Temptress in Training (20 page)

Madame was more interested in the other subject of Sophie's statement. “Lord Lindley? Was he here?”

“He went down to check on his carriage. He ordered me to remain in our room, but I decided to—”

“
Our
room?” Madame and Annie said, very much at the same time.

“You stayed here last night with Lord Lindley?” Madame continued.

“No! Of course not.” Heavens, but she was quite happy to still be able to deny any accusations they might make.
Most
of their accusations, at least. “Papa was injured, so Lord Lindley took us to the surgeon. We spent the night there while the surgeon patched Papa's leg.”

“Was he hurt very badly?” Annie asked.

“He was cut, but the surgeon stopped the bleeding and assured us that if he rested all would be well.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” Madame said. “Where is this surgeon? Give me the direction and I will send someone over to fetch your father so we may be off.”

“I can't,” Sophie said.

“You don't know the direction? But if you just came from there…”

“No, I can't have you fetch Papa.”

“There, there. I'm sure he'll move very carefully and not aggravate his wound,” Madame soothed. “No doubt even the surgeon would allow it.”

“It wouldn't matter if he did. I'm afraid he's got no say in the matter now. Papa's gone.”

“He's gone?” the women chimed together again.

“Yes, I'm afraid so.”

Madame seemed doubtful. “Gone? Do you mean, he is dead?”

Sophie practically choked at the thought of it. “Oh, no, Madame! I simply mean he has left, run off.”

“He's gone off and left you here alone? With
Lindley
?”

“Well, when he left it appeared Lindley had gone, as well. But then Lindley came back. It was rather a good thing, too. You have no idea what sort of footpads they have in this town! I was simply walking along, minding my own business, when suddenly a man leapt out and—”

Madame hushed her. “We have no time for stories. Your father is in grave danger and you just let him wander off from you, Sophie?”

Well, this was just a bit uncalled for. She was beginning to be a mite unhappy with the lack of concern she could feel from her former employer.

“I thought the man was dead for years, Madame. It's not as if I've much practice at being his keeper, you know. Besides, he drugged me!”

But even Annie seemed to care little for the various mishaps Sophie had endured over the past few hours. “He could be anywhere by now, Madame,” she said, still daubing the baby with a now lukewarm rag. “Someone should be sent to find him!”

“I'm sure Lindley will do that soon enough,” Sophie muttered. “He's got great plans to apprehend him.”

“But he's done nothing wrong!” Annie protested.

Sophie was touched that her friend would be so quick to defend him, but she felt she owed it to her to admit the truth of her father's past. “I'm afraid pretending to be dead is the least of my father's sins, Annie. He and Lindley have both assured me his past holds many secrets that I may not wish to know about.”

“You seem to be on quite excellent terms with Lord Lindley,” Madame said. “I'm worried for you, Sophie. Lindley is not a man to be trusted—certainly not by a girl as green as yourself. I hope you've not let yourself be swayed by the man's empty words and flattery.”

“I promise you, Madame, he's wasted no flattery on me,” Sophie assured her. “He did take Papa to the surgeon, however, when clearly he would have rather just—”

Madame pinched her eyes shut and almost appeared as if she would break into tears. “Oh, my poor, poor child! You've succumbed to his enticement!”

“I have not!”
Not all the way, anyhow.
“I appreciate that he showed a bit of human kindness toward my father, but I was in the midst of taking advantage of his absence to leave the man. He says I hold the clue to finding where my father has possibly gone, and I intend to learn whether or not I do. Without Lindley.”

Madame was not quite as happy to hear this as Sophie might have expected. In fact, the woman was quiet for a moment or two, contemplating things. “You have something that might tell us where your father is? Show me.”

She held out her hand, clearly expecting Sophie to place something in it. Something about Madame's demand didn't sit right with her, though, so Sophie left the locket hanging securely around her neck. What would make the woman assume that the clue she referred to was something Sophie could just pull out and place in her hand?

“I…can't.”

“Sophie, you can trust me. I will help you find your father.”

Apparently she could not trust Madame, not after all those years she'd lived ignorantly under her roof and the woman never bothered to tell her Papa was alive.

“It's not a thing, Madame,” Sophie explained. “Lord Lindley believes I must know something; perhaps I recall some person or a place my father may have talked about in the past. That would be a clue to where he's gone now.”

