Temptress in Training

by Susan Gee Heino

  “Oh no!” she cried, scrambling down to scoop up her pack that had been forgotten, wedged between their bodies.

  “What on earth do you have in that thing?” he asked, stooping to help her.

  She quickly shoved everything back as best she could. Oh heavens, but it would be dreadful if he found some of these particular contents! She would much rather have him simply take the locket than to see the rest of her possessions.

  “I swear, something stabbed me,” he said. “Are you an assassin, Miss Darshaw?”

  “No! It’s merely my sewing things, my lord.”

  At this point he picked up her scissors that had spilled out. “So I see. And just what else is it you sew, my dear? I was quite taken with that article you wore for me earlier tonight.”

  She tried to prevent it, but the man was too quick for her. He snatched up her pack and stood with it, peeking inside. She grabbed for it and it tumbled out of his hands, dumping itself neatly on the bed. Oh, dear heavens, but everything scattered about, right there in plain view.

  Lindley stood there, and slowly his left eyebrow came up. His lip did the same. Sophie felt her cheeks go warm. He reached down and extracted a scrap of amethyst velvet from the assortment. He rubbed it between his fingers and turned to smile at her.

  “This looks familiar. I take it you crafted those pantalets you were so eager to get out of at Fitzgelder’s theatrical event?”

  “Er, I was testing them. They didn’t work.”

  He kept staring at her with that sly smile as he ran the fabric slowly over his lips. “Indeed, they worked for me, Miss Darshaw. Your display behind that screen had me mesmerized.”

  “Yes, well, I need to put these things away.”

  But he blocked her path, reaching past her to push aside the various swatches and pin rolls until his hand fell on something she rather wished it hadn’t. And it was not the locket.

  It was the ghastly strap-on article she’d been working on for one of Madame’s more, er, adventurous clients. He picked it up to examine it. She could only pray he’d not realize what he held.

  “What is this?”

  “Ah, that? Er, a pincushion.”

  He cocked his head to one side. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “It’s nothing!” she said and dove for it, hoping to rip it out of his hands. She missed.

  “Nothing? It looks very much like something.”

  He held it up at eye level, and there was no doubt what it was. A series of straps with buckles fell limply about while the main object of the item did not. She’d crafted it of very soft leather over a wooden dowel and filled it with sawdust. No, it did not fall limp. She winced.

  “What are you doing with something like this?” he asked.

  “Put that down. It isn’t yours.”

  “I’ll say for damn sure it’s not mine!”

  “Then put it back. You have no right to rummage through my things.”

  Of course he went right on rummaging through her things, with more vigor than ever now. He dropped the strap device down beside the velvet and pin rolls and proceeded to extract what appeared to be a roll of gauze.

  “Are you making bandages now?” he asked.

  Of course he did not believe her when she replied in the affirmative. He shook out the little roll and his eyes got large. So did his grin.

  “Ah, indeed this would cure any man’s ailment.”

  “It’s a nightgown,” she said, as if calling it that would make it any less daring.

  “I see. But where is the rest of it? It would seem parts of you will be a bit chilly at night.”

  And he was right. The top line of the bodice was made to fit below the breasts, and the front of the gown was slit all the way from the bosom to the bottom. Except that the garment hardly went all the way to the bottom. It ended in a flirty ruffle just at the thigh. And, of course, it was almost entirely sheer.

  Though this invisible nightgown was hardly as shocking as that leather device with the straps, she still wished he had not seen it. She had sewn it to her own measurements, and it felt a bit too personal to have him studying it the way he was. The man was well acquainted with her body by now and could easily be imagining her in it. That was a bit unnerving. His smile, though, said she ought to be enormously flattered.

  “I tell you, Miss Darshaw, you do have the most interesting sewing supplies. Let’s see what else you need in order to keep up with your mending, shall we?”

  Her protests fell on deaf ears as he let the nightgown flutter back onto the pile and moved on to scrutinize the next item at hand.

  “And this is…?”

  “Also not yours.” Nor was it hers. She was not at all interested in wearing a hooded mask with rabbit ears. One of Madame’s usual patrons, however…

  “It’s very, er, cute. Go ahead, why don’t you put it on?”

  “Because it is not finished, my lord,” she announced, reaching for it. “It still has pins in it.”

  She yanked it away from him and he got caught by one. He swore in pain and pulled his hand back. She felt immediately guilty.

  “Oh! I’m sorry. Let me see that,” she said, grabbing his hand without thinking and pulling it up into the thin light from the window to look at it.

  A tiny spot of blood grew at the little scratch her pin had made on his thumb. She dug a handkerchief from her pocket and applied it, dabbing the blood and hoping he would not be too angry with her. He was an absolute beast for going through her private things, but she hated that he’d been hurt by it. A tentative glance up at his face, however, proved she’d not harmed him too badly.

  “On second thought,” he said with a chuckle, “I’m rather grateful you did not put this on. I prefer seeing your face just as it is.”

  Oh, bother, but she knew she was blushing again. How ridiculous she was to fall victim to his flattery. Still, it was easy to let herself believe the man. His impossibly blue eyes were exceedingly sincere.

