“You don’t know what he’s done, Miss Darshaw.”
“But I know what will happen if he does not see a doctor right away.”
“He’s wounded; nothing more. He’ll survive.”
“But the blood…Please, have some compassion.”
She was so earnest it was all he could do to deny her. Her helpless, desperate eyes searched his. His resolve returned, however, as soon as he recalled another pair of helpless, desperate eyes that had begged him for rescue. Rescue he could not give. Those eyes had shut and never opened again. D’Archaud carried the guilt for that. Damn it, but Lindley couldn’t let himself be weak now. Four souls left in the cold ground of his family plot needed justice. They would get it.
“My compassion is buried with my family, back in Kent,” he informed her.
She must have recognized the icy reality of this on his face. She took a step backward, away from him. The glow from the lamp hanging near the doorway spilled out into the yard where they stood. The warm light played against the heavy shadows, making her eyes seem endlessly deep and her skin soft as rose petals. Emotion only allowed her to draw short, halting breaths. Her worn gown pulled against those unignorable curves. Damn it, why couldn’t he forget just for these moments how beautiful the girl was?
“Maybe you can’t feel compassion, but surely you can feel something,” she said, then swallowed and gave the tiniest hint of a smile. “You are, after all, a man.”
Oh, he felt something, indeed. He just did not wish to discuss it at present. “My feelings are hardly your concern, Miss Darshaw. Go back to your father and say farewell.”
Now she regained that hesitant step she’d taken away. “Please, I’ll do anything.”
She let that phrase hang in the air. He knew exactly what it meant. Holy hell, could he actually be tempted?
“Anything, my lord,” she repeated with another halting step closer.
By God, he had to admit anything sounded remarkably enticing. She was barely a hand’s span away. Every soft curve of her body and every slight tremor in her lip lured him. She offered herself for the sake of her treacherous father, and Lindley wished to heaven he had the resolve to refuse.
He did not. Reacting before his better judgment could intervene, he pulled her into his arms. She was either eagerly willing or too shocked to protest; he really did not care one way or the other. All that mattered was that her face tipped up toward his and he was finally able to capture those tremulous lips with his own. She was as soft and delectable as he’d often imagined.
He pressed her for a response and was pleased to find one. Her fingers dug into his coat, clinging to him as if she were as desperate for his touch as she was to rescue her father. He explored her mouth with his own, willing her to forget everything but this moment. Damn, but it would have been easy enough for him to put all his many worries aside and simply enjoy the feel of her, the taste of her.
Of course he could not afford it, though. There must be purpose to this madness. He might allow her to crumble into mindless desire, but he would have to remain in control. He must use her for his objective and never forget what that was.
God, he wished he could, though. Holding Sophie, hearing her muffled moan and feeling the heat that flowed between them, Lindley would have given nearly everything to believe this was real. Yet of course he’d already given everything, and he knew for a fact Miss Darshaw was not what she seemed.
Her halting breath was what he might have found in any woman. Her timid, tentative exploration of his mouth as his own ransacked hers was not to be mistaken for innocence. Her willing response to him could easily be nothing more than a manufactured ploy to distract. He would not fall into the trap of imagining she’d refrained from offering herself to any number of others for far less noble purposes over her years at Eudora’s.
Despite what he felt as his hands roamed over her back and silked through her loosened hair, Lindley was fully aware of who she was and what part she must play in what would follow. He could not give in to his wants. He needed her to lead him to her father’s collaborators.
With an effort nearly beyond his capacity, he pushed her away.
“You are almost tempting, Miss Darshaw,” he said with a smile meant to insult her. “Come back to me when you are a grown woman and we’ll see what might happen then. For now, though, go give your good-byes to your father.”
She appeared stunned. Probably amazed that her kiss should have so little effect on him. Well, he would be certain to allow her to continue thinking that way. Inside he might be shaken to the core, but on the surface he would force himself to be controlled. Desire would fade. Justice was permanent.