Madame dropped her hand. “Oh. Well, do you?”

“No. At least, I can't think of any. Lord Lindley was hoping that he could encourage my memory as we traveled.”

“Yes, he'd certainly like to try that with you, my dear,” Madame said. “But he would not be kind to you. He would hurt you.”

She was fairly certain Madame was not speaking of some abstract broken heart. Did she really believe Lindley would be cruel, might even abuse her? Heavens, and to think Sophie had been alone with the man in such an intimate setting! She was fortunate he lost interest and left her when he did. Still, he'd not shown any signs of that sort of unpleasantness. He'd been quite tender for a moment or two, in fact.

“He does not seem such an ogre, Madame.”

“He's not for you, Sophie. You're better than that. Please believe me, my dear. He's the sort of man who uses women for his purposes and discards them as quickly. Truly, he will leave you worse than he found you and abandon you flat. You cannot stay with him.”

“Luckily I was leaving just now.”

“Smart girl.”

Annie piped up with a concern, however. “I only hope when he returns from checking on his carriage that he doesn't decide to search the place for you, Sophie. If he finds us he'd certainly suspect we were aiding you.”

Those words seemed especially meaningful to Madame. Her brows wrinkled and she tightened her lips. “Yes, he would search the place, wouldn't he? And if we attempt to leave now we'd surely run across him. Seems we have quite a dilemma.”

“But I could hide myself and you could simply say it was all a coincidence, that you had no idea I was here and haven't seen me,” Sophie suggested.

Madame shook her head. “No, of course he'd never believe that. What possible reason could Annie and I have to be traveling out here? No, he must not find us. Sophie, you will simply have to go back to him.”

“What?”
Now it was she and Annie who replied in unison.

“Madame,” Annie began. “You cannot send her back to him, not if he's as cruel and dangerous as you say!”

“Shush,” Madame replied. “He will be kind at first, to win her trust. Sophie, you must go back.”

“But I can't! Madame, I need to leave, to find my father. This could be my only chance.”

“Listen to me, girl,” Madame said, her voice growing hard and clipped. “I will help you find your father. Yes, I may have some notion where he's gone. If you value his life, you will trust me.”

“You know where to find him?”

“Perhaps, but it will do no good if Lindley finds us here. He will know we are here to help you and keep your father safe from him. You can keep him from finding out.”

“What would you have me do?”

Madame's expression was very serious now. “What would
Lindley
have you do?”

“What exactly do you mean, Madame?”

“Come, come, Sophie. He is a man, after all. Surely you have some idea what he wants from you.”

“I…I don't know,” Sophie replied.

It was painfully honest, too. Clearly Madame had some notion that Lindley was interested in her, but Sophie had already learned the hard way that Lindley's interest ran little further than what she might know about her father. Aside from the locket, she truly had no idea what the man wanted.

“Of course you know what he wants,” Madame said. “He's a man. You may play innocent and naive, little Sophie, but you are no fool. I've seen Lindley's eye linger on you when he'd come to call. You can't have missed it, blushing and skirting around nervously when he was there. You know what he wants, and I'm surprised you claim not to have given it to him already.”

“Madame!”

“And you know what Lindley wants with your father, as well, don't you?”

Yes, indeed she did know that, only too well. She nodded.

“Then you understand how serious this is,” Madame went on. “You must go back to Lindley and see that he is occupied. Let him think that with enough sweet talk and cajoling you might recall some clue to your father's whereabouts. Keep him safely in that room until he is sleeping.”

“I don't know that Lindley requires sleep, Madame.”

“All men require sleep, Sophie. Eventually. After certain exertion.”

Annie made a little squeaking sound. “Madame, you're not suggesting that Sophie should…”

Madame shot her a glance across the room. “And you would rather Lindley discover us and then track down her father?”

Annie dropped her eyes, shook her head, and hugged her baby.

Sophie wanted to be quite certain she understood things. “You mean you want me to go back to the room and allow Lord Lindley to seduce me?”

“Seduce
him
if you have to,” Madame said with a shrug of the shoulders. “It's not the worst thing in the world, Sophie. Of course, the first time it might be a bit uncomfortable, but Lindley knows what he's about. He'll make it endurable.”

