Temptress in Training (24 page)

A tiny spot of blood grew at the little scratch her pin had made on his thumb. She dug a handkerchief from her pocket and applied it, dabbing the blood and hoping he would not be too angry with her. He was an absolute beast for going through her private things, but she hated that he'd been hurt by it. A tentative glance up at his face, however, proved she'd not harmed him too badly.

“On second thought,” he said with a chuckle, “I'm rather grateful you did not put this on. I prefer seeing your face just as it is.”

Oh, bother, but she knew she was blushing again. How ridiculous she was to fall victim to his flattery. Still, it was easy to let herself believe the man. His impossibly blue eyes were exceedingly sincere.

“It's not mine,” she explained, babbling like an idiot in the hope it would keep her from tumbling into his arms again. “It's for someone at Madame's. She tells me what her special clients like, and I make it for them.”

He picked up the strap device again. “It would appear some of her clients have unusual tastes.”

“Put that down. No one is to know of such things. Madame counts on me for discretion.”

“Yes, I can see why. I imagine her clientele would prefer that no one know of their certain, er, tastes.”

“They prefer it very much. Now please let me put my things away.”

“And not learn what else you have hiding in here?”

“There's nothing else.”

“There's a certain locket.”

“Why are you so sure it's in there?” she asked.

“Because I know for a fact it's not on your person.”

She couldn't help but blush even more deeply at that. Yes, he would know that, wouldn't he? He'd done a fairly in-depth search of her various parts. No locket.

“And I doubt you would leave it here for me to find,” he continued. “So you must have put it in this pack with all your other, er, items.”

“Very well, yes. You're correct. I put it in there, in that little roll with my needles and thread.”

“Now see? You are capable of truth telling.”

“I'd rather just tell you where it is than have you ransack everything. I need all those items to be intact. When I get back to London Madame will pay me nicely for them.”

“I don't doubt it!” he said with more of that infernal chuckling.

He found the sewing roll and began to carefully unfold it. She was grateful he didn't send her needles flying or her buttons rolling across the floor, but it still felt very wrong to have him go through her items. She'd built her life, her dreams, on that little pack. To have him searching it this way now was quite disconcerting.

“Ah, here it is,” he said when he found the locket, as she knew he would. “So, what clues to your father's whereabouts does it contain?”

“I don't know. I didn't look.”

“More lies, Miss Darshaw?”

“It's the truth! I thought there would be ample time to search it when I left, when there wasn't so much risk you might find it.”

“Well, why don't we look inside it together, shall we?”

His large hands cradled the locket, studying it briefly before attempting to hinge it open. The thin chain wove between his elegant fingers and the gold appeared warm in the dim light. Any moment now he would possess the information that would help to damn her father. She was helpless to just stand and watch.

Yet as he pried at the locket, nothing seemed to happen. His brows came together in frustration and he moved with the locket to stand nearer the window where he could get additional light from the night's bright moon. She followed.

“It's sealed,” he said after a moment.

“Sealed?”

“I can see the hinges, so this locket was initially made to open and shut. However, it no longer opens. It's been sealed.”

“Then it's no wonder Mr. Fitzgelder was in such a bad mood when I came upon him in that linen cupboard. He was holding the locket at that time. He must have been struggling to open it.”

“Well, unless he had a hammer in there with him, there was little chance of him getting it open.”

“Really? Do you think it must be destroyed to open it?”

She tried to peer around him to see the locket. Her eyes kept getting distracted by the awe-inspiring expanse of his muscular back and his well-toned arms and shoulders. Indeed, no locket on the planet could possibly be as fascinating as that view.

“I hope not,” he replied. “I was under the impression this locket was useful in more ways than as just a carrier of secrets. Destroying it would likely not prove helpful.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that if we want to discover what is inside, we'd best find a way to open it very carefully. This locket is more than a locket. It's also a key.”

“A key? To what?”

