A Gentleman's Curse: Avenging Lords - Book 4

by Clee, Adele

  “Claudia,” she corrected. “You must become accustomed to using my given name, Hudson. And while both of us lack faith in the integrity of others, there must be an element of trust between us for your plan to succeed.”

  His plan? His plan amounted to walking into the ballroom and hoping his brother died from the shock. His plan amounted to his sister-in-law dropping to her knees, poor and destitute, while he refused every request for help.

  Both were unlikely.

  Should he tell Miss Darling that they had little hope of success? Should he tell her that this elaborate deception might only serve to open old wounds? He might never discover his family’s motive for wanting him dead. He might swing from the gallows—an innocent man—and the gentleman’s curse would claim yet another victim.

  “How long have we been married?” Miss Darling asked.

  “Twelve months.”

  “I need a specific date. Ladies often ask such things.”

  He shrugged.

  “What about the second of November?” she suggested.

  “The second it is. We were married by the Reverend Fischer in a small makeshift chapel in Meerut because St John’s church is in the process of being built.”

  Miss Darling nodded. “The information will prove useful, but when two people are in love, the place hardly matters.”

  “No, I don’t suppose it does.” The mere mention of marriage reminded him of why he needed a wife to help him deceive his family. “You are currently with child.”

  “With child?” Miss Darling placed her hand on her stomach. “Oh, I see. Your family must think I am carrying your heir.”

  “Indeed.” Lockhart needed to prove a point. “I want them to think I am deliriously happy.” He wanted Selina Lockhart to wallow in guilt and regret. “I want them to see that my life is unhindered by the evil wrought upon me.”

  Miss Darling stared down her nose in silent disapproval. She rubbed the mist from the window and looked out, feigned interest in the trees whipping by.

  “What?” he pressed. “You disagree with my motive?”

  Did the prospect of his wife bearing a child not give him a reason to return to clear his name?

  Her gaze flicked in his direction. “Vengeance is an illusion.”

  “Did Dariell tell you that?” Lockhart snorted.

  Had his friend been preaching about man’s eagerness to corrupt his soul?

  Had he insisted Miss Darling was a good choice because he knew she would continue to taunt Lockhart, to question his reasoning?

  “You think the truth will make you happy,” Miss Darling said. “It won’t.”

  Lockhart folded his arms across his chest. “Then what would make me happy, pray tell?”

  She raised her chin. “Acceptance.”

  “Acceptance?” he mocked.

  This guileless maiden was even more naive than he suspected. She knew nothing of life’s trials and tribulations. She might want for money, but no one had ever stripped away her character and trampled it into the dirt. No one had ever manipulated the truth to hold her to ransom.

  “Accept what happened to you. Find the truth and move on. Ruining lives will not bring you the peace you crave. Hurting others will not lessen the pain.”

  The need to fight, the need to punish those responsible, burned inside him like a constant flame. Acceptance left no room for justice. And who wanted to live in a world without justice?

  “Thankfully, I am not paying you for your opinion, Miss Darling.” His blunt response forced her to inhale sharply.

  The lady’s gaze shot back to the window, misted once again from the heat of their breath. This time she did not bother to wipe away the droplets but watched them trickle slowly down the pane.

  Tension returned to crush the air from the confined space.

  They had made some progress on their journey. She had spoken without blushing, without the surreptitious glances she stole whenever she struggled to look him in the eye. Having more or less told her she was as good as the hired help, it was up to him to fill the silence.

  “The first disagreement is always the hardest,” he said in a lighthearted tone to show he was not annoyed. “I’m told reconciliation is often rewarding.”

  Kissing after a heated argument was said to cause an explosion of passion.

  “We are allowed to disagree,” she said without looking at him.

  Had Miss Darling been his lover, he would have taken her chin, drew her mouth to his and delved so deep inside she would forget the reason for her petulance.

  “We are,” he agreed. He was used to the company of men. Men shouted and swore. Fists flew. They made their point, the argument soon forgotten. “Disagreements are healthy. Through differing opinions, we will come to know each other better.”

  “Yes, I suspect we will disagree on many things, Mr Lockhart.”

  “What happened to using our given names?”

  She looked at him for longer than a few seconds. “A lady often addresses her husband formally when slightly annoyed.”

  He could not tell if she spoke in earnest or in jest.

  “What would I have to do for you to call me Hudson?” He had never been one to pander to a lady’s capricious moods. For his wife, he might make an exception. For his wife, he might consider seducing her into submission.

  “Do not speak to me as if this arrangement is one-sided,” she snapped. When making a point, she lost all trace of nerves. “We are assisting each other. Remember that, and we will find the wherewithal to muddle through.”

  To say her contradicting character traits fascinated him was an understatement. Devil take him, Dariell was right. This lady had enough humility to be the darling of the ton. She had enough self-worth to put every disreputable rogue in his place.

  “You’re right. I often speak without thought.” He could be magnanimous. He could be an arrogant arse, too, but this lady roused the gentleman in him. “You may find it hard to bear my company.”

  Miss Darling’s mouth curled into a weak smile. “It’s surprising what a lady will put up with when faced with the prospect of earning seventeen hundred pounds.”

