Temptress in Training

by Susan Gee Heino

  “So Miss D’Archaud is all alone this afternoon,” he remarked.

  Emphatic nodding.

  “And just what have you been doing to amuse yourself, my dear?”

  Ah, but this she could answer! She dashed to the desk and snatched up the letter she’d been working on. Heavens, but her heart was pounding. Did she really have the nerve to give it to him? But if she did not, he might leave, and she could never forgive herself for that.

  As it was, he might refuse her and leave anyway. Did she dare? She dared.

  She handed the letter to him and tried not to let her hand shake. He looked at it, his eyes following the hasty text while his expression was unreadable. What was he thinking? What would be his response? Did he find it shocking, unseemly? Would he scold her and storm out? She waited.

  “You wrote this letter?”

  She swallowed and cleared her throat. “Only just, my lord.”

  “It is addressed simply to ‘Dearest R.’ I pray to God that stands for Richard, Sophie.”

  “It does.” Her voice was still weak and pitiful, but at least she was forming words.

  “I’m glad, seeing as this letter is apparently an invitation for your R fellow to come and spend an afternoon in ‘certain familiar pursuits,’ as you put it. Would you care to explain what those might be, Sophie?”

  Heavens but he was trying to embarrass her now, wasn’t he? She supposed that ought to leave her a bit miffed, but the most adorable smile teased at the corner of his lips, and she just couldn’t be. Surely if he was playfully teasing her she might still cling to some hope.

  “I was hoping you might recall them, my lord.”

  “There’s no need, Miss D’Archaud, as you’ve so politely gone and listed a great many of them here,” he said, glancing back at the letter and raising an eyebrow.

  “No one wants to be misunderstood, sir.”

  “Indeed, there can hardly be any misunderstanding your intent. Lord, but you’re marvelously thorough in your descriptions.”

  “My intent is to be thorough in everything I do today,” she said, feeling brave enough to smile for him.

  “Although I do believe you spelled punishment with too many Ns, my dear.”

  “Then perhaps I need some correction, my lord.”

  She expected him to make a witty reply, but he did not. He just stared at her for a long moment, then swept all rational thought right out of her when he dropped the letter, crushed her into his arms, and kissed her. It did not take rational thought to kiss him back with every part of her being.

  “Ah, Sophie, it’s been an eternity. God knows how I’ve missed you.”

  She clung to him, pressing herself against him as if that could, in some way, keep him here with her forever.

  “I thought I might never see you again,” she whispered. “That’s why I was writing that letter. Tomorrow we leave for Kent.”

  “I know. I hope you like it there; I’ve always thought it quite lovely.”

  “I don’t want to go!”

  She pushed herself away from him just enough to look up into his face. She was simply going to have to pluck up the courage to beg.

  “What?”

  “I want to stay here. With you.”

  “With me?”

  “Oh, I don’t mean that you’d have to keep me in any sort of fashion, or make any actual arrangement,” she said, trying to explain herself quickly so he would not bolt out the door with his hand on his purse and his eye on his freedom. “I can still sew; I would support myself. If you’ve changed your mind you would not need to set me up as your mistress, but—”

  “My mistress, Sophie? You would have me install you in Town as my mistress?”

  “Only if you want to, of course.”

  He was holding her tightly, his eyes searching hers. “Well, I don’t want to. Damn it, Sophie. Is that what you want? I should buy you fashionable clothes and set you up in a fine home where I can visit two days a week and let you take other callers in between?”

  “No! Heavens, no. But when we left Loveland that day I thought that’s what you said…that I belonged to you. I assumed you meant to keep me, but—”

  “Good God, Sophie. That’s not what I meant at all.”

  The conviction was evident in his voice. Lord, but she’d made a complete cake of herself, hadn’t she? Whatever he’d said—or meant to say—that day in Loveland, she’d certainly misconstrued it. Oh, but how mortifying!