Endurable?
Good heavens! Could Madame really be asking this of her? Was this truly the only way to save her father? She hoped not. If it was, then she had already failed. Lindley had flatly rejected her.

“Go, Sophie,” Madame instructed. “Trust me. You won't have to work very hard. Give Lindley what he wants and let him think that after a nice rest you can lead him to your father. While he is busy with you, Annie and I can leave. We'll wait for you on the road.”

“On the road?”

Madame smiled in the kind, motherly way she would sometimes. “Just south of here on the London road there is an old stone wall. At the end of it, we'll be waiting. All you need to do is get Lindley to sleep, then slip out and meet us.”

“And you'll take me to my father?”

Madame nodded. “We'll find your father. Then all will be well and you will never have to face Lindley again.”

It seemed too good to be true, but Madame made it sound so simple. Indeed, it
was
simple. All she needed was to distract Lindley long enough for her friends to escape undetected, then she could slip out. And judging by Lindley's recent disinterest in her, perhaps that would require less involvement on her part than Madame suspected.

Give Lindley what he wants.
Indeed, all he wanted was the locket. She could certainly use that to her advantage, couldn't she?

“All right, Madame,” Sophie said, drawing in a deep breath. “I'll do it.”

He'd spent more time with Feasel than expected. Lindley checked his pocket watch and frowned.
Getting late.
Did they really have that much business to attend to, or was he simply avoiding going back to face Miss Darshaw?

He decided not to answer that.

Feasel told him about an incident on the road that Rastmoor had been involved in last night, back near Geydon. Apparently Lindley had taken off after D'Archaud just in time to have missed it. He almost wished he had not.

A carriage with two innocent women and a babe was attacked on the road by highwaymen. Feasel only had his information secondhand, but he'd learned one of the attackers was killed and the one who survived gave a report that seemed of special interest to Lindley. The man claimed he and his partner had been hired by someone to waylay a carriage and that somehow they'd come upon the wrong one.

Unfortunately, Feasel had been unable to question the man directly. While waiting for the proper channels of justice to run, someone managed to do away with the fellow.
Pity.
From what Feasel had heard, the description of the carriage the man said he'd been hired to assault sounded remarkably like Lindley's carriage. The very one that had suffered a disabled axle that would have made them easy prey to any observant highwaymen, had those particular highwaymen not mistakenly attacked the wrong carriage.

Indeed, Lindley must be getting closer to his enemies if they were getting this close to him. He would do well to take more precautions from here out. For one, he instructed Feasel to hire anyone he needed to make himself safe. It would be no help at all if the one man Lindley counted on was murdered while he loitered in the shadows.

Feasel agreed to take care, admonishing his master to do the same. They agreed on a meeting place, but Feasel insisted that travel by night on the London road was too risky. Lindley would just have to wait until morning to start out after D'Archaud. He was sure Miss Darshaw would be happy to hear that. Hell, it was what he'd already promised her, wasn't it?

He left Feasel to slip back into the shadows—as the man did so very well—and made his way back into the inn. A quick glance into the common room proved that Rastmoor was still there, sitting all alone over his cups. He looked like hell, and Lindley was half tempted to go to him. But he could not. Rastmoor might be the enemy. There was too much at stake for Lindley to fall in the trap of trusting anyone. Or caring.

The stairs creaked as he made his way up toward his room. The baby that had been crying earlier when he left was quiet now. Poor thing, probably upset by its unfamiliar surroundings and upended routine. He recalled how travel could sometimes be difficult for little ones. He forced the memory back into the dark recess where it usually lingered, safely ignored.

The door to his room was toward the end of the narrow hallway, and he stalked quietly toward it. Things appeared just as he left them, and he had a brief flash of concern. Had he locked the door, or been in too much of a frustrated hurry to leave? He didn't recall locking it. He should have. What if Miss Darshaw had thought to leave? Or worse, what if someone had come in after her? He tried the handle and it opened easily for him.
Damn.
He should not have left her so unprotected.

The room was dim. A lone candle had very nearly sputtered out. His eyes adjusted to the flickering light, and at first he saw no sign of Miss Darshaw.

Damn it, he'd kept a close eye on the building, but of course he could not have seen all of it at once. She could have easily found a way out and left him by now. She would be out in the darkness, alone and unprotected, an easy victim to whomever had attacked her in that alleyway.

