Henry rolled his eyes. “What a ninny you are. Edward Barrington is no innocent, as evidenced by what he did to your sister.”
Darcy pressed her lips into a firm line. It had been five years, but the wound flared as strong as ever. She adored her sister Priscilla, her junior by four years, and whom she had always sought to protect. Edward had not only wronged Priscilla, but in so doing, had wronged Nathan, an innocent boy born without a father.
“How you can have the slightest sympathy for that pup confounds me,” agreed Mathilda.
“I will never forgive the Barringtons for their mistreatment of Priscilla,” Darcy acknowledged. “But I could not send a man and his family to ruin in such a fashion.”
“That folly were his own creation. It was not your idea to offer up his own estate for a wager.”
“If I offer to return Brayten in exchange for what Edward had initially lost to me, I could pay off our debts to Mr. Wempole and have enough to live comfortably for many years. Eighty thousand pounds were no paltry sum.”
Henry threw his legs off the bed and sat up to face Darcy. “I am your oldest and dearest friend, and I must say that if you dare return Brayten to that Barrington fellow, I will never speak to you again. At the very least, wait a sennight before making your mind.”
“Make the rascal squirm a might,” agreed Mathilda. “I had meant to tell you that Mr. Reynolds has returned, and I think he is willing to open his purse a great deal more tonight—with the appropriate persuasion, of course. But this delectable stranger is far more promising.”
Darcy blushed, turning away but not before Henry noticed.
“Do my eyes deceive?” he inquired. “Are you interested in this fellow?”
“He is different,” Darcy admitted, recalling the most intense pair of eyes she had ever seen.
“Simply because a man refrains from ogling you or pawing you does not make him different from the others, darling. Oldest trick in the book.”
“Am I not old enough to know all manner of tricks?” Darcy replied. “It amuses me how often men overestimate the appeal of their sex.”
“They serve their purpose,” added Mathilda with an almost sentimental wistfulness before taking a practical tone, “but like a banquet, one must sample a variety. Our Darcy will not be turned by one man alone, no matter how appetizing he appears.”
“The only use I have of men, save you, dear Harry, is their pocketbooks,” said Darcy firmly before taking her leave.
Despite her parting words, however, before returning to the drawing room where he waited, Darcy stopped at a mirror in the hallway to consider her appearance. She found herself concerned with how the stranger might perceive her. An entirely silly feeling more appropriate to a chit out of the schoolroom than an experienced woman such as herself. She wasn’t even sure that the man liked her. Indeed, she rather suspicioned that he did not, despite his having wagered for her kiss. Nonetheless, she confirmed that the sleeves of her gown were even and that her hair was tucked more or less in place.
“Never thought to find you here, Lord Broadmoor.”
It was the voice of Cavin Richards, a notorious rake known among women for his seductive grin and among men for his many female conquests.
Broadmoor, Darcy repeated to herself. The name was vaguely familiar.
“And your presence here surprises me none at all,” was the uninterested response from the stranger in the drawing room.
Not put off, Cavin replied, “Yes, I find White’s and Brooks’s rather dull in comparison to Mrs. T’s. Care for a round of hazard?”
“I came not for cards or dice but to see Miss Sherwood.”
“Ahhhh, of course, Miss Sherwood.”
Darcy was familiar with the suggestive smile that Cavin was no doubt casting at the stranger. She held herself against the wall but inched closer towards the open doors.
“Quite pleasurable to the eye, is she not?” Cavin drawled.
“She is tolerable.”
“Tolerable? My friend, you are either blind in an eye or have odd standards of beauty.”
“While I find her appearance does no offense, it cannot hide the vulgarity of her nature.”
Darcy bit her bottom lip. She supposed she had played the flirt quite heavily tonight, but had she been that offensive?
“Vulgarity of nature?” Cavin echoed. “I agree Miss Sherwood is no candidate for Almack’s but that’s playing it up strong. Or is it her vulgarity what draws you? I must say, I never saw that side of you, Broadmoor. I own that I thought you rather a bore, but now you intrigue me!”
