavender filled her lungs.
Horrified, she wrenched her arm out of his dying grasp. She flailed her hands through the lavender, desperate to gain solid purchase to stand. One hand touched his unfired pistol. She jerked away, then changed her mind. There had been three villains on the roof and only one shot fired. She could already hear the sounds of a grim struggle a few feet away. She picked up the pistol, thrust herself on to her knees, and then to her feet, glancing wildly around.
Twenty feet away, her steward, Walter Arscott, struggled with the cudgel-carrying lout.
A scream rose in Desire’s throat.
Jakob Smith was nearly upon her, like a lion closing on his prey. In the dusk his golden hair had become a tawny mane, flowing around his broad shoulders. She saw the glint in his eyes, the intense expression of a predator on his handsome face. If he got close enough to touch her the pistol would offer no protection.
Desire jerked her hands up, pointing the weapon squarely at his chest.
He stopped instantly. Held his arms away from his body, palms towards her, in a gesture as easy to interpret as her levelled pistol.
Desire took a shaky breath, her gaze locked on his face, as she tried to read his intentions. The pistol felt unbelievably heavy. Only by an intense effort of will did she stop her arms from trembling. She had to stay in command of the situation. She didn’t dare take her eyes off Jakob, even for a moment, to check on Arscott. But she could hear that the fight still continued.
‘Tell him….’ She swallowed and steadied her voice. ‘Tell him I’ll shoot you if he doesn’t leave Arscott alone,’ she rasped.
Jakob’s brows snapped together. He looked away from her to frown at the two fighting men. ‘Arscott?’
‘My steward. Tell your…your friend to leave Arscott alone or I’ll shoot you!’
Jakob’s lips twisted into an ironic smile. ‘Your man’s won,’ he said.
‘He has?’ Desire was so relieved she instinctively looked to see. Jakob was right. It was Arscott rising to his feet. The lout who’d carried the cudgel was lying across the path, his head twisted at an unnatural angle. A wave of nausea rose in Desire as she realised the man was almost certainly dead. Two dead men on her roof—
Fear punched in her stomach. She jerked her gaze back to Jakob, her finger tightening on the trigger. She’d just given him all the opportunity he needed to seize her.
He hadn’t moved. He was watching Arscott with narrowed eyes.
Fury burned through her.
‘You’ll hang for this,’ she said harshly.
‘Will he?’ Jakob looked past her, an unreadable expression on his face as he looked at the man in the green doublet sprawled in the lavender.
‘What?’
‘Is he dead?’
‘I don’t know. I think…I think so.’ Desire’s voice faltered.
Jakob pressed his lips together. She sensed strong emotions ruthlessly concealed beneath his calm manner. For all his current passivity, she was sure he was still deadly dangerous.
‘My lady! My lady!’ The roof suddenly filled with her servants. A young porter ran past Arscott. He seized Jakob’s arms in a cruel hold, twisting them up behind Jakob’s back and forcing him on to his knees. The porter was joined by other members of her household. There were shouts for lights and ropes. Desire stared at Jakob as her servants surrounded him. She was afraid he might resist and there would be more injuries, but he let them bind him without protest.
‘Hang him from the parapet! Fetch another rope for the noose, Tanner!’
‘No!’ Desire cried, horrified at the idea of her servants meting out such rough justice. She was sickened that two men had already died, but Arscott had discovered them armed and in the very act of attacking her. He had done what he believed necessary to protect her. The third was already tied up and no longer an immediate threat to anyone.
‘My lady, he’s nothing but gutter scum,’ the head porter protested, visibly shaking with outrage at the violation of the house.
‘He must go before the courts,’ Desire insisted forcefully. ‘There will be no lynchings from my roof. Take him to Newgate.’
The men muttered with dissatisfaction, but she knew they would not disobey her direct command.
‘He must be held prisoner until he comes to trial,’ she said, steel in her voice.
‘Then he’ll hang,’ said the head porter. ‘Waste of time and trouble—’ He caught Desire’s eye and ceased his audible disapproval of her command.
Jakob turned his head towards her. He looked straight into Desire’s eyes. He was on his knees, her prisoner, but he had not been defeated. His raw, virile power might have been temporarily contained, but it hadn’t been destroyed. She saw pride in his fierce gaze as their eyes locked.
The impact shook her to her core. She felt as if he had branded her with that burning glance. For several seconds, she was unable to move or even to look away.
‘My lady? Are you injured?’ Arscott asked.
Jakob shifted his attention from her to the steward, but Desire still felt the impact of his searing blue gaze. Had he been promising he would one day have his revenge on her for this defeat and humiliation?
‘My lady, are you hurt?’ Arscott said more urgently.
Desire gave a start and looked at him. The steward was of slight build and average height. At first sight he didn’t appear much of a fighting man, but as a youth he had been a fearsome sharpshooter during the war between King and Parliament. It seemed his marksmanship was as accurate at the age of thirty-nine as it had been when he was seventeen. Now he was watching her with a worried frown.
‘No,’ Desire whispered, still shaken by the glance she’d exchanged with Jakob. She was only half-aware of Arscott taking the pistol from her. ‘You saved me!’ she exclaimed suddenly. ‘Arscott, you saved me!’
He bowed slightly in acknowledgement of her words. ‘I’m here to serve you,’ he said, though there was a hint of anger in his well-controlled voice.
‘I…I…thank you.’ Desire’s legs turned to water. She turned her head away and locked her hands in her skirts so that no one would see how badly they trembled.
As she did so, she noticed a surreptitious muttering among her household. Jakob was on his feet again. The head porter had put another rope around his neck and was using it to lead him towards the stairs. She was sure her servants would obey her direct orders within the confines of Godwin House—but she had a sudden premonition that a fatal accident might happen to Jakob Smith before he ever reached gaol.
‘Stop!’ The order ripped from her throat.
Everyone turned to look at her. Even in the half-light she saw the sardonic expression on Jakob’s face. He knew as well as she did what the men planned for him.
Desire kept her arms by her sides and her shoulders square, but she gripped her skirts convulsively as she scanned the faces before her. Surely not every man was riven with the need to avenge the violation of the house? But to her dismay, even the usually level-tempered Arscott seemed to be suppressing simmering hostility.
Then she saw Benjamin Finch, her Gentleman of the Horse, who had only just arrived on the roof. Like most of her senior household, he had served her father before her. He was older than Arscott, and somewhat out of breath from running up the stairs, but he was always good at moderating disputes and he commanded respect among the other men.
‘Benjamin!’
‘My lady, are you hurt?’ His voice was sharp with anxiety as he looked first at her, then at the disorder around her.
‘No. Benjamin, this man is my prisoner.’ She pointed at Jakob, letting her hand fall quickly before anyone could see it was shaking. ‘It is my will and command that he be delivered safely to Newgate. He must stand trial for his crimes here today. I want you to make sure that he is delivered unharmed to gaol,’ she concluded in ringing tones.
At the end of her speech Jakob gave a small, ironic bow in her direction. Several servants looked mutinous but, to Desire’s relief, Benjamin immediately accepted the charge she laid upon him. In a quiet, but firm, voice he gave the necessary orders for Jakob to be taken under guard to the gaol.
Now the worst was over, Desire wanted to burst into tears. Two dead men were being carried from her roof. Only by a hair’s breadth had she managed to avoid a lynching, and the angel who’d invaded her garden at sunset had turned into a devil at twilight.
Desire had been a child during the first Civil War. Her father, the Earl of Larksmere, had been a Parliamentarian. For five weeks in 1644 Larksmere House had been besieged by Royalists. For those five weeks Desire had lived in the heart of violence. She’d even suffered the consequences of it—she unthinkingly touched her scarred cheek—but that had been more than twenty years ago. Her life had been peaceful for a long time. The nightmares of the past were no more than distant memories, but she felt as if she’d once more become the frightened, helpless child who’d watched in confusion while adults fought around her.
‘It would be best if you sit down, my lady.’ Arscott guided her to a stone bench. ‘It was an unpleasant incident, but soon everything will be back to normal.’
Desire looked around and saw that he was right. The roof was now deserted except for her and the steward.
‘An unpleasant incident?’ she repeated disbelievingly, amazed that Arscott could so lightly discount what had happened.
‘My apologies,’ he said stiffly. ‘I did not mean to belittle what happened. But it is better not to distress yourself over such things. It is over now.’
‘Yes.’ Desire took a deep breath, determined to maintain her composure in the face of Arscott’s stiff-backed demeanour.
Her family and his had been connected for several generations. Desire’s grandfather had considerably enlarged Godwin House during Elizabeth’s reign, and Arscott’s grandfather had been the master stonemason who’d worked on the new wings. Arscott’s father had also been a mason, but Arscott had chosen to serve the Godwin family more directly. He had begun as a footman and risen to be steward of Godwin House. The death of Desire’s father, followed very soon after by the death of the man Lord Larksmere had appointed as her guardian, could have caused great upheaval in her life, but Arscott’s competence and loyalty had protected her from many potential hazards. She was enduringly grateful to him, though she did not find him a particularly congenial companion.
‘You are right,’ she said, straightening her shoulders. ‘We must not dwell on what just happened. But we must take steps to prevent it happening again. You have often mentioned the possible risk if I go out, but I never thought I would be attacked in my own home.’
‘No, my lady. But you are a rich prize, as we’ve discussed before,’ Arscott replied sombrely.
He spoke in his usual, measured tones, but Desire thought she saw a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. It occurred to her that he might have interpreted her comment as a veiled criticism. That hadn’t been her intention but, now she thought of it, how had the villains gained access to the house?
‘There are many men who wouldn’t baulk at marrying you by force if they had the chance,’ he said grimly.
‘I know that. But I thought I was at least safe here. How did they get in?’
Arscott’s expression blanked. ‘I have done everything in my power to keep you safe,’ he said, ‘but there are gaps in even the best defences. They got in because they bribed one of the new porters. I thought he was acting oddly. When I questioned him, I discovered the villains were already on the roof. I came at once!’
‘Thank you.’ Desire looked around her darkness-shrouded garden. For years she had seen it as her sanctuary. Now it no longer seemed quite so safe. She shivered with fear as she remembered how the man with the pistol had claimed her as his bride.
‘They didn’t all come through the door,’ she said. ‘One climbed the wall.’
‘He did?’ Arscott muttered a curse, then quickly apologised. ‘I’m sorry, my lady.’
He hesitated, then took one of her hands in a comforting grasp. Desire was startled at the unprecedented familiarity of his gesture. She had known Arscott all her life, but he very rarely touched her. She was disconcerted by his attempt to reassure her, and withdrew her hand from his as tactfully as she could.
‘My lady, you know that I will always do everything in my power to protect you,’ he said. ‘But until you are married you will always be at risk from those who seek your fortune.’
