“Were there designs engraved on it?”
Heavens, did Papa suspect her so much that he must needle her this way? Well, she did not steal that locket. True, it may have fallen into her possession, but she had not stolen it. Not intentionally, anyway, and she’d not admit to it now, especially not to her poor father. The man was overly anxious, and perhaps the medicine was making him imagine things. He needed to sleep, and she needed to get his mind off his many worries.
“There may have been engravings on it, Papa, but I did not look at it closely,” she said simply. “I did not steal it. Mr. Fitzgelder simply lost it and then found it convenient to blame me. Now, go to sleep. You need the rest.”
“And you?”
“I’ll be right here in this chair beside your bed.”
“And where will Lindley be?”
“Not in here with us, I assure you. Now please, sleep, Papa.”
She adjusted the blankets again and was relieved when his body seemed to relax and his head sank into his pillow. Tomorrow they would find their way out of this, but for now he needed to rest and let that leg begin to heal. The doctor was confident that once the bleeding was stopped Papa would be fine in no time. She could only hope this would prove true. Time was something they had precious little of.
“And you’re certain you know nothing more about that locket, Fifi?” Papa asked after a quiet pause while Sophie curled up in her chair.
“What? No, of course not.”
“Too bad.”
“Why?”
“Then perhaps you would have stolen it and things would not look so dire for us now.”
What on earth did that mean? He wanted her to have stolen it? The poor man must be talking out of his head. “Papa, I…”
“Chut, chut, Fifi. Let us speak no more of it. It is in the past now. C’est la vie.”
Indeed, that was true. However she’d gotten the locket didn’t matter. What mattered was that she did have it, and apparently Papa thought this might work in their favor. Well, best not to bring that up now. It would only agitate him when he needed rest. Tomorrow morning she could tell him the truth, perhaps show him the locket.
Did Papa think it sounded valuable? Could they perhaps use it to bargain with Lindley? She couldn’t imagine how a man like Lindley might be swayed by a simple piece of jewelry, but perhaps it was possible. He certainly hadn’t been swayed by anything she’d offered him thus far. Maybe a golden locket would have better luck.
“Good night, Papa. I’ll be here if you need me.”
She shuttered the lamp and the room fell to darkness. It was a good thing, too, for she would have hated to explain to Papa if he had seen her smiling at the bitter irony of her words. All those years she had missed him and longed for him to be there because she needed him; now here they were and he was alive, yet it was she who promised to be nearby for him. Life was unfair.
In silence she slid her hand into her pocket to touch the warm gold locket there. Unfair, yes, but perhaps occasionally that was a benefit. She would have never willfully stolen something like this, yet here it was. Unfair to Mr. Fitzgelder, but perhaps a godsend for them. In the morning they would find out if Lord Lindley might be interested in the small, golden heart.
It seemed he was in want of one, golden or otherwise.
THE LOCKET. LINDLEY STOOD OUTSIDE THE DOOR AND heard D’Archaud asking after it. Yes, it must be the same one—Fitzgelder must have gotten his hands on it, and Sophie stole it away from him. It simply would have been too much a coincidence not to be the case. Although, why would she deny that to her own father? If she had stolen it, wouldn’t it have been at her father’s request? Why keep it from him now?
It didn’t make sense. Unless…could she be telling the truth? Perhaps she did not have the locket. Yet why would Fitzgelder have accused her, then? Someone else must have stolen it. Yes, that had to be it. Someone else knew about the secret it contained. Someone who could profit from it.
That meant things were about to get complicated.
That idea was laughable. Things weren’t already complicated enough? D’Archaud only held value as long as he could give the names and locations of all the players in this game. If other parties were involved, D’Archaud’s information might become obsolete too quickly. Lindley had come so close to finding his goal only to feel it slipping through his fingers. With that locket and its hidden secrets circulating out there, anyone who knew of it might find himself—or herself—suddenly become a liability.