  Before she could pull away from him to go hide under a rock, though, he pulled her closer. Indeed, being pressed against his solid chest as he stroked her hair was certainly better than crawling under a rock, but she was no less shamed by her pretentious assumptions. As if a man like Lindley could wish to keep someone like her for a mistress.

  “I would never insult you that way, Sophie,” he said, and she felt his lips press against her head. “Besides, I won’t be here in Town very often. I’ll be away in Kent, spending time with my wonderful wife.”

  She couldn’t help it. Her face popped up so she could stare at him. “Your wife?!”

  “Of course.”

  “You mean…you plan to marry again?”

  “Yes I plan to…what do you mean again?”

  “I mean, well, Eudora told me how devoted you were to…Marie.”

  “Damn Eudora. Of course I was devoted to Marie, but I was never married to her!”

  “Never married? But I saw her portrait…and there was little Charles, and…”

  “And Marie was my sister. She married Charlie Cardell, my best friend from school days. Their son was my nephew, Sophie.”

  “Oh,” Sophie said, making sense of it now and realizing Eudora had purposely misled her out of simple spite and cruelty. Horrible woman.

  “Charlie worked for the Home Office,” Lindley said. “Though I’m afraid I was not thrilled with my sister marrying so far beneath her. I tried to find Charlie a more prestigious position, but he refused. He loved what he did, and he told me he’d just uncovered a plot to sell information to the French and claimed one of the men he was after frequented Eudora’s nunnery. He learned Eudora was my aunt, though she’d been estranged from the family for years. He asked if I would contact her, forge some sort of connection that perhaps he could use to find information. I told him no.”

  “But you were quite friendly with Madame,” Sophie said. “I noticed you visiting often, as a matter of fact.”

  “Did you now?” he said with a smile that declared he rather approved of her notice. “But that was only after someone way-laid Charlie’s carriage, killing him and everyone inside: my mother, my sister, my nephew. I knew it must have something to do with his investigation, so that’s why I befriended Eudora after all those years of pretending I didn’t know I had an aunt living that lifestyle in London.”

  “Oh.”

  “It doesn’t paint me to be very noble, does it?”

  “You couldn’t have known,” she said, laying her hand on his face. “And you’ve certainly done everything humanly possible since then to make it right.”

  “I grieve for them every day, but I’ll never make it right.”

  “You found those that caused it, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, it appears Warren was the mastermind, after all. Eudora was working with him to extract information from her clients. She was the connection to Fitzgelder.”

  “And my father?”

  “In the wrong place at the wrong time. Whatever your father has done in his past, Sophie, he was not a party to murder. I’m sorry I let Eudora trick me into hunting him. He spurned her, so she wanted to punish him. Which brings me back to the subject of your misspelled letter, my dear. Were you quite sincere when you wrote it?”

  “Oh yes! I sent the servants out for the day, and Papa said he will be gone until evening. So as you see, we have plenty of time for…proper spelling.”

  Rather than kissing her again or getting down to the business of completing some of the activities mentioned in
her letter, Lindley reached into his pocket and withdrew his watch.

  “Sorry, my dear, but I’m afraid we have less time than you think. Your father only allowed me half an hour, and I fear we’ve already used most of that up in idle chatter.”

  “What do you mean? Papa is with his solicitor arranging for our new home.”

  He shook his head. “No, he’s with my solicitor. It is my property he plans to move you to in Kent.”

  “Your property? But why?”

  “Because he refuses to grant me permission to ask you to marry me until I have properly courted you and proven myself a worthy man, that’s why.”

  She could not even comprehend his words. She merely stared and waited for him to explain.

  “He wants you to feel you have a choice, Sophie. And you do, you know. You are a woman of means now. You have connections, in England as well as France. You will be able to choose any husband you want.”

  “But I’m no one! I can’t really be a lady, not with my history.”

  “That was Sophie Darshaw. Now you are Sophie D’Archaud, of noble blood and gentle breeding. No one needs to know how you spent the last few years of your life.”

