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shook her lightly, drawing her attention to his face. Tears clouded her
gaze. Frustration burned in her chest. She wriggled again, but he held firm.
    “I care little about
scandal. And surely a whiff of scandal is not worse than death at the hands of
a madman?”
    “I think I’m in the hands of
a madman now.” Her voice had risen so high it cracked.
    He winced. “I would rather
ruin you a hundred times over than see you dead.”
    She stilled at this. There
was something dark and—dare she say it?—enticing about the way he’d said ruin.
It no longer sounded like the worst outcome in the world. She’d wager many a
woman would give anything to be ruined by one of the Cynfell men.
    But not her. She struggled
again but to no avail. No, not her. She would not fall for his charms, whatever
those were. His piercing eyes and his firm chest or the lines in his brow. Yes,
those were his charms, somehow. She suspected her friends would think her
madder than the killer if she declared as much, but for some strange reason,
his darkness appealed.
    What a fool she was.
    “You need to release me,”
she said softly.
    “No.” His eyes grew darker
when his pupils widened.
    It was then that she realised
she—or perhaps he—had brought them chest to chest.
    “I cannot go to...to that
place. I shall be ruined for certain. Take me home.”
    “No.”
    “Do you not care that you
are ruining me? Have you no heart?”
    “No.”
    She hardly heard the last
no. He was so close, so very close. Her gaze dropped to lips surrounded by a
light scattering of dark hair. Her heart did a kick against her ribs then
pounded hard in her ears.
    “I will do whatever it takes
to keep you safe,” he murmured.
    “Even risk going to jail?”
    “Yes.”
    Goodness. That one tiny word
made her pulse go into overdrive. She could hear nothing apart from her
heartbeat and her breaths rasping in her chest. See nothing expect his lips
filling her vision then his intense eyes when she glanced up. Her body felt weightless,
lifeless. Only the parts of her that were touching him felt remotely attached
to her.
    What was happening? Was she
really so foolish that the notion of this man risking his life to protect her
would render all sense from her?
    Apparently, yes. For she was
now as malleable as clay. He could do with her as he wished. Let him take her
to Stourbridge House—a den of vice renowned for scandal and every immoral act
possible. Let him ruin her in the eyes of the world. Let him...kiss her...

    Ash’s gaze dropped to her
lips. She held her breath. His Adam’s apple bobbed once, twice, then he snapped
his gaze to hers.
    “I will do all I can to
protect you. From the killer and from scandal. I swear no blame shall come upon
you.”
    He eased his fingers away
from her arms and a strange burst of heat flourished where his hands had been
in contact with her body. At the same time, heaviness weighted her stomach. Had
she really wanted a kiss from her kidnapper? There was something wrong with
her. Perhaps she needed rest or sustenance. Or something.
    But not a kiss from Ash
Cynfell. Why, he was nothing like any of her suitors. Yes, he did not sport a
ridiculous moustache or slather himself in pomade, but it was more than that.
He didn’t try to charm her—at least not in the way she expected. He did not
offer flattering words or kiss her hand. There were no flirtatious looks thrown
her way or the occasional dashing smile.
    So why would she want a kiss
from him?
    Ridiculous.
    She straightened her skirts
and glanced up and down the lane again. Lila couldn’t see over the blackberry
bushes but far ahead there was a cottage. It would be impossible to dash toward
it and demand aid. Ash would be upon her before she had taken two steps. And
they had been travelling several hours. Who knew where in the country they
were? There was no escaping him really.
    Eyeing him, she pursed her
lips and released a long breath. “I am relying on you to ensure I am