4. Kidnapping Etiquette

KIDNAPPING ETIQUETTE

W atching the highwayman standing with his horse and conversing with a much smaller man outside, Amelia straightened her spine and shifted uncomfortably. This bench seat, although clean, wasn't nearly as luxurious as her father's. And depending on where he planned on taking her, she could only hope the carriage was well-sprung.

Especially if the rain kept up.

Amelia pressed her knees together, her hands clasped in her lap, trying to forget how that… man had carried her—trying to forget the indignities she'd suffered at his hand.

It hadn't been painful, really. But it had been horribly inappropriate.

Wasn't it? None of her governesses had ever taught her the proper etiquette for a kidnapping. Not even her favorite, Miss Merry.

Amelia stared down at her lap, embarrassed that she hadn't had the wherewithal to bring her gloves. Her fingers ached with the cold.

She'd believed her father would protect her. She'd expected that her maid, if not her mother, would have argued on her behalf. Instead, they'd all simply watched as she was carried away.

Had she always been so utterly helpless?

Frustration plagued her, along with something else—some violent emotion that threatened to rend her carefully maintained composure to pieces.

And yet, when the door opened, she stifled a shiver and… smiled.

Because, first and foremost, she was a lady. It was something she'd been told for as long as she could remember. And although these circumstances were wholly unfamiliar, she would do as she was taught. Show grace, regardless of how you feel inside.

The highwayman, obviously lacking a gentleman's education, claimed the empty space beside her, facing forward with a scowl. When he pounded on the roof, the carriage shuddered and began moving. Outside, the distant rumbling of thunder accompanied the sound of gravel crunching beneath the wheels.

Amelia, who had never ridden alone with a man before, dropped her gaze to her hands again. The highwayman had removed the red mask, but although she was curious, she didn't allow herself to sneak a glance.

His closeness pricked at her skin, sending a tingling awareness along her side.

Sliding closer to her edge of the bench, Amelia wrapped her arms around herself, shrinking into the corner as much as she could.

And since she didn't know what to say to this beastly but handsome stranger who'd abducted her, she refrained from saying anything at all.

The highwayman cleared his throat. "You needn't worry about your safety. I meant what I said."

Feeling unusually vulnerable, Amelia nodded, wishing she could lift her feet onto the bench and hug her knees. But that wasn't something a lady would do—even if her corset would allow it.

Having only ever learned to protect herself with propriety, she lifted her chin.

"Thank you." She slid her gaze away from the window, and seeing his harsh profile, warmth pooled in her belly again. "Might I know your name?"

He took a moment to answer. "Leopold Beckworth."

"Mr. Beckworth."

"Leopold is fine," he corrected her.

Her world shifted, or was it just the carriage? She didn't even address her older brother by his given name. Well, she had when they were children, but that had been a long time ago.

"Leopold." She tested his name on her lips, the intimacy causing her to feel more than a little deviant. She couldn't do it. She would address him only as Mister Beckworth.

"And you are Amelia." He shifted so he was partially facing her. "Are you cold?"

"Lady Amelia." It was her turn to correct him. Then she registered his question. Impossibly, she seemed to feel both hot and cold at the same time. "And yes, I suppose I am." She sighed. Her voice came out as little more than a whisper, her mouth inexplicably dry. "I should have brought my coat."

And her handkerchief, and her crochet hooks, and her yarn, not to mention Miss Henrietta and the several trunks that contained her new wardrobe for the Season.

Mr. Beckworth shifted, removing his jacket. Beneath the black wool, his shirt was a pristine white, and he wore a fashionable waistcoat—with only half the buttons fastened.

The "V" opened at the top of his shirt, revealing taut skin that had been kissed by the sunlight. It drew her gaze like a magnet.

"Are you a gentleman?" she asked.

"Not the kind you're used to, I'd fathom. Lean forward." He was holding out his jacket, and she couldn't decline it without appearing rude.

"Thank you." A foreign but exciting scent engulfed her, and heat—leftover from his body—seemed to soften the muscles in her shoulders and back. If she could melt into the cushions on the back of the seat, she would. Instead, she only closed her eyes for a moment.

"One might argue that you're safer with me than any of your so-called gentlemen of the ton ."

Amelia had no reason to believe him. She'd lived her entire life surrounded by nobility, and although she hadn't found a single one she'd like to marry, she'd never had reason to fear any of them.

Had she?

Lord Northwoods had been polite enough, and yet, even when she'd allowed that kiss, she hadn't felt completely at ease with him. In fact, she'd never felt at ease with any of her suitors. Amelia, like all debutantes, had been warned that even a true gentleman's character could become dangerous if tempted.

Which made it a lady's duty to ensure that never happened.

But, without the constraints of honor, wouldn't males in the lower classes be even more dangerous?

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, sitting up straight again. "That cannot possibly be true. You would have me believe that a kidnapping, honorless highwayman like you is somehow more trustworthy than a proper gentleman?"

Leopold shrugged. "Like it or not, it's true. You get what you see with the likes of me, while your fancy lords hide like wolves in sheep's clothing. They may pretend to follow your rules, but I've seen enough to know better. Even your father—" He stopped himself, but it was obvious he had already said more than intended.

Amelia narrowed her eyes. She didn't know whether she ought to be offended or suspicious or both. "What about my father?"

"You tell me."

"He's not one of those wolves," she insisted. "My father's protected our family for as long as I can remember."

"Like he's protecting you now?"

Amelia shook her head. She'd already come to terms with why her father hadn't stood up to this man. He hadn't stood a chance.

"What are you saying, exactly? That I should be afraid of you?" Without meaning to, she'd shifted so she could see his face. Without the cover of his mask, there was nothing to shield her from the effect of his startling good looks. She wished she was as comfortable as he seemed to be.

"Believe what you want, but your father abandoned you not knowing me from Adam."

"He didn't have much choice though, did he?" she asked.

" Did he?"

Amelia went to answer, but then caught herself. What could her father have done differently? Implored him with that box of valuables? Offered himself in exchange for her?

"Would you have left me alone for the right amount of money? Or for jewels?"

The man's jaw turned hard, uncompromising. "No," he said.

That was both what she'd expected and not. None of this made sense!

"Why not?"

He leaned forward, and she shrank into her corner before realizing he was only opening a basket that was sitting on the opposite bench. She'd been so overwrought, she hadn't noticed it initially.

With hardly any fumbling, he located a loaf of bread wrapped in paper, tore it open, and offered her half. "There's cheese as well, and dried meat." Watching her, he bit into the bread, tearing the piece off in a manner that made him look rather wicked.

Amelia swallowed hard.

It was the reminder she needed that he wasn't a gentleman. He was a common thief.

Only, there wasn't anything common about the hard line of his jaw, or his uncompromising scowl.

When she didn't move, he grunted, "You should eat."

"I'm not hungry," she answered.

"Suit yourself."

He didn't bother offering her anything again, but rather, ate his fill and, after wiping his mouth with a linen napkin, crossed his arms, slumped down on the bench, and closed his eyes.

He was going to sleep? After stealing her from her family? As though this were any normal afternoon? He was a beast!

Amelia stared out the window, her heart pounding harder than the rain outside. The door shook on its hinges and the handle wobbled.

Not knowing what her captor might be capable of, she felt an urgent need to escape.

Mr. Beckworth dozed on.