The irritation in his voice was evident as Broadmoor responded, “It is clear to me that you know little of me, Richards, and perhaps less of Miss Sherwood or even you would not be so ready to consort in her company. I know your standards to be pliant, but I did not think they would extend to the lowest forms of humankind. Indeed, I would barely put Miss Sherwood above the snail or any other creature that crawls with its belly to the earth. For beauty or not, I would rather be seen with a carnival animal than in her company. It is with the greatest displeasure that circumstances have compelled—nay, forced—me to call upon her. I would that I had nothing to do with her, her family, or any of her ilk.”
“Then what extraordinary occasion would bring my lordship from his Olympus to consort with us lower mortals?” Darcy asked upon her appearance in the drawing room, relieved that her voice did not quiver quite as much as she had feared it would for it was difficult to contain the anger that flared within her.
The Baron seemed taken aback but quickly collected himself. His bow to her was exceedingly low, but the ice in his tone would have sent shivers down the most stalwart man. “Miss Sherwood, I have matters to dispense that I trust will not require much of your time or mine.”
He turned to Cavin and added, “In private.”
Darcy could tell from his eager expression that her former lover desired very much to stay, but she had no interest in his presence either.
“My invitation to hazard remains open should you decide to stay,” Cavin told Broadmoor as he picked up his hat and gloves, winking at Darcy before departing.
With Cavin gone, Darcy placed the full weight of her gaze upon the Baron. She lifted her chin as if that alone gave her height enough to match his.
“I think you know why I have come to call,” Broadmoor said without a wasted second.
“It was not for my song?” She hoped her flippant tone covered how much his earlier words had stung her.
“Do not play your games with me, my child.”
Games? What was he getting at?
“Then what game do you wish to play, sir, brag apparently not being sufficient for you?”
Her response seemed to ignite flames in his eyes. He took a menacing step towards her, his lips pressed into a thin line. “It would be unwise of you to incur my wrath.”
“And you mine,” she responded before thinking. She was not about to allow him browbeat her.
He looked surprised, then amused to the point of laughter. She took that moment to move towards the sideboard for despite her desire to challenge him word for word and gaze for gaze, his nearness was beginning to intimidate her.
“I am prepared to offer a great sum for the return of the deed to Brayten,” he announced. “I am told that the circumstances of the wager between you and my cousin were fair. For that reason alone, I offer recompense.”
It was then that Darcy recognized the eyes—the same color of coal as Edward Barrington, who sported much lighter hair and whose lanky form did not match his cousin’s imposing physique. Her mind sank into the recesses of her mind to connect the name of Broadmoor with one Radcliff Barrington.
She had heard only that his manner tended towards the aloof. She should not be surprised that, like his cousin, he tended towards the arrogant as well, but nothing had quite prepared her for the condescension that overflowed with each deliberate word of his.
“Pray, what great sum are you offeri
ng?” she asked with nonchalance as she poured herself a glass of burgundy.
“The proposal of a monetary recompense interests you, I see,” he noted.
How she wished she could turn the lout into stone with her glare. Instead, she feigned a sweet smile and said, “Yes, we lower creatures of the earth prefer the petty and base interests.”
“I am prepared to offer one hundred thousand pounds, Miss Sherwood.”
Darcy began choking on the wine she had tried to imbibe just then. After coughing and sputtering and feeling as if her face must have matched her beverage in color, she straightened herself.
One hundred thousand pounds…it was enough to discharge the debts and provide a decent living for her family. By returning Brayten, her intention from the start, she could have done with the gaming house. She was tempted to take his offer without a second thought, but various words he had said rang in her head. Had he called her a child earlier?
“Your cousin was in debt to me for eighty thousand pounds before he lost Brayten,” she said, stalling. “One could say you are offering me only twenty thousand pounds for Brayten. I think the estate to be worth far more than that, surely?”
