Temptress in Training (18 page)

“No, Miss Darshaw, I've no desire to see you harmed.”

“But you do wish to see my father hanged.”

“Your father must be brought to justice.”

“And this locket will direct you to him?”

“Possibly. Have you not opened it?”

“I've been running in fear of my life. When have I had time to play with some stupid locket Mr. Fitzgelder carelessly dropped into my apron?”

“So you don't know the contents?”

“Do you?”

He cocked his head and contemplated her a moment before answering. “I believe it contains a list of men who have been sympathetic toward your father and support his criminal activities.”

“Ah. No wonder you want it.”

“Yes. I do.”

“And what of Mr. Fitzgelder? What was he doing with it?”

“I believe he received it from the previous owner.”

“My father?”

“No.”

He did not elaborate. She waited, but he did not continue. Clearly if he had any intentions of giving further details he would have. She wasn't sure how to go about dragging them out of him.

“So…Mr. Fitzgelder would use that against my father?” she asked.

“Mr. Fitzgelder is in league with your father.”

“What? My father would never partner with someone like that!”

“Oh? Then why did he allow you to live in the man's house?”

“Because he was dead and he didn't know about it!”

“He's not dead, and he
did
know about it.”

He had a point there. Indeed, Papa had not been dead. He claimed to have known all about her living arrangement with Madame and of course he knew when she left there to go to Fitzgelder. Indeed, why had Papa allowed her to stay in that house with that horrible man?

Lindley snorted and stomped back toward the window. “I know he's your father and you feel some natural loyalty toward him, but Philippe D'Archaud is not a good man, Miss Darshaw. You're better off rid of him.”

“Am I? I'm better off stranded here in some strange town where it's not even safe for a girl to walk along the street in broad daylight?”

“It's evening time, Miss Darshaw. And I tell you, that man who attacked you knew who you were and was after the locket.”

“All the more reason for me to wish my father back.”

“And wish me to hell, right?”

“Or at least somewhere that isn't here.”

Oh, but what a liar she was!
She found herself aching to end up in his arms again. Heavens, she truly didn't want the man anywhere
but
here right now.

“I'm not leaving you, Miss Darshaw.”

“Of course you are. You're just waiting to take the locket, then you'll go find my father. That's what you'll do.”

“Yes, eventually, but only after I've seen to arrangements for you.”

“Arrangements? What is that supposed to mean? Am I a pot of flowers that you can simply
arrange
me?”

“You know what I mean. I'm not an ogre, Miss Darshaw, to drag your father off in chains while you are left behind to starve. I'll set you up somewhere.”

As his mistress?
Oh, but that would be wonderful! Er, no, that wasn't what she meant. It would be dreadful, awful, horrible. Yes, it would be very bad. She would not like that at all.

“I do not wish to be set up somewhere, my lord,” she said, lying again. “I want to find respectable employment and support myself.”

Lord, but that sounded so dreary just now.

“Then that is what I'll do,” he replied.

“You'll find me employment?”

“If that is what you wish.”

“And if it isn't?”

“But you just said…”

“I mean, I would be particular about my employment.”

“Of course. I'll arrange something suitable.”

“You wouldn't send me back to Mr. Fitzgelder, would you?”

“Damn it, I wouldn't send a dog back to Fitzgelder.”

She wasn't entirely certain that was good news for her. “I'm glad to hear I rank at least as high as a dog. Thank you for that, my lord.”

“Now you're just being petulant. Give me that locket, Miss Darshaw.”

“No,” she said and held her arms tight around her as if she feared her dress might fly off on its own, exposing the locket for Lindley's easy harvest. “If you're not going to take it from me by force, then I'd like to know what you intend to give me in return.”

“So it's for sale, is it?”

“Perhaps.”

He smiled at her. “I'm not certain you'd appreciate my terms.”

“I'm not certain that you actually have any terms, my lord.”

“Oh, I have terms, Miss Darshaw. I most certainly have terms.”

He moved toward her again, and she instinctively stepped backward. This just made him smile even more broadly.
Drat.
He recognized her fear.

“So you are ready to hand me that locket?”

And then he would go hunt down Papa. She couldn't have that.

“You've not heard my price yet.”

Did he just roll his eyes at her? Yes, by heavens, she believed he did. So she was nothing more than a petulant child to him, was she? And probably an unwashed one, at that. Well, she'd best rid him of that notion right away.

“One night,” she said in a tone he could surely not misunderstand.

“What?”

Apparently she'd not been quite so clear as she'd hoped. “One night. You remain here for one night, giving my father time to gain that much more lead, and I'll give you the locket.”

“I thought we'd already established that I could simply take the locket.”

“Then why are we still having this conversation? You could have had the locket the minute you realized I was carrying it.”