  “It’s not mine,” she explained, babbling like an idiot in the hope it would keep her from tumbling into his arms again. “It’s for someone at Madame’s. She tells me what her special clients like, and I make it for them.”

  He picked up the strap device again. “It would appear some of her clients have unusual tastes.”

  “Put that down. No one is to know of such things. Madame counts on me for discretion.”

  “Yes, I can see why. I imagine her clientele would prefer that no one know of their certain, er, tastes.”

  “They prefer it very much. Now please let me put my things away.”

  “And not learn what else you have hiding in here?”

  “There’s nothing else.”

  “There’s a certain locket.”

  “Why are you so sure it’s in there?” she asked.

  “Because I know for a fact it’s not on your person.”

  She couldn’t help but blush even more deeply at that. Yes, he would know that, wouldn’t he? He’d done a fairly in-depth search of her various parts. No locket.

  “And I doubt you would leave it here for me to find,” he continued. “So you must have put it in this pack with all your other, er, items.”

  “Very well, yes. You’re correct. I put it in there, in that little roll with my needles and thread.”

  “Now see? You are capable of truth telling.”

  “I’d rather just tell you where it is than have you ransack everything. I need all those items to be intact. When I get back to London Madame will pay me nicely for them.”

  “I don’t doubt it!” he said with more of that infernal chuckling.

  He found the sewing roll and began to carefully unfold it. She was grateful he didn’t send her needles flying or her buttons rolling across the floor, but it still felt very wrong to have him go through her items. She’d built her life, her dreams, on that little pack. To have him searching it this way now was quite disconcerting.

  “Ah, here it is,” he said when he found the locket, a
s she knew he would. “So, what clues to your father’s whereabouts does it contain?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t look.”

  “More lies, Miss Darshaw?”

  “It’s the truth! I thought there would be ample time to search it when I left, when there wasn’t so much risk you might find it.”

  “Well, why don’t we look inside it together, shall we?”

  His large hands cradled the locket, studying it briefly before attempting to hinge it open. The thin chain wove between his elegant fingers and the gold appeared warm in the dim light. Any moment now he would possess the information that would help to damn her father. She was helpless to just stand and watch.

  Yet as he pried at the locket, nothing seemed to happen. His brows came together in frustration and he moved with the locket to stand nearer the window where he could get additional light from the night’s bright moon. She followed.

  “It’s sealed,” he said after a moment.

  “Sealed?”

  “I can see the hinges, so this locket was initially made to open and shut. However, it no longer opens. It’s been sealed.”

  “Then it’s no wonder Mr. Fitzgelder was in such a bad mood when I came upon him in that linen cupboard. He was holding the locket at that time. He must have been struggling to open it.”

  “Well, unless he had a hammer in there with him, there was little chance of him getting it open.”

  “Really? Do you think it must be destroyed to open it?”

  She tried to peer around him to see the locket. Her eyes kept getting distracted by the awe-inspiring expanse of his muscular back and his well-toned arms and shoulders. Indeed, no locket on the planet could possibly be as fascinating as that view.

  “I hope not,” he replied. “I was under the impression this locket was useful in more ways than as just a carrier of secrets. Destroying it would likely not prove helpful.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that if we want to discover what is inside, we’d best find a way to open it very carefully. This locket is more than a locket. It’s also a key.”

  “A key? To what?”

  “I don’t know. But your father does, Sophie. And I will find him.”

  “How, if we cannot open the locket?”

  “Oh, we’ll find a way to open it. Hell, I’m sure I can find something to pry it open. Perhaps we could use—”

  He was going for her scissors, and she cringed at the thought of those expensive blades being bent or dulled on this infernal locket. Fortunately for her scissors, though, he was interrupted. Someone knocked softly at their door.

  He sent her a questioning glance, as if perhaps she’d been expecting someone. She truly hoped she was not! How dreadful if Madame thought to come and check on her, to find out why she had not yet left. It would complicate things enormously.

  She shrugged for Lindley. He returned the action, then went to the door. She was left to bite her lip and hope things were not about to get uncomfortable.

  There was a man at the door. Lindley didn’t open it very far, but Sophie could hear his voice. She did not recognize it, though clearly he spoke in the accent of one who was somewhat familiar with the lower elements of life. Still, Lindley seemed on good terms with him, so she forced herself not to worry.

  Until one simple word caught her ear. Loveland. She heard it plainly and knew just what it must mean. This man had found Papa. She was an idiot not to have realized right away where he would go. Of course, they were so close to Loveland already. She should have been working actively to take Lindley away from this area, not lure him into staying!

  The earl shut the door and turned to her. His expression was dark.

  “That was my man,” he announced. “We need to leave here. Now.”

  And travel to Loveland to apprehend Papa once and for all? She couldn’t allow it. She had to delay him, to somehow get word to Papa and warn him.

  “No!” she argued. “We can’t. You said we should stay until morning. It’s too dangerous to leave now.”

  “And Feasel just informed me it’s too dangerous to stay. Fitzgelder has dispatched more of his minions. He’s directed them to this very place. I need to get you away from here. Now.”

