The Red(69)

"Why do I think she didn't put up much of a fight?"

"Because you know my grandfather. His ‘victim' had her bags packed the night he stole her out of her bed. He did whatever he wanted and cared nothing for what anyone thought of him. He died laughing in his lover's bed. He took what he wanted and asked no man's permission. What a way to live. A better way to die. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes," she said. "The world needs more men like Malcolm, more women like Mona Blessey."




 

 

"I'm glad to hear you say that," he said. "I couldn't agree more."

The Earl stepped forward and plucked Malcolm's painting off the wall. Mona lunged forward to rescue it but the Earl wrapped his other arm around her hips, hoisted her over his shoulder, and carried her out of the gallery and into the back seat of a long black town car waiting in the alley out back.

"You planned to steal my painting, didn't you?" Mona demanded as he threw her down onto the supple leather seats.

"It was Plan B," he said. Then he called up to the chauffeur with a haughty "Drive."

"You could be arrested for this," she said.

The car rolled out of the alley and onto the street. She tried the doors but they were all locked. Mona knew she should have been panicking, but she wasn't afraid at all. Only furious.

"Arrested? For what? For eloping? It's not a crime. Would you rather be married in Scotland or America? I'll let you make that decision. Marriage, I hear, is all about compromise."

He propped the painting up on the bench seat across from them. If it were possible-and now she believed anything was-Malcolm's eyes seemed to be laughing.

"Married? Have you lost your mind?"

"Only my inhibitions," he said. "And you did say the painting goes where you go and that you'd never sell it. If we marry, it becomes half mine. And half is better than nothing. You'll love Wingthorn. The most beautiful home in the country. Lady Mona has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

"Look, Lord Godwick or whoever the hell you are-"

"Call me Spencer, love. We are going to be married, after all."

"Turn this car around right now and take me back to my gallery, Spencer."

"You can return to the gallery once we're married. If you wish. Although I'd rather keep you at Wingthorn with me. Ever seen a Wingthorn rose? White petals, red thorns big as knife points. Beautiful and dangerous, my favorite combination."

"The minute you turn your back on me I'm calling the police," Mona said.

"I won't turn my back then," he said. "I'd rather look at you anyway."

He raised his hand to touch her face, and she tried to slap it away. He caught her by the wrist and yanked her to him, capturing her in his arms and holding her against his chest.

"Aren't you a darling," he said as he subdued her with his vastly superior physical strength. He clasped the back of her neck with his hand and she gave up the fight. He looked at her face, at her lips, at her neck. In her struggle against him, her blouse had opened, revealing the swell of her breasts. Gently he touched her panting chest with his fingertips. "How old are you?" 

"Twenty-six," she said.

"I'm thirty-seven. Time to settle down, I've been told."

"This is how you settle down? By kidnapping me and forcing me to marry you for a painting? I won't do it. I have a cat to take care of."

"Surely your exquisite assistant can care for him until we can bring him over. I like pussies of all varieties. He'll be our little lord of the manor."

"I don't even have my passport, you bastard."

"We'll go and fetch it." He lowered the window an inch between the back seat and the front. "Driver? Swing up by Miss St. James's flat." He rolled the window back up again and smiled at her. "Not a problem."

"You're mad."

"And you're lovely when you're furious. I can't wait to make you furious for years and years to come."

"Take me back to the gallery this instant. I will not marry you."

"Won't you?" he asked, tilting his head to the side, his tone taunting.

"Never," she said.

"Most women of my acquaintance would kill to be a wealthy countess."

"Marry one of them then."

He traced the lace at the edge of her bra and her skin prickled with pleasure.

"Where's the fun in marrying someone who wants to marry you? I prefer a challenge."

"I'm a person, not a challenge. This isn't a game."

"It is a game, and I'm going to win. See?" He pressed his lips to hers and she pushed back away from him, or tried to. He let her go only so far before he forced her to return the kiss. With his hand on the nape of her neck and his other arm pinning her against him, she could do nothing but surrender to the kiss.