“I don't know. But your father does, Sophie. And I will find him.”

“How, if we cannot open the locket?”

“Oh, we'll find a way to open it. Hell, I'm sure I can find something to pry it open. Perhaps we could use—”

He was going for her scissors, and she cringed at the thought of those expensive blades being bent or dulled on this infernal locket. Fortunately for her scissors, though, he was interrupted. Someone knocked softly at their door.

He sent her a questioning glance, as if perhaps she'd been expecting someone. She truly hoped she was not! How dreadful if Madame thought to come and check on her, to find out why she had not yet left. It would complicate things enormously.

She shrugged for Lindley. He returned the action, then went to the door. She was left to bite her lip and hope things were not about to get uncomfortable.

There was a man at the door. Lindley didn't open it very far, but Sophie could hear his voice. She did not recognize it, though clearly he spoke in the accent of one who was somewhat familiar with the lower elements of life. Still, Lindley seemed on good terms with him, so she forced herself not to worry.

Until one simple word caught her ear.
Loveland.
She heard it plainly and knew just what it must mean. This man had found Papa. She was an idiot not to have realized right away where he would go. Of course, they were so close to Loveland already. She should have been working actively to take Lindley away from this area, not lure him into staying!

The earl shut the door and turned to her. His expression was dark.

“That was my man,” he announced. “We need to leave here. Now.”

And travel to Loveland to apprehend Papa once and for all? She couldn't allow it. She had to delay him, to somehow get word to Papa and warn him.

“No!” she argued. “We can't. You said we should stay until morning. It's too dangerous to leave now.”

“And Feasel just informed me it's too dangerous to stay. Fitzgelder has dispatched more of his minions. He's directed them to this very place. I need to get you away from here. Now.”

“To this place? He's sent them here and not to…” She stopped herself before she made matters worse by as much as confirming Papa's whereabouts for him.

“And not to
where
, Sophie? Why would you expect Fitzgelder to send his men somewhere other than here?”

“Well, I simply thought that…er, that he might…that is…Well, I heard your man make mention of some place, and I simply assumed that must be where you would say Mr. Fitzgelder directed his men.”

“Loveland?”

“Oh? Is that what he said? Yes, I suppose that might be what I heard, though I don't know the place, I guess I just assumed that, er, perhaps you meant, well…”

Now he was laughing at her again. “It's getting late and surely you need some rest, my dear. Please, don't embarrass yourself by pretending you don't know about Loveland. I'm well aware you used to live there.”

“You know that I…? That is, I don't know what you're talking about, my lord.”

“Gather your things. I need to get you to safety.”

She frowned, not quite certain she could believe him. “But what of…?”

“What of Loveland? No, I'll not be taking you there. That is, of course, where your father would be though, correct?”

“Why, I haven't the slightest idea! No, of course he'd never go there. It's probably not even still standing. I'm sure someone must have pulled it down by now, sitting empty as it's been.”

“Thank you, I'll take that as confirmation that he is there.”

“But that's not what I said!”

He laughed again. “Yes you did, my dear. Truly, you are an abominable liar.”

“That's not what you said earlier. You accused me of lying repeatedly!”

“I'm not saying you don't lie; I'm just saying you do it very badly. Now hurry, if you want to bring your, er, things, collect them now.”

It was obvious the man meant business. One way or another he was leaving here tonight. By God, she knew she'd better go with him if she had any hope of protecting her father. And truthfully, if Mr. Fitzgelder's men were coming here, she would much prefer to be elsewhere.

And maybe, just maybe, she could find a way to work this in her favor. She reorganized her things into her pack and commented in an offhand fashion.

“If you really believe my father might be at Loveland—although I don't know any reason he might have to go back there after all these years—then perhaps I can be of assistance, my lord.”

“Oh? And how is that?”

“I know a shortcut! Yes, if you let me direct you, I can take you to Loveland in half the time and then you could—”

“Oh no, that's not going to work, my dear.” He took up her pack for her once it was reassembled. “You'd have me off on some wild-goose chase, and that's the last thing we have time for.”