His eyes were flint, and her heart beat faster as she tried to ignore the way his stare bored into her.
“What sum would you find more appropriate?”
The question stumped Darcy. She had no impression of what Brayten could actually be worth.
“Two hundred thousand pounds?” she guessed.
This time it was Broadmoor’s turn to choke and turn color. “You are refreshingly forthright of your greed. I have known many indulgent people in the course of my life, but you, Miss Sherwood, are the epitome of cupidity!”
“And you, sir, are the epitome of insolence!” she returned.
As if sensing that the gloves had come off, Broadmoor sneered, “I am relieved to discard our pretenses of civility. My courtesy is wasted on a wanton jade.”
“If you think your impertinence will aid your efforts to reclaim Brayten at a lower sum, you are a poor negotiator!”
“My offer stems from my generosity. I could easily consult my barristers and find another means of retrieving what is mine.”
“Then speak to your barristers and do not misuse my time!”
The words flew from her mouth before she had a chance to consider them. She wondered for a moment if she were being unwise but then decided she didn’t care.
In his displeasure, he clenched his jaw, causing a muscle in his face to ripple. “You may find my cousin easy prey, but I assure you that I am no fool.”
“How comforting,” Darcy could not resist.
“Impudent trollop! I have a mind to drag you into the street for a public whipping!”
Unable to fend off her anger, Darcy glared at him and declared, “You have persuaded me that to part with Brayten for anything less than three hundred thousand pounds would be folly.”
“Jezebel! Are there no limits to your wickedness?”
Darcy shrugged and looked away. Her heart was pounding madly.
“I see plainly what is afoot,” Broadmoor observed. “You mean to punish me for taking Edward from your sister.”
She glanced sharply at him. “You! You took Edward?”
“A most wise decision on my part, for I would rather see him in hell than attached to a family such as yours!”
Her heart grew heavy as she remembered Priscilla’s pain and thought of the life that should have been afforded to Nathan had Edward done right by them both.
And it was apparently the doing of Edward’s arrogant cousin!
“I would not return Brayten to you for the world!” Darcy cried. “If I were a man, I should throw you from the house. You are a lout and a mucker!”
He took a furious step towards her. “You ought consider yourself fortunate, Miss Sherwood, not to be a man else I would not hesitate to box your ears in. You do not deserve the decency afforded to a trull...”
A trull was she? A Jezebel. A jade. She had heard worse, but coming from him, the words were fuel to a fire already burning out of control. What else was it that he had said? For beauty or not, I would rather be seen with a carnival animal than in her company…
“I will consider your exchange under one condition,” she said. “You will submit to being my suitor—an ardent suitor—for a period of six months. You will tend to my every wish and command. Only then, upon your satisfactory and unconditional submission, will I relinquish the deed to Brayten.”
He stared at her in disbelief before smirking. “You suffer delusions of grandeur. I am not in the habit of courting sluts.”
“Then I suggest you begin practicing,” she replied, feeling triumphant to see the veins in his neck pulsing rapidly. “You will appear no later than ten o’clock each evening and await my directions. You will speak not a word of this arrangement to anyone or I am sure to find Brayten beautiful this time of year.”
Broadmoor was beyond livid. He grabbed her with both of his hands. “Damnable doxy! I shall see you thrown in gaol for your treachery and have no remorse if you perished there.”
He was holding her so close that she could feel his angry breath upon her cheek. She tried to ignore the rapid beating of her heart and the painful manner in which her arms were locked in his vice. He looked as if he desired to snap her in twain—and could no doubt accomplish it rather easily in his current state of wrath. It took all her courage to force out words.
“Unhand me, Baron—lest you wish to pay for the privilege of your touch.”
At first he drew her closer. Darcy held her breath. But then he threw her from him in disgust as if she possessed a contagion. Grabbing his gloves and cane, he strode out of the room. Darcy watched his anger with pleasure, but a small voice inside warned her that she had just awoken a sleeping tiger.
