A Christmas Abduction

by Madeline Hunter

Genres: Holiday books; Regency Romance

Synopsis

The holidays are full of surprises, and in this Regency-set novella from the New York Times bestselling author, one unsuspecting rogue finds a dash of danger on his road to romance—and a treacherous snowstorm is the least of it. Will appeal to fans of Bridgerton and readers of Lisa Kleypas and Eloisa James.

Caroline Dunham has a bone to pick with notorious rake Adam Prescott, Baron Thornhill—and a creative plan to insure his undivided attention. It involves an ambush of sorts, and a pistol. Yet even the best laid plans have a way of backfiring . . .
 
Once in close quarters, face to face with Adam’s unexpected chivalry, Caroline is taken aback by her own susceptibility to his charms. Yet the more determined she is to avoid falling under his spell, the less of a devil he appears to be. And fate has another surprise in store—one that may leave both their hearts captive for a long time to come . . .
 
“Hunter’s effortlessly elegant writing exudes a wicked sense of wit.”
–Booklist

 
[Previously published in Seduction on a Snowy Night]

Release date: September 26, 2023

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 112

Sample

By the time the mail coach careened around a bend and slowed to a stop in the coaching inn’s yard, his greatcoat hung heavy with damp and a steady stream dribbled off his hat’s brim onto his nose. He told himself that even this was better than being inside the coach with Mr. Liddle, an odiferous gentleman whose fashionable garments did not mask a lack of washing. Adam felt bad for the two elderly ladies inside who could not take refuge in the open air on the top of the coach. One had gazed longingly when he did so himself at the first stop outside London.

Now he climbed down to stretch his legs while the coach changed horses for the final stage of the journey. The other passengers hurried inside to warm themselves, but his mood did not beg for company. Rather he paced the yard for a few minutes, then took refuge under the inn’s eaves and watched the steady drizzle make tiny ponds in the dirt.

Thirty miles more and he would be in another coach, this time with a warming pan and a fur rug, and with a velvet cushion under his ass instead of a board. No one would crowd him and no one would, heaven forbid, smell. After a pleasant afternoon ride through the country he would be welcomed into his cousin’s family for a week of unfettered luxury at someone else’s expense.

And after that, an entire lifetime of comfort, if Nigel’s plan worked.

With such promise awaiting him at the end of this journey, he shouldn’t even notice the rain or smells or his sore hindquarters. He should be dreaming about the fortune within reach.

So why wasn’t he?

He had begun turning his mind to the unfortunate answer to that question when a disturbance distracted him. Scuffles sounded around the corner of the inn. Ruffians were engaged in a fight from the sounds of it. He took a step in the opposite direction; then a voice caught him up short. “Unhand me, you rogue,” a woman hissed lowly before she gave a short cry.

Any inclination to retreat disappeared. He pivoted and marched to the end of the inn, then turned the corner.

And found himself facing the end of a pistol barrel. He stared, frozen in place.

A young blond-haired man in a broad, rustic hat held the gun high, peering down its sights. Not that Adam noticed him much, due to that pistol being so close to his face. Nor did he much note the bit of skirt disappearing around the back of the inn, although he absorbed he had been the victim of a ruse.

“You come this way now,” the man said, stepping back. “I said this way. Are you looking to see me fire?”

Adam took a slow step forward. “I was merely distracted by how very large and black this end of a pistol appears when it is all but up your nose.”

“A bit more now.” The man took another two steps back.

Adam paced forward, wondering if this man really would shoot, or was any good at shooting if he would. He could perhaps simply turn and run back around the building. The close proximity of that barrel to his head made him reject that rash idea. Even the worst aim would probably find its mark this close.

“I must tell you that I have very little money on me.”

The blue eyes taking aim wandered a moment, up and down. “A gentleman like you should have enough.”

“You would think so, eh? Although, really, what is enough? I ask you, is there ever enough? Well, never mind. My situation is such that right now, on this day, I do not have enough, whatever your enough is. You chose the wrong gentleman. Now, Mr. Liddle, when he comes out, is probably flush with blunt. He is the sort who always would be. I should warn you that he smells, so you won’t want to insist he follow you this closely. However—”

Just then the horn sounded, as the coachman warned the passengers of an imminent departure.