‘I know,’ Desire said wearily. ‘But how am I to find a husband? By all accounts the nobility is full of rapacious villains. I’d hate to fall prey to a man such as Lord Rochester. How am I to avoid such a fate?’
‘By choosing a man you know to be honest and loyal,’ Arscott replied.
‘But I don’t know any—’ Desire began, her voice rising in exasperation.
‘My lady, my family has served yours for three generations,’ Arscott interrupted. ‘Your father himself selected me to be his steward. I have always been honoured by the trust he placed in me and the high esteem in which he held me. Under any other circumstances I would never put myself forward in this manner. But your plight is desperate. Until you marry you will always be at risk of further attempts to take you by force. And the years are passing. Soon—’
‘I know!’ Desire longed to hold her own babe in her arms. She didn’t want to be reminded that her chances of doing so diminished with every year she remained unwed.
‘Forgive me.’ Arscott bowed his head. ‘I did not meant to cause you distress. But my lady, there is a way you can safeguard yourself from fortune hunters and have the children you long for.’ He dropped suddenly on one knee beside the bench.
Desire stared at him in disbelief, too startled to notice when he took her hand in his once more.
‘If you had a more worthy suitor I would never put myself forward,’ he said. ‘But as your husband I would continue to protect and serve you as loyally as I have done as your steward.’
‘You want to marry me!’ she exclaimed, dumbfounded by his proposal. The possibility of marrying the steward had never before occurred to her.
‘I will make you a good and faithful husband,’ he assured her, his grip on her hand tightening. ‘You may be sure I will never expose you to hurt or insult.’
‘I’m sure…’ Desire swallowed, hoping Arscott hadn’t sensed her instinctive dismay at the prospect of marrying him. She was grateful for the dim light, which prevented him from seeing her clearly.
What he suggested would no doubt provoke outrage in many sections of society. There was a vast gulf between their social rank and fortunes. But at that moment Desire did not recall that Arscott was the son of a stonemason. It was the thought of sharing his bed that chilled her heart.
She knew that such an objection was foolish and impractical. Most brides had little choice in who they wed. But when she imagined lying beside Arscott in the dark, every fibre of her being cried out against such intimacy. She respected the steward. Admired him even. And God knows she was grateful for his loyalty through all the years of his service. But she didn’t want to marry him.
‘I do thank you for your kind offer,’ she said. She was too soft-hearted to reject him immediately, but she tried to prepare him for her ultimate answer. ‘I will consider it very carefully. Perhaps we can discuss it again when we have all had a chance to recover from what happened earlier. I confess, I’m still a little shaken now.’
‘Of course, my lady.’ Arscott released Desire’s hand and stood up. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have spoken so hastily. But until you are safely wed you will remain in danger. It will be best if you don’t consider too long.’
Desire suppressed a shiver of apprehension. ‘Perhaps not,’ she said. ‘Anyone else who might have been planning to abduct me will surely think twice now. Now they know they are more likely to end up dead than married.’ The words emerged more harshly than she’d intended. She was still shaken by Arscott’s ruthlessness on her behalf.
‘I had no choice,’ said Arscott. She could hear the thread of anger beneath the rigid deference in his voice. ‘There were three of them. And my pistol misfired.’
‘I heard it—!’ Desire began.
‘I fired the musket,’ said Arscott, ‘but the pistol misfired. I could not threaten the two remaining men with it. Only fight hand-to-hand to save you.’
‘I will always be grateful,’ Desire said. The last thing she wanted was ill feeling between her and her steward. ‘It’s dark. Let’s go inside now.’

Chapter Two
Newgate, Tuesday 4 September 1666
‘Fire! Fire! Fire!’
‘The Papists have fired London!’
‘Nay! The flames of hell are purging the corrupt city!’
‘It’s the French to blame. Throwing fireballs into the houses…’
‘’Tis God’s punishment for the sins of the Court…’
‘The Dutch are taking vengeance for our recent victory…’
‘St Paul’s burns…’
‘We’ll all burn!’

Jakob listened grimly to the uproar around and below him. He was in Newgate, awaiting the next gaol delivery to the Old Bailey. At the best of times the prison wasn’t silent, but now the cries of his fellow captives had risen to a frenzied cacophony of panic.
Newgate was not only a gaol, it was also one of the seven ancient gateways into London. Its two massive stone towers straddled Newgate Street. Every day people crowded through the iron gates and beneath the portcullis on their journey into, or out of, the City. But for two days there had been no normal traffic through the gate. The sounds of London descending into chaos had filtered through the thick stone walls and iron bars of the gaol.
News of a fire in the east of the City had first reached the gaol on Sunday morning, but fires among the old wooden buildings of London were so common that initially only a few doom-mongers were alarmed.
All the same, speculation about the extent and cause of the conflagration quickly circulated among the prisoners. By Monday it was claimed that the fire extended from London Bridge in the south to Lombard Street in the north. That it covered the whole of the waterfront for almost the entire length of Thames Street. Rumours abounded. Many people believed absolutely that the fire had been started deliberately by a Dutch baker. Others that the French had ignited it by throwing fireballs into houses. England was at war with both countries. On Monday night the fire destroyed Cornhill and advanced inexorably on Cheapside.
By Tuesday morning, St Paul’s Cathedral and Newgate were both under immediate threat. It no longer mattered to anyone trapped inside the prison how the fire started. Their only concern was to escape. Even in their confinement the prisoners could hear the terrified screams of those who fled through the gate in search of safety. They could also hear the thunderous roar of the fire raging towards the towers. The stench of burning was stronger than the usually overpowering stench of the gaol. The air was foul with smoke.
Jakob stood at a barred window, his throat raw from the polluted air. He took shallow breathes to avoid pulling the smoke too deeply into his lungs. He was in a better position than many prisoners. They were incarcerated in squalid quarters below ground. Fortunately Jakob had not come penniless to gaol. He’d bribed the Keeper of Newgate to house him in the more comfortable conditions of the Master’s Side at the top of the prison. He’d also taken the first opportunity to send out a message to his cousin, the Duke of Kilverdale. The Keeper had been impressed by Jakob’s high-ranking connections and since then had treated him with careful respect.
But so far Kilverdale had neither returned the message nor appeared in person. On Monday morning, after two nights in Newgate, Jakob had reluctantly sent out another message. This time to his grandfather, who had a house in St Martin’s Lane. Under other circumstances Jakob would have waited considerably longer for Kilverdale to respond before asking for Lord Swiftbourne’s help, but he believed Lady Desire was still in imminent danger. There had been no reply to his second message either.
Jakob tested one of the bars at the window, while he wondered with some annoyance where Kilverdale had gone. His cousin seemed to be constitutionally incapable of staying in one place for more than five minutes.
The roar of the fire was louder, closer. Smoke curled through the bars. Burning embers swirled past the window, a terrifying portent of what was to come. Jakob’s muscles tensed with horror at the thought of being caught like a rat in a trap before the flames.
He shook off the ghastly image and went to hammer on the locked door.
‘Hey! Are you going to leave us to roast?’ he shouted.
It wasn’t the first time he’d demanded information about the fire. Since he had the money for bribes, the gaolers kept him reasonably well informed. This time no one replied. He waited by the door an instant longer, then returned to the window. He’d checked all possible escape routes when he’d first arrived, and he’d quickly discovered that the mortar holding the bars was in poor condition. Though the prison was a formidable building, it was old and in disrepair.
Jakob had spent much of his time over the past two days chiselling away at the soft mortar with a large iron nail he’d purloined during his transfer into the cell. The fire had been his ally in his escape preparations. Anyone who noticed how much time he spent at the window would assume he was trying to follow the progress of the flames.
Now he braced one hand against the wall and wrapped his other hand around the first iron bar. He focussed all his strength and dragged the bar free. It grated loudly against the crumbling brick, but there was no need for silence. If anyone heard him and came to prevent his escape, they’d open the door.
An open door was all Jakob needed.
He was about to drop the bar on to the floor when, beneath the ever-present roar of the fire, he heard the scrape of a key in the lock. In the few seconds before the door swung inwards he thrust the bar beneath his doublet.
‘What took you so long?’ he demanded, striding towards the terrified gaoler.
‘Hurry! We’re going to the Clink.’ The gaoler coughed and gestured frantically towards Jakob with his left hand. In his right he held a musket.
‘To hell, more like.’ Jakob strode through the door, helped on his way by a shove between the shoulder blades.
All around him he could hear frightened, angry shouts. The gaolers were trying to march their prisoners away to the alternative confinement of the Clink Prison in Southwark. But the gaolers were disorganised and as terrified as the prisoners. Once they reached the street it was easy for Jakob to escape in the confusion.
As soon as he was alone in a debris-filled alley, he paused to get his bearings. Inside the prison he’d become almost used to the roaring approach of the fire. Outside in the street the noise was a physical assault on his whole body, pounding his ears and disorientating all his senses. Stones exploded in the high temperatures. It sounded as if a battle was being fought within the flames.
He turned to take his first real look at the fire—and shock briefly held him completely immobile. The fierce gale that had been blowing since Sunday had whipped the sulphurous flames into a savage inferno. It towered high above the tallest buildings, dwarfing everything in its path. The sky above was black with smoke.
A shower of crimson fire droplets rained down upon him, covering his doublet with tiny, blackened pinpricks. The intense heat scalded his eyes and seared his face. Acrid smoke gusted suddenly around him. Choking him. Nearly blinding him. His lungs burned. The flames seemed almost alive in their malevolent intent to devour everything in their path.
He shook off his momentary horror and turned to run through the thick layer of ash that swirled in the streets.
By now his temporary lodgings in the City would surely have burned. There was no point in going to the house in St Martin’s Lane because the message he’d sent there had been left unanswered. Besides, he wasn’t keen to present himself to his grandfather in the guise of an escaped convict. Now Jakob was free, he regretted the necessity that had forced him to send that message.
He paused to check his location and a fit of coughing tore his lungs.
He remembered the moment her ladyship’s steward had levelled his pistol at him. Jakob had dived flat behind the meagre protection of a bed of herbs. The steward had pulled the trigger, but the pistol had misfired. Jakob had no doubt the man had intended him to die on the roof of Godwin House.
He’d survived the débâcle because of a misfired pistol and Lady Desire’s absolute determination he would live to stand trial. He recalled the way she’d held him at bay with the pistol she’d taken from her attacker. There was no doubting the lady’s courage, but the fire would not respect her dignity or her privacy—and it was not the only threat to her safety. No doubt she’d already fled from her grand mansion in the Strand, but Jakob wanted to know where she’d gone.
