Temptress in Training

by Susan Gee Heino

  Lindley grabbed the first groom he found and ordered a horse be saddled immediately. If that truly had been their shooter the grooms had seen fleeing in such an obvious way—and he suspected it was—he’d best not dawdle. That man was probably on his way now to contact his employer. Lindley was determined to find out just who that might be.

  The groom bustled about his business, and Lindley tapped his foot impatiently. It was not his foot taps he heard out in the yard, though, so he peered out the doorway. By God, what was this? From somewhere a horse appeared behind the posting house. Some unidentified rider spurred the horse away and it took off on a hearty canter, clods of dirt flying up at its hooves.

  But the damaged landscape was not the main reason Lindley stared. His eyes were pinned on the rider. More accurately, his eyes were pinned on the young woman propped tenuously in the lap of the unknown rider. Lindley swore beneath his breath. He did not get a close look at the man, but he certainly recognized that woman.

  Sophie.

  And she was most noticeably not calling out for help or struggling to escape as the man guided their horse out of the yard and onto the road. Going north. Lindley’s plans changed right there and then.

  To hell with the shooter who rode off to the south—Feasel was nearby. He could handle that. If Sophie Darshaw was riding north with some man, then Lindley was, too.

  PAPA HAD BEEN RIGHT. HIS GIG HAD BEEN CONCEALED in a thicket not half a mile from the inn. They’d ridden there and Papa hastily harnessed the horse and got them back on the road. His patient nag seemed to care little whether she was bearing riders or pulling a gig, and Papa’s gentle way with her was strangely comforting.

  Perhaps she had done right by coming with him like this. The Papa she recalled was a kind man, and so far this stranger gave no indication that aspect of him had changed. If only she could be so convinced he was honest.

  “Do you suppose anyone saw us?” Sophie asked, forcing herself to relax into the worn upholstery of Papa’s creaking gig.

  “I didn’t notice anyone. I think we are safe now, Fifi. I’ll look after you.”

  It was an absurd thing for him to say after all these years. He would look after her? Where had he been when she and Mamma had been forced to give up their modest house and go to live in a brothel? Where had he been when she was fending off Mr. Fitzgelder’s pawing attentions for the past weeks? How on earth could she possibly expect him to look after her now when he’d so clearly avoided doing just that for so long?

  But she couldn’t bring herself to ask. There were simply too many questions, too much to say. In truth, she hardly knew this man, and certainly he could not know her. She was barely more than a child when he left, when they’d been told he died. Indeed, he was a stranger, and here she was entrusting her life to him.

  “You are so quiet, my dear,” he said softly.

  “What would you have me talk about?” she asked.

  “Well, it’s been a long time since we’ve spoken,” he said with annoying cheerfulness. “Perhaps you could tell me some of what I’ve missed.”

  “Let’s see,” she began, matching his cheerfulness with an angry intent. “The puppy you gave me ran away because I couldn’t feed it, we lost our home and were forced to live in a brothel, and…oh yes, Mamma died.”

  “Oui. I know,” he replied, the cheerfulness gone. Perhaps his had been as much a sham as hers. “Life has not been very easy.”

  “No, it has not. I wonder why you did nothing to make it any better for us?”

  “Sophie, please…there are things you know nothing about.”

  “I know about Mamma’s suffering. Her heart was broken and then the rest of her failed, too. Still, she worshipped you to the very end.”

  He was silent. Was she hurting him with her words? She hoped so. Somehow it was simply not fair that he was alive now while Mamma was gone.

  “We buried her in the rain. It was a Monday.”

  “I know. You were very brave and did not cry.”

  “You were there?”

  “I was, Fifi.”

  It was too much to accept. “I didn’t see you.”

  “You weren’t meant to.”

  Now just what did the man mean by that? Honestly, how could she be expected to believe it? And truly, if he had been at Mamma’s funeral, how could he have not let her know? How could he have seen such sorrow and not offered any shred of comfort? Moreover, how could she possibly be expected to forgive him?