Lindley mentally calculated how much money he still had on his person after paying for last night’s lodging and then the doctor’s fee tonight. This surgeon seemed a decent fellow. He wondered how much it would take to ensure the man’s silence? Surely their visit here could be well hidden for a few days, at least. If not, Miss Darshaw and her father were in grave danger.
As for Lindley, his life felt secure for the moment. Danger for him lay in other areas, he was afraid. Areas that included ocean blue eyes and warm, willing lips he should never have allowed himself to sample.
Chapter Eight
Miss Darshaw looked as lovely in the daytime as she had in the moonlight. Better, in fact, Lindley realized, because now she was not so weary and worried. Her eyes were brighter and sleep had done her well. Her perfect skin was even more perfect with noonday sun streaming through the doctor’s clean-washed windows. Her blond hair was freshly piled into a careless knot, and the wrinkled gown she wore hugged her shape in ways Lindley found he could not quite ignore.
Thank God she was glaring hatred toward him. He doubted he could withstand a smile.
“So you’ve come to check on the prisoners at last,” she said sharply as he entered the room where her father still lay on the bed, a bowl of broth in his steady hands.
“You are not prisoners,” Lindley replied. “Your father is recovering from his injury.”
“And then what?” she asked, her angry lips forming words Lindley could barely comprehend due to some damned distracting memories of how those lips had felt against his last night. “You’ll drag us off to the tower, no doubt.”
“Newgate, more likely.”
“Get out of here!”
“I’d like to,” he said, and he dragged his eyes from her to study her father. “How about you, D’Archaud? Are you up for travel yet?”
“No, he’s not,” Sophie replied for him, toying with the food on the plate she held in her lap where she sat beside the bed.
“I was asking your father,” Lindley said. “So, D’Archaud, how are you?”
Sophie frowned. From her expression, Lindley could tell it pained her to hear her father called by that name. Clearly she was familiar with it, with the lie of her father’s life. So just how much else of D’Archaud’s sordid past did she know?
“He’s very weak today,” she answered, again in her father’s place. “The doctor says it may take some time for his strength to return.”
“Yes, that was quite a gash he cut in his leg there. Rather clumsy of you, D’Archaud.”
If he hoped to get a reaction from the man, he was disappointed. Sophie, however, was quite happy to respond.
“It’s a wonder you did not outright kill him, my lord, the way you attacked him last night,” she snapped.
Lindley chose to ignore her—or at least give that appearance—and simply turned back to her father. “Does she always do this? Are you ever allowed to get a word in? No wonder you let her think you were dead all those years.”
A piece of bread came flying at his head. Lindley caught it and smiled over at the thrower. She glared at him and stabbed her fork into a piece of meat—a sausage. He winced.
Damn, but he needed to get control of himself. How could he possibly find the snarling woman so deuced irresistible? She was just as attractive when she was being belligerent as she had been last night when she’d obediently melted into his arms. Hellfire. The quicker he got himself away from her the better.
“Sophie,” the older man said, setti
ng his spoon aside for a moment. “We are in his lordship’s debt for bringing me here and covering the bill. I’m sure he would appreciate it if you’d not throw food at him.”
“On the contrary,” Lindley said, biting into the bread. “I’m still a bit hungry.”
“I’d have thrown a rock at you if I’d had it,” Sophie mumbled. “A big one.”
He had no doubt she would have, too. Sophie Darshaw could look after herself, had done so quite well for several years. Lindley would do well to keep that in mind and not underestimate her. Or let himself get distracted. He’d best get back to business and see what use D’Archaud might still be to him.
“We need to be getting on our way,” Lindley began. “I’ve sent word to have my carriage brought up from where it is being repaired in Geydon, and I expect it to arrive at the Steward’s Brake very shortly. We should go there and wait while…”
The sound of rapping at the front door below them interrupted. Sophie frowned, and Lindley strode past her to the window to look out. He could not see down to the doorstep, as it was directly beneath their window, but he could certainly listen. The window was open just enough that if he stooped slightly the sound of voices carried fairly well.