He was covered in soot and ash. Just another desperate man escaping from the fire. As long as he avoided members of Lady Desire’s household, he was unlikely to be recognised. Perhaps he could find someone to tell him what he needed to know. He owed the lady his life. He meant to repay the debt.

Desire stood in her roof-garden, the key to the river-gate clutched in her hand. She stared, transfixed, at the burning city. With the exception of a couple of watchmen left to guard the property from looters, she was alone in Godwin House. She wondered vaguely whether Arscott or Benjamin Finch had realised yet that they’d left her behind.
She hadn’t intended to stay, but in the end she hadn’t been able to leave. Godwin House was her home—this garden her sanctuary. She had a superstitious fear that if she deserted it she might never see it again.
The arrangements they’d made to convey the contents of the house to safety had made it easy for no one to notice her absence. The most valuable items had been taken away either by carriage or in the river barge. Arscott had gone with the barge, intent on protecting the locked chest that contained all of Desire’s monetary wealth. There was more than nine thousand pounds in the heavy chest, the revenues from all the Godwin estates scattered throughout the country. Arscott had taken the head porter and several of the strongest menservants with him to guard the chest.
Benjamin had been in charge of the three coaches that had hauled away other chattels as well as most of the staff, including Lucy, Desire’s personal maid. There had been some discussion about whether Desire would be more comfortable in the overcrowded barge or a coach. No clear decision had been made. In the confusion it had been easy for both men to assume that their mistress was safely in the care of the other.
Despite her fear that she might lose her home, Desire had not consciously intended to stay behind. Somehow she simply hadn’t left. She wondered if she was living up to some deep-rooted family tradition of not running away in the face of danger. Twenty-two years earlier, her mother had lived—and Desire had nearly died—by that creed. In the absence of the Earl, the Countess had taken charge of their Devonshire estate. She had held the fortified house for Parliament against besieging royalists for five weeks of fierce fighting. Even the injuries to her daughter had not compelled the Countess to yield. Only the arrival of Parliamentarian forces, led by Desire’s father, had brought an end to the siege.
The thunderous roar of the fire destroying London was horrifyingly reminiscent for Desire of the noise of the royalists’ bombardment of Larksmere House because, trapped behind the defences of the house, there had been no peace and no escape from the fighting. Desire touched her cheek. Her scars were an ever-present reminder of that frightening period of her life.
The strong easterly winds whipped her skirts around her legs. Her dishevelled hair felt gritty with the ash swirling through the air. Her garden was full of flying debris. A charred piece of paper briefly caught against the side of a raised bed. It gusted up into Desire’s face before spinning heavenwards once more.
All the previous night she had watched the fire light up the sky. She’d seen the crimson, snake-tipped flames dance obscenely over the rooftops and curl wickedly around the church spires and towers. She’d seldom visited the crowded streets of the City, but she’d imagined walking along them. She had always enjoyed knowing there was so much enterprising human life close by. She even enjoyed listening to the harsh, vulgar curses of the Thames boatmen as they plied their trade on the river adjoining her property.
Now London was being destroyed before her eyes. And the fierce wind was driving the flames dangerously close to Godwin House. She was almost sure that Fleet Street was already on fire. She pressed the shank of the river-gate key against her lips. She had prayed all night for the gale to cease and the flames to be quenched. But now it seemed inevitable that the fire would reach the Strand. It was finally time to leave. She would seek out her watchmen and take to the safety of the river.
She turned to leave the roof—and screamed in terror.
Jakob Smith stood three feet from her. A huge, wild-eyed, soot-grimed monster. She was sure he’d come for his revenge. Shock momentarily paralysed her.
His lips draw back in a snarl of fury as he made a gesture towards her.
She threw herself away from him, falling backwards into a bed of herbs.
He lunged after her.
She rolled frantically away, fetching up against the parapet wall. The impact knocked the air out of her lungs and she gasped for breath. Heard him curse.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he shouted, looming over her.
Desire didn’t answer. She struggled to sit up, keeping a tight grip on the key. It wasn’t much, but it was the only weapon she had. Even a monster like Jakob could not be entirely invulnerable. If she could only find his weakness…
Abruptly he moved away from her. Out of her reach. An expression of grim wariness in his red-rimmed eyes. Wild speculations raced through her mind. She wondered if he’d guessed her intent. The demon had a lot more experience of reading a foe’s intentions than she had. She resolved to keep her expression impassive.
‘Where are your men?’ he shouted at her.
‘What?’ His question startled a response from her.
Too late she realised he wanted to assure himself that no one would interrupt his planned revenge on her.
‘För bövelen!’ he exclaimed, in apparent exasperation. ‘At least on Saturday you had a small army to protect you—some of them even seemed loyal. Today I find you alone and defenceless, like a peach waiting to be—’
‘Not by you!’ Desire shouted back, too angry to be afraid. ‘I’ll die…you’ll die first!’
She tried to dig her heels into the ground, to give herself purchase to scramble backwards along the wall. Instead her foot caught in her petticoats. Before she could untangle herself a large clump of fiery debris cartwheeled down from the smoke-filled sky. The wind bowled the tattered ball of flames across the roof until it was trapped between the parapet and Desire’s tangled skirts.
The fire hissed and crackled as it found new food to feed on. Desire screamed, terror consuming her as flames seemed to engulf her legs.
In her panic she barely noticed Jakob seize her in his arms. A few seconds later he plunged her into the water cistern. Shock knocked the air out of her lungs and an instant later Jakob thrust her billowing skirts beneath the ash-covered surface of the water. The flames hissed and died. Desire panted for breath.
It took several long moments for her wits to return sufficiently to comprehend what had happened. She was sitting in the large cistern, water almost up to her neck, though a fair amount had washed out when Jakob had dumped her into the trough. Bits of soot and ash floated around on top of the dirty water in front of her. Jakob knelt beside her. One of his strong hands gripped her shoulder. The other covered the hand in which, to her somewhat detached amazement, she discovered she was still clutching the key.
She stared at Jakob, drained of all emotion.
He stroked a matted strand of hair gently behind her shoulder and smiled at her. He had a very attractive smile for a fiend—even though his face was black with soot and his eyes were red. His hair had lost its angelic lustre. It was stringy with sweat and grime.
Images of the long-ago siege of Larksmere House receded from Desire’s mind. She focussed on the immediate past instead. She’d thought about Jakob often since Saturday. Confused by the conflicting emotions he aroused in her. She’d been a little captivated by him when he’d first appeared on her roof—and then he’d destroyed all her ridiculous illusions. She’d allowed herself to be deceived by his comely appearance. The fire-grime that now covered him gave a much clearer indication of his true character. Except, of course, that he’d just saved her from being roasted alive.
‘What does the key open?’ he asked, his voice soft, almost teasing. ‘Your jewellery case?’
‘The river-gate!’ she exclaimed indignantly.
The iron key was large and ugly. It opened the gate in the wall that separated the edge of her property from the Thames. Even the keys to the sturdy locks on her treasure chest were more elegant. Besides, did he really think she was so vain and foolish that she would put jewels before her own safety?
‘Good girl.’ He smiled and slipped the key out of her fingers before she’d realised his intent, and stood up.
‘You scurvy, double-dealing—’
‘Language, my lady,’ he chided her, laughing gently. ‘No, don’t get up,’ he added, as she seized the edges of the cistern. ‘We aren’t leaving just yet.’
‘We?’ She stared at him warily, still clutching the sides of the water cistern.
‘I didn’t expect you to be here,’ he informed her, shrugging out of his doublet. ‘Not once I’d discovered the house was deserted. I only came on to the roof to get a better look at the fire. To see how far it extends. Lucky for you I did.’
‘Why?’ Desire asked warily. ‘The house isn’t deserted,’ she added. ‘There are porters guarding the gate—aren’t there?’
Jakob grinned. ‘Easily evaded, my lady,’ he said, and stripped off his shirt.
Desire’s eyes widened at the breadth of muscled chest and lean, hard-ridged stomach his actions revealed. Then, as the likely motive for his disrobing dawned on her, she tried to surge out of the water.
‘Sit.’ He put his hand on her shoulder and easily shoved her back under the surface. ‘You’re safer there till we get off this damned fire-trap.’
‘Why are you—?’
‘Not for the reason you think,’ he retorted, casting a quick glance towards the advancing flames.
The sky above them was thick with roiling smoke. Desire’s throat was raw. She could tell from the hoarseness in Jakob’s voice that he was also suffering the effects of the smoke. Amidst the noise of the fire and the wind she heard something that sounded like an explosion.
‘They’re using gunpowder in Fleet Street,’ Jakob explained. ‘Blowing up houses to make a fire break. But unless the wind drops…’
He gripped his shirt tightly and jerked his hands apart. The fine linen ripped and. Desire watched in bewilderment as he tore his shirt into several pieces.
‘Why are you doing that?’ she asked.
‘Just a precaution, my lady,’ he replied, smiling in a way that she only belatedly realised was deeply suspicious.
In one smooth movement, he seized her wrists and efficiently tied them together with a piece of ragged linen.
Desire struggled valiantly. Water splashed everywhere but, but in the confines of the cistern, she had little chance to evade him.
She cursed him freely, anger temporarily displacing the underlying fear she continued to feel in his presence.
‘You mangy, flea-ridden, thieving, ill-begotten cur!’ she raged, just before he pushed one of the rags in her mouth.
He tied the strip of linen securely behind her head. Then he smiled at her.
She blinked water out of her eyes and glared at him over the gag.
‘Time to go,’ he said, and hauled her out of the cistern.
Instantly she swung up her bound hands in an attempt to hit him in the face.
He barely managed to dodge the blow as her hands rasped across the stubble on his chin. He swore briefly and concisely, and threw her over his naked shoulder.
Desire kicked viciously and tried to pound her fists against any part of his anatomy that she could reach. His grip on her tightened until it was painful as he went across the roof and down the stairs that led to a side entrance. From there he had only to run through the gardens behind the house to reach the river-gate.
Desire stopped struggling. He marginally relaxed his grip, but he didn’t slow down. Instead of trying to hit him, Desire concentrated on getting rid of the gag. If she could only attract the attention of her watchmen…
But it wasn’t easy when Jakob was jolting her along upside-down through the neatly clipped box hedges. By the time they’d reached the boathouse she’d only just managed to free her mouth, painfully pulling out several strands of her hair that had been caught in the knot as she did so.
Jakob laid her on the ground and began to drag up her charred, water-soaked skirts. Desire fought desperately, flailing at him with her clubbed fists, whimpering with terror. She had no breath to scream for help.
He threw himself over her, finally containing her struggles with the weight of his large body.
‘Stop fighting, you vixen,’ he said, through gritted teeth. ‘I’m only trying to find out if your legs are burnt.’
‘You lecher!’
‘I should have left you to roast!’