“Wearing it. You're wearing it around your neck.”

“What? How do you know that?”

“I'm a man, Miss Darshaw. I'm quite versed in detecting what women are wearing—over
and
under.”

“Well, then you've certainly wasted a lot of time, my lord. I would have thought such a well-versed man would have had me out of this dress and gotten that locket into his possession by now.”

“I had thought you might appreciate if I took my time, Miss Darshaw,” he said, stalking her like a wolf and closing the distance between them. “However, I'm quite content to move as quickly as you like.”

He proved his words when he caught her in his arms again. She felt herself very nearly jerked off her feet as he pulled her into a crushing embrace. Yet he did not kiss her, though she was ashamed to realize she heartily wished he would. Instead, he stared at her, angry eyes boring into her.

“It's a dangerous thing to toy with me, Miss Darshaw. You have no idea how far I'll go to accomplish my goal.”

“Will you promise one night?”

He was careful in his reply. “You will give me the locket if I spend the night here? And where will you be during this time? Off to warn your father, no doubt.”

“Where would you have me, my lord?”

“Here, of course.”

“Then here I'll be.”

“I'd hardly be a gentleman if I did not inform you this deal would seem to be heavily in my favor, Miss Darshaw.”

“I'm flattered you see it this way, my lord, but you must fail to realize how valuable my father's freedom is to me. I assure you, I'll get far more enjoyment from the knowledge I've helped save him from you than you will certainly get from…well, from me.”

His amusement was obvious. “Oh, but there you are very, very wrong, my dear.”

Finally he brought his face down and kissed her. Ah, but she really could grow accustomed to this. Well-versed, indeed—the man was a veritable expert. She gave herself up fully to the pleasure of his touch and slipped her arms timidly around him.

By God, if submitting herself to this delicious torment was something she had to do to save Papa, she would certainly go at it with all her might. She could only hope Lindley might do the same. From what some of the girls said back at Madame's, it was not uncommon for some men to finish things rather quickly. She was not at all interested in that tonight.

Indeed, tonight things simply must go on and on and on. For Papa's sake, of course. Every minute that passed meant he was getting farther and farther away from Lindley's grasp. And she was being drawn closer and closer into it.

She forced back the waves of missish terror that threatened to denounce her bold behavior. No doubt she would harbor heavy regrets after this, but for now she was determined to forget anything but her immediate goals. Thankfully, the way Lindley guided her tongue with his and stroked one competent hand along her spine and down to massage her backside did much to help her accomplish this. Yes, it was most helpful indeed.

Oh, but she was such a dutiful daughter to wish for hours and hours of this.

She was teasing him, distracting him, using his own desire against him. Lindley wasn't a fool; of course he recognized what the girl was up to. He simply didn't care.

If she was so determined to keep him from going after her father, then who was he to argue? Hell, arguing was about the last thing on his mind. Right now all he could think about was how damn good Miss Darshaw tasted.

Felt good, too. Her backside was firm and round under his hand, just the way it ought to be. She was soft and pliant for him, pressing against him almost as if she were enjoying him. Perhaps she was. He certainly was going to do everything in his power to make it that way. This might be just a part of the game for both of them, but he'd be damned if she'd wake up tomorrow regretting it.

But of course she would regret it. If she were the sort to give her favors easily she would never have battled Fitzgelder with such fury that day in his linen cupboard. She would never have left Eudora's in the first place, for that matter. The very fact that she was not struggling against Lindley now was more a credit to her affection for her father than to any eagerness on her part to tumble into bed.

Still, it was clear the woman was not suffering. Nor was Lindley. The night would certainly not be a hardship on either of them.

Except that he had no intention of remaining there all night. Miss Darshaw might be giving herself willingly now, but he knew she'd be cursing him soon enough. He'd love her into unconsciousness, take that damned locket, and be off to track down her black-hearted father.

Damn the man for putting them both through this.

 

S
HE WAS WARM FROM HER HEAD TO HER TOES AND ALL
parts in between. It was heavenly and made it so simple to ignore what was really going on. She pressed herself more tightly against Lindley and imagined she could feel every contour of his stone-carved body right through his elegant clothing. If she was going to ruin herself for the sake of a father who'd left her, at least she had the good sense to do it with the most beautiful and competent man in all of England.

He was so competent, in fact, that she thankfully did not have to do much of anything to be a full and smiling participant. His kiss left her pleasantly weak, and when he took a break from ranging his hands over her body it was only to scoop her into his arms and carry her toward the bed.
The bed.

Heavens, but was she sure about this? All those years at Madame's she'd refused to even consider letting any man come near her. Now she would be submitting herself to a night in Lindley's bed? Yet how could she not? His touch sent her out of her mind with wanting, and it was the only thing she could do to help Papa…

No, this had far more to do with Lindley's touch than it did with helping Papa. She had to admit that to herself. She would gladly let Lindley take her to bed tonight simply because she couldn't help herself.