But then his eye caught on the bed. The shape there seemed so small he'd nearly overlooked it. She was here, curled up under the covers and fast asleep.

Thank heavens.

He pulled the door shut behind him and moved toward her. Why hadn't she left? He only now realized he'd half expected her to. It would probably be best if she had, since she'd made it clear she wanted nothing more to do with him. His body was telling him he wanted everything more to do with her.

Then he noticed her dress tossed carelessly on the floor. And there, hanging limp over the bedstead, was her shift.
Really?
She'd known he was coming back and yet she'd removed her clothing? That hardly sounded like Miss Darshaw.

Fighting a wave of worry, he carefully slid the cover back to reveal her ivory shoulder. She was bare, shoulder, arm…and graceful neck. Good God, her neck was bare! The locket was gone.

Someone must have come in, abused her, and taken the locket. He didn't know which was stronger, his sudden terror for her well-being or his fury at what so obviously occurred. Terror won out and he dropped to his knees beside her, scooping her into his arms and brushing back her wayward hair, silken blond strands that hid her lovely face. Was she bruised? Frightened? Traumatized? Or worse, was this the sort of sleep she might never wake from? He hated himself for leaving her alone up here.

Her silent form suddenly came to life in his arms, writhing and kicking against him. He was nearly beside himself with relief. She would survive.

He held her tighter and whispered into her ear, “You're fine. Don't worry. I'm here now.”

For a moment the writhing and kicking stopped. He was about to lay her gently back onto the pillow when it started up again. She kneed him roundly in the ribs.

“Sophie, it's me!” he protested, dropping her and leaning back so she might see him clearly.

“I know it's you! Who else would it be?” she said, scrambling to pull the thin covers back over herself.

Damn, but he'd hardly got more than a glimpse of luscious bosom and youthful flesh.

“But I…Are you unhurt? Did they harm you?” he asked, reaching for the covers and then thinking better of it when he caught the look of murder simmering in her eyes.

“Did who harm me?”

“Whoever came in here and, er, removed your clothing.”

“
I
removed my clothing, my lord,” she replied.

“
You?
So, you were not attacked?”

“Not until you came in here.”

He sat back on his heels and glared up at her. “I did not attack you. I was afraid you'd been molested.”

“Not yet, my lord.”

“But you knew I was coming back. Why on earth would you take your clothes off and leave them scattered around the room?”

Now she lowered her eyes and a charming flush of color stole over her. He suspected she was every inch the blushing maiden. He suspected, too, that he must indeed be an absolute ogre for the way he was, even now as she was so obviously embarrassed, wishing to devour her with his eyes. And other parts as well.

“I felt sorry for the way we parted,” she said, not looking at him. “I thought perhaps we could…er, that I could…that we should make friends, my lord.”

“Friends?”

“Yes, or something like that.”

He could make little sense of this. What on earth was the girl up to?

“Friends?”

“I thought if we had to, er, pass the night together, we might as well be friends.”

She didn't speak but kept her eyes pasted on a spot at the end of the bed. So she wasn't going to explain herself? Well, someone needed to speak to distract him from following his instinct and leaping back up onto that bed with her. For both their sakes, he stayed where he was and forced himself to be annoyed.

“Yes, Miss Darshaw, clearly waiting naked in my bed is the best way to make
friends
. I'm shocked it isn't much more utilized in polite society. ‘Miss Dalrymple, have you met my Great Aunt Agatha?' ‘Why yes, she was waiting naked in my bed just yesterday. We're lovely friends now.' We hear that all the time, don't we, Miss Darshaw?”

“Don't mock me, sir.”

“Then don't show up naked in my bed and expect me to wish for anything akin to mere friendship.”

“I'm not naked in your bed, my lord,” she said as prim as a schoolmistress.

“You certainly looked naked a moment ago,” he growled back. “And here is your gown, and your shift, and your stockings…so I'd like to know just how, then, you manage to be anything other than naked in my bed.”

She tipped her chin defiantly and turned her eyes away from him. “I had a few items in my pack.”

“Now you have my curiosity. It was a rather small pack, Miss Darshaw.”

She didn't reply, so he decided to see for himself. He reached to pull her covers back, angry that she should think to toy with him this way. Could she possibly not feel any of the same passion he felt toward her? Did she sense none of the tension that crackled through the air between them? Was she truly unaffected by…

Great Jupiter in the sky. The hellcat was right—she was
not
naked. Not quite.