  “Then you knew we were living in a brothel, didn’t you?”

  “I did. I was sad to see you there, but Eudora was good to you. She did not force you into her trade. You and your dear maman were safe.”

  “You know Madame Eudora?” This gig was getting even smaller and less comfortable. If Papa knew so much of her life, how could he have possibly kept himself from her all these years?

  “But of course I know her,” he replied and even smiled. “We are…friends.”

  Sophie shuddered to think what Papa might be implying by that. She knew what sort of “friends” Madame kept. He knew where she and Mamma were forced to live and had not done anything about it? Poor Mamma had suffered so when they’d been told he was killed in that accident. Through all this time, how could he have possibly stayed away? They’d needed him desperately. Why had he abandoned his wife and child?

  Unless Madame was the reason.

  “You and Madame Eudora were…close friends?”

  He grunted—or perhaps it was a laugh. “No, Fifi. There was nothing like that. I did not leave your precious maman for another woman. No, it was much more than that. Someday I will tell you.”

  Someday. Why not now? What was he concealing from her? Should she ask? No, probably not. She wasn’t certain she was ready for whatever his answer might be. These last few days had held far too many unexpected revelations for her already.

  She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Papa noticed.

  “Not far, I promise,” he said. “Soon you will ride in high style. Eudora has brought her carriage. We will meet her.”

  Again, another surprise. “Madame is out here? She has left London?”

  “She knows you are in danger. She said we should find her waiting in Warwick.”

  “She’s waiting for us?”

  “Oui, Fifi,” Papa said with a paternal chuckle. “She has missed you so much.”

  “And I’ve missed her, and the other girls,” she had to admit.

  “You wish to go back with her?”

  She felt her soul cringe inside but was careful not to let it show. She hated that life, stitching for Madame all day long, sleeping alone at night in her cot while she knew one floor below her friends were doing all manner of sordid things with Madame’s clients. No, she did not want to go back to that. Yet she couldn’t very well go back to Fitzgelder and the abuse she was living with there, either.

  “It’s not as if I have any other home,” she replied, happy to realize the harsh words must implicate him.

  “No, Fifi, you have me now,” he replied.

  “Somehow, Papa, I cannot see how that truly helps me at this point.”

  He was silent, contemplating his sins, she hoped. She felt the slightest twinge of guilt for cruelly enjoying his discomfort, but so many years of fending for herself managed to assuage most of it. If Papa did not die those years ago, he should have helped her then. She really doubted he could help her now.

  IT WAS WELL AFTER DARK, BUT WARWICK WAS STILL awake. Two inns faced each other across the main road, and a few people moved about. Sophie’s body ached from her uncomfortable ride, though she wasn’t certain her evening here would be any more pleasant. The longer she’d had to think about it, the more she’d begun to question the wisdom of running away with Papa like this.

  Poor Miss St. Clement, left back there with the likes of Lindley and that Lord Rastmoor. Sophie should never have left her. True, the actress gave every impression of being a woman who could take care of herself, but she’d b
een a good friend. There was no telling what might happen to her now, and Sophie would be partially to blame.

  Papa guided his gig toward one of the inns and brought them to a halt. Sophie should have waited for his help before getting herself down onto the ground, but she would not give him the satisfaction of allowing him to offer it now when for so long he had not. As worn and exhausted as she was, her knees very nearly gave out under her. She managed to catch herself, though. Just as she always had.

  “Hmm, I was not expecting two inns like this,” Papa said, dismounting to stand beside her. “I will have to find out which one Eudora is staying at.”

  She studied the old, whitewashed façade of the nearest building. The sign hanging above the door read “Steward’s Brake.” If they had clean linen and passable beds, she’d be happy enough at either of these places, whether Madame was here or not. Perhaps a good rest would help to clear her mind and give her some idea what she should do tomorrow—go back to find Miss St. Clement or trust Papa?

  “Where the devil is a groom?” Papa grumbled, glancing around and finding no one to look after their horse.

