Temptress in Training (25 page)

“That's what I'm here for, milord. You get yourselves on to safety—I just came by some troubling news.”

“Oh?”

“Tom just sent me word that Fitzgelder left London. He's on his way here.”

“What, Fitzgelder himself?”

Sophie couldn't help but shudder at that thought. Was her horrible former employer that desperate to do away with his cousin, or was he more concerned with finding the locket? If so, he'd obviously be after
her
.

Lindley didn't seem any more thrilled by this news than she was. “Keep an eye on him, Feasel. We know he's up to no good.”

“He's not getting by us, milord.”

“I want to hear what he does, where he goes…who he sees.”

“Of course,” Feasel said. “And where will you go?”

Sophie decided that was an excellent question. Where would they go? Was anywhere safe?

She worried for Madame. Feasel said no one was seen on the south road—Madame should have been there waiting for her by now. Surely his men could not have overlooked two women and a baby waiting at the side of the road. Had something happened? She glanced up to Lindley.

His expression was unreadable. “We'll go to Haven Abbey.”

Sophie frowned. Where on earth was Haven Abbey? She did rather like the name, though. Hopefully it would be prophetic.

Feasel nodded. “Need an escort there?”

“Any reason you believe we need one?” Lindley asked.

His man eyed him, then slid a glance in Sophie's direction. He grinned. “No, sir. It appears you have things well in hand. Nothing should be out to bother you on that route, and I'll make sure there's no one that follows.”

So just how far away was this Haven Abbey? Sophie watched Lindley for some sign of a clue. Her concern must have showed on her face, because Feasel chuckled under his breath and gave a polite bow in her direction.

“Don't you worry, Miss Darshaw,” he said. “His lordship will get you there safe and out of the cold night air in no time.”

So Lindley's hired man knew her name. She wasn't quite comfortable with that. What else did the man know about her?

Lindley seemed eager to be on their way, so he and Feasel exchanged a few words planning how soon they could expect to hear from him regarding Fitzgelder, and Lindley reminded the man how important it was that no one know where they were going.

“You and Tom,” Lindley instructed. “No one else.”

“You can count on us, milord,” Feasel said. “It's all going to be over soon, and we'll see those bloody murderers hang. Er, beg pardon, Miss Darshaw.”

Sophie glared at him. There were two sides to justice, and she needed no additional reminder that she and Papa were on the wrong one.

“Miss Darshaw is as eager to see an end to this as we are,” Lindley said. She glared at him, too. “She'd very much like to know her father's whereabouts, so be sure to keep me informed.”

“Of course, milord—so long as the two of you don't mind the interruption,” Feasel said with a knowing wink.

Sophie rolled her eyes.

“I'm sure we'll manage,” Lindley said.

Feasel simply laughed. “Oh, I know you'll manage. I just hope you don't lose track of things and forget what we're all about here.”

“Shouldn't you be off about some business or other and let us be on our way?”

“Business it is, milord,” Feasel said, touching his dirty cap and nodding toward Sophie. “Good night, Miss Darshaw.”

With reassurances that all would be well and with Feasel's word that they would not be followed by Fitzgelder's unsavories, Lindley's man left them and they were, once again, alone. Except for the dozens of questions racing through Sophie's mind.

“I'm sorry,” Lindley said as the carriage rocked into motion. “I didn't mean to give him reason to think anything untoward would be transpiring between us.”

Sophie shrugged. “It hardly matters, my lord.”

“It
does
matter.”

“He knows my name,” she remarked, changing the topic. “How?”

“He works for me. When there are things I need to know, Feasel is the one who finds them out for me. I've had him following you since you left Eudora's employ.”

“What? You've had him following me?”
The nerve of the man!

“You can hardly blame me,” he said, directing the horses to veer onto the road that went off toward the northeast.

“I most certainly
can
blame you,” she said. “It's very rude to spy on people.”

“I couldn't be sure you weren't working with your father, a part of their whole network.”

“I believed my father was dead.”

“I know that now, Sophie. Six weeks ago I did not. And you have to admit, leaving the security of Eudora's and going to work for a cretin like Fitzgelder did seem a bit suspicious.”

Indeed, she could practically laugh at that. “Hardly suspicious, my lord. Foolish, is what it was. I left in the hopes of working my way into a more respectable position, if you can believe that.”

“Yes, I can believe that, Sophie,” he said. “You are not cut out for the sort of life you have. But no fear. I'll set you up so that you never have to worry about going to work for someone like Fitzgelder or even Eudora again.”

She heard the words but still had no idea what to make of them. His eyes were focused ahead on the road, so there was no way to read them to learn what he meant. Was she to become his mistress? It was a disheartening thought, becoming that sort of woman when for so long she'd dreamed of respectability, yet a part of her was thrilled at the notion. A very big part of her, actually.

“You keep saying you'll set me up. What do you mean?”

“Well, would you like a house? You should have a house, a nice house in Town, on a fashionable row.”

A house!
So he would make her his mistress. She would have a house, she could dress in fine clothes, she would be safe from the likes of Fitzgelder, and her nights would be spent paying for it all in the sweetest way imaginable. True, it was not respectability, but it was a far sight better than any hope she'd had so far.

Still, it would all come at a price.

“And will my father be allowed to live there with me, sir?” she asked finally.

He did not answer. He merely kept his eyes on the road ahead, though she did note his gloved hands clenched the reins just a bit more tightly. That was answer enough.

“I didn't think so,” she replied for him.

She knew how she had to reply to his most tempting offer. It was simply not tempting enough.

“I'll not be needing you to set me up, then, after all, my lord.”

 

H
E COULD SEE THE FEW DISTANT LIGHTS THAT REPRESENTED
Southam. How long since he had been here? Too long. Fortunately, he doubted he would run into anyone he knew as they made their way through town. His destination lay just to the south of there.
Haven Abbey.
This visit was long, long overdue.