But what the devil was it that she wore? He'd dragged the covers from her grasp and now stood in awed silence as his eyes raked over her, ravenous for the sight but not entirely sure what it was they saw.

“What is that?”

“It's what I'm wearing.”

“I can see it's what you're wearing, or very nearly wearing. What is it?”

“Er, I'm not certain it has a name, sir.”

He swallowed. No, he supposed a costume like this really had no use for a name. One was hardly likely to be discussing it in polite company after the fact, and right now, gazing at it, conversation was the very last thing to cross Lindley's mind.

He cleared his throat, swallowed again, and pretended he could think straight.

“So, Miss Darshaw,
this
is what you wear to sleep in?”

The article was pink. A fresh, vibrant pink that made him think of cherry pastries. Or the inviting flush on Miss Darshaw's cheeks. Or Miss Darshaw's lips. Or Miss Darshaw's, er, other lips.

And the article was silk, which glistened in the candle glow and made his hands reach out for the softness of it. Or Miss Darshaw's silky warm skin. Or her lips. Or her, er, other lips.

And the article hardly covered any of these. It was nothing more than a mesh, a woven lace of glistening silk cords, knotted artfully together around the enticing framework of stays. Stays that accentuated her curves and hoisted her delectable breasts up and held them on display, offered them up as a feast for his animal lust. He had to forcibly hold himself back from taking the woman up on that offer.

Halfway down, the silky mesh was woven into a band. It wrapped around to highlight her slender waist. The way the various cords of silk interlaced gave an effect somewhere between fishing net and Grandmamma's tatting. Never in a hundred years would he have expected either to send his blood pounding as if he'd just run a marathon.

As if he weren't affected enough, the tantalizing costume did not end at the waistband. No, cords of this vibrant pink silk ran from the band down over her thighs, knotting into a wider mesh. The taut, ivory skin of her rounded bottom pressed against the cords and puckered, like the flesh of ripened fruit. He was drooling to take a bite.

Never had he encountered such a garment. Never had he felt such powerful desire for any woman. The effect this deadly combination had on his self-control was terrifying. Damn it all, but Miss Darshaw looked like every heated fantasy he'd ever had. How on earth was he supposed to keep himself away from her tonight?

“I thought if I wore this, my lord, you might be more inclined toward, er, friendship,” she said.

His addled brain struggled to make sense of her words. It was no use. There was no sense to those words.

“Look at you, Miss Darshaw,” he said, half choked by his carnal hunger. “What on earth would make you think we might strike up a polite friendship after this?”

“Perhaps
friendship
is not exactly the right word for it, my lord,” she said, her voice shrinking. “But I don't know quite what else to call it.”

He knew what he'd call it, but he decided “plugging her like a raging beast” would probably sound like a bad thing to Miss Darshaw. It didn't sound like such a bad thing to him. No, not at all. Still, he was a gentleman. He drew a deep breath, took his eyes off of her, and stood.

“Be careful for drafts, Miss Darshaw,” he said, yanking the thin coverlet and tossing it over her. Damn, but he hated to cover that view.

She clutched the blanket to her and pouted. “But don't you…can't we…wouldn't it be…”

“What are you trying to say, Miss Darshaw? Spit it out.”

“If I knew how to say it, sir, I would! I'm trying to suggest that we should, er, well…”

“I think
you
should go to sleep and get some rest.”

“Well!” She slapped the bed beside her, muttering under her breath. “Thickheaded, mutton-brained man…I can't believe I even considered it with you!”

He was beyond patience. “Considered
what
, for God's sake, Miss Darshaw?”

“Shagging, of course! Honestly, why on earth else would I be lying here shivering in this uncomfortable contrivance?”

He could scarce believe his ears. “You were waiting here for me so we could…?” Hell, but he couldn't even say it.

“Start swiving. Yes, prigging and docking and pumping the well, my lord. I'd heard rumors you might be of an inclination to do such things.” She glared at him as if he'd just insulted her mother. “Apparently, though, I was mistaken.”

“Apparently you were…? Damn it all, Miss Darshaw! A lady doesn't just strip off her clothes and fall asleep in a man's bed like this! And, good lord, a lady would never be caught dead wearing
that