  Sophie stretched her limbs and regained her balance. “Here, I’ll hold the horse. You go make sure this is the right place.”

  He hesitated just long enough to make her wonder if he knew he had good reason to worry she might not be here when he came back. That seemed proof of a guilty conscience as far as Sophie was concerned. But she reassured him anyway.

  “I’ll stay here.” She sighed. “I’m too tired to leave. Besides, my backside is appalled at the idea of getting back into this sad conveyance and riding for even another five minutes tonight.”

  “Good girl,” he said, apparently relieved by her suffering.

  Leaving her to watch over their gig, he gave one last glance around before he went inside. The horse watched him go, then immediately plodded away from her new keeper to go rip a branch off the rose trellis nearby. Sophie grumbled.

  “Come on,” she said, grabbing the halter and dragging the animal—and its trailing gig—away from the plantings. She had no idea what sort of money her father carried on him these days, but she was certain he would not wish to waste it all paying for damage to the local matron’s favorite posies.

  There was a patch of grass nearby, in an open space between the buildings. A leafy oak spread out overhead, and Sophie decided this might be a better place to wait for Papa. The horse followed her willingly, and she let the reins sag as the animal munched. Sophie leaned her aching body against the solid tree trunk. Yes, despite her prickling conscience, a bed safely away from Fitzgelder and the stink of London certainly would be welcome tonight.

  She was midway through a well-needed yawn when she heard a sound. It came from behind and was probably nothing out of the ordinary. A rat, perhaps. But the horse’s ears flicked and the animal stopped happily ripping tufts of grass. Its huge round eyes caught on something and the large head came up. Sophie leaned forward to peer around the tree.

  She didn’t see much, though. From the darkness, arms reached for her, pulling her into a tight hold against a body every bit as solid as the oak trunk but far warmer and entirely masculine. A hand clamped over her mouth, preventing any sound she might have been about to make. Her cheek was pressed against a soft woolen coat that smelled distinctly of Lindley.

  Lindley!

  “Your protector is hardly doing his job, leaving you alone out here in the dark,” he said, a low growl in the stillness around them.

  She struggled to pull away from him, terrified to realize she felt far more secure tucked up against him than she had the whole time she’d been traveling here with her father. Lord Lindley was a dangerous man. She feared her involuntary attraction for him might prove to be even more so.

  He allowed her to push away from him, yet he did not release her. His fingers dug into her shoulders as he held her there, inches from him, as his eyes locked onto hers with a force she could not break.

  “Do you need my help, Miss Darshaw?” he asked. “Or did you come here of your own accord?”

  For one disturbing heartbeat she thought about lying. Oh, but she might indeed enjoy whatever help this man had in mind. Then, of course, she reined in those wayward thoughts. She did not need Lord Lindley’s help, nor would she allow herself to succumb to it. Papa may have been thoughtlessly absent for the past several years, but she was far better off with him than the likes of Lindley, despite how her knees went weak the longer he gazed at her. Or perhaps, specifically because of how her knees went weak.

  “No…I’m fine.”

  But he did not release her, not from his secure grip nor from his untiring gaze. “You don’t appear fine. Who brought you here?”

  “My father,” she managed to say after just the slightest hesitation.

  Lindley’s eyes went stormy and his left eyebrow rose slightly. “Your father?”

  She broke free of his gaze and stared intently at the tree trunk beside her. “Apparently he’s not quite as deceased as I’ve thought him these past years.”

  Lindley’s right eyebrow rose up to join the other. Was he surprised to find the man alive, or to learn she had believed him dead? Then again, why would she suppose he had any knowledge whatsoever that she even had a father? Of course, there would have been very little reason for Madame to mention anything about her sad past to this fine gentleman. Sophie was silly to have hoped perhaps he might have asked after her at some point. Just as she was silly now for being happy to see him.

  “He has gone in to secure us a room for the night,” she explained. “But whyever are you here, Lord Lindley?”

