by Clee, Adele
When she opened her eyes, she looked at him as if ravenous to taste him, to touch him, to devour every inch of his body. She scanned the breadth of his chest, the broad shoulders, his mouth, his hair. A hum left her lips.
It was easy when she wasn’t looking into his eyes.
“Strange,” he said softly. “I feel the heat of your desire.”
“Then perhaps I am a good actress.”
“Yes, perhaps you are.”
Still, she did not look at him.
“Show me love, Miss Darling. In your mind, how is it different?”
Love was felt on a deeper level. Great poets spoke of a soul connection, told of the eyes being the gateway to a higher plane. With lust, images fed the body’s cravings. With love, the opposite was true. The emotion rose from the chest and was conveyed through the eyes.
As if she knew a sorcerer’s trick, Claudia imagined that love enveloped her heart. It did not take long for heat to radiate from the organ and flood her body. Slowly she raised her lids and looked directly into Mr Lockhart’s brown eyes.
The sight stole her breath.
Not because he was the most handsome man ever to make her acquaintance, but because she sensed a connection there. The longer she stared at the gold flecks around his pupils—and the longer she imagined loving this man—the more the connection grew.
Mr Lockhart remained rooted to the spot. His breathing grew shallow. While Claudia fought the urge to cup his cheek, she noticed his head moving towards hers. His glance at her lips told her all she needed to know.
“Kissing was not part of the bargain,” she said, pressing her fingers to his lips when he came too close. She dropped her hand and stepped back. “Did you not sense the difference? Did love and lust appear the same to you?”
“Oh, I sensed the difference. But it so happens that both times I thought only of devouring your pretty mouth.”
Claudia sighed. Mr Lockhart reminded her of a naughty boy in the schoolroom.
“And if you accept my proposal,” he continued, “you will have to kiss me at some point. Why not now?”
* * *
Lockhart took pleasure in the look of shock and then annoyance that marred Miss Darling’s delicate features. He had wanted to kiss her the moment she blushed when he offered to massage her toes. No doubt she tasted of everything that was right with the world—of honesty, integrity, of clean and wholesome living.
“Why would I need to kiss you when I have not accepted your proposal?” Her argument drew him from his amorous musings.
She had a point. Even so, a man couldn’t help but try. Well, if he couldn’t kiss her, he might as well tease her. “But you will accept.”
“How do you know I will?”
“Because you have a kind heart, Miss Darling, and because you need the money.”
She appeared both flattered and insulted by his direct reply. “What makes you think I need your money?”
Did she think he was blind and stupid?
He gestured to the tin bucket, to the simple meal still gracing their plates. “You’re struggling to make repairs to the property. You make excuses for the lack of variety when serving supper. And your wardrobe is rather limited, to say the least.” He challenged her to argue with his accurate observations.
“What is wrong with this dress?” She tugged at the striped brown skirt that did little to enhance her figure.
“It’s ugly.”
“It is warm and extremely comfortable.”
“It is too drab for my wife.”
“I am not your wife.”
“Not yet. Admit you need the money. Admit I am the answer to your prayers.” If they were going to tackle his family together, he had to get past her defences. “If we have any hope of helping each other, then there must be honesty between us.”
Miss Darling fell silent.
Her gaze turned meditative.
From the deep frown marring her brow, her troubles were far greater than he first suspected. Or was it the thought of spending a week in his company that caused her distress?
“If you want directness, sir, you shall have it,” she eventually said, her tone determined. “Yes, I need the money, but a thousand pounds is not enough to encourage me to sleep in your bed.”
He jerked his head back. “I am not paying you to make love to me. And a thousand pounds is ample considering you’ll have a new wardrobe at your disposal.”
She blinked rapidly. “You want me to lie next to you each night when you have already admitted to sleeping naked. And there’s every chance someone might recognise me in the future. For such a blight to my reputation, I require two thousand pounds.”
Lockhart rubbed his chin as he studied her. One had to admire anyone willing to fight for their position. “Fifteen hundred. And that is my final offer.”
“Seventeen.”
“Done.”
Her eyes grew wide with shock, and she struggled to keep the satisfied smile at bay. “And you must wear a nightshirt to bed.”
“A nightshirt?” he scoffed. Did the lady not know that he could seduce her with one toe? One toe drawn slowly up the lower leg sent tingles of pleasure directly to the sensitive spot between a lady’s thighs. “Agreed.”
“And my sister must accompany us.”
“That is out of the question,” he replied in a tone that said the request was not up for negotiation. “She will remain here. Dariell will ensure her safety.”
“Monsieur Dariell cannot take residency in the house.” Panic infused each word.
“For appearance’s sake, you will hire him as her dance tutor. He will remain in this cottage and visit her daily.”
“No, that will not do.” Miss Darling shook her head five times or more. “Should someone learn of my absence and see them together, she will be the subject of gossip.”
Better that than for Lockhart’s enemies to use her as a pawn. While he hated focusing on the lady’s weakness, being blind only made her an easy target.
