Page 19 of Devoted to the Spanish Duke
Lisandro wrapped his arms around Maria’s limp body and hauled her off the bed. Taking her right hand in his left, he draped it over his shoulder. Then, with his head under her armpit, he wrapped his arm around the curve of her knee. Lisandro squatted and Stephen helped to position Maria over the back of his shoulders. Gus stepped in and steadied things as Lisandro stood.
They headed for the stairs and slowly made their way down to the ground floor and out into the rear yard. Within minutes, they had Maria safely on board the coach and were on their way to Gracechurch Street.
Lisandro held her in his arms; between now and when he finally handed Maria back to her family, he intended to keep her with him at all times.
No one said a word. They had rescued Maria, but three men lay dead in the house at number nine Queen Anne Street. Any notion of celebrations was muted in light of those deaths.
They were close to St Paul’s Cathedral when Maria finally stirred from her drug-induced slumber and stared up at him. Her eyes were glazed. “Please let me go,” she pleaded, her voice slurred.
Lisandro brushed her hair back from her face and whispered softly, “Estas seguro conmigo.”
She shook her head. “How can I be safe with you when you have stolen me from my family?”
“Maria, it’s Lisandro de Aguirre. I have you and I will protect you.”
She raised a hand and gave him a feeble punch on the arm. “You kidnapped me. You dirty lowbornbastardo.” And with that, her eyes rolled back in her head and she slipped into unconsciousness once more.
Stephen chuckled at him from across the carriage. “Oh dear, there goes any hope you might have had for her thinking you were a hero.”
Lisandro took in the sleeping form of the woman he had just rescued.
It was going to be a long and difficult journey home.
Chapter Eleven
Maria woke to real sunshine. There were no curtains blocking out the light—nor was there a foul-mouthed Englishwoman demanding that she rise and shine.
Her head pounded, but she had become accustomed to the daily hangover from the drugs. Her fingers reached out and touched soft, warm blankets. She was sleeping beneath clean sheets.
Is this a dream?
She was surely back home, waking in her bed. Any minute now her maid would come knocking on the door and ask if she wished to take her early morning coffee out on the terrace.
The crackle of wood burning had Maria rolling over onto her side. In a nearby fireplace burned a bright, inviting flame. She focused on the fire surround. It wasn’t like any of the stone ones at Castle Villabona. This one was wooden.
Where am I?
She slowly sat up her head still woozy.
“Oh,” she sighed.
She took in her surroundings. Sometime during the night, she’d been moved yet again. But why?Has the ransom been paid? Am I going home?Or are they going to kill me?
The small but functional fire sat to one side of a solitary window. The windowpane itself was plain glass, but from the amount of dirt which clung to the outside of it, she doubted anyone could see in. The whole place had a barely clean feel about it.
She glanced to the other side of the room. A chair. A table. A man slumped asleep on a tatty old leather sofa.
Maria scowled.Is that the Duke of Tolosa? I think it is. Why is he here?
Hazy memories of a darkened coach and being carried over his shoulder swam into her mind. Of course! He must have been the one who had masterminded her kidnapping. Her family’s sworn enemy had snatched her from the beach in Zarautz and stolen her away to England.
She leapt out of bed, frantically seeking something large and heavy with which to bludgeon him. Maria swore under her breath. There wasn’t even a poker by the fire that she could use as a weapon.
A quick check of the door revealed it to be locked.
Of course, it’s locked. He might be evil, but he isn’t stupid.
She considered the sleeping form of Lisandro de Aguirre. His ruffled dark hair, that stubble which had stirred her secret desires the night of the ball. Why did such a terrible man have to be so damn handsome? In all the folktales, only misshapen and outright ugly ogres were unkind and cruel.