‘Hell-spawn.’
‘Hell-cat.’
For a few moments they both lay still, breathing heavily. Reason slowly replaced the terrifying images of rape that had filled Desire’s mind. She didn’t trust Jakob, but so far he hadn’t actually hurt her.
‘My legs aren’t burnt,’ she said frigidly
She shoved ineffectually at the solid bulk of his torso. The weight of his hard body pinning her to the ground was profoundly disturbing. She wasn’t used to intimate physical contact with any human being—much less with a large, powerful man naked to the waist. She felt trapped and frightened—and furious at her sense of helplessness.
‘You’re too upset to know if they are,’ he retorted, easing himself cautiously away from her.
‘I’m not stupid!’ she snapped. ‘I’d know if my own legs were burnt.’
‘I’ve seen men wounded in battle who didn’t even know their legs had been cut off!’ Jakob countered.
‘Battle…? Are you claiming to be a soldier?’ Desire jabbed her knuckles against the ridges of his stomach, ineffectually trying to increase the distance between them.
Jakob winced. ‘Until lately I was an officer in the Swedish army,’ he growled.
‘An officer?’ she scoffed. ‘A cowardly deserter more like. Or a camp-following scavenger who steals from wounded me—’
He clamped one large hand over her mouth.
‘Var tyst! We’d have been on our way by now if you weren’t such a wildcat.’
‘Way? Where?’ Desire demanded, as soon as he took his hand away.
Jakob didn’t reply. Instead he moved so suddenly she was left gasping with shock. One minute he was lying half on top of her, the next he was straddling her hips, his back towards her head as he doggedly pulled up her skirts.
Outraged, Desire hammered his broad shoulders with her bound fists. His naked flesh was hard and unyielding. Only his occasional grunt indicated he wasn’t entirely immune to her assault. Desire kicked wildly, trying to clout him in the face with her knees.
With a muttered curse he finally managed to contain her struggles. Half-blinded by her hair, panting with her exertions, Desire endured the insufferable indignity of having her captor satisfy himself that her lower limbs were only minimally scorched.
‘All this material must have protected you,’ he announced at last, ‘your chemise isn’t even singed. I don’t think you’re much damaged.’
‘That’s what I said!’ Desire was beside herself with rage. ‘How dare you…’
He jumped off her, springing aside just in time to avoid a well-aimed blow to his groin as she scythed her hands upwards.
He grabbed her joined fists, pulling her to her feet in one smoothly continuous movement.
‘I should have trussed you tighter!’ he declared in exasperation.
‘You oaf! I’m a lady!’ Desire was incensed at his impertinent suggestion.
‘Not like any I ever met before.’ He dragged her along behind him. ‘You’d have made this a lot easier on both of us if you’d had the good sense to swoon when you first saw me.’
‘I never swoon.’
‘More’s the pity.’
Jakob found some rope in the boathouse and tied it around Desire’s knees, over her blackened, dirty wet skirts.
‘You’ll hang,’ she taunted him, from her undignified position on the ground. ‘At Tyburn, you’ll hang for this.’
Jakob merely grunted. Now that he was no longer hampered by Desire’s stubborn resistance he made short work of getting the small rowing boat on to the Thames and Desire into the boat. He even locked the gate, thoughtfully safeguarding the house from river-borne looters. He dropped the key on Desire’s lap, pushed the boat away from the river stairs and began to row upstream.
Desire stared at him in baffled fury, then twisted around to look at the burning city behind her. The boat rocked precariously in the waves stirred up by the wind and the other crafts that thronged the river. Desire was stunned by the scenes of devastation all around her.
The Thames was full of people escaping the inferno. Boats were piled high with belongings. She could hear a woman sobbing, children screaming…
She abandoned her half-formed plan to shout for help. Amidst this chaos her cries would either go completely unnoticed or would be ignored in the general pandemonium.
She strained to see one last glimpse of her home as Jakob rowed steadily upriver. When they were well beyond the outskirts of London she turned to face him, noticing at once the familiarity with which he handled the oars. His naked torso glistened from his exertions. There was a light dusting of golden curls on his hard-muscled chest, but Desire was sure that beneath the sooty grime that covered him his skin was smooth and blemish free.
For the first time since he’d appeared on her roof she had an opportunity to reflect on her situation. It wasn’t good. She was bound hand and foot in the power of a man who should have been languishing in Newgate, awaiting his trial. Not only that, none of her household even knew she was missing. There would be no hue and cry for her until it was far too late. She bit her lip, wishing she’d had the good sense to leave with Arscott in the barge that morning. But it was too late to repine over her decision now.
Her gaze narrowed on Jakob. He was a hardy rogue. What did he want with her, now that the man he’d served was dead?
‘Are you to be my bridegroom now?’ she demanded.
‘No.’
She stared at him, confounded by his brief reply. ‘Arscott shot the other one,’ she reminded him.
Jakob grinned briefly, but there was no amusement in his eyes.
‘As you say,’ he agreed. ‘I value my continued good health too much to risk a similar fate. Is that—’ he timed the rhythm of his words to fit easily into that of the oars ‘—how you’ve managed to remain unwed so long? Your steward shoots all your hopeful suitors?’
‘What? No, of course not!’ Desire frowned at him. ‘What do you want then? Ransom? Am I to be your hostage?’
She thought of the chest full of money Arscott had taken away with him.
‘No,’ said Jakob.
‘Then why do you want me?’ she asked, bewildered.
‘I don’t want you,’ he replied curtly.
Desire caught her breath. His sharp response cut straight through her defences, hurting her where she was most vulnerable. She knew full well that her most attractive feature was her inheritance—but it was a long time since she’d been reminded of that quite so brutally. It didn’t matter that Jakob was a brigand who’d just escaped from prison. He was still a handsome man who had no doubt enjoyed many beautiful women. His sharp rejection was deeply wounding.
Shamed and humiliated, she bent her head to gaze hazily at her bound hands. For the first time since her ordeal began she felt tears pricking her eyes. She was determined not to cry. She turned her face into her shoulder in an instinctive effort to hide her scarred cheek from her abductor.
Jakob saw the moment the fight left Desire. It baffled him. One minute she was matching him point for point, the next she hunched her shoulders and turned her head away from him.
It was only when he realised she was trying to conceal her scars that he guessed why his brief comment had wounded her so severely. He muttered a soft curse. It hadn’t occurred to him she’d interpret his barely considered words as a rejection. If anything, he’d intended them to be comforting—a reassurance that he had no intention of raping her.
He’d been surprised by her scars the first time he’d seen her, but now he barely noticed them. From the moment she’d held the pistol on him, her beautiful brown eyes blazing with anger, he’d been far more impressed by her fiery personality. Even after such a brief acquaintance he knew her to be brave and resolute. He didn’t understand why she’d been alone on the roof of Godwin House—but he suspected it had been by her own choice. She’d already demonstrated she wasn’t the kind of person who fled in panic from danger.
He was sorry he’d inadvertently hurt her, but he was irritated with her for being ashamed of her scars. She ought to hold her head up proudly and damn him for his impudence—not cringe from him like a mistreated puppy. Somewhat to his surprise, he realised he was also angry with whoever had taught her to feel that shame.
He gritted his teeth with annoyance and pain. Desire had escaped lightly from the fire in her petticoats, but both of Jakob’s hands were blistered and sore from his efforts to quench the flames. Now every pull on the oars caused him intense discomfort. He wasn’t in the mood to ease Desire’s distress with gentle words.
‘So why did your murderous rabble of a household desert you?’ he asked, and waited with interest to see how she would respond to his wantonly insulting question.

Chapter Three
It took a few seconds for the full import of Jakob’s words to dawn on Desire. As soon as it did her head reared up, her eyes hot with indignation.
‘They didn’t desert me!’ she declared fiercely. ‘And they aren’t a murderous rabble—’
‘They were going to lynch me!’
‘Only because they were shocked and frightened by what happened.’ Desire pushed a strand of wet hair out of her face with her bound hands and glared at him. ‘Abducting helpless females might be all in a day’s work for you, but they were horrified. They’re all better men than you’ll ever be. Any one of them would make three of you!’
‘I didn’t notice they were that fat,’ Jakob retorted, pleased with the success of his ruse. Desire had completely forgotten to hide her scarred cheek.
‘I wasn’t referring to your great hulking bulk!’ she shot back. ‘I was talking about character…courage…integrity. None of them would mistreat a lady.’
‘Because, in their dotage, they can’t remember what a woman is for!’ Jakob had noticed that, with the exception of the steward and a couple of young porters, nearly all the men who’d rushed to Desire’s rescue on the roof had been well over fifty.
‘Because they are honourable!’ Desire snapped.
‘So where are these honourable, creaking gallants in your hour of need?’ Jakob winced slightly and shifted his grip on the oars.
To his relief the tide was finally on the turn. Until now, if he’d stopped rowing, the current would inexorably have carried the small boat back down the Thames towards the burning city.
‘Taking the contents of the house to safety!’ Desire retorted.
Jakob grinned, despite his discomfort. ‘You mean they were more interested in rescuing the virginals than the virgin herself?’ he countered.
Desire gasped with offended dignity at his inflammatory question. Despite the fact that her feet and hands were still tied up, she tried to kick Jakob. Without her hands to stabilise her, she lost her balance on the wooden seat. She fell sideways, then slid ignominiously into the bottom of the boat. The key to the river-gate fell onto the boards beside her.
The little craft rocked alarmingly for several seconds before Jakob managed to restore equilibrium.
‘För bövelen, woman! Are you trying to drown us both!’ he shouted, exasperated.
‘I hope you drown,’ she shouted back, undaunted, from where she was huddled in the shallow puddle of dirty water that slopped over the boards.
‘For God’s sake!’ He reached down to help her up. As soon as he touched her she jerked away, once more rocking the boat. ‘I’ll leave you there if you do that again,’ he warned her.
‘If you untie me, I could get up by myself,’ she said mutinously.
‘If I untie you, you’ll no doubt take a lump out of my skull with an oar,’ he said through gritted teeth.
She sniffed inelegantly, but otherwise didn’t deign to reply.
Jakob sighed, wondering how the devil he’d managed to get himself into such an absurd situation. His plan to provoke her out of her sad mood had worked only too well.
‘If I untie you, will you give me your parole?’ he asked.
‘No.’
‘Stubborn wench.’ He rested for a minute. There were dark bloodstains on the oars, and the palms of his hands were exquisitely painful. ‘Why did your men leave you behind?’ he asked.
‘They didn’t know they did.’ Desire lifted her head clear of the dirty wet planks. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so uncomfortable, but she was determined not to beg.
‘How did they manage to miss you? Did you hide behind the potted orange trees?’ Jakob asked.