Rastmoor. It was Rastmoor come to pay a call on the surgeon. How odd. He motioned for the Darshaws to be silent and strained to hear what passed below.
Rastmoor was here—alone, it appeared—and was asking after an injured man. So, he’d somehow learned that Sophie’s father had been injured last night and he assumed the man might have come here. Unexpected. Lindley listened for more. Would the good doctor be true to his word and deny their presence?
He did. Rastmoor went on to ask after any possible information on Sophie, but the doctor denied having seen any such person. Apparently he was convincing, too, as Rastmoor’s final question was to inquire if there were other surgeons in the area. Told there were none, the man simply then went on his way, presumably unenlightened. Lindley stepped back to avoid being seen should Rastmoor chance to glance upward, but he kept his eye securely on his friend.
Rastmoor crossed the street and spoke to a woman sweeping a stairway, then questioned a man pulling a small cart. In each case he pointed back toward the doctor’s house and appeared to be asking if the person had seen anyone of D’Archaud’s or Sophie’s description. No one had, apparently, and they each merely shrugged, then went on their way, leaving Rastmoor to continue his search in another direction.
So, Rastmoor was hunting D’Archaud now, too, was he? Well, certainly that made sense. From what Lindley had learned, that locket could be very damaging to Rastmoor were its information to become public. Last he heard, actually, Rastmoor’s father had been the one to possess it and Rastmoor had inherited. Apparently Fitzgelder had altered that, and now Rastmoor would want it back.
He was unlikely to kill for it, though. Lindley had known the man a number of years and could never see him as a murderer. Oh, he’d want to find the locket and protect his family honor, of course, but not at that price. He would pay a hefty sum to get that locket back and destroy whatever was inside it, but he’d not kill.
At least Lindley hoped not. He sent a quick glance in Sophie’s direction. Would Rastmoor keep in mind that she was his dearest friend’s cousin? Probably. And it was in her best interest to keep the locket secret, just as it was for Rastmoor. He could have little to fear that she would use it against him. Still, Rastmoor would be highly motivated to get it back.
In fact, due to all of these circumstances, he might be of use to Lindley.
He moved away from the window. “I’m going out for a while.”
“What?” Sophie said, pushing her plate onto the nearest table and rising. “Where are you going? Who was that at the door?”
“It was Rastmoor,” Lindley replied. “I’m going to follow him.”
D’Archaud simply eyed him with suspicion, but Sophie trailed him as he moved to the door. “Why? What was he doing here?”
“Looking for you, of course.”
“He followed us here? But why?” Sophie asked.
“That’s what I’m going to find out.”
Yes, he’d been right. Things were definitely getting more complicated. And the way Miss Darshaw chewed on her plump little lower lip as she contemplated her next move added an extra level of complication that was going to make walking difficult for a few minutes. Damn. He hoped Rastmoor wasn’t moving too fast out there.
LINDLEY WAS GONE. IT HARDLY MADE SENSE, BUT HE’D left to go trail after Rastmoor. The doctor was downstairs, and Sophie was alone with her father. Whatever Lord Rastmoor had said seemed to have had quite an effect on Lindley. He’d offered little explanation and gone off after the man. Sophie could not understand it, but she didn’t need to. All she needed to know was that now was their chance.
“He’s gone, Papa,” she said, watching out the window as Lindley’s tall, elegant form sauntered off up the street. “Hurry, we can leave now.”
Papa was not hurrying, though. He was slowly stretching his limbs and yawning. The poor man seemed thoroughly exhausted. She could well understand the feeling; she’d slept fitfully at best in that uncomfortable chair. Yet they could not dawdle. They would have plenty of time to rest once they were away from here, away from Lindley.
There was a knock at the door, and the doctor’s housekeeper poked her head in. “Your friend said to tell you he’d be back soon and you’re both to wait here for him.”
“Yes, I’m sure he’d like that,” Sophie grumbled.