Drat.
He figured her out.

“Besides,” he went on, taking her elbow and leading her toward the door. “Your father is not at Loveland. Not yet. My man already sent someone to look there.”

Sophie had insisted on bickering with him the whole way to the back of the inn. It was as if she actually wanted to wake everyone inside. Perhaps she had. Perhaps she was hoping she might create enough disturbance to allow her another opportunity to try and leave him.

Well, it didn't work. And if it had, she'd have been without the locket. He'd placed it securely in his own breast pocket, and there it would stay until they found something that might help pry it open.

The yard behind the inn was not large, and the mews row was right there, allowing guests to stable their animals and store their carriages close at hand. Convenient, he had to say. And much safer for them than having to traipse all over town to locate tools and his carriage. With luck, this endeavor should take very little time.

But then something very much like a shadow caught his attention. There, at the corner of the stable building at the far end of the yard. He'd been sure he saw a form, a human form, darting just out of sight. And this time it was
not
Feasel.

He held up his hand to motion for Sophie to stop where she was, still in the doorway just about to step outside. She didn't get the message and came trotting out, slamming into him from behind. He sighed. Well, the figure was gone. Perhaps whoever he was, he hadn't seen the foolhardy chit yet.

“Come here,” he hissed, grabbing her arm and pulling her back against the building, into the shadows.

“What is—” she started, but he put his hand over her mouth.

Her eyes flashed and glared at him, but she didn't fight. With a nod of warning he tentatively removed his hand. She didn't screech at him for his rough behavior, but at the same time there was nothing about her that said she wouldn't promptly bite him if he did that again. He leaned toward her, one hand on either side of her shoulders, effectively pinning her there against the night-cooled wall of the inn.

“There was someone out here—a man—hiding at the far end of the stable,” he whispered to her.

Her glance darted around nervously. “What was he doing?” she asked.

“I don't know, it could have been nothing, but I didn't want him to get a good look at you,” he explained. “If he's one of Fitzgelder's men, he was sent here after you to get the locket.”

“Well, considering the way you are manhandling me, don't you think if he notices us he'll assume you've managed to get it from me? Perhaps he'll go after you now.”

All the more reason to be quick about things.
Cautioning her again—for all the good it would do—he led her quietly toward the stables. He kept a close watch on the shadows but did not detect anything. If someone had been there, he was gone now.

He managed to find a stable hand to help ready his carriage. Despite keeping one eye on Sophie and one eye on his work, it was not long before his horses were stamping in their harnesses, anticipating what would come next. They seemed nearly as impatient as Sophie.

He helped her up into her seat, then hoisted himself in beside her. The stable hand waved them on their way and pulled the door shut behind them. Lindley slapped the reins and the horses jolted into action. If anyone had been watching them with malicious intent, they would soon be left behind. There had been no other carriage or waiting horse saddled and ready. They were safely away.

“I believe that stable hand was glad to be rid of us,” Lindley said, introducing casual conversation as Sophie stared impassively ahead. “I had the feeling we interrupted something there.”

“It's rather late; I'm sure he was looking forward to taking his bed.”

“Unless his bed was that pile of fresh hay piled in the corner of the room with the suspicious lump of canvas that seemed to wiggle inexplicably, I doubt that was his intent.”

“What do you mean?”

“I believe our young man was not entirely alone when we found him,” Lindley said with a chuckle. “I had the idea the boy was entertaining a ready mort.”

“A
what
?”

He chuckled at her naiveté. “I think we interrupted him with tonight's convenient little tail.”

“Convenient little tail?”

“Oh, you know, some easy mab who doesn't mind a roll in the hay.”

“Some easy mab?”

Could she truly still be this innocent that she did not understand?

“He had a
woman
in there, Sophie,” he explained carefully.

