“I’ll come with you,” the fellow said.
Silently, they left the house and climbed the short distance to the peak of the hill. Kylemore had left his carriage near the abbey, not wanting to risk either his fine vehicle or expensive horseflesh on the precipitous streets.
“Well, here we are,” Verity said.
He found it damned hard getting used to her new name. But whatever she called herself, nothing changed the fact that she was his. He glanced down at her perfect face and read the relief there. She must have expected the worst when she’d found him in her kitchen. Now she’d congratulate herself on bringing events to such a favorable conclusion.
Favorable to her anyway, the manipulative jade.
Kylemore nodded to his two brawny footmen before he shifted his hold on her arm so that she couldn’t escape. “You can’t think I’ll let our association end this way, my dear. Or has changing your name chased away all your wits indeed?”
She tried to pull free. “It ends this way because I say it does, Your Grace,” she said sharply.
He smiled, admiring her nerve. Unluckily for her, nerve would do her no good where he meant to take her. “I’m afraid the wishes of a self-serving demirep are of no consequence.”
He was delighted to see her assurance evaporate as she registered his implacable tone. Frantically, she looked past him to her brother. “Ben, do something!”
Kylemore snapped out a command in Gaelic, and the stalwart Ben Ahbood found himself restrained by two even more stalwart Highlanders, brought precisely for this purpose.
“Let her go, you bastard!” Ashton shouted. “I’l
l bloody kill you for this!”
The girl tugged and wriggled to break free, but her strength was no match for his. “Don’t hurt him! None of this is his fault.”
Kylemore tightened his grip and focused a blazing glare on her distraught features. “No, it’s yours. And you will pay. Now, if you stop fighting me and get into the carriage, I promise your brother won’t be harmed.”
“Don’t do it, Verity lass!” A few feet away, Ashton made a creditable job of defending himself, even against such odds.
Kylemore inclined his head toward the coachman, who hadn’t left his perch. “Pray turn your attention to my man, madam. I’m sure you’ll agree cooperation is preferable.”
The gray eyes darted upward and widened as she observed the gun the driver pointed directly at her captive brother. Immediately, she stilled in Kylemore’s hold.
“I will come,” she said calmly. All trace of emotion left her voice. “You can let Ben go.”
“Not just yet,” he said, preparing to hand her into the carriage and not even pretending to conceal his exultation. He’d caught her, and this time, nothing in heaven or on earth would stop him keeping her. He spoke in rapid Gaelic over his shoulder. “Hold him in the abbey until nightfall. On a stormy day like this, there shouldn’t be many people about to wonder what you’re doing. Knock him out if you have to.”
“Verity, don’t go with him!” Ashton struggled uselessly to shake off his captors and lunge to his sister’s aid.
The sister merely shook her head and gave him a sad smile. “I’ll be all right, Ben.”
“Get in,” Kylemore growled, refusing to be moved by her courage. She’d brought this disaster on herself when she’d betrayed him. Anything he did to her was more than deserved.
She cast a disdainful glance up at the leveled pistol and then at the duke. “As Your Grace desires.” She made no attempt to hide the irony in her words.
Kylemore followed her inside and slammed the door after him. The shades were drawn, but even in the gloom, he saw that the gaze she turned on him was stony. The formidable control, so familiar after a year together, was back in place. She meant to freeze him into letting her go.
Too late, my lady, he thought with a bleak spurt of humor. I’ve been frozen all my life. This particular demon is only at home in snow and ice. He heard the coachman shout to the horses and Ashton’s blasphemous protest as the coach rolled into motion. The scheme had proceeded with perfect smoothness. But then, his plans usually did.
Kylemore scooped up several lengths of cord from the bench beside him. “Put out your hands.”
“I will not be bound.”
God, what a woman she was. Most females would be caterwauling to the skies by now, but his mistress sounded as though she attended afternoon tea, not her own abduction. He knelt before her, balancing himself against the coach’s swaying. “I’ve tied you up before. You enjoyed it.”
Of course, the cheap jibe didn’t rattle her. He hadn’t imagined it would. She merely settled her rain-clear gaze on him. “I consented to those games, Your Grace. An important difference.”
“Not to me.” He let a superior smile curl his lip. In truth, he felt rather superior. Having gotten what he wanted, he’d happily fling back his head and shout his victory aloud. “Put out your hands.”