Temptress in Training (4 page)

Remarkable, indeed. Could it be he'd gone to all the trouble of rescuing her from Fitzgelder only to have her come down here and cast off her undergarments for a bloody teenaged actor? Infuriating.

Even more so when he reminded himself that finding her here proved her involvement in whatever secret assignation Fitzgelder had been attempting to arrange. She was heavily involved—and velvet clad, on top of it. At least, she had been. He tried to puzzle out how it all fit.

There was no doubt, however, that he'd interrupted more than a simple romantic rendezvous. The look on Miss Darshaw's face confirmed that. Any fool could see by her expression that she was terrified. Clearly she had much to hide and feared he had found it out. That had to mean only one thing—she knew he was more than merely another one of Fitzgelder's cronies.

This insignificant little slip had somehow discovered his ruse. She knew he was here to investigate, and she had things to hide. Damn, he tasted bitter disappointment. Apparently he'd hoped Sophie Darshaw was nothing more than she seemed: a simple little nobody who had left Madame Eudora merely to better herself and take employment anywhere that would distance her from the taint of the brothel. He'd fancied her an innocent, in fact.

Obviously he'd been wrong.

He should have suspected her from the start. All those times he'd tripped over her at Madame's, all those times he'd caught her glancing up at him through her thick lashes as she sat with her mending in the corner of Madame's boudoir, the blushing and deferring murmurs as he passed her in the hallways…This whole time he'd allowed himself to believe it was honest. What a simpleton he'd been. Merely because she'd reminded him of…

No, he had no use for sentiment. Miss Darshaw might have the face of an angel, but any fool would have known a girl with her background could amount to nothing good. He'd been absurd to think her better than any of the other sluts Eudora pandered in her home. No, he'd been worse than absurd. He'd endangered his goal.

While he'd been happily duped by Miss Darshaw's modest demeanor and appealing form, she'd likely been watching him all the time, perhaps even carrying information about him here to Fitzgelder or his bloody associates. Damn, but that riled. How many weeks had he wasted culturing this sham friendship only to find out now this little hussy may have been informing his enemies all along?

He should be ashamed of himself for letting a pretty face and those deep, dewy eyes deceive him so effortlessly. Hell, he ought to at least have been allowed to bed the chit for all that! Well, she'd soon enough learn how much he enjoyed being made the fool.

Her lips moved as their eyes met.

“Lord Lindley!” She let out a breathy little gasp, then quickly threw her hand over her mouth to quiet herself.

Indeed, it might have all been quite darling if he hadn't been so painfully aware that anyone in league with Fitzgelder was guilty of the man's sin. That—despite the girl's velvet underthings discarded on the floor—was all he needed to be firmly immune to her unarguable charms.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, keeping his voice low so it would not carry above the ridiculous hoots of Fitzgelder's drunken friends and the
hups
and
thuds
of those even more ridiculous acrobatic actors.

Miss Darshaw shook her head furiously, waving at him to be silent. So, whatever her reasons for hiding here she did not wish for them to become public just yet, did she? Indeed, it seemed she had good reason to avoid Fitzgelder. Was that a bruise Lindley detected? The girl's eye was slightly swollen.

So, she'd suffered at the man's hand and still she remained. He needed to find out exactly why. What was her purpose in this house, hiding back here? Was it at the behest of her despicable master, or someone else?

He supposed there was still the slightest chance she might possibly be in the dark regarding his own purpose here. Her expression and obvious nervousness around him made that improbable, but he decided wisdom would dictate that he use caution. There was no sense in giving her any more information than she already possessed. He would play this carefully, cautiously, and see what he could discern.

Besides, not only would a heavy-handed direct interrogation confirm any suspicions the girl might harbor regarding him, it would also be likely to yield little value. Fitzgelder's associates knew full well the pain they would face at their master's hand if they let slip any of his secrets. Vengeance-hungry though Lindley was, he knew he could never compete with Fitzgelder in that arena. Torture was not a skill the earl valued nor possessed. That was Fitzgelder's strength, not his.