He wanted her and, fool that she was, she wanted him, too.

Still, she was just a wee bit nervous. When he settled her onto the lumpy, overused mattress she had to make a conscious effort not to leap off and run to the other side of the room. It did help that he was right there, his hands still roaming over her and his lips coming back down to take hers. Yes, that did much to take away her flight instinct.

But then she felt her skirt sliding up as his hand moved down to find its way beneath the fabric. Heavens, he was touching her a good six inches above her knee! No man had ever
seen
her knee, let alone touched it. Indeed, she'd admonished him about wasting time, but now she wished she hadn't. This was going far, far too fast for her already. She pushed his hand away.

He seemed to recognize her hesitation and sat up, putting wonderful air between them. She felt her head clearing immediately. This had been such a mistake! Thank heavens he was not going to force her.

At least, she hoped he would not. As she glanced up into his face she could not be entirely certain about that. There was a smoldering glow behind his eyes and a smile at his lips that did not seem to indicate a man who was quite through for the evening.

He shrugged his needlessly broad shoulders and began to remove his coat. Every muscle in Sophie's abdomen tightened as she was treated to the remarkable view of his shirt pulled taut against his chest, and an equally taut smile pulled at his lips while his eyes stayed on hers. Indeed, he was not through for the evening. Heaven help her, but it would appear he was only just starting.

“Now, since you have proclaimed yourself commander of these operations, Miss Darshaw, would you be so kind as to inform me whether you wish us to take the time to remove all our clothing at this point, or only the parts that will get in the way?”

She couldn't reply, couldn't quite comprehend, really. He was so blunt, so cold about this! Could she really follow through and match his indifference? Oh, but she was not indifferent, not at all! She was terrified to her core, yet heated and weak at the sight of him in shirtsleeves. Whatever would it do to her to have the man
naked
?

It would buy her some time, however. Perhaps she should ask him to disrobe for her. Slowly. One article of clothing at a time. He would start with his cravat, pulling it leisurely from around his neck, stretching it out longer and longer until it released its hold on him, and his shirt might gape open. What would she find there? Would he be every bit as solid as he had felt, with definition like the breastplate of a Roman warrior she'd seen in sculpture? Would he have fine wisps of dark hair that invited her touch?

Oh, but how she would love to find out! She could instruct him to remove his shirt altogether, leaving him exposed, his skin gleaming in the last glow of the setting sun that filtered through the window. She could see him quite clearly in that light, and no doubt the view would be remarkable.

Then of course he would move on to his trousers, to those last dreaded fastenings that separated him from the world, the final barrier to keep her from gazing upon…

No, good heavens, no!
She simply could not do that. She needed to keep her head, to find a way out of this, away from him. Somehow she had the strong suspicion she would find herself not nearly as motivated to run away from a naked Lindley as she ought to be.

“We should keep as much of our clothing on as possible, my lord,” she said, and her voice came out as tight and restricted as her bodice felt just now.

His smile didn't fade, and the smoldering glow behind his eyes didn't dim. “Very well, my dear. Just the basics it is.”

As simple as that, his hand was back under her skirt. She squirmed, pushing herself away from him in a reflex action. Her head banged into the wall.

“What the devil was that?” he asked, momentarily distracted from whatever he was trying to do under her skirt.

“Ouch.”

“Well hold still! I'm not going to bite you. Yet.”

She told herself he meant that last part in jest.

His hand was sliding up her leg again, on the calf, past the knee, up the thigh…She squirmed a bit more carefully this time. He gave a growl that was half laugh and half animal sound. Her heart rate picked up, and she was suddenly out of breath. He leaned toward her and kissed her again. Ah, but this was not nearly so worrisome as his hand on her leg. She let herself float into the kiss.

He was pressing her into the bed, his body warming her and making her forget that breathing was an important aspect of life. Who needed air when there was Lindley to breathe? Her eyes drooped shut, and she concentrated all her senses on him: his scent, his weight, the tantalizing stubble of his cheek as he brushed against her. Oh, and those wonderful sensations as his hand continued over the inside of her thigh toward her…

She squirmed again, this time rather violently. Her teeth accidentally clamped down on his tongue. When he pulled away from her with a start, his chin slammed into her nose. At the same time, her legs involuntarily bent upward in an effort to protect certain delicate areas from the onslaught of his unexpected hand. Her knee contacted his…er,
him
. Forcefully.

“Good God, Miss Darshaw, are you trying to kill me?”

“No! Oh, I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you?”

Apparently the damage would not prove fatal, because he pushed himself up to sitting and cocked his head to one side to stare warily at her.