  “Or that my grandmother was a courtesan, or that my mother was an actress, or that my father was accused of murder, or—”

  He wrapped her tightly into his arms. “You’re right. You’ve got a dreadful past, and you’d best grab the first man you see. Just to sway things in my favor, I’m going to blindfold you.”

  “Oh, now that does sound promising!”

  “And just promise me you will at least consider my proposal, Sophie. I know we’ve had a rather irregular relationship so far, but I can promise there’s nothing irregular about the way I feel for you. I love you, Sophie, whether it’s Darshaw or D’Archaud. And I would be the happiest man on earth if you’d consent to being my wife.”

  She pretended to think about it. “Well, would your wife be expected to behave in a polite, wifely manner all the time, or would she still be allowed some room for, er, creativity?”

  “Creativity? Yes. Hell, yes.”

  “I see. Then in that case, sir, hell, yes it is.”

  He smiled broadly and nearly crushed her. “I’ll never let you regret it.”

  “But perhaps you might wish to let me breathe a bit,” she wheezed.

  He released his hold and stepped away from her. “You’re right. And your father should be here soon, so perhaps now would be a good time to open the package I’ve brought you.”

  She was confused, but he handed her the box and she carefully undid the strings. Placing it back on the table, she opened it.

  “My scissors!”

  “I retrieved them for you.”

  “Yes, and the binding cords as well,” she said, pulling them out and feeling her face go warm at the memory of that night at Haven Abbey.

  She was surprised at the next items she discovered. The velvet pantalets had somehow reappeared.

  “Those I found particularly intriguing,” he said.

  She shook her head. “They chafe.”

  “Pity. They were one of the few items in your collection I did not fully get to enjoy.”

  “Ah, don’t think I haven’t sewn anything else these past ten days, my lord,” she said.

  He grinned like an eager child. “Oh? You have made something new?”

  “Indeed I have.”

  “Is it as tantalizingly creative as the others?”

  “More so,” she replied, stepping into his arms and looking up into his dark, passionate gaze.

  “Is it wildly alluring?” he asked, stroking her hair.

  “Terribly.”

  “Is it somewhat scandalous?”

  “Dreadfully.”

  It appeared this time he was at a loss for words as she tiptoed to press her lips against his.

  “And I can hardly wait to see you in it, my lord.”

  * * *

  KEEP READING FOR A PREVIEW OF THE NEXT HISTORICAL ROMANCE BY SUSAN GEE HEINO

  Paramour by Pretense

  COMING SOON FROM BERKLEY SENSATION!

  * * *

  Chapter One

  LONDON, ENGLAND

  MAY 1820

  The candlelight was lovely, and Penelope knew hers was the prettiest gown in the room. She also knew this was not by any accident. Her brother spared no expense in his desperate efforts to get her married off. The only thing good about Anthony’s efforts was that this gown he’d paid for was the exact shade of blue to complement her necklace. Indeed, she did love this necklace.

  She put her hand to it, enjoying the feel of the warm gold and the smooth stones set into place to form the stout body of a beetle. Not just any beetle, though. This was a scarab—an amulet fashioned by Egyptian hands many, many centuries ago. Indeed, she’d paid a pretty penny for it. No doubt Anthony would scold when he realized that’s where all her money had gone, but she could not care. This was the finest piece of her collection.

  She’d hoped whatever magic it might still contain would work to ward off the suitors her brother wished for, yet it appeared Anthony’s power was far greater than even that of the sacred scarab. Suitors had been hanging on her all night. Pity none of them actually suited her.

  Mercy, but it had been nearly impossible to get rid of them. She’d managed, however. It had required her agreeing to stand up with Puddleston Blunk for the entire Country Dance, and there were fourteen couples to work through before she could finally claim exhaustion and send the lout off to procure her a lemonade. Now she was alone. If she didn’t dream up a way to disappear soon, though, he’d return and she’d be stuck with Puddleston on her arm until Mamma showed up to pry him off. And Mamma would likely not do that. Mamma said Puddleston Blunk was a good catch.