Lockhart inhaled deeply. “Let me remind you of the reason behind my proposal, Miss Darling.” Talking of that fateful night brought the memories flooding back—the blood, the cold, lifeless eyes staring back at him. “An innocent man was murdered. Murdered,” he repeated, in case she had not understood the severity of his situation. “The culprit will look for ways to hurt me, of that I am convinced. I can protect you, but I cannot protect your sister, too.”
Fear filled her eyes. “You think this person might try to hurt me?”
“I don’t know what he will do, but—” Guilt made it impossible to finish the sentence. “Perhaps I am asking too much. Perhaps you should forget my proposal, forget you ever met me.”
A brief look of panic marred her dainty features. The lady turned away from him. She dropped into her seat at the table, captured the wine glass and gulped the contents.
Long seconds passed.
“I led you to believe I would help you,” she said in a melancholic tone, though she did not tear her gaze away from the single drop of claret swimming in the bottom of the glass. “And I agreed to accept an extortionate sum in payment.”
“I’m strong enough to deal with rejection, Miss Darling.” And yet the weight of disappointment in his chest was like nothing he had felt before. “I shall have to find another way to achieve my goal.”
“Life can be cruel and unfair,” she said, though still would not look at him.
He moved to kneel beside her, took hold of her chin between his fingers and drew her around to face him. “Life can be beautiful, too, of that I am assured.”
Her sombre gaze searched his face. “Perhaps there is a compromise.”
“I am all ears,” he said, hope springing to life in his heart once again.
Miss Darling pursed her lips while deep in thought.
“Dariell is trustworthy,” Lockhart added. “I would not suggest he remain here were he not above reproach.”
“I know. The man’s character is as eas
y to read as a page in an open book.”
“It is a book of great depth and wisdom.”
“That is what Emily admires about him.” Miss Darling sighed. “London is but thirty miles away. I do not have to be seen at Falaura Glen every day. What if you brought me home twice during the week? I could go into Flamstead, attend church. The locals would be none the wiser. Mrs Bitton can say I’m ill should anyone call.”
Lockhart watched her intently as she continued with her garbled excuses.
“You’re not worried about the gossips,” he said, sensing the real cause of her anxiety. “You’re worried about how your sister will cope in your absence.”
She looked at him from beneath half-closed lids. “Is it so obvious? Emily craves independence, but I’m frightened to let her go.”
Lockhart couldn’t help but smile. “That is the most honest thing you’ve said all evening.” There was hope yet, hope that they could form a union strong enough to bring down every devious scoundrel ever to darken his door. “What if I escort you home three times during the week? Between Dariell and your housekeeper, I am confident we can come up with a plan that will work to our mutual benefit.”
A genuine smile brightened her countenance. “You would do that?”
“It is the least I can do under the circumstances. Besides, I sense your sister is desperate for a challenge.”
Miss Darling’s striking blue gaze dropped to his lips. “I imagine it will be a challenge for us all.”
Chapter Five
For an hour, Lockhart had sat opposite Miss Darling, as his newly purchased carriage rattled along the narrow lanes and bobbed up and down in rain-filled ruts, and neither had spoken.
Tension sucked all air from the confined space. The draught blowing in from the small gap in the open window did little to relieve her anxiety.
The lady had sobbed upon leaving her sister. Tears welled in her eyes whenever she noticed a milestone marking the distance to London. Perhaps he should have drawn the blinds. But plunging them into darkness would only send her nerves scattering.
Doubtless, he had made a mistake.
Despite Miss Darling’s protestations to the contrary, he feared she would collapse under the weight of his burden. The week would bring many trials. Danger lurked in the shadows. Evil lingered behind warm smiles and kind gestures. The ton behaved like the devil’s brood come to wreak mischief and mayhem.
“Are you cold?” he suddenly asked when the silence became deafening. For all his confidence and courage, he needed some reassurance that she would keep her end of the bargain. “I can close the window.”
“No. I hardly slept a wink last night, and the cool breeze is keeping me awake.”
“The bustling streets of London are but an hour away. Take a nap. It might help to liven your spirits.”
For the first time since setting out on their journey, she looked at him directly. “I couldn’t possibly sleep knowing you’re watching me.”
Lockhart snorted. “What do you think I’ll be doing tonight when we climb into bed? I like to read for an hour and suspect the late nights will leave you exhausted.”
The lady was used to country hours. Supper at six, not midnight. Snoozing by the fire, not dancing and making merry.
“You mean you’re serious about that?”
Lockhart frowned. “Balls and routs go on until the early hours.”
“No, I mean you’re serious about us sharing a bed. It’s not as though your family will storm into your bedchamber and demand evidence of our betrothal.”
“We will sleep together, Miss Darling.” The serious edge to his tone should leave her in no doubt. “It is for the servants’ sake that I insist.”
“The servants?” She drew her brows tightly together. “Why would they care?”
Clearly the lady knew nothing of life in town. “My friend Lord Greystone hired all the staff from the Registry. Consequently, they have no loyalty and may accept bribes for information.”
Her shoulders sagged. “So home will be a potential battleground, too?”
Home? There was no such place. Not anymore.
“I am the only person you should trust, Miss Darling.”
She contemplated the comment before saying, “Claudia, you must call me Claudia else there’s every chance you’ll inadvertently make a mistake.”
“As I said, we must learn to share a certain intimacy if we are to convince others ours is a love match. Most people call me Lockhart, but you may call me Hudson, if you so wish.”
“Hudson,” she repeated as if the word held special meaning. “Perhaps we should use this time to become better acquainted with our story.”
“Our story?”
“Where did we meet? When did we marry?” She glanced at her gloved hand. “Do I not have a ring? A token of your love and abiding affection?”
Lockhart had made a rough sketch of events in his mind. “Your father served as an officer in the 8th dragoons in Meerut. We met at a dance held by the regiment who invited a few British gentlemen living in the area. I attended as a guest of Lord Valentine.”
“And I suppose my name is not Darling.”
“You were Miss Adams—a relatively common name should anyone wish to pry. But you will avoid questions regarding your family’s background.”
“But I know nothing about India other than it’s hot,” she gabbled in a panic.
“Then when in bed this evening, I shall paint a vivid picture. One you’re unlikely to forget.”
A blush crept up her neck to colour her cheeks. “And you must tell me about your friends, although I feel as if I have known Monsieur Dariell for a lifetime.”
“He has that effect on people.”
Claudia gave a sad sigh. “I hope Emily will manage at home in my absence.”
Without asking permission, he reached over and took hold of her hand resting in her lap. She should get used to his sudden touch if they wished to make their relationship appear convincing. “Your sister is stronger than you think.”
She did not snatch her hand away. “I’m sure you’re right. Besides, a week will pass in no time.”
A week might not be long enough to trap the villain. Once settled into her new position, Lockhart hoped Miss Darling might be flexible if he needed her assistance a little longer. There was no point mentioning it now.
“I do have a ring,” he said to distract her from thoughts of Falaura Glen. “Would you like me to place it on your finger or shall I simply give you the box?”
Perhaps she didn’t mean to grip his hand, nor for her eyes to widen with excitement. After all, this was all part of the deception.
“You put it on. Then if someone asks about the moment I first glimpsed the ring, I can tell a half truth.”
“Then you should remove your glove.” Lockhart released her hand and delved into the inside pocket of his coat. He removed the black box, raised the lid and presented the ring for her inspection.
Miss Darling’s eyes almost bulged from their sockets as she gawped at the amethyst and diamond halo ring. He had spared no expense. The traitor would know Lockhart had amassed great wealth while working abroad these last five years.
“You can touch it,” Lockhart said, trying to sit still as the carriage rocked back and forth. “It is yours now.”
Miss Darling swallowed audibly as she traced the circular cluster of diamonds with her fingertip. “You mean it is mine for the next week.”
“Indeed.”
For some obscure reason, his fingers shook as he pulled the ring from its velvet cushion. Miss Darling’s fingers trembled, too, as he pushed the gold band slowly down over her knuckle. How strange that it was a perfect fit.
“Is it a family heirloom?” she asked, still gaping in awe.
Lockhart scoffed at the question. Fake or not, his wife deserved better than a ring given by a host of hypocrites.
“No. It is a ring of my own choosing, not one handed down through generations.”
“Oh.” She examined the sparkling gems gracing her finger. “One purchased purely for the deception? I doubt you would want to honour the future Mrs Lockhart with a ring worn by another woman. Ladies tend to be rather pedantic about such things.”
How fortunate he had no intention of ever marrying. “Some men are born for bachelorhood. Some men prefer the freedom that comes with remaining unattached.”
Miss Darling’s gaze turned inquisitive. “And you place yourself in this category of gentlemen?”
“I do.” And he was not ashamed to admit it.
“Naturally, circumstances lead you to distrust people’s motives. If one cannot trust their kin what hope have they of trusting a wife?”
“Precisely.” Evidently, Miss Darling was one of the few women who could accurately hear the unspoken.
Lockhart doubted he would ever trust another living soul. His friends were like brothers, and he hated that a small part of him reserved doubt over their loyalty. He did not trust the lady seated opposite, either, which was why he hoped to see the matter of vengeance concluded quickly.
“So you have no desire to produce an heir?” Miss Darling scanned the carriage’s plush interior—the blue velvet seats, the silk blind with a gold tassel. “Are men of means not eager to secure their wealth for future generations?”
“For the living, money is a necessary evil. My friends will enjoy my fortune when I’m dead.”
“Money is the cause of most people’s problems.” Tiny furrows appeared between her brows.
“Including yours.” Had she not been desperate for funds, she would not be sitting opposite him now.
“My father was a little lapse in his accounting.”
“You could marry. There must be a wealthy squire in the district keen to find a wife.”
“And have him send my sister to an institute when he grows weary and considers her a burden?”
“So you’re just as distrusting.” It was a small comfort to know he wasn’t the only person suspicious of other people’s motives.
“I, too, know that snakes hide in the grass waiting for the right moment to strike.”
“Then we have something in common, Miss Darling.” Though he doubted she had a relative who wanted to frame her for murder. Doubted her betrothed had deserted her and married her sibling.