Adam cocked his head to see past the pistol. “I need to go now. What do you say we just forget about this? You go rob someone else, and I’ll be on my way.”

“You aren’t going anywhere.”

Sounds of feet and voices moving to the coach came around the corner. Adam patted his coat, opened a button, and reached toward his purse. In doing so his hand hit the folded vellum tucked into his frock coat. “I’ll give you what I have, but I truly must return to the coach immediately.”

“I don’t want your money.”

“What then? My hat? It is a very good one. It is yours.” He removed it and handed it forward.

“I’ve no use for it.”

Probably not. And yet, perhaps once he did. This criminal’s speech lacked the tone and syntax one would expect of a pistol-toting thief. At some point this man had been educated.

“If not my hat and not my purse, then what do you want?”

No reply came to that. They stood there not speaking while the feet around the corner stopped landing and the voices muted. They were still facing each other in silence when horse hooves began pounding the ground and the mail coach rolled away.

With Adam’s baggage still tied to its back.

Other wheels rolled, this time from behind the inn. A wagon came into view, with a woman wearing a large, deep-rimmed bonnet and heavy garnet mantle holding the reins. She let the ribbons drop, then climbed into the back.

“Get in.” The man waved the pistol in her direction.

“Are you abducting me?”

“I said get in.”

Adam walked around the wagon and climbed in. The horse stood at attention. A very nice horse, from the looks of it. Deep chestnut, with good lines. Maybe six years old. Too fine to be dragging this wagon.

Some bales of hay lined the edges of the open space of the wagon. The woman gestured for him to sit. Then she accepted the pistol from the man, who climbed to the seat and took up the reins. She sat on another bale, facing Adam, the pistol firmly grasped in her hands.

“I know how to use it,” she said.

Her voice riveted his attention. Low, throaty, melodious, it was the voice of a mature woman but one still young. He peered at her through the drips of rain separating them, those coming off his hat and her bonnet, and all the ones between. He saw a face as young as her voice sounded. Not a girl, but not middle years yet either. Maybe twenty-five or thereabouts, he guessed.

Her hair, barely visible deep inside that bonnet, looked to be dark, and her eyes showed an arresting deep brown color. Her complexion appeared fresh and lovely and exceedingly pale in a good way, not pallid and unhealthy.

The wagon began moving. He waited to see if anyone was out in the yard. If so, he intended to call out for help and risk that pistol going off. She said she knew how to use it, but very few women really did.

Unfortunately, the rain had sent everyone to shelter, even the grooms and inn’s servants. He could see some faces at the inn’s windows as they rolled onto the road.

“I don’t know what this is about,” he said, loudly enough for the man to hear, too. “However, you are committing a serious crime.”

No reply came.

“If you hope to ransom me, it won’t work. No one will pay. You will be stuck with my keep to no purpose.”

Nothing.

“I will be missed. My baggage is still on that coach. When it arrives and my property is there, but I am not, a search will be made.”

That at least caused the woman to blink. “They will decide you slipped and fell into the stream behind the inn and the rain washed your body down a ways.”

“You have a spirited imagination. They will think nothing of the sort. “

“It is the most logical explanation, and being lazy they will accept it. It will be weeks before they suspect something else might have happened. In the meantime, with Christmas soon, no one is going to spend much time looking for a stranger.”

“I am not entirely a stranger to these parts.”

“We know who you are.”

Did they now? “If you know who I am, then you know that you risk your necks with this rash act. I am a peer and the Home Office will involve itself if I disappear. My cousin is also a peer and he will not look well on you once you are discovered.”

“We know the power of the Marquess of Haverdale. His view of us will not matter by the time he learns of this.”

So he would learn of it, eventually. At least they didn’t intend to shoot him and bury him in a shallow grave. He had not led the best of lives, but even he did not deserve that.

The rain fell harder. Adam gave up trying to fight the results. He relaxed on the bales and let the weather do its worst. He speculated on what addlebrained scheme these two had concocted.

“Keep it dry, Caro,” the young man said over his shoulder.

The woman draped her mantle over the pi. . .