  The eyebrows came back down and he gave half a sly smile. “I followed you, of course, Miss Darshaw. I saw you leave with a strange man and thought perhaps you needed assistance.”

  “As you can see, I do not.”

  “Indeed. But how odd that your husband was left behind. And with someone so carelessly shooting, and all.”

  She glanced around. “Is…er…did you bring my husband with you?”

  Now he actually laughed at her. “No, Miss Darshaw, I did not. I’m assuming that particular person is safely back in Geydon with my friend Rastmoor. They are probably both wondering where you’ve gone, though.”

  Well, perhaps it was for the best that Miss St. Clement and Lord Rastmoor were left alone back there. Clearly they had things to resolve between them. Wouldn’t it be lovely if even through all this chaos that pair might somehow be reunited? The actress had been most strenuous in her insistence that would never happen, but Sophie could not be so sure. Miss St. Clement had been quite desperate to locate the gentleman again.

  “Come,” Lindley prodded, still holding her with his gaze and looming far too close. “Tell me why you are here. Is this really your father you have traveled with, or is that merely the story he’s inside telling the innkeeper?”

  “He is my father!” she insisted, not at all appreciating what the man insinuated.

  Just at that moment Papa proved her words by appearing at the corner of the inn and calling for her. She jolted, and Lindley’s fingers dug more firmly than ever into her shoulders. She winced.

  “Let me go. Please,” she whispered. “He must not see you here.”

  Thankfully the horse and the gig and the tree and the darkness were concealing Lindley’s presence. From what Papa had said of him earlier, she doubted things would go well if Papa found him with her now. Lindley seemed to concur.

  He dropped his arms to his sides and took a silent step back from her. Oddly enough, she nearly staggered under the reality of having to solely support herself again. Surely it was just exhaustion that made her feel this way. Never before had she so wanted to cast herself into a gentleman’s arms and beg him to carry her off. Thank heavens she was too smart for that—or too frightened, at least.

  She hurried away from him, moving around the horse while it happily ignored her in favor of the grass. She caught one last look at Lindley but said no
thing more to him. Whatever was going on, she wished to heaven he had not been involved. It had been so lovely to watch him from afar at Madame’s, to admire him and tease herself with fantasies that this was the sort of man a woman could look up to, could trust. Obviously such men did not exist—even Papa had shown her that.

  It would be best if she forgot all about Lord Lindley and concentrated on making a new life for herself. If Papa might be of help, how wonderful. If not, then she was no worse off than before. She met Papa in the yard.

  “Here I am, Papa. Your stubborn horse was trying to eat the roses.”

  Papa glanced toward the creature, and for a heartbeat Sophie feared he might detect Lindley there, still hiding in shadow. But Lindley must have gone, for Papa merely smiled fondly at his lazy nag. “She does like her roses. Perhaps when we get where we are going there will be a whole bush of them for her.”

  “And just where are we going, Papa? Did you find—”

  “Chut, chut, Fifi. Our friends are not here, so I have sent a boy across the way to inquire at the other inn. Ah, see? Here he comes with news for us.”

  The boy trotted across the empty street and eagerly accepted the promised coin from Papa. He informed them there was no word of Madame’s arrival at the other inn, either. Papa frowned.

  “Well, we will simply take a room and wait,” he decided. “Tomorrow I will take you back where you belong. You will see, Fifi, all this has not been in vain.”

  Papa was as dramatic as ever. He seemed to truly believe he could make all of this right. Handing the boy another coin and instructing him to run to the stable and secure a place for the horse, Papa laid his cool hand on Sophie’s shoulder. She felt the urge to cringe, though Papa was far more gentle than Lord Lindley had been. Most disturbing.

  “Come, Fifi, your cheeks are flushed and you seem none too steady on your feet,” Papa said, taking her elbow. “Let’s get you into bed.”

  She let him lead her into the inn. Thank heavens it was Papa who spoke this way now. She feared if those words had come from Lindley she’d be following him just as easily.