  Heavens, but if there was ever a time to decide on a plan, it was now. She had no intention of catching someone like Mr. Blunk, by accident or on purpose. There were other things she wished to do with her life, and all she needed was Mamma’s permission and a healthy pile of her brother’s money. So far both of those had been elusive.

  Oh, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t come up with a plausible scheme. Indeed she had, just this very afternoon. But it was somewhat outrageous. Risky, even. Did she dare consider it?

  She glanced nervously around Lord Heversham’s crowded ballroom. Nothing out of the ordinary; no one she did not know. If she did have any hope of carrying out her plan, none of the men present would fit her purposes. Her eye fell on the row of young ladies seated with their chaperones against the far wall. Those were the plain girls, the girls with poor connections or even poorer dowries.

  Her quiet friend Maria Bradley was there. She looked miserable. Penelope would have given nearly anything to have joined her there on that wallflower row. Oh, if only she and Maria could trade places. How cruel fate was to truss Penelope up in a beautiful gown and surround her with suitors when any one of these young ladies might so much rather be in her satin shoes.

  Then again, it hadn’t been fate at all that had done this to her. It had been Anthony. If he could just listen to reason! She did not wish to marry. She wished to travel to Egypt and dig for mummies. Was that so very much for a woman of three-and-twenty to dream of? Apparently it was, because both her brother and her mother became nearly apoplectic at the very mention of it.

  Which was why she had tried to soothe them by announcing her hope to go there and meet the well-known Egyptologist Dr. Oldham. They’d exchanged several letters, and she’d found him fascinating. Perhaps she might even consider marrying him.

  She had expected Anthony to find this acceptable, since he seemed so very keen on seeing her foisted off on someone else. She thought her mother might approve of her interest in someone so scholarly and mature as Dr. Oldham. Neither was the case. Mother had to call for her salts, and Anthony declared he’d burn in hell before he allowed his sister to drag the family name through mud—well, more mud, as he put it—and go chasing off to Egypt after some
fortune-hunting Lothario. They’d ordered her to cease all communications with the man and confiscated her letter writing paper. Honestly, was that even legal?

  If Anthony would but listen to her! Couldn’t he see that sending her to Egypt would only make her more responsible, more respectable? She would have a purpose, meet educated people, and fill her idle time with noble, scholarly pursuits. The longer she was forced to dance around here in London like a mindless ninny, the more desperate and unpredictable she would become. Surely no mere husband could remedy that.

  If only there were some middle ground, something between wasting away in genteel uselessness and being married. Something that could take her out from under Anthony’s wing, yet not shackle her to someone else. But what could that be?

  An engagement, she supposed, was halfway between. But she’d tried that before. Three times now she’d been engaged, hoping that would buy her some leeway, that as an engaged woman she’d finally be allowed to make some of her own choices or pursue her own goals. In each case, however, she found it provided her even less freedom. And by now Anthony would recognize another engagement for what it was—a ruse to escape his rule. If she tried that route again, no doubt Anthony would call her bluff and drag her immediately to the altar with whatever sap she’d chosen and make it final. That would not help her at all.

  Unless, of course, Anthony might not call her bluff. What if this time she procured a fiancé Anthony did not approve? Ah, that was the scheme that had invaded her mind earlier and would not quite let go, despite its outrageous ridiculousness. Still, she could not help but wonder…

  If she found a fiancé so unacceptable, so objectionable, wouldn’t Anthony’s brotherly concern cause him to intervene? And if he truly felt he must intervene, wouldn’t it stand to reason he might see fit to put some distance between her and the object of her misplaced affection? Perhaps given the choice between seeing his dearest sister wed to some ogre or gone off to Egypt, Anthony might just choose Egypt. She knew she certainly would! All it would take was careful planning on her part, and selecting just the right man to play his part.