  “To this place? He’s sent them here and not to…” She stopped herself before she made matters worse by as much as confirming Papa’s whereabouts for him.

  “And not to where, Sophie? Why would you expect Fitzgelder to send his men somewhere other than here?”

  “Well, I simply thought that…er, that he might…that is…Well, I heard your man make mention of some place, and I simply assumed that must be where you would say Mr. Fitzgelder directed his men.”

  “Loveland?”

  “Oh? Is that what he said? Yes, I suppose that might be what I heard, though I don’t know the place, I guess I just assumed that, er, perhaps you meant, well…”

  Now he was laughing at her again. “It’s getting late and surely you need some rest, my dear. Please, don’t embarrass yourself by pretending you don’t know about Loveland. I’m well aware you used to live there.”

  “You know that I…? That is, I don’t know what you’re talking about, my lord.”

  “Gather your things. I need to get you to safety.”

  She frowned, not quite certain she could believe him. “But what of…?”

  “What of Loveland? No, I’ll not be taking you there. That is, of course, where your father would be though, correct?”

  “Why, I haven’t the slightest idea! No, of course he’d never go there. It’s probably not even still standing. I’m sure someone must have pulled it down by now, sitting empty as it’s been.”

  “Thank you, I’ll take that as confirmation that he is there.”

  “But that’s not what I said!”

  He laughed again. “Yes you did, my dear. Truly, you are an abominable liar.”

  “That’s not what you said earlier. You accused me of lying repeatedly!”

  “I’m not saying you don’t lie; I’m just saying you do it very badly. Now hurry, if you want to bring your, er, things, collect them now.”

  It was obvious the man meant business. One way or another he was leaving here tonight. By God, she knew she’d better go with him if she had any hope of protecting her father. And truthfully, if Mr. Fitzgelder’s men were coming here, she would much prefer to be elsewhere.

  And maybe, just maybe, she could find a way to work this in her favor. She reorganized her things into her pack and commented in an offhand fashion.

  “If you really believe my father might be at Loveland—although I don’t know any reason he might have to go back there after all these years—then perhaps I can be of assistance, my lord.”

  “Oh? And how is that?”

  “I know a shortcut! Yes, if you let me direct you, I can take you to Loveland in half the time and then you could—”

  “Oh no, that’s not going to work, my dear.” He took up her pack for her once it was reassembled. “You’d have me off on some wild-goose chase, and that’s the last thing we have time for.”

  Drat. He figured her out.

  “Besides,” he went on, taking her elbow and leading her toward the door. “Your father is not at Loveland. Not yet. My man already sent someone to look there.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sophie had insisted on bickering with him the whole way to the back of the inn. It was as if she actually wanted to wake everyone inside. Perhaps she had. Perhaps she was hoping she might create enough disturbance to allow her another opportunity to try and leave him.

  Well, it didn’t work. And if it had, she’d have been without the locket. He’d placed it securely in his own breast pocket, and there it would stay until they found something that might help pry it open.

  The yard behind the inn was not large, and the mews row was right there, allowing guests to stable their animals and store their carriages close at hand. Convenient, he had to say. And much safer for them than
having to traipse all over town to locate tools and his carriage. With luck, this endeavor should take very little time.

  But then something very much like a shadow caught his attention. There, at the corner of the stable building at the far end of the yard. He’d been sure he saw a form, a human form, darting just out of sight. And this time it was not Feasel.

  He held up his hand to motion for Sophie to stop where she was, still in the doorway just about to step outside. She didn’t get the message and came trotting out, slamming into him from behind. He sighed. Well, the figure was gone. Perhaps whoever he was, he hadn’t seen the foolhardy chit yet.

  “Come here,” he hissed, grabbing her arm and pulling her back against the building, into the shadows.

  “What is—” she started, but he put his hand over her mouth.

  Her eyes flashed and glared at him, but she didn’t fight. With a nod of warning he tentatively removed his hand. She didn’t screech at him for his rough behavior, but at the same time there was nothing about her that said she wouldn’t promptly bite him if he did that again. He leaned toward her, one hand on either side of her shoulders, effectively pinning her there against the night-cooled wall of the inn.

  “There was someone out here—a man—hiding at the far end of the stable,” he whispered to her.

  Her glance darted around nervously. “What was he doing?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, it could have been nothing, but I didn’t want him to get a good look at you,” he explained. “If he’s one of Fitzgelder’s men, he was sent here after you to get the locket.”

  “Well, considering the way you are manhandling me, don’t you think if he notices us he’ll assume you’ve managed to get it from me? Perhaps he’ll go after you now.”

  All the more reason to be quick about things. Cautioning her again—for all the good it would do—he led her quietly toward the stables. He kept a close watch on the shadows but did not detect anything. If someone had been there, he was gone now.

  He managed to find a stable hand to help ready his carriage. Despite keeping one eye on Sophie and one eye on his work, it was not long before his horses were stamping in their harnesses, anticipating what would come next. They seemed nearly as impatient as Sophie.