She glared at him, and a sheen of pure hatred stole over her expression. “I was wrong,” she hissed. “You are not a man. You’re a monster.”
Then she turned and ran back around toward the front of the building.
THAT SCOUNDREL… THAT DEVIL!
How could she let him do that to her? He lured her into compromise and then laughed in her face. Abominable man. He would treat her this way and then haul Papa off to the hangman, would he? Not over her dead body!
And not over Papa’s, either. Somehow they had to escape, to get out of here before Lindley came back in to collect his prey. Sophie would see to it that beast never got his hands on Papa. They had to leave—now. If Papa couldn’t walk, she would drag him, if she had to.
And it appeared that would be exactly what she’d need to do.
“Papa!”
He was crumpled on the ground, lying in a heap just at the corner of the inn. It appeared as if he’d been trying to follow her—probably to stop her from throwing herself at Lindley as she had planned. Well, he needn’t have bothered. The grand Lord Lindley was far above wasting his time with the likes of her, even if she had made it very clear she’d do anything to spare her father the fate Lindley had planned.
But now it seemed her offer of sacrifice had been unnecessary. Papa lay unmoving. She dropped to her knees beside him and pulled his head into her lap.
Thank God, she was not too late. Papa’s weary eyes slitted open. She could see he would speak, but she tried to soothe him, to keep him still. His leg had bled profusely, though someone indoors must have offered him a bandage before he left. A linen strip was wrapped over his wound but had not been tied tightly. She quickly set to adjusting it.
“Here, Papa, let me tie this. It needs to be tighter to stop the blood,” she said, moving as fast as she dared without aggravating the wound. “Hush now, and let me tend this.”
But her father would not be calm. He struggled to sit, craning his neck to see around the corner of the building. “I’ll kill him. By God, I’ll kill him!” he muttered, repeating himself a few more times in French, adding some rather unpleasant words here and there.
“No, Papa, you must be still. I need to remove your boot.”
“He put his hands on you, Sophie! Yes, I will kill him. I’ll take him by the throat and I’ll…”
“Papa, be still! You may not kill Lord Lindley.”
“But he touched you!”
“No, he—”
“I saw him. He was manhandling you as if he owned you! I’ll kill him.”
“Papa—”
“Eudora swore to me you were safe, that none of those filthy devils were allowed near you.”
“Papa, you must settle down. We’ve got to take care of this and find you a doctor.”
Suddenly Papa’s struggles became more intense. He tried to shove Sophie away, but she held her ground, keeping a firm hold on the newly tied bandage. The cause of Papa’s agitation was soon evident: Lindley. The worthless nobleman was at the corner of the building, watching them. Sophie felt her breath catch.
“I’ll kill you, Lindley,” Papa said, his voice a tired growl that still harbored enough threat to worry her.
Apparently not Lindley, though. “So I’ve heard,” he replied with a cool drawl. “It appears your daughter, however, w
ould have you abandon that plan.”
“My daughter is none of your business, Lindley!” Papa said, pulling himself upright and grabbing the wall beside him as he tried to stand, despite Sophie’s best efforts to keep him calm and still. “I said I’d go with you, but by God, you’ll leave her out of this!”
The exertion appeared too much. Papa sagged, falling against the wall. Sophie cried out and dove to catch him, to save him from collapse. She managed to prop him against the building, but his face was pale and his eyes had lost their spark. Oh Lord, but she was losing him! All his struggles were draining him right before her eyes.
“Papa…please, we’ve got to stop the bleeding.”
Lindley must have recognized his chance. He was there, pushing her to the side and hoisting Papa’s arm over his shoulder. How dare he! She slapped at him and tried to pry him away. He pushed her hands aside as if she were nothing more than a big, annoying gnat.
“Are you going to help me, or not?” he said finally, meeting her eyes. “Your father needs medical attention.”