“I can see why Fitzgelder was so frustrated after having you in his house for a month,” he said. “You're a regular artist of self-defense.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean—”

“To kill me? No, of course not. You merely hate me and were only attempting any of this out of some misbegotten notion that it would in some way assist your father.”

“Yes, but—”

“It's only natural that you would rather bloody my mouth and disable my person than share my bed, Miss Darshaw. I can hardly hold it against you.”

“Still, I didn't mean to—”

He shook his head in disgust and rose, standing over her and readjusting his skewed clothing.

“Some women are not of a passionate nature,” he said. “I suppose you cannot help it if you are incapable of responding as any normal female would.”

Oh, so now she was abnormal along with unwashed and uninteresting?
Well!
It was not as if he bore none of the responsibility for her instinctive reactions.

“I most certainly
am
a normal female!” she declared. “If you had not been in such a heated rush to…to…well, heatedly rush into things, perhaps I would not have reacted as I did.”

“So, you did not intentionally attempt to emasculate me?”

“No, of course not. You simply, er, tickled me.”

And now he laughed at her. “Tickling is often thought of as a pleasurable thing, Miss Darshaw. Any normal female would have enjoyed what I was doing.”

“I did enjoy it! I mean…”

Oh, bother.
He'd tricked her into admitting it, hadn't he? Her face burned, and she knew the color must be most unbecoming. He laughed again. She wished he'd quit doing that.

“Yes, I thought you did. So why did you endeavor to bite off my tongue?”

“If I had meant to do that on purpose I quite assure you I would have succeeded.”

“Yes, because you are a cold, unfeeling person who has no feminine sensibilities.”

“I am not! I have all sorts of feminine sensibilities.”

“And I was hoping to discover a good number of them when you particularly made it rather difficult for me to continue.”

“If you've been so gravely damaged, then why on earth do you keep laughing at me?”

“Because I'm afraid if I stop laughing at you I'm likely to swoop down on you and finish where we left off.”

“And you don't want that.”

“On the contrary, Miss Darshaw. I want that very much, I'm afraid. You, however, do not. Am I correct?”

No, he wasn't. Her body ached to tell him so. Her mind, however, was a different story. It would not let her utter a peep.

“That's what I thought,” he said after a lengthy pause that should have given her more than enough time to re-engage his attentions.

He grabbed up his coat from where he'd tossed it on the floor and proceeded to dust it off. So much for her wonderful fantasies of him enticingly stripping off his clothing. He slid his arms into his coat and was, once again, the elegant nobleman who held her father's life in his hands. At least, he would be, had he gotten the locket.

“Where are you going?” she asked, suddenly recognizing he meant to leave her.

“I'm checking on my carriage. It should have been delivered here by now.”

“And then you'll leave?”

“Yes. I
will
find your father, Miss Darshaw.”

She wondered if pouting or tears might have any effect on him. It didn't seem so.

“Now, now,” he said, moving to the side of the bed and sitting next to her. “I promised to make arrangements for you and I will. Fear not. You'll be cared for.”

Cared for.
As if that would help poor Papa. So nothing had changed, even after all that. She'd subjected herself to humiliation and girlish heart palpitations all for nothing. A man like Lindley would certainly get anything he wanted, while a girl like her would lose her father.
As usual.

“What sort of arrangements do you have in mind, my lord?” she asked as he retied his cravat.

“I told you, that's up to you to decide,” he answered, rising to go to the door. He let himself into the hallway. “Wait for me here. I'll be back shortly.”

Yes, of course he'd be back. He'd left the locket still hanging around her neck, safely under her dress. How pitiful. The man had probably bedded half the women in London and yet she was still so disinteresting to him he couldn't be bothered to so much as reach into her bodice to get it.

 

H
ELLFIRE
.
H
E'D LET HIMSELF GET SO DISTRACTED BY
the temptations of Miss Darshaw's soft skin and willing lips that he'd completely forgotten about the locket. What the devil was wrong with him? She was just a woman, for heaven's sake. He'd had lots of women. Granted, not recently, but still…he should have been able to keep focus long enough to remember what he was about, damn it.

He'd thought she'd been quite pleased with the direction things had been going, that she'd been as distracted by their actions as he'd hoped to make her, but apparently not. She'd come to her senses well before he had, as a matter of fact.
Damn it.

And now she sat up there with the locket. He'd conveniently left her alone with plenty of time to examine it and dispose of whatever might have been contained there.
Double damn it.

It would be useless to go back up to her at this point, so he continued on to the mews to see about the status of his carriage. At least if Miss Darshaw took advantage of his absence to leave Warwick in an attempt to track down any of the names she might find inside that locket, she was in no position to travel any faster than he could, at this point. If by some miracle his phaeton had finally arrived, he would clearly have the upper hand.