Desire was pleased to note that, in addition to his obvious exasperation, he also sounded somewhat harried. She found that minor revelation very gratifying. It made the impossibly handsome, physically overwhelming vagabond a little less intimidating.
‘Arscott took the barge, Benjamin was in charge of the coaches,’ she explained. ‘They both thought I was with the other one.’
‘Why didn’t you leave when you could?’
‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘It’s my home. Do you think—?’ She broke off. ‘Do you think it burned?’ she asked, hating the quiver in her voice, and the humiliating awareness that she was asking her abductor for reassurance.
‘I don’t know, my lady,’ he replied, his tone gentler than usual. ‘The wind has started to drop. Without the wind to drive it on, the fire may not have spread as far as the Strand.’
This time, when he reached towards her, she let him lift her back on to the seat. As he did so she saw the state of his hands.
She gasped with shock at the painful mess.
‘What happened to them?’
‘It’s not important.’ He took up the oars again. She saw the slight flinch in his eyes, but otherwise his face remained impassive as he continued to row smoothly upriver.
‘You halfwit!’ Desire wasn’t impressed by his stoicism.
She stared at him in confusion for a few moments while she tried to work out how he’d been hurt. At last a possibility suggested itself to her.
‘Were you hurt when you saved me from burning…on the roof?’ she demanded.
He nodded fractionally, his jaw set with determination.
She considered the situation in silence for a few more seconds.
‘Untie me,’ she ordered at last.
He raised one sceptical eyebrow, his expression clearly indicating he wasn’t about to take such a foolhardy risk, and rowed steadily onwards.
‘Numskull! If you untie me, we can wrap the linen round your hands,’ she pointed out. ‘It will protect them from the oars.’
Jakob rested again, apparently considering her suggestion. Now that the tide had fully turned the boat continued to drift upstream, even without his efforts to propel it.
‘You were hurt saving my life,’ Desire said stiffly. ‘I won’t give you my parole, but you can trust me not to…attack you…while we’re in the boat. Where are we going?’ she added, with belated curiosity.
He smiled faintly as he began to unravel the knots at her wrists. ‘Putney,’ he replied.
‘Oh.’ Desire smoothed out the creased linen as she absorbed that information. ‘Give me your hand,’ she instructed Jakob.
He did so, and she wrapped the strip of material carefully around his palm and fingers. She bit her lip as she saw how sore his hands were. She didn’t think the flames had scorched him very badly. But he’d had a few blisters from the fire and rowing had rubbed them raw. He must have been in considerable pain ever since they’d left Godwin House, but he’d never complained—or blamed her because he’d been hurt saving her.
‘No, wait,’ she said, when he moved to pick up the oars again. ‘We can use this to wrap the other one.’ She untied the gag still hanging around her neck and used it to bandage his other hand, touching his sore fingers gently.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
She looked up—straight into his eyes. She’d leant towards him to tend his hands. Their faces were only a few inches apart. His blue eyes were startlingly vivid in his soot-grimed face. His quiet gaze was steady, and unexpectedly gentle.
He didn’t look like a monster. He looked like a pain-weary man who was doing what he had to do without fuss. She felt guilty that she’d taken so long to notice his discomfort. She should have tended to his hands sooner.
The direction of her thoughts disconcerted her. She swayed away from him, annoyed with herself. He had abducted her, very forcibly, from her home. He didn’t deserve her sympathy.
‘Why are we going to Putney?’ she asked.
‘Because it’s convenient. Reasonably convenient,’ he said as he plied the oars again. ‘My hands feel much better,’ he added.
Desire nodded an acknowledgement to his comment, her thoughts distracted. Now she knew their destination, she experienced a shiver of apprehension over what awaited her there.
‘Are you going to…going to give me to someone else, when we get there?’ she asked cautiously.
‘No.’ Jakob cast her a swift glance. ‘I was planning to feed you,’ he said.
‘Feed me!’ Desire was astounded.
‘Aren’t you hungry?’ he demanded. ‘I am. My plan is to obtain food. Clean water. And clothes,’ he added as an obvious afterthought. ‘For both of us. You may have to make do with the housekeeper’s best. But since you normally dress like a washerwoman, I dare say you won’t mind.’
‘I don’t…only when I’m gardening,’ said Desire, defensively smoothing her disreputable skirt. The scorched outer layers had started to dry, but the material closest to her skin was still horribly wet and clammy.
‘Or fire-watching,’ said Jakob, casting a critical eye over her clothes.
‘Is it your house?’ Desire asked, uncomfortable with discussing her clothes.
She selected her gowns for their hard-wearing practicality. And with a very conscious awareness that vanity did not become her. She was determined never to make a fool of herself in the fancy silks, laces and brocades more suitable for a beautiful woman. But she had no intention of confiding that information to Jakob. When she was talking to him, more especially when she was arguing with him, she often forgot her appearance for minutes at a time—but she knew he would always be aware of it.
‘No,’ he said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘It’s not my house.’
‘Is the owner expecting you?’
Jakob rolled his eyes. ‘Of course he’s expecting me to row half-naked up the Thames to have supper with him, in the company of an ill-tempered baggage—’
‘I am not an ill-tempered baggage! And since I am bound not to hurt you while we are in the boat, you must not insult me,’ she added haughtily. ‘It is not honourable.’
He threw her a grin that contained a large portion of pure devilment. ‘Very well, my lady,’ he agreed.
Then his eyes narrowed slightly as he flexed his fingers around the oars.
‘I think I should row now,’ Desire announced, unable to suppress a wince in sympathy with his. She was sure his hands must feel as if they were on fire.
It annoyed her that she felt beholden to him, but there was no help for it. Since he’d been injured because of her, she was honour bound to take care of his wounds.
‘Have you rowed a boat before?’ he asked.
‘No. But if you can do it, I’m sure I can,’ she retorted. ‘How hard can it be? We must swap places.’ She started to stand up.
‘Sit down!’ he barked.
She did so, out of sheer surprise.
He heaved in an exasperated breath.
‘Sit still, and be quiet,’ he ordered her. ‘How can one woman be so much trouble?’ he asked the world in general.
‘If you didn’t want the trouble—you shouldn’t have abducted me,’ she returned, with spirit.
‘I didn’t abduct you, I rescued you,’ he shot back.
‘Rescued me? I don’t recall any mention of St George tying his lady in knots when he rescued her!’ Desire said energetically.
‘If she was half as much trouble as you, I’ll wager he did,’ said Jakob. ‘No doubt the chroniclers suppressed the information from the tale to protect the lady’s reputation. Or…’ another alternative occurred to him ‘…to avoid discouraging the chivalrous instincts of future generations of gentlemen.’
‘You’re not a gentleman!’
Jakob raised an insufferably arrogant eyebrow in response.
‘You’re a paid bravo who steals women for upstart fortune-hunters!’ Desire accused him.
‘I haven’t made a career of it!’ Jakob huffed out a breath of pure exasperation. ‘If you had any sense, you’d be trying to ingratiate yourself with me—not insult me.’
‘Ingratiate…? I’ve never tried to ingratiate myself with anyone! Ever! I wouldn’t know how!’
Jakob smiled briefly. ‘I can tell.’
Desire glared at him, her indignation fading as it occurred to her how good-tempered her abductor seemed to be. She’d undoubtedly caused him considerable inconvenience—and repeatedly provoked his exasperation—but he’d never responded with anger. She wasn’t fool enough to believe she could have stopped him if he’d tried to hurt or violate her.
He was a puzzle to her.
‘Whose house are we going to?’ she asked.
‘Kilverdale’s,’ he replied.
‘Kilverdale?’ Desire repeated blankly. ‘The Duke?’
Jakob nodded.
Enlightenment crept over Desire in slow, sickening waves of understanding. She stared at Jakob in shock as every piece of the puzzle finally became clear to her.
On the roof, three days’ ago, she’d believed the brute with the pistol had intended her for his own bride. Now she knew better. He’d been stealing her for another man—the Duke of Kilverdale. And when the original plan had failed, Jakob had returned at the first opportunity to complete the task.
What a fool she’d been. Insensibly she’d begun to trust Jakob’s motives—now she knew better. He’d admitted he’d been a soldier. A mercenary, no doubt. He was still selling his loyalty to the highest bidder. She tasted the acid of bitter disappointment as she absorbed her new understanding. No wonder Jakob had saved her from burning and hadn’t hurt her in any other way. He was being paid to deliver undamaged goods to the Duke.
‘How much?’ she croaked.
‘What?’ He looked at her blankly.
‘How much is he paying you for me?’ she demanded.
‘Who?’
‘Kilverdale! How much is he paying you?’ her voice rose angrily.
‘Kilverdale?’ Jakob sounded dumbfounded by her question, but Desire was too upset to notice.
‘I’ll double it,’ she promised him. ‘If you take me to Arscott, I’ll give you twice as much as the Duke is paying you. I swear I can.’
She lurched forward, sinking on to her knees in front of Jakob. The boat rocked as she seized one of his knees, gripping it urgently in her anxiety to make him attend her.
‘I’ll pay you,’ she repeated, staring desperately into his eyes to see if her words were having any effect on him. ‘From my chest. Arscott rescued it from the fire. Take me to him. You’ll be rich. Don’t give me to Kilverdale. Please! Don’t give me to him!’
Her voice cracked on her last words. Panic threatened to overwhelm her.
‘Don’t give me to him,’ she whispered, starting to tremble as the full horror of her situation finally came home to her.
Jakob released the oars, letting the boat drift as he gave all his attention to Desire. He was shaken by the sight of her begging on her knees before him, stunned by her obvious terror. Until now he’d only been aware of her courage, not her fear. Why did Kilverdale’s name reduce her to panic? The Duke had a reputation for being something of a rake, but he wasn’t cruel to his female conquests.
‘I’m not giving you to anyone, älskling,’ Jakob said gently.
She was so close to him, on her knees between his spread legs. He put his hands on her waist, feeling how she trembled. He stroked his bandaged hands reassuringly up and down her sides. Her bodice wasn’t boned and he could feel the supple warmth of her body through the fabric. Her fingers clutched convulsively at his leg. Despite her obvious distress he couldn’t help finding the situation arousing. He knew that wasn’t her intention. He doubted if she was even aware that she was touching him.
Her face was white beneath the grime of the fire, her eyes wide with fear. She stared at him desperately for a few seconds longer, then abruptly closed her eyes and lowered her head. A deep shudder coursed through her body.
He pushed a strand of wet hair behind her ear with sore fingertips. The bandages she’d wrapped around his hands were already soiled and ragged.
‘I’m not giving you to anyone, älskling,’ he repeated softly. ‘No one is going to hurt you. You saved my life on your roof. Now I’m doing my best to protect you from harm. And when you are safely restored to your home, I will be insulted if you open your treasure chest for me.’