  Chapter Six

  London was not the vibrant metropolis Claudia had envisioned. Well, not at five in the evening when smothered by a grey blanket of fog. While aware of the plight of the impoverished, she had expected to see ladies in fine gowns promenading down streets lined with carriages. But it was as if a malevolent presence filled the air, chasing people into their homes, choking those who’d found the courage to step outdoors.

  “Is it always so dismal?” Claudia asked as the sight threatened to suck her spirits down into its murky depths.

  “Not in the summer.”

  Mr Lockhart’s mood matched the depressing scene outside. He had fallen into a tense silence since passing through the turnpike, since the noise of the bustling city reached their ears. While Claudia had watched the hazy figures of men carrying torches to prevent accidents on the road, he had shrunk back into the shadows. Subdued. Solemn.

  Not knowing what to say or how to soothe him—for they were strangers after all—she had stared into the gloom while worrying about how Emily was coping at home.

  The week would be long and tiresome if they continued like this.

  Brooding only created barricades.

  “Are you thinking about the past?” she said, keeping her gaze fixed on the window.

  He did not reply.

  “You’re replaying the events that led to you leaving.” Most people did a similar thing when struggling with a problem. “You’re letting bitterness consume your rational thoughts.”

  Whether her assessment proved accurate was immaterial. Her only motive was to tempt him to converse.

  “Are you sure Dariell has not enrolled you in his school of insight?” Mr Lockhart eventually said, though his voice held a hint of mockery. “You appear to have an innate ability to read my thoughts.”

  Claudia smiled inwardly and gave he
rself an imaginary pat on the back for a job well done. “Is it not part of the human condition to analyse the past?”

  “Is that what you think I am doing, Miss Darling?”

  “Most definitely.”

  He straightened. “Then what else would you have me do? What would Dariell suggest?”

  Oh, what was it the Frenchman said about the heart? Emily would know. She listened intently whenever Monsieur Dariell spoke.

  “We should be busy constructing a plan, not dwelling on something beyond our control.”

  “We?” Even in the dark confines of the carriage, she saw the suspicious glint that played in his eyes whenever someone challenged him.

  Claudia retaliated with a smile. “I am your wife and have a vested interest in the outcome.”

  “A vested interest? Ah, you mean money. Have no fear, Miss Darling. I shall ensure you’re paid even if I’m hauled to the gallows and left to dangle from the neck until dead.”

  “Don’t say that.” A sharp pain stabbed her chest when she pictured him meeting his demise. “From what you’ve said, your brother is the only one who knows about your supposed involvement in the murder. I doubt he will call a constable and bring shame upon the Lockhart name.”

  “My brother’s silence came at a price,” he said, a menacing aura radiating from him once again.

  “Do you speak of the five years you spent abroad?”

  “Of the five long, laborious years.”

  “We’ve reverted to speaking about the past again,” she said. “Let us focus on the present.”

  The sudden jerk of the carriage proved a timely intervention. The vehicle slowed and rumbled to a halt. Through the haze, Claudia noted a white townhouse with an excessive number of windows.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “Home. Well, for the next week, at least.”

  “I mean where in London.”

  “Russell Square. Lord Greystone leased the property on my behalf. It comes with a modest staff, and Dariell hired a lady’s maid to assist you. She’s French. He also made arrangements for your wardrobe. Madame Armand is a talented modiste who exceeded his expectations.”

  Her wardrobe?

  Claudia suppressed the chuckle bubbling in her throat. The last time she’d worn a new dress fashion dictated straighter skirts and shorter sleeves. The rush of excitement had nothing to do with vanity. For once, she could indulge her desires without worrying about paying the bill.

  “You will need to pick a dress for the masquerade ball this evening. Your maid has skill in making alterations but will—”

  “You expect me to attend a ball this evening?” Panic ensued. She needed more time to prepare, more time to settle into her new role.

  Mr Lockhart nodded. “We leave at ten.”

  Ten? She lay curled up in bed at nine most nights.

  Ten! That gave her less than five hours to prepare.

  A footman appeared at the carriage window, the shiny buttons on his mustard coat attracting her attention. He opened the door, dropped the steps and assisted Claudia to the pavement.

  Mr Lockhart exited the carriage. He placed his hand at the small of Claudia’s back and guided her towards the front door. It took a tremendous effort not to gasp in shock at the intimate gesture. Heavens, she would have to get used to a certain level of familiarity, and quickly.

  They spent the next thirty minutes meeting the servants who would attend them during their stay in Russell Square. It became apparent that Mr Lockhart had leased the house for six months. What would he tell them when Claudia packed her valise and fled in the middle of the night? How would he explain her sudden departure? Not that it mattered. Whatever happened once the week was out was not her concern.

  The housekeeper, Mrs Brewster—a woman whose serious countenance conveyed pride in her position—gave them a tour of the house.

  “You understand that my wife and I wish to share the same bedchamber,” Mr Lockhart said when the housekeeper escorted them to the master suite.