“Oh, I know what you meant, my lord. And what lovely names you have for her, too.”

He recognized sarcasm when he heard it. Very well, he supposed he had been rather free with his use of colorful language. She clearly did not like it.

“I'm sorry,” he conceded. “I should watch my tongue.”

“Whyever should you need to do that? It isn't as if there are any ladies present or anything, merely convenient tails or valueless mabs.”

“Now see here! I never claimed she had no value. By my guess, her gentleman was eager to get back to making full use of her value.”

He had to smile at his own turn of phrase. Sophie, however, did not seem to find it so humorous.

“Oh, so he's a gentleman, is he, while her only value is to be used for sport?”

“It's merely a phrase, Sophie. What the devil are you talking on about?”

“I simply would like to know what criteria you used, my lord, to pass such judgment on that poor woman. Was she wearing a sign, perhaps?”

“By deuce, Sophie, I never saw one hair of her. How should I know whether she wore a sign?”

“Yet you quickly assumed she was not a respectable person.”

“She was waiting in a pile of hay to shag a stable hand. I'm fairly certain she was not a royal princess.”

“She could be his wife.”

“I don't know many wives who would willingly brighten their husband's filthy workplace in such a way. Really, Sophie, why are you ranting on about this? Those were nothing more than words I used to describe what I assumed was going on.”

“Oh. So you would use similar words to describe me.”

“No! Good God, of course I would never.”

“Why, because I made myself valuable in a borrowed bed rather than on the floor of a barn?”

Ah, so that was what had her in a flap. He should have realized it, should have been more sensitive. Of course she would be concerned about how people would label her now. He had been very much a party to her crossing that line between respectability and commonness.

Well, Sophie Darshaw was far from common. As long as he had breath in him, he'd see that no one so much as hinted at impugning her character. She was above all that, despite what she'd done tonight. Or what she'd been wearing when she'd done it.

He put his thumb on her chin and tipped her face so she would look at him. “No, Sophie. I would never use words like that about you. And I promise, I will be much more judicious in using them to describe anyone else in the future. Will you forgive me?”

She shook his hand off and stared straight ahead. Damn it, but since when did he need forgiveness from some slip of a girl simply because she'd disapproved of his language? He did not much like the feeling.

At last she gave absolution, and he could finally breathe.

“Well…I suppose you meant no real harm.”

“No, I assure you I did not. I spoke without thinking.”

“You excel in that, it would seem.”

Indeed, she was correct. It did seem he'd been saying and doing quite a few things without thinking of late. He hoped rushing Sophie out into the night like this was not one of them. He needed to believe she—and the locket—would be safe.

 

S
OPHIE SCOOTED AS FAR OVER TO THE EDGE OF THE
seat as she could. She recalled the way Lindley had flipped the young stable hand what looked like quite a goodly sum for such a simple thing as readying a carriage. Perhaps that was how things would go for her, too. Lindley would use her until he was through, pass her a handful of coins, then leave. And then she would be a real, honest whore.

She would have no reason at all not to allow Madame to introduce her to gentlemen. And she would accept money for it. She may be riding in a stylish phaeton tonight, but she'd be a fool not to remember where this was all leading.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Where would your father most likely be if he is not at Loveland?”

“I don't know,” she replied. “I've thought him in the grave for years. How do I know where the man spends his time after a day and a half of reacquaintance? I thought you were going to get that information out of the locket.”

“If you don't mind, I'd like to get some distance between us and whoever was spying on us from behind the mews. I didn't notice any other carriages around, so I'm hoping he's not prepared to follow us.”

He was right, there hadn't seemed to be any other conveyances at the ready.
Good.
That probably meant Madame's plan was going as expected and she was waiting with Annie just out of town on the south road. All Sophie needed to do was get herself away from Lindley.

“Perhaps we should not go together,” she said, desperate to think of something reasonable that might serve her purposes. “Perhaps I should wait here and you should go, leading him astray.”