Still, he was not without his resources. In fact, he could think of no better opportunity to make use of them, either. The smile that was so often mistaken for charm and wine-soaked amusement slid onto his face, and he took a careful step closer to Miss Darshaw. She was forced to remain where she was or risk exposing herself—and her undergarments—to those on the other side of the screen. She clearly did not want that, and the fear was most plainly displayed on her face. At least the girl's lovely expression gave every appearance of fear. Lindley was not quite ready to believe it.

“I didn't realize you had such an interest in the theatrical arts, Miss Darshaw,” he said, careful to slur his words just the slightest bit.

“I don't!” she replied in a quaking, whispered voice that was delightfully enticing. “That is, only recently I do. Fascinating, aren't they?”

“The actors?” He shrugged. “I can think of far better ways to amuse myself, quite honestly. Unless, of course, that is exactly what you had in mind.”

He smiled and nodded down toward her pantalets. She reddened but gave no other indication of acknowledging their existence. He'd always loved a challenge.

“Tell me, Miss Darshaw, which one of those actors in particular has been amusing you of late?”

“None, sir!”

She dropped her gaze. The slight tremble in her lip could only be legitimate. So, she was too young, too green to play this game well enough to survive against him long. Likely this was how she came to be useful to Fitzgelder, as well. Poor chit. In all likelihood she truly had once been the innocent, unaffected maiden he'd previously assumed her. But how long had she been corrupted?

“None, you say?” He moved yet closer to her. “Pity. But tell me, which one of them would you
like
to have amusing you? Clearly you were expecting someone.”

He reached out his toe and ever so slightly kicked the hint of fabric at her feet. She cringed and bit her lip. It did little to stop the trembling but did much to Lindley's blood pressure.

“I was hoping to be alone, sir,” she said quickly, staring at the floor.

“What? With all those healthy, energetic young actors out there? Surely not, Miss Darshaw. Surely one of them, at least, holds something special for you?”

“No! For certain, sir, I'm not even acquainted with them.”

“Oh? Well, perhaps I can put in a good word on your behalf, then—especially were I to have some firsthand appreciation for your, er, goods.”

He touched her then. It was a soft touch, just a finger laid against her cheek and trailing down to trace the edge of her jawline and along her ivory throat. He'd touched dozens of women this way. The energy that raced from her skin to his, however, was quite out of the ordinary. By God, prying information out of Miss Darshaw would be far more entertaining by miles than anything he'd done thus far at Fitzgelder's house.

Yet she went pale and shook his hand off almost violently. “No, sir! Truly you cannot!”

He was surprised to find that the furtive smile he gave her was, in fact, quite genuine. He moved even closer and deliberately let the warm breath he exhaled rustle the little tendril of blond hair that escaped her cap and hung at that graceful neck. The little throb of pulse at her throat assured him his actions were not ineffective. A delicious pink flush began to creep up from behind her bodice until it colored her pretty cheeks once again.

“I assure you, Miss Darshaw, I have more than a mere good word to put in on your behalf.” He let his eyes convey the full meaning of his speech. “So perhaps if you might tell me what your involvement is with these actors—other than the obvious,” he said, sending a quick glance down to the pantalets that she could certainly not misconstrue, “I might find a way to be, shall we say, of use to you.”

She eyed him for a long moment. Hell, but there was a fire and a will behind those dewy blue eyes he had never expected to find. Lindley had to admit he was both fascinated and a bit disappointed to realize this slip of unimportant female might just perhaps be a bit more proof to his advances than he'd expected.

“I promise you, sir,” she began, squaring her shoulders and meeting his gaze with a delightfully firm one of her own. Not the only part of Miss Darshaw that was delightfully firm, he suspected. “There is nothing you can ever say or do that will be of any use to me,” she finished. “Ever.”

Ah, but that smacked of further challenge. Damn, but he did want to take this up. So what if Miss Darshaw glared at him as if he were the very devil incarnate? He lifted his hand and boldly felt the golden lock of her unruly hair. It slid like fine silk between his fingers as his knuckles trailed a heated path over the delicate throat he would have so liked to allow himself to taste.