Sophie had ridden in silence most of the way, giving in to sleep finally, and now she was propped snugly against his side. She'd gamely tried to stay awake for the hour's ride, but about five miles ago slumber won her over. Her last angry words had been fueled by concern for her father.

He knew what it was to love someone like that. He'd have done anything to save his family. He'd have easily thrown away his virtue or honor or ridden off into the night with a veritable stranger if it had saved them their fate. Yes, he could understand Sophie's feelings.

She loved her father enough to waste her virginity on an enemy.

Damn, but he wished that's not what he was to her. She was not just a bit of trash to be used and thrown away. She had the air of quality to her; she was more than just some unwanted orphan who'd fallen into Madame's brothel. She was special; he'd always known that, seen it all over her the very first time they met. She deserved so much more than her lot.

She should have been allowed to wait, to fall in love with someone capable of returning the feeling. Her first experience should have been with someone who could cherish her and promise her a future, some happiness. All he could promise was that he'd soon be gone from her life. And he'd take her father with him.

It seemed so unfair. If there was any way it did not have to be like that…if he could just keep his arm around her, pull her tighter to him and assure her all would be well…but of course that was not the way it would go. He had his duty, and she had nothing.

No, that was not entirely true. He was in a position to see that she did not end up with nothing. When it was safe, he would find a way to look after her, even if he had to do it anonymously. He'd see that she never had to go back to someone like Fitzgelder or that damned brothel. Hell, what was Eudora thinking to have this innocent crafting such things as those items he'd found in her pack?

Sophie should be making fine things for proper ladies, not wasting her time and her skill on frivolities for Eudora's deviant clients. That's what he'd do. He'd set her up with a shop. Sophie would be mistress of her own life from now on; he'd see to it. The next time she shared her bed with a man, it would be one of her own choosing for no other reason than that she cared for him.

And if I ever lay eyes on him, I'll murder the bastard.

Damn it, he had no right to think that way. He was busy wishing Sophie well, not plotting some unknown person's murder. If she found a man to make her happy, why should he not want that for her? He
did
want her to be happy.

He just did not want her to be happy with some other man, that was all.

Oh, hell.
He wanted to keep her for himself, didn't he? All for himself. Well, that was a bloody shame. The man who hauled her father off to Newgate would never be worthy of such an honor. A sobering thought, indeed.

He tooled his carriage through the vacant streets of slumbering Southam. Dark visions of a lonely, Sophie-less future swarmed him, and he did not like them one bit. Damn it, of all the accessible women in the world, why should Miss Darshaw be the one to capture his fool attention this way? And now that he'd had her why was the attraction even stronger than before? That, certainly, was out of the ordinary for him.

But then again, there was nothing ordinary about Sophie. He adjusted his arm slightly, just so he could feel her wiggle against him as she slept. She'd been so determined to avoid this, to sit primly in her seat keeping inches between them. How furious she'd be when she woke to realize he'd been holding her this way for miles. He smiled just thinking of the delightful little fit she'd likely throw.

That line of thought, of course, led him to wonder what he would end up doing to appease her, and that line of thought, of course, led him to imagine all sorts of peaceful alternatives to argument. That line of thought, of course, led him to find his trousers becoming most uncomfortably tight. Lord, but he'd have to find a new line of thought right away.

It was almost a relief, then, when a stray dog ran up and began barking at his carriage wheels. His horses skittered nervously, but he held them from bolting. The dog yelped when it took a spoke to the jaw, but it backed away and the horses settled.

“What is it?” Sophie asked, stirring and pushing herself groggily away from him.

She turned to look around, gaining her bearings. Damn, but her bodice pulled tight against her lovely bosom when she twisted her lithe body that way. The trousers were not getting any more roomy.

“Just a dog,” he answered. “Nothing to worry about, my dear.”

At that moment the dog made one last lunge at them, this time his teeth aimed for one of the horses. The carriage lurched and Sophie fell against him. Her hand fell onto his thigh as she tried to steady herself. Good God, but he did like her touch.

“Oh my,” she exclaimed. Good God, but he did like her voice. “We didn't run over the poor thing, did we?”

“No, it's fine,” he said, patting her hand where it still rested on his leg. Good God, but he did like comforting her. “We missed him.”

She pulled her hand away.
Damn it.
She seemed more interested in the dog that was now running off with its tail between its legs.

“Where are we?” she asked as the barking subsided.

“Southam,” he replied. “Haven Abbey is very close now. You should be settled into a warm, comfortable bed within the half hour.”

And how he liked the sound of that, too. She seemed a bit skeptical.

“And what is this place, this Haven Abbey?”

“Oh, I'm sure you'll like it,” he said, not at all certain that would be the case.

He wasn't even sure he himself would like it. Not now. Not without Marie or little Charles. Not without the people he had most loved. He couldn't imagine the house—a place he'd spent dozens of Christmases and family holidays—to be nearly the warm, welcoming home he'd once loved. Yet given the circumstances, he could think of nowhere else to go.

He hoped it would not prove a mistake.

“But what is it? A friend's home?”

“Not quite,” he said, and then realized an interesting irony. “I suppose it's like Loveland.”

“What?” she asked, looking startled.

“Haven Abbey was my grandmother's home,” he replied.

He turned on the road leading south out of the village and missed the vague comfort of Sophie's body nestled against his. She was back to her prim distance now, with no mention whatsoever of having fallen asleep on him earlier. He supposed he'd humor her and not make mention of it, though he certainly wasn't quite able to forget it.

“So was this the home of your maternal grandmother, or paternal?” she asked, clearly for the single effect of making polite conversation.