“To what purpose, Miss Darshaw?”

“Well, it would confuse him.”

He looked at her as if what she'd said was even more ridiculous than she knew it was. “And I suppose you'd like me to hand you the locket while I'm at it?”

“Well, you could, you know. That way if he followed after you and your oh-so-inconspicuous carriage it would be safe and he could not get it.”

“We will stay together, Miss Darshaw,” he announced. “You, me,
and
the locket. Once we are a safe distance, perhaps we will find a place to stop for the night, and there we can see about opening it.”

“With what? I thought you needed to hunt down something to…”

He bumped her with his elbow as he reached behind to take something long and pointy out of his pocket. She heard fabric tear as he produced it.

“Damn!” he swore, pulling up what turned out to be an awl. He must have found it in the stable, probably used for leatherwork on some of the tack. My, but wouldn't she have loved to have had something like that when she was fabricating the rather vulgar little strapping device Madame had ordered!

“That's lovely,” she said.

“Yes, but it ripped my lining,” he grumbled.

“I can repair it,” she said without really thinking. “Do you believe this will break open the locket?”

“We don't wish to break it, Miss Darshaw,” he said, readjusting himself in his seat and driving the horses quickly out of the yard. “As I said, it is not merely a locket.”

“Yes, you said it is a key of some sort.”

“That's right. I'm given to believe that by some manipulation, it is a literal key.”

“Well, it certainly looks like no key I've seen before.”

“Agreed. I assure you, once I am convinced Fitzgelder's henchmen are not hovering over us with murder on their minds, we will take a good, thorough look at this locket.”

“That you are holding on to and do not trust with me.”

“You were trying to take it and leave, you may recall.”

Indeed, she did recall that. She also recalled, however,
why
she was attempting to take the locket and leave him.

“Because you are trying to use it to drag my father to the gallows, you may recall.”

“He will have a fair trial.”

“Which will undoubtedly merely prove all the things you've said about him, my lord. And
then
he'll be dragged to the gallows.”

He was silent. The carriage rumbled through the sleeping village until after a minute or two he pulled it to a halt. Had he finally grown so weary of her arguments that he'd decided not to honor his agreement, not to take her with him to find Papa? Heavens, would he put her out here, at the side of the road?

But of course she could be glad for that. It would free her to go find Madame and continue with her original plan. Yes, it would be a good thing if Lindley abandoned her.

So why was her heart pounding and her breathing so suddenly difficult?

“Well, here we are at a crossroads, Miss Darshaw,” he said.

She glanced around and realized he was not speaking figuratively. They were, indeed, at a crossroads. Three roads intersected at this point, going off in several directions. Lindley could direct them north, which would take them toward Loveland where there was a very strong possibility Papa might go for refuge, or they could go south, which would take them toward the advancing Fitzgelder contingent but also toward her planned rendezvous with Madame; or they could angle back on the third road, which seemed to veer off to the northeast. She had no idea what lay along that road.

“Which way do we go?” she asked, not sure which answer to hope for.

“We wait,” he replied. “I sent Feasel out to…ah, there he comes now.”

As if on command, hoofbeats could be heard approaching. Sophie made out a man rapidly approaching them from the south. She hoped Lindley was not mistaken about his identity, as they were very much alone and exposed here.

Apparently he was not. The man greeted them and Lindley called back. He sounded remarkably cheerful, considering they were being forced to flee in the night for their lives.
Men.

“So, what have you found for me, Feasel?” he asked when the man pulled his horse to a halt beside their carriage.

“Nothing that plans to kill you tonight, milord,” Feasel replied. “My man down here on the south road says he hasn't seen anything come this way since after dark. Word earlier was no sign of the Frenchy or any of Fitzgelder's thugs on the north road, either.”

“I'm fairly certain we saw at least one of those thugs back at the inn,” Lindley grumbled. “I'm only hoping he doesn't follow us.”