She paused flailing at him just long enough for the words to sink in. “What?”
“Help me get him into your carriage. There must be a surgeon somewhere in this town.”
“You’ll take Papa there?”
“Not if I have to carry him the whole way. Help me now.”
She did without hesitation. Perhaps Lindley had some shred of humanity in him, after all. Or perhaps it was a ruse simply to get Papa away from her. Well, either way, getting Papa into the gig was a good idea. If she had to, she’d get rid of Lindley somehow and then take Papa on her own. At least then he’d have a chance at survival.
Papa demanded weakly to know what they were doing, and Sophie soothed him as best she could. “We’re taking you to the doctor, Papa. He’ll tend your leg and stop that bleeding.”
“You leave my daughter out of this, Lindley!”
“No, Papa, I’m not leaving you!”
He struggled a bit, but it took only a few moments for Lindley to get Papa up into their carriage. The horse watched them nervously, and Sophie was glad the stable hands had been slow in their labor. In fact, this could work very well for her.
As Lindley carefully positioned Papa in the seat, Sophie stole around the back of the gig and hopped into it from the other side. She took up the reins where Papa had secured them and quickly slapped the horse into movement. The little mare gave her a look of pure insult but danced into motion. The gig jolted.
Papa groaned.
“Hold on, Papa,” Sophie said. “We’re leaving.”
But the yard beside the inn was small and the horse had to be turned around. It had been years since Papa had let Sophie drive, and she was clumsy at directing the confused mare. True, Lindley had been thrown back from the gig when first it jerked into action, but he was still quite capable of interfering with her brilliant escape plan.
He simply waited for the gig to be turned, then jogged up to the mare and took her halter. She cooperated beautifully for him and the gig came to a standstill. Sophie folded her arms across her chest and glared.
“Move over,” Lindley said. It was obvious he had no intention of waiting for her to comply before climbing in, so she had no choice but to move closer to Papa or let herself be sat upon.
Papa groaned again when she pressed against his injured knee.
“I’m sorry,” she said to him, but she spared a murderous glare for Lindley.
“Sophie stays here!” Papa insisted, wincing as the gig hit a bump.
Sophie laid her hand on his arm. “No, Papa. I go where you go.”
“For now we are all going to the doctor,” Lindley replied and gave Papa a quick surveying glance. “You’re no use to me dead.”
“But you don’t need her!” Papa protested. “Leave her behind.”
Lindley didn’t bother with a glance for her. He shook his head. “No. I’m thinking you’re not so likely to go ahead and die if she’s here with you. Sophie stays.”
And so she did. She took Papa’s cool hand in hers as their crowded little gig rolled into the darkness between the buildings that lined the narrow streets of Warwick. She tried to ignore Lindley’s warm, solid form pressed next to hers. The muscles in his arms loosed and tensed as he guided the mare. It was quite distracting to be so close to him after…well, it was distracting.
But all that mattered now was getting Papa the help he needed. She would concentrate on that. Lindley’s motives for saving Papa might be self-serving, and she was certain he had every intention of taking Papa to the authorities soon enough, but for now he was doing the right thing and she was grateful for it.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He said nothing. Her words hung in the air and mocked her. This man did not need her thanks. He probably did not want them, just as he did not want anything else she may have offered. Papa’s reprieve was only momentary, and she was an idiot for feeling any sort of gratitude. Lindley must think her a fool.
Finally he spoke, words muttered so low she could barely hear them. “I’m not a monster.”
THE SURGEON WAS AN AMIABLE SORT WHO SEEMED honestly not to mind being awakened in the night to tend a suspicious wound. It appeared Papa would live, after all. At least for a while.
“Is the pain very horrible, Papa?” she asked, fluffing his pillow and making sure the blanket didn’t lay too heavily on his wound.