Another shiver rippled through Desire. She kept her head resolutely bowed. He wasn’t sure if she’d comprehended—or even heard—what he’d just said.
He gave in to temptation and slipped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer until she was cradled against his chest. Over her head he could see the thick, horrifying pall of smoke which shrouded the now distant London. He’d been watching it through all the twists and turns of the river since they’d left the Strand. He wondered if any of the city was left. How had the fire started? Were any of the rumours he’d heard while he was trapped in Newgate true?
Desire still trembled against him, neither resisting nor yielding to him. He held her close, needing the comfort of her warm supple body in his arms as much as he suspected she needed his reassurance. Well, perhaps he wasn’t her ideal comforter, he acknowledged, with a wry twist of his lips, but he was the best available.
‘You’re safe, milady,’ he murmured against her tangled hair. ‘No one will hurt you now.’
Desire kept her eyes tightly closed. She heard Jakob’s reassurances, but she didn’t know how to respond to them. She didn’t know how she’d ended up in his arms. Her cheek was pressed against the firm plane of his upper chest. Her head nestled under his chin. She felt him stroke her back and a gentle touch against her hair.
One of her palms lay flat against his shoulder. As her panic subsided she became acutely aware of his hard, half-naked male body against hers, surrounding her with his virile strength. The sensation was unfamiliar. Disturbing, but not entirely unpleasant. Her pulse rate began to increase once more, not from blind terror this time, but from a peculiar mixture of excitement, shyness and illicit pleasure.
It was shocking to let Jakob hold her like this. She was shocked at herself that she could enjoy it even a little bit. But she did. She tried to tell herself it was just because it was so long since anyone had held her in a comforting embrace—but she knew it was more than that. Her fingers flexed against his skin. She wanted to slide her hand over his torso, explore all the firm planes and ridges of his muscles with her fingertips—not just her eyes.
‘No one will hurt you,’ he said softly, and she remembered Kilverdale.
She jerked against him in a silent protest at being reminded of the humiliation that lay ahead of her.
‘Älskling, you have my word,’ Jakob promised her. She felt his words vibrating deep in his chest. ‘I did not take you for Kilverdale. I will not let him—or anyone else—harm you.’
‘Not Kilverdale?’ she whispered, not quite able to believe the reassurance.
‘Not Kilverdale,’ Jakob confirmed. ‘He does not even know I’ve met you. He certainly isn’t expecting you to arrive at his house. There’s nothing to fear. But why are you so afraid of the Duke?’
‘I’m not afraid of him.’ Desire lifted her head indignantly. ‘He is a hateful slug and I loathe him. But I am not afraid of him.’
‘Hateful slug?’ Jakob murmured disbelievingly. ‘In silk brocade and lace?’
His face was very close to hers. His cheeks were grimed with soot, but she could see the small, pale smile creases around his eyes. After a moment she saw his gaze drop to focus on her mouth. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. Excitement fluttered behind her ribs. She found herself looking at his mouth. It was quite beautiful. His lips were well shaped, firm and sensual.
Unfamiliar tension wound through her belly. Of its own accord, her hand began to slide over his body. She heard his quick intake of breath, felt the crinkled hair on his chest tickle her fingers. Her breathing grew quick and shallow. She felt the rapid rise and fall of Jakob’s broad chest beneath her hand. His blue eyes darkened until they were almost black.
In a breathtaking instant he took her captive. His powerful thighs closed, holding her hips still. He curved one possessive arm around her waist, while his other hand gripped the back of her head.
Then he kissed her.
His action stunned Desire. No one had ever kissed her on the mouth before. She was unprepared for the strength of her physical and emotional response. One moment she wanted to wrench herself out of Jakob’s dominating embrace. The next second she wanted to press closer to him. Her thoughts were too chaotic to allow her to take rational action.
His lips were warm against her mouth, sometimes commanding, at other times gently coaxing. His tongue stroked her lower lip, half-scandalising her, even as she experienced a new throbbing deep in her belly. She gasped, stirring restlessly between his legs. His tongue immediately probed between her parted lips. She was overwhelmed with the virile taste and smell of him.
The deep, compelling needs that consumed her suddenly became too powerful. Too unfamiliar. Alarming in their wild intensity.
She jerked her head away from Jakob’s. Turned her face aside as she panted for breath.
After a moment she felt his legs relax their grip on her hips. He still held her in his arms, but she was trembling so much she might have collapsed if he’d released her. She didn’t look at him, but she could almost see the disturbing tension that pulsed between their bodies.
Her hand was still pressed against his naked shoulder. She snatched it away, curling it into a fist she hugged protectively to her body. As her heartbeat slowed a little, no longer thundering in her ears, she realised Jakob’s breathing was also ragged.
For several long moments they remained frozen in the same position, neither making any attempt to speak. At last Jakob cleared his throat.
‘You were well named, my Lady Desire,’ he said hoarsely, a hint of wry amusement in his voice.
‘No!’ Desire threw him a startled glance, then scrambled out of his reach to the relative safety of the wooden seat opposite him.
‘My father desired a child. A child who would live,’ she said vehemently. ‘“Hope deferred maketh the heart sick,”’ she quoted furiously from the Bible. ‘“But when the desire cometh, it is a tree of life.” None of his other children survived. It was in gratitude to God’s mercy Father named me. Not…not…I am not wanton!’
‘I never said so!’ Jakob exclaimed. ‘It is the desire you arouse in others—in me—that I meant.’
‘Desire?’ Desire stared at him, startled and disbelieving. ‘You desire…?’
Her eyes dropped. She had lived a sheltered life for many years, but she still retained a vivid recollection of her mother’s account of a wife’s duties in the marital bed. Her knowledge of what that might entail had been greatly enhanced when she had arrived unheralded in the stables one day and discovered one of the grooms in an intimate embrace with a maid.
It was the last occasion for a long time she’d ever visited any of the servants’ quarters without making sure everyone knew about her plans in advance. But the incident had left her with a certain residual curiosity.
Was that…? Was there a greater bulge in Jakob’s breeches than there had been before?
Disconcerted, uncertain how to react, she pressed her hand against her lips.
She heard Jakob’s rough, disbelieving laugh and her eyes flew to his face.
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘What?’ Desire’s blush was so intense she was sure it covered her entire body.
‘My lady…’ He dragged in a lungful of air, and exhaled in a long, disbelieving breath. ‘You have discountenanced me,’ he declared. ‘What can I say?’
‘Nothing.’ Desire was burning up with mortification. ‘You are to say nothing,’ she ordered him in a strangled voice. ‘Take me to Arscott!’ She pointed an imperious finger in an entirely random direction.
‘Why? Do you imagine he will satisfy your needs better than I can?’ Jakob demanded, his voice suddenly harsh.
‘He’s my steward!’ she denied energetically. But she flushed with embarrassment at the objectionable image Jakob’s words called to mind. The growing threat of the fire had enabled her to delay giving Arscott a response to his proposal, but soon she would have to tell him she didn’t want to marry him. She hoped it wouldn’t create an awkwardness in their future relationship.
‘You do!’ Jakob’s voice emerged as little more than a growl. ‘Are you lovers?’
‘No!’
‘What then? Why did you flush when I—?’
‘I’m…I’m going to marry him!’ Desire interrupted, before Jakob could finish his dreadful accusation.
‘Marry him? When did you decide that?’
‘I…it seems a sensible solution.’ Desire lifted her head. It was far better for Jakob to believe she’d blushed because she was Arscott’s betrothed than that the steward was her lover. Besides, there might be some measure of protection in allowing Jakob to believe she was already promised to another man.
‘I’m sure Arscott will be an excellent husband,’ she said, putting as much conviction into her voice as she could.
‘Have you tried him?’
‘No!’
‘Then how do you know? What if he fails to rise to your expectations after the knot has been tied?’
Desire gasped. ‘You are crude and unmannerly. You should learn to control your tongue.’
‘You should learn to control your eyes.’
Desire gripped her hands together and locked her gaze firmly on her lap. Not because she was following Jakob’s advice. She’d temporarily run out of verbal ammunition.
‘When is the wedding?’ asked Jakob, with heavy politeness.
‘It has not…no date has yet been fixed,’ Desire replied stiffly.
‘Why not? You’re available. He’s available—and living under the same roof. Why delay even a day? Or are you waiting for his ailing wife to die first?’
‘He’s not married!’ Desire said indignantly. ‘I would never consider marrying someone who already had a wife!’
‘Hmm.’ Jakob gazed at her thoughtfully. ‘When did you first take a notion to marry Arscott?’
‘That is none of your business!’
‘Did he, by any chance, first mention it on Saturday evening, after I was dragged off to Newgate?’
Desire stared at him, startled by the accuracy of his guess. ‘How…? I mean, that is none of your business!’ she repeated, angry at finding herself discussing such a subject with her abductor.
‘It wasn’t my business until I was propositioned in a Dover inn,’ Jakob muttered. ‘If I’d known I was going to get thrown into gaol, nearly burned alive and abused by a hornet-tongued harridan for my pains, I’d have done more to suppress my chivalrous instincts.’
‘Chivalrous!’ Desire glared at him. ‘Hornet-tongued! You’re as gallant as…as a toad!’
‘That may be so. But why would you choose to marry your steward? A man far below you in rank and wealth, when you could have anyone—’
‘No, I couldn’t,’ Desire interrupted him, her voice raw with remembered pain. ‘I’m a harridan. You just said so! I can have any man who wants to marry a fortune—as long as he’s not already encumbered with a wife,’ she added as a bitter afterthought. ‘That’s what you meant, isn’t it? That I should buy a young, virile husband? Then pretend I don’t notice when he scorns me for a beautiful whore? Or pay him for every night he condescends to lie in my bed?’
Jakob didn’t immediately answer. The rowing boat had long since come to rest against the riverbank, and now they were attracting a crowd of curious observers. The sun had nearly set. Soon it would be dark and he knew they were vulnerable. He’d left the iron bar from the prison on Desire’s roof. He had nothing to defend them with but the oars and Desire had all but announced she was a prize worth taking.
He manoeuvred the boat back into the middle of the Thames, determined to get them to the safety of Kilverdale House without delay.
He understood Desire better now. She was sitting bolt upright on the wooden seat opposite him, her shoulders braced with pride—but her head was averted. He was sure she regretted her heated, unwary words. He wasn’t proud that he’d provoked her into humiliating herself. Despite her determination to stand up to him, it was obvious how little experience she had of the world. He remembered only too clearly how she’d turned her back on him when he’d first appeared on her roof. She’d never learnt how to guard her emotions behind a mask of sophistication. Everything she felt was written in her expressive eyes. Anger, fear, indignation, curiosity…
He had to suppress a disbelieving laugh as he recalled how her eyes had boldly sought for the tell-tale signs of his arousal. In another woman he might have interpreted such a blatant assessment of his condition as a saucy invitation to continue his seduction. Desire, he had no doubt, was simply too naïve to disguise her curiosity.