Her breath caught. So, he could be of no use to her, could he?
Silly girl.

“Perhaps, my dear Miss Darshaw,” he whispered so she alone could hear, “you simply do not know yet just what it is you need.” He gave a meaningful pause before he continued. “I do.”

Now he had her. He could see it, the defiance and willfulness in her eyes being clouded by something else. Yes, she was not impervious to a man's caress—to
his
caress. Deny it she might, but Miss Darshaw was well aware of her needs. With luck, he'd not only get the information he was seeking, but he might be able to show the chit a thing or two of his own needs before the night was out.

But first, it would seem, he needed to get his mind back on the business at hand. Not difficult to do just now, considering the petulant Romeo had just left his post presiding over the acrobatics and was now stalking into the alcove with blood in his eyes.

“Is this gentleman offending you?” he demanded in his overly affected little voice, puffing himself up to look impressive. He failed.

With such a young, feminine face it was obvious the lad was hardly out of his teens, if that. Little more than a boy, really. Yet quite ready to do battle for the pretty Miss Darshaw, it would seem.

Well, so was Lindley.

“Do I take it you already have a protector among these actors, Miss Darshaw?” he asked, barely deigning to acknowledge the younger man's presence.

“She does, sir!” Romeo replied, marching to her side.

Bother.
It would hardly do to let himself get dragged into fisticuffs with this whelp. No, that would not serve his purposes nor get him any closer to finding out about Miss Darshaw's schemes or Fitzgelder's interest in that missing actress. Very well. He would play nice.

Lindley stepped away from the girl and cocked his head to stare at the young actor. Not much of a protector, that was for certain. Surely Miss Darshaw could have done better for herself. Hell, if things were not the way they were, perhaps even he himself might have considered taking her on. Certainly he could have set her up far better than any suckling actor ever could.

Not that he was interested in setting her up for anything other than divulging what she knew about Fitzgelder's plans. If the chit was involved with this puffed-up puppy, and if Fitzgelder had been expecting said puppy to show up with some actress named Sands, then clearly Lindley needed to figure out just what these actors were doing in this house. And what Miss Darshaw knew about the strangely absent Miss Sands.

But he'd not get that information just now, he could be certain of that. The young actor was far too guarded. He'd be better off to let things go for now. He'd bide his time and try his hand—both of them, perhaps—with Miss Darshaw a bit later. When he could find her alone.

For now he'd do well to get in the actor's good graces.

Swaying just enough to keep up appearances, Lindley smiled at the couple. He would be nothing more to them than just another one of Fitzgelder's drunken revelers, perhaps someone a smooth-faced lad such as this might even look up to. His interest in Miss Darshaw must be seen as nothing deeper than what anyone might expect. With a cockeyed leer, he studied her.

“I say, boy, you're a lucky one,” he slurred, deciding on his new tack. “You could keep her all for yourself, I suppose, or you could make a fair profit from the sharing. Seems the sensible thing to do when you've got as fine a doxy as this one.”

Romeo's mouth dropped open. “Share her? Are you suggesting men would
pay
me to, er, share her with them?”

Apparently the thought had not entered the young dolt's head.
Hell.
Lindley had certainly not meant to be the one to give it to him. He'd only hoped to flatter the boy and perhaps see what truly held the two together. Damn, but he hadn't meant to put Miss Darshaw up on the auction block here tonight. That would complicate things for certain.

And probably incite him into killing this infantile scoundrel.

“I merely meant to say—” Lindley began, kicking himself for his careless words.

But the actor didn't seem to care what he meant to say. Thankfully, he was chivalrously aghast at the thought of Lindley's suggestion. He held himself straight and glared. Lindley was positive he'd seen that exact posture at a recent cockfight. On the cock that survived.

“Absolutely not, sir!” the young man raged. “This is not some, some item to be bought and sold. Sophie is, er, she is my wife!”