CHAPTER FOUR
AUNT DARCY…I came across Mrs. Weaver, who is not of any lineage that signifies but you would never know it from the airs she gives herself…the largest dog I ever saw…with the most audacious headdress…
“Aunt Darcy!”
Darcy Sherwood snapped to attention and looked across the dining table into the bright eyes of her five year old nephew. Each day Nathan grew more and more like Edward Barrington. The boy had the same dark eyes, the same ears that curved outward from his face, the same rounded jaw. He had his mother’s fair hair and her sweet smile, but excepting those features, he was a diminutive version of his father. Darcy had vowed that the similarities would lie only with his physiognomy. He was better off with as little of the Barrington blood in him as possible.
She knew not which Barrington was worse: Edward or his cousin Radcliff. She had not slept well the night before for she could not rid herself of the image of the Baron Broadmoor, gazing down his nose at her with those dark unnerving eyes of his. And when she awoke, her first thoughts had been of his rugged countenance—she would make that handsome scorn of his turn into a frown of despair—and his blistering words—he would be speechless when she was through with him. And to think she had nearly kissed the man! Worse—she had desired it. Her body soured recalling how giddy and anxious she had felt yesterday before he revealed his true purpose. If he had meant all that he had said, why the bloody hell had he bothered playing that hand of brag? Was it to humiliate her? The thought burned her, and she could hardly wait to provide him his set-down.
“Aunt Darcy, did you hear my story?”
“Let Darcy eat in peace,” admonished a slender and pretty young woman of two and twenty years.
“Worry not, Priscilla. I enjoy my supper with a story,” Darcy assured her sister. She turned to Nathan. “Will you tell it to me again?”
Nathan smiled. “Most certainly!”
“I take it you heard not a word I said either?” asked Mrs. Sherwood with a self-pitying sniff as she dabbed at the corners of her mouth so as not to mar the rouge upon her lips. Leticia Sherwood always kept her face presentable as if important company mig
ht call upon them at any moment.
“Mama, you ought not to have bought a new bonnet,” replied Priscilla, “no matter what Mrs. Weaver said. You yourself said she gives herself airs. Even were she any authority on the fashion of bonnets, we haven’t the money for such expenditures.”
“Does this mean we can’t have a dog either?” asked Nathan.
“I fear it is.”
The crestfallen look on the boy’s face pained Darcy. It was not the first time he had been denied, and for the most part he bore the realities like a little soldier. He never complained that his meals were plain, his clothes worn, his playthings nearly nonexistent, but a dog was something he had set his heart on.
“No matter how good I am?” Nathan persisted.
Darcy caught her sister’s helpless look and responded, “Someday, Nathan. It may be longer than you wish, but someday, you shall have a dog.”
“Then I shall be especially good—shall I?—so that day may come!” exclaimed Nathan happily. “Mama, as I have finished my plate, shall I go wash the dishes?”
Darcy watched her nephew depart with both pride and pain. As little girls, neither she nor Priscilla had ever had to work in the kitchen. Jonathan Sherwood had made a decent sum in the West Indies, where Darcy was born, and there had been plenty of servants in the Sherwood house. Now Priscilla and Mrs. Sherwood shared a maid between them. The butler, the housekeeper, the footmen, and all the other maids had been dismissed before Nathan was born. Darcy had tried as hard as she could to retain at least the house they had lived in, but the income at the gaming hall and what loans she could secure would not suffice.
Priscilla turned her bright blue eyes, fringed with long full lashes, onto Darcy. “How in the world are we to afford a dog when we can barely feed the three mouths currently under this roof—let alone an animal that could easily eat the equivalent of two?”
“We can afford a dog and new bonnets. Darcy holds the deed to Brayten!” declared Mrs. Sherwood triumphantly. “I have often said that gaming hell you frequent is despicable. I thought for certain that nothing good could ever come of your being there, but Providence has at last seen fit to pity our situation.”
That Wicked Harlot (A Steamy Regency Romance Collection Book 2) Page 3