As she’d already discovered, she aroused more than his curiosity. He found her passionate nature fiercely attractive. She’d fought him with uninhibited vigour outside the boathouse. He’d been acutely aware of her terror. He’d done everything he could not to hurt her. But even then he’d been partially aroused by her unrestrained resistance.
He wanted her. He wanted to transform her resistance into desire. He wanted to feel her supple, passionate body beneath his as he roused her to a state of physical ecstasy. He wanted to grapple with her, feel her arms and legs convulsively gripping him, as he pushed her over the edge.
He tried to suppress the erotic images that crowded his mind. He needed to keep a clear head. He needed to remember that the woman sitting in frigid silence opposite him was more than a passionate, hot-blooded wench. She was also a very wealthy woman. And her fortune made her a target for the unscrupulous.

Chapter Four
Desire kept her back straight and her head up, though she couldn’t bring herself to look in Jakob’s direction. She was grateful for the gathering twilight. It hid her humiliation. She wished she could curl up into a protective ball like a hedgehog or, better yet, return to the safe familiarity of her garden at Godwin House. She had never felt so alone. So far adrift from all the accustomed securities of her life.
As the small boat cut through the dark waters of the Thames, her thoughts skittered from one subject to another. The probable, heart-wrenching loss of her home. Jakob’s kiss. Her household’s worry when they discovered she was missing. Jakob’s kiss. Anxiety over what she would encounter at the end of this journey. Jakob’s kiss…
He’d kissed her. She slid a nervous glance in his direction. Her lips still tingled from the amazing feel of his mouth on hers.
He had wanted her. Desire still wasn’t quite able to credit the evidence of her own senses, but Jakob had bluntly admitted as much.
To her knowledge, no man had ever wanted her before—not like that, as a man wants a woman. So why did Jakob—so full of handsome male grace—want her? Desire was sure he could charm any woman he chose into his bed. Why did she arouse his lustful instincts?
It was confusing, disturbing—and a little exciting.
Desire threw another nervous glance at him. What would she do if he kissed her again? Or if he tried to do more than that?
She blushed with mortification at his scornful response when she’d claimed she was to marry Arscott. It was easy for Jakob to sneer. He did not understand the complications of her situation.
Even before the events of Saturday, Desire had known she needed a husband. At thirty she was well past the age of marriage. But it was hard to find an honourable husband when she had no one to negotiate on her behalf. Her father had not meant to leave her so unprotected. Unfortunately the man Lord Larksmere had appointed as Desire’s guardian had died in an accident less than a year after the Earl’s own death. By then Desire had already been over twenty-five and Arscott had been Lord Larksmere’s trusted steward for years. Life had continued in Godwin House much as usual. The only problem was Desire’s lack of a suitable husband.
If she’d had more knowledge of the world—or if she’d considered herself a more attractive bargain—she might have found it easier to tackle the difficulty herself. But she knew it was her wealth that possessed the greatest appeal and she lacked the experience to distinguish between a fortune-hunter and genuine suitor. If she made the wrong choice, the consequences would be devastating. Marriage to Arscott would be a practical solution to the problem, but she could not bring herself to take such a course.
So how was she to find a trustworthy husband, one who was not disgusted by her scars and who might even, as Jakob apparently did, find her in some limited way attractive? Perhaps a man who resembled Jakob in some other respects as well—she threw a swift glance at his broad shoulders as he plied the oars—but a man with a much more tractable nature. And definitely not a man who was both a mercenary and an escaped prisoner.
Despite her perilous situation, Jakob’s kiss had inspired her with a small flicker of unfamiliar optimism for her future. For years she had been convinced that no young man could ever find her personally attractive. Yet from virtually the first moment he’d appeared on her roof, Jakob had paid little heed to her disfigurement. He had argued with her, fought with her and kissed her without any reference to her appearance. She had been so certain—and so afraid—that all young men would be of the same opinion as the Duke of Kilverdale and his fashionable friends. What if she’d been wrong? What if she could find a man who would—?
The boat bumped gently against a landing stage.
A flare of anxiety jolted Desire from her musings. In only a few short minutes she would be face to face with the Duke. She lingered in the boat as Jakob tied it up, taking the opportunity to grope for the river-gate key in the dirty water at her feet.
‘Is there no one else you can call upon for assistance?’ she asked, hating the unsteadiness of her voice. ‘Does it have to be Kilverdale?’
‘I know very few people who live near London,’ Jakob replied. ‘And Kilverdale is the only one who won’t be disconcerted by our unconventional arrival. But he didn’t reply to the message I sent him from Newgate, so he probably isn’t here, and you won’t have to face him at all.’
Kilverdale’s failure to respond to Jakob’s message fitted perfectly with Desire’s opinion of the ramshackle Duke, but her mood marginally improved at discovering he might not be home.
‘I don’t suppose he’d be disconcerted if you turned up with a band of minstrels, a dancing bear, and half a dozen whores and declared you were going to have an orgy,’ she said, allowing Jakob to help her out of the boat.
Then she became aware of his startled appraisal, and wished her impetuous words unsaid.
‘I think he would,’ Jakob said after a considered pause. ‘I’m not generally known for travelling with musicians and dancing bears.’
He paused again, leaving Desire rather sick at the implications of what he hadn’t denied.
‘As to holding an orgy,’ he added, a few heartbeats later, amusement in his voice, ‘it would be damned inconvenient hauling half a dozen wenches with me everywhere I go. One is quite enough trouble!’
‘Oh.’ Desire flushed in the darkness. She wondered if she was the one who caused him trouble or…was he talking about another woman? Was he married? The idea had never occurred to her before. She faltered, then rallied. ‘It wasn’t your conduct I was commenting on!’ she said pertly.
‘I know.’
Before she realised what he was doing, Jakob slipped his arm around her waist and drew her closer to him.
‘What did he do to you?’ he murmured against her temple.
Desire was too shaken by his action to reply. She didn’t understand Jakob, or what he wanted with her. It was foolish to find his gentle embrace and quiet question comforting. He was her abductor! An escaped prisoner who had forcibly removed her from her own house. So why did she have an almost irresistible urge to lean against his tall, powerful body? And why did she have the strangest feeling that, if she did so, he would support her? It was only a silly fantasy. With an effort she gathered her composure and stepped away from him.
‘It’s not important,’ she said, her voice sounding spiky to her own ears.
‘Very well.’ Jakob took her hand and drew it through his arm. ‘Then let us go and beard the lion in his den,’ he said.
‘It’s you that’s the lion,’ Desire replied, with forced brightness. ‘Your mane is real.’
Jakob laughed, and she sensed him shake his head in the darkness. ‘My mane, like the rest of me, is in a disreputable state,’ he declared. ‘I need a bath.’

Their arrival at Kilverdale House caused consternation. The porter clearly didn’t recognise Jakob. He was all for having the disreputable, soot-grimed—and, in Jakob’s case, half-naked—visitors thrown off the property. Desire hovered behind Jakob’s broad back, fearing at any moment to hear the Duke’s arrogant voice. Instead it was the Duke’s steward who appeared.
‘Colonel Balston!’ he exclaimed, after staring at Jakob for a few seconds. ‘You’re safe! I heard the commotion, I thought his Grace had returned. Stand aside, Dawson,’ he added peremptorily to the porter. ‘Come in, sir! Come in! His Grace has been looking for you all over.’
‘Is he here?’ Jakob asked.
‘No, sir. He arrived earlier this afternoon—briefly. Demanding to know if you were here. Then he read a message that had been delivered in his absence. It was from you. His Grace expressed…er…agitation.’ The steward cleared his throat. ‘And left again.’
Desire took note of only one thing the steward said—the Duke was not present. Her relief was so profound her legs turned to water. She clung to Jakob’s arm, only half listening as she regathered her composure.
‘För bövelen! Why the hell can’t he stay in one place for more than five minutes at a time?’
‘His Grace was very anxious about your welfare,’ said the steward, looking disapprovingly at Jakob’s naked torso.
‘He would have contributed far more to my comfort if he’d been at home on Sunday,’ Jakob grumbled. ‘Well, never mind. I dare say he’ll turn up eventually. He usually does.’
‘Colonel Balston?’ said Desire suspiciously, finally catching up with the conversation.
‘My lady?’ Jakob swivelled on his heel to look at her. A flicker of concern replaced the impatient expression in his eyes.
‘Henderson,’ he addressed the steward. ‘Send for the housekeeper at once. Her ladyship must be waited upon immediately.’
‘Yes, sir!’ Henderson sent a hurrying minion to perform the errand. ‘I’m sorry, sir. My lady, please come this way.’ He led them into a large room leading off the hallway. ‘Your arrival took me by surprise. I apologise for my lack of hospitality. Please.’ He gestured for Desire to sit in a high-backed chair, carved with Kilverdale’s coat of arms. ‘His Grace would wish you to have everything needful for your comfort.’
Desire hung back, disconcerted by the steward’s effusiveness. Jakob had not introduced her by name—perhaps deliberately to protect her reputation. Her morale had already begun to lift when she’d discovered that the Duke wasn’t at home, and improved even more when she hadn’t recognised Henderson. It seemed likely that Kilverdale kept entirely separate staff in his houses in Putney and Sussex. As long as none of the other servants recognised her, and she managed to leave before the Duke returned, there was a good chance no one would ever need to know of her ignominious adventure. Especially since Jakob seemed willing to be discreet.
‘Comfort,’ she said suddenly, recalling the last thing Henderson had said. ‘We must tend to your hands,’ she told Jakob, deciding for the moment to set aside the peculiar matter of his changed name. ‘Do you have any salves for burns?’ She turned back to the steward. ‘Are any of your household skilled in the care of wounds?’
‘N-no, my lady,’ Henderson stammered, obviously disconcerted at being addressed so briskly by his unknown and tattered guest.
‘Then I need lights,’ Desire announced, heading for the door. After all the upsets of the day it was reassuring to feel once more in control. ‘At once, if you please,’ she added, when the steward simply stared at her. ‘There are a number of plants which can be beneficial to burns. I must see if any of them grow in the gardens here. I need light!’ she repeated firmly, when Henderson still didn’t respond.
‘Light! Yes, my lady, of course.’ He finally stirred into action, calling for the porters to provide illumination for her. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I did not realise you had been hurt,’ he apologised to Jakob.
‘There’s no need to make such a fuss,’ Jakob growled. ‘My hands will do very well without any plants.’