The surgeon’s house was neat and clean, but small. He agreed that Papa should remain here for the night, and Sophie was glad for that. However, her eyes were heavy and she wished Papa did not occupy the only spare bed in the house. The lone chair in the corner she had claimed would be sadly uncomfortable for passing the rest of the night.
And she was certainly not about to take up Lord Lindley on his offer to return to the inn with him. Unfortunately, that meant he was going to be staying here, too. Apparently he did not trust her, and for good reason, she had to admit. As soon as Papa was well enough, she planned to take any opportunity to escape with him. That would be a bit more risky with Lindley hovering over.
“You should go, Sophie,” Papa said, his voice groggy from the medicine he’d been given. “Lindley will not follow you. It is me he’s after.”
“I won’t leave you, Papa,” she said, having just told him the same thing not two minutes ago. “We’ll find a way out of this together.”
But Papa shook his head. He looked so weary, so sad. “No, Fifi. Lindley has me, and the law is on his side. He may have let you believe your charms hold some sway over him, but truly, he is only using you.”
She felt her face go warm. “Really, Papa. You are mistaken if you think anything has passed between me and Lord Lindley.”
“I saw you, chou-chou. You went to his arms, hoping he might care enough about you to spare me.”
Now her face burned from the shame of what she had attempted as well as from the humiliation of having failed. “I had to try, Papa.”
“And now here we are at the surgeon’s,” he said, patting her hand gently where she laid it on the cover beside him. “But do not let this mislead you, Fifi. Lindley’s passion is not for you. No, he craves only vengeance. Don’t give him any more of yourself than you already have, my dear.”
“I’ve given him nothing, Papa. You must rest, now. You need to sleep. I will stay nearby.”
“As will Lindley, no doubt.”
“Yes. And the surgeon, should you need anything.”
“To hell with the surgeon. It’s Lindley I worry about…for your sake, Fifi. You should go. The minute you can, leave this place and get to safety.”
She had to laugh at that notion. “And where is that, Papa? Back to the inn, where Lindley would surely find me? Should I walk all night back to Geydon where we were shot at?”
“London. You can go back to London.”
“And live in the brothel again? No, Papa. I can’t do that. I want better for my life.”
“And what of your posi
tion in Fitzgelder’s house? I wasn’t overly fond of the idea, but Eudora assured me the housekeeper was a decent sort and would look after you.”
Madame had told Papa she’d be looked after? That Mrs. Harwell was a decent sort? Heavens, but she’d never known Madame to be such a poor judge of people. Decent was not quite the word Sophie would have used to describe the shrewish housekeeper. The only sort of looking after Sophie had received in that house was exactly the sort to make Papa roll over in his grave. Except that he hadn’t actually been in his grave, but still…he wouldn’t have liked it. No, she could hardly go back there.
“I’m sorry, Papa. You must know I can’t go back there.”
“No, of course you can’t. Damn that Lindley. Why did he have to find us?”
He tried to sit, and she could see the frustration and anger rising in him. Lord, but he was going to irritate his wound and start the bleeding again. She shushed him as best she could, for all the good it seemed to be doing.
“Papa, please be still.”
“It’s not enough he must destroy me, but now he’s set his sights on you, ma petite. And to think, I was more concerned about what Fitzgelder might do to you. It would seem he’s been the least of my worries all along.”
“Actually, Papa, I’m afraid we still need to worry about Mr. Fitzgelder. It seems that…well, I’m afraid he believes I’ve stolen something from him.”
“Stolen? But Fifi, you are no thief.”
“Of course not, Papa. But Mr. Fitzgelder lost his locket and assumed that I—”
“His locket?”
“A piece of jewelry, but nothing that appears to be very valuable.”
“You’ve seen it?”
Er, she hadn’t quite meant to implicate herself. “I, that is, I saw him with it. The day I left.”
“What did it look like?”
“What? Oh, well it was gold, and heart-shaped.”
“Did it open?”
“Open? I don’t know. I would assume so, but I did not see him open it.”
Temptress in Training Page 13
