Historical Romance Boxed Set by Brenda Novak

what?” Alexandra shook her head in confusion. “I have no brother.” She struggled to right herself, but with her hands bound behind her back, she could only wiggle helplessly until one of the other men grasped her by the elbow and pulled her into an upright: position. She almost thanked him before she caught herself.
    Nathaniel chuckled without mirth. “Evidently our dear father has neglected to mention a few minor details regarding his past. But what’s a marriage, or a child, for that matter, to a man like him? Nonetheless, I am who I say.”
    Alexandra studied the men surrounding her. They looked like desperate fellows. Dressed in tattered, homemade breeches and shirts, many wore thick beards and sported jagged, irregular scars on various parts of their bodies. Tattoos decorated bulging biceps: swords, dragons, or hearts with the name of some lady love.
    Nathaniel, obviously their leader, was different.
    Black tapered trousers revealed a lean, lithe build, and his white, blousey shirt was clean and well made. He possessed handsome, aristocratic features that could have been chiseled from stone: high cheekbones, a strong jaw, a cleft chin. Even while he sneered at her, Alexandra could see that Mr. Kent would be quite appealing to the ladies, if his lips ever curled into a sincere smile. His only physical flaw appeared to be the absence of part of one arm. A wound? A birth defect? Alexandra couldn’t tell.
    “You haven’t answered my other question,” she said, recovering her composure. Her circumstances were still forbidding, but at least she was free of the blasted hood. “What do you want with me?”
    “Are you truly as oblivious as you would have me believe?” Nathaniel scoffed.
    Alexandra lifted her chin and tried to shift into a more comfortable position. Lady Anne’s dress was twisted about her legs, hampering what little movement she could manage, but it offered her the only clue to this surprising occurrence. Nathaniel had to have something to do with the duke’s daughter. If so, Alexandra need only convince him of her identity, and perhaps he would let her go.
    “What if I’m not who you think I am—” She gasped as his hand shot out and long fingers grasped her chin, turning it up toward his face.
    “Don’t play games with me,” he said through gritted teeth. “I watched you go in, and I watched you come out. I know exactly who you are.”
    Alexandra tried to wrench away, but his fingers dug deeper into her flesh. “You’re hurting me,” she complained.
    “Not half as badly as I’d like to,” he replied, then released her from his bruising grip.
    “What are you? Some kind of animal?”
    Nathaniel grinned, an evil leer, promising in its portent. “Save your compliments for when you know me better.”
    “I have no intention of knowing you better. I’m not Lady Anne. I swear I’m not.” She looked at the circle of faces around her as if searching for verification, but the men were obviously skeptical. “My name is Alexandra Cogsworth. I’m a needlewoman,” she continued, hoping to elicit a shred of doubt. “I’m only wearing this dress to escape my stepfather. You have to let me go. I have to catch a train to London—”
    “Is Trenton sure about ‘er?” the mammoth of a man sitting next to her asked, interrupting the flow of her panicky chatter.
    Alexandra’s eyes darted to Nathaniel’s face.
    “Of course he’s sure. Pay her no mind. What else can she be expected to say?” He cocked one eyebrow at her as if in challenge, making Alexandra clench her teeth. She wanted to rake her nails across Nathaniel’s face. She had suffered enough at Willy’s hands to last her a lifetime. She had no intention of allowing another man to take his place. Nor did she intend to let this band of cutthroats make her miss her train to London and Aunt Pauline—her train to freedom.
    “Please. You must listen to me.” She lowered her voice, keeping a tight rein on her temper. “I’m not