‘It is you who will be making an unnecessary fuss if you do not let me tend to them,’ Desire retorted. ‘Are you afraid the salve will sting? I will be very gentle, sir.’
Jakob exchanged a speaking glance with the steward as they followed Desire into the hall. By now the housekeeper had appeared on the scene, but Desire made it clear she would do nothing to improve her own comfort until she had found the appropriate plants and made a salve for Jakob’s hands.
Jakob had little option but to follow her into the garden, along with a small cavalcade of light-bearing servants. It was soon apparent that Desire was used to running her own household. Even covered in grime, with her hair hanging around her shoulders and her skirt in tatters, she inspired respectful—if somewhat bewildered—service from the Duke’s servants.
When Desire had located the plant she needed she retired to the kitchens. She ground up the roots herself and mixed the paste with butter to make a salve for Jakob’s burnt hands. She gave it to him, and only then allowed herself to be escorted to a more suitable chamber to seek her own comfort.

An hour later, Desire emerged from her guest chamber, dressed in the housekeeper’s best clothes, to discover Kilverdale’s steward hovering in the gallery.
‘The Colonel is waiting for you in the Great Parlour,’ he said. ‘May I show you the way?’
‘Yes.’ Desire followed him, her nerves on edge. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to face Jakob again so quickly, but she was hungry—and he had promised to feed her. She focussed on that mundane thought to keep the worst of her apprehension at bay.
Jakob stood as she entered the room. She took one look at him and her breath caught in her throat. He was magnificent. He wore a coat of black brocade which fell halfway down his thighs. A flamboyant knot of black satin ribbon at the top of his right sleeve emphasised the breadth of his shoulders. On his legs he wore black breeches trimmed with more ribbon and black silk hose. His coat sleeves were fashionably short to reveal an abundant fall of snowy lace to his wrists. At his throat folds of crisp white lace contrasted dramatically with the dark grandeur of his coat. There were silver buckles on his shoes and an impressive row of silver buttons on his coat. He wore his own hair, despite the current fashion for extravagantly long, curled wigs—but Desire could hardly blame him for that vanity. Many country maids who grew and sold their hair to the wigmakers would be jealous of Jakob’s glorious locks. Even now, when his hair was still damp from the thorough washing he had given it, it fell around his shoulders in shimmering waves of gold.
He looked the very image of a rich nobleman. Only the red rims of his eyes—still suffering the effects of too much exposure to heat and smoke—suggested he hadn’t spent the day lounging at his ease.
Desire stared at him, overwhelmed by his magnificent, aristocratic appearance. Despite his luxurious attire and handsome face, only the very unobservant would mistake him for a fop. He moved with the controlled power and virile grace of a male in the prime of his life. She swallowed, remembering all too easily the sleek, powerful muscles hidden beneath the lace and brocade.
He smiled a little quizzically and she realised, too late, that she’d been gawping at him like an awestruck serving wench.
She flushed and bent her head, instinctively turning her scarred cheek away from him. Her fingers locked nervously in her borrowed skirt. For once in her life she yearned to wear the silks and satins suitable to her rank. It was one thing to opt for comfort and practicality when she was working in her garden—but to present herself to the most handsome man she’d ever met in the over-large, dowdy clothes of the Duke’s housekeeper was excruciating. The maid had laced the bodice as tightly as possible, but it was still far too large.
Jakob looked like a prince. She—as he had so aptly pointed out when they were still in the boat—looked like a badly dressed washerwoman. An ugly one to boot.
She heard the soft rustle of expensive fabric as he came to stand in front of her. She stared down at his row of silver buttons and those shiny oval buckles on his shoes, incidentally giving herself another good look at her ugly brown woollen skirt. She hated brown. Brown was so dingy. She wished the housekeeper had a taste for blue—or even red. Anything but this sad colour.
‘Look at me,’ said Jakob.
She started at his soft command. He was very close to her. Her embarrassment mingled with strange nervousness. She couldn’t swallow. Her throat was too dry and tight.
‘Desire, look at me,’ he repeated compellingly.
She flinched at the sound of her name—and the echo of cruel words spoken years earlier. She still didn’t raise her head.
‘What is it?’
‘Don’t…’ she whispered, swallowed and tried again. ‘Don’t call me that.’ She finally lifted her chin, but only to stare at the lace of his cravat. She had not yet found the courage to meet his eyes.
‘Desire? Does my impertinent use of your name offend you?’ He sounded mildly amused. ‘After all we’ve shared, your ladyship, such formality seems a little redundant.’
‘No—’ Desire broke off, unable to explain why it disturbed her when he used her given name.
‘Or perhaps you’re offended that a lowly soldier should gaze with desirous eyes upon a lady of quality,’ he murmured provocatively.
Desire jerked away from him, but he seized her shoulders in his hands and turned her back to face him.
‘You may curse me and kick me and try to browbeat me into obeying your orders—but don’t turn your face from me in shame,’ he said.
‘I am not ashamed!’ Desire cried, finally lifting her head to meet his eyes.
It was a shock to look into his face at such close proximity. He had shaved and washed away all the grime of the fire. Now he reminded her of the impossibly handsome man who’d first appeared on her roof.
‘Then don’t hide from me,’ he growled. ‘Damn me to hell for inconveniencing you—but don’t hide!’
‘Inconveniencing me?’ Desire gasped. ‘You abducted me!’
‘I rescued you. A little gratitude would not go amiss.’
‘Gratitude? You expect me to thank you for tying me up, manhandling me—’
Jakob kissed her.
His firm mouth stifled the rest of her indignant outburst. This time Desire hadn’t seen it coming. She was startled into complete immobility. Before she’d had time to react he lifted his lips from hers.
‘Half the household is probably listening at the keyhole,’ he murmured, briefly resting his forehead against hers. ‘I’m sure you don’t want everyone to know I dragged your skirts up to your—’
Desire made a high-pitched, closed-mouth hum of protest in the back of her throat.
Jakob grinned and lifted his forehead away from hers.
She glared at him, and turned her head to give a pointed glance at one of his hands, still gripping her shoulder. Then she frowned. He grasped her firmly between his long, strong fingers and his thumb, but he held his palm clear of contact with the fabric of her bodice.
‘Why are your hands not bandaged?’ she demanded. ‘Have you applied the salve?’
‘Not yet. I thought you would prefer to tend to me yourself,’ he replied. ‘So that you could assure yourself it had been done properly,’ he added blandly.
Desire grabbed one of his arms and turned his palm up towards her. He’d cleaned away the soot and dried blood, but it still looked raw. She was sure he was in considerable discomfort.
‘You are a fool. Where is the salve?’ she demanded, channelling the nervous excitement aroused by his unexpected kiss into her exasperation with his foolish behaviour.
‘There.’ He nodded in the direction of a small table. Desire saw the small pot of salve she had prepared as well as several strips of clean linen. She was slightly mollified by the sight. And a little flattered that he had waited for her to care for his hurts.
She pushed that sweetly insidious thought aside and dragged Jakob over to the table by her hold on his sleeve. When he was safely seated in a high-backed chair she fetched a stool and planted it on the floor in front of him.
‘By rights, lady, you should have the chair and I the stool,’ he observed.
‘It’s a little late to worry about protocol, don’t you think?’ she retorted. ‘Give me your right hand.’
He held it out to her and she gently folded the lace ruffles out of the way.
‘You should not have worn such fine lace,’ she scolded him. ‘I’m going to tie it back with a couple of bandages—otherwise the butter may spoil it.’
‘You are thoughtfulness personified,’ he said lightly. ‘But it’s not my lace—so I’m not much bothered by its fate.’
‘Whose?’ Desire looked up from tying a strip of linen round his forearm. ‘The Duke’s!’ she gasped, realisation coming to her. ‘You’re wearing the Duke’s clothes? Take them off at once! If he comes back and finds you in them—!’
Jakob laughed. ‘Are you afraid he’ll have me hanged for a thieving rogue?’ he teased her.
Desire’s initial panic subsided. She stared at Jakob through narrow, assessing eyes, once more reminded of how little real knowledge she had of her abductor and his dealings with the Duke of Kilverdale.
‘What is your connection to the Duke?’ she asked.
Jakob smiled, a little crookedly. ‘Not one that will recommend me to you, I fear,’ he said ruefully.
‘What?’
‘He’s my cousin,’ said Jakob.
‘Cousin?’ Desire stared at him blankly. ‘How can that be? I never heard his Grace had such a cousin as you. How…?’
‘His mother was sister to my father,’ Jakob explained, watching Desire’s face for her reaction.
‘His mother…’ Desire frowned, mentally recreating the Duke’s family tree. There had been a time when she had been quite familiar with it. ‘She was the daughter of Viscount Balston…Balston?’ She stared at Jakob as she made the connection. ‘The Viscount was created Earl of Swiftbourne for his part in King Charles’s restoration to the throne,’ she said slowly. ‘But, as I recall, Swiftbourne’s oldest son and his son both died during the wars, leaving the new Earl without heirs. Who are you, sir?’
‘Your knowledge of my family is extensive.’ Jakob sounded surprised. ‘Not complete but…how come you to know so much about it?’
‘I don’t,’ Desire denied quickly. ‘It was Kilverdale’s family I was interested in, not…well, never mind.’ She bent her head over her task, carefully tying back the lace from Jakob’s hands.
She reached for the salve and began to stroke it delicately over his sore palms. She heard his slight intake of breath and caught her lower lip between her teeth as she concentrated on touching him even more gently. At last the task was done and she wrapped the protective strips of linen around his hands and fingers.
She sat up straight and looked at Jakob. She saw he was watching her intently and instinctively lowered her eyes. Then she hastily looked up again in case he should accuse her of hiding.
He smiled briefly, but his gaze remained strangely intent.
‘Swiftbourne had two sons,’ he said quietly. ‘The oldest remained in England, but his second son—my father, James—forged a career for himself in Sweden. Like Kilverdale, I am one of Swiftbourne’s grandsons.’
‘One of them?’ Desire said thoughtfully. ‘Is your father still alive?’
‘No.’
‘I am sorry to hear that,’ she said, briefly but sincerely. ‘Do you have brothers?’
‘One. He’s younger than me,’ Jakob replied, pre-empting her next question.
‘Ah.’ Desire stared at him. ‘If everything you have said is true,’ she said slowly, ‘then it would appear you are not only a soldier, an abductor, an escaped prisoner—and God knows what else!—you will also be the next Earl of Swiftbourne.’
‘If I outlive my grandfather,’ Jakob agreed.

Chapter Five
Desire gazed at Jakob for several long, disbelieving moments. He smiled a little quizzically, but did not otherwise seem disturbed by her intense scrutiny.
At last she dragged in a deep, indignant breath.

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