“Here’s some tea for you, miss,” the housekeeper went on, pushing the door open and backing in with a tray. “And for you, sir, a draught to help you sleep. The doctor would like you to drink this.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Nally,” Papa said, accepting the tray as she put it down for him and examining the little bottle she held out. “A sleeping potion?”
“It’s very mild, but you’ll rest like an infant.”
Papa held the bottle and gave the woman a weary smile. “Tell the kind doctor we appreciate all his efforts on my behalf.”
“Just be sure to do as he says and you’ll be right in no time,” the housekeeper replied as she circled the room, collecting their lunch dishes. “Now, if there’s anything else?”
“No, thank you,” Sophie said, dismissing her. “We’re just fine.”
“Very well, then.” Mrs. Nally bobbed a curtsy and headed for the door. “Once your friend returns the doctor will probably want to leech you again, sir, but for now, just rest.”
“Yes, I will. Thank you.”
Papa was too kind by far. Thank heavens they’d be gone long before those horrible leeches came out again. How Papa could possibly benefit from having yet more blood sucked out of him after the way he nearly bled to death last night, she could not guess. Probably it was Lindley’s sadistic idea. Sophie closed the door behind the housekeeper and made her way back over to the window to keep watch.
“Come, Fifi, take some tea.”
“I don’t care for tea, Papa. Who knows how long Lord Lindley will be gone? We need to get away while we can!”
“Yes, but why not do it after tea? Come, it will help settle your lunch and calm your nerves.”
“My nerves don’t want to be calm, Papa. They want to be gone.”
But he was proceeding with the tea, stirring sugar into hers just the way she liked it. “Tea will help. Come, sit with me.”
She sighed but gave in. He offered a cup and she accepted, plopping herself into the chair she’d slept in last night. Very well, she would drink tea with Papa, then they would be off. They would leave this house, leave Warwick, and leave Lindley wondering where they had gone. She drank the tea down quickly. Papa chuckled as he watched her.
“I see you are in a hurry.”
“We haven’t got much time,” she reminded him. “Do you think you can you walk? I suppose you can lean on me, but that staircase will be a bit tricky…”
Papa shushed her.
“Calme-toi, Fifi. I’m not in my grave quite yet, am I? You just relax.”
He sat up and slid his legs over the side of the bed. Reaching for his boots, he began to pull them on. His actions were a bit rough for her tastes.
“Careful!” she warned him. “Watch the bandages.”
“C’est bien, chou-chou. Now you just relax yourself. Wait here while I go make sure the way is clear so we can leave undetected.”
“We should go together!”
“No, you must stay here. What if the housekeeper returns? You must be here to answer the door and tell her I am asleep. Chut, Fifi. Stay in your comfortable chair and finish your tea. All will be well. You shall see.”
He gave her a smile that hardly looked like that of a man who had been at death’s door last night. For that matter, he’d seemed weary and faint not just ten minutes ago. One cup of tea could not have restored him so quickly. He must have been pretending such fatigue for Lindley’s sake.
Smart man. Papa’s pretense would have set Lindley off his guard. Sophie was amazed she had not thought of it until now—yes, Papa playing the part of the incapacitated victim was quite brilliant. Lindley was gone and expected Papa to be too weak for escape. Well, he would soon see he’d been played a fool.
Good thing Papa was too clever to have taken the doctor’s prescribed sleeping draught. She glanced over at the discarded tea tray. There was the bottle lying next to Papa’s untouched tea. Yes, it was a very good thing Papa had not done as the doctor suggested. She’d have the devil of a time dragging his sleeping form out of here before Lindley returned.
But all was well now. Papa was feeling better, he was alert, and he’d gone to get their gig ready for departure. All she had to do was sit here and wait.
She didn’t mind waiting, not really. In fact, it seemed rather a good idea, now that she considered it. This chair was not nearly as uncomfortable as she’d thought during the night. It was actually inviting. She nestled back into it and leaned her head against the soft upholstery. Yes indeed, quite a comfortable spot to wait for Papa’s return. She could wait all afternoon for him in this comfortable chair, as a matter of fact…
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