  Claudia stared at the four-poster bed. She blinked numerous times to banish the image of a muscular male body sprawled across the mattress. Perhaps she might negotiate the terms of their agreement once they returned from the masquerade.

  “Yes, sir. Lord Greystone expressed your preferences.”

  What? Had Mr Lockhart told his friend of his desire to sleep with his wife?

  “I have moved Mrs Lockhart’s clothes into the dressing room as instructed.” Mrs Brewster gestured to the open door on their left which led into a side room dominated by two large armoires.

  Nerves fluttered in Claudia’s stomach. Surely Mr Lockhart didn’t expect her to undress while he watched.

  “Excellent.” Mr Lockhart’s arm slid around Claudia’s waist, and his hand settled on her hip. “Having spent months on a ship bound for England, we’re used to living in close quarters.”

  As master of the house he had no need to explain, but the comment added a certain credibility to their story.

  “Please send Lissette up in five minutes,” Claudia said, forcing a smile. She had to find something to distract her thoughts from the warm fingers caressing her hip. “I must choose a dress for the masquerade ball.”

  “I trust Lord Greystone informed you we’re dining out tonight,” Mr Lockhart said, “though I shall still require a light repast at seven.”

  “He did, and yes, sir.” Mrs Brewster turned to Claudia. “On the matter of dinner, ma’am, I shall have next week’s menus sent up for your approval.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Brewster.” Claudia was keen to get rid of the housekeeper so her husband might stop with the pretence. “That will be all for now.”

  As soon as the housekeeper exited the room and closed the door, Claudia swung around. “Must you be so open in your affections, sir?” she whispered.

  A sinful grin played on the gentleman’s lips. She decided she preferred this look to the glum mood he had succumbed to earlier.

  “My darling, we have to set the scene for our play.” He captured her chin between his fingers and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Tonight, we will have to jump on the mattress until the bed squeaks. I suggest you start practising pleasurable moans.”

  Oh, he was incorrigible. He seemed to be enjoying his new role far too much.

  “There is no need to call me darling,” she countered. “And I am certain married couples do not rut like wild animals.”

  Mr Lockhart laughed. He stepped back and released her chin. “I shall call you darling in case I make a faux pas and use your real name. And the right gentleman will most definitely rouse a howl from your luscious lips. Let’s hope it is your husband.”

  His gaze dropped to her mouth as hunger flashed in his eyes.

  “That is a look of lust, Mr Lockhart, when we are supposed to be in love.”

  “Ah, you want love, Miss Darling?” Slowly, and with an intensity that stole her breath, Hudson Lockhart met her gaze. “Then I shall give you love.”

  The energy in the air sparked to life as he stared deeply into her eyes. The gold striped wallpaper and gilt-framed pictures all blurred into the background as he became her focus. Mr Lockhart looked at her as if she were a priceless jewel, unlike anything he had seen before. He looked at her as if she were the air he needed to breathe.

  Heat swirled in Claudia’s stomach. A desperate ache filled her heart. The sensitive place between her legs pulsed. Her fingers itched to touch him, all of him. The difference between love and lust became blurred as she imagined being drawn to his chest, being kissed by his expert mouth, caressed by his expert hands.

  A light rap on the door shattered the spell.

  “Who is it?” Claudia called in a strained voice while she continued to stare at her husband.

  “It is I, Lissette, madame.”

  “You should let her in.” Mr Lockhart’s smooth tones continued to soothe and caress.

  “Should I?”

  “A man might take liberties if given a chanc
e.”

  “You sent for me, madame,” Lissette called from beyond the door.

  “She has but a few hours to make any adjustments to your gown,” Mr Lockhart added.

  Claudia blinked to bring herself back to reality. “Give me a moment, Lissette,” she said, glancing over her shoulder before turning back to the gentleman who could grace the stage with such a convincing performance. “With such fine acting skills, I imagine no one will doubt our story.”

  He smiled. “The same might be said for you. Not once did you look away.”

  “If ever we find ourselves destitute, we can always work in the theatre.”

  His smile faded. “Tonight, you will need to give your best performance. You must not drop your guard until we are alone once again in this room.”

  “I understand.” Nerves threatened to consume her, but she kept them at bay.

  Mr Lockhart lingered for a moment before inclining his head and striding to the door.

  He stopped as his hand settled on the knob, though he did not turn to face her when he spoke. “I ask a great deal, I know. But I would not have brought you here were I not confident you had the strength to deal with the task.” He did not wait for a response but opened the door and gestured for Lissette to enter. “I shall be in the study should you need me.”

  The words tugged at a place deep in her core. The day she needed him would be the day she packed her valise and took the mail coach back to Falaura Glen.

  Claudia might have sunk into a melancholic mood if left to contemplate the great task that lay ahead, but Lissette was a lively woman whose vivacious personality lifted one’s spirits.

  “Oh, wait until you see Madame Armand’s creations,” Lissette said as she closed the bedchamber door and hurried to the dressing room. “The modiste, she has worked miracles. Miracles.”

  Excitement fluttered to life in Claudia’s chest, banishing all prospect of her sinking into the doldrums.

  “Come,” Lissette beckoned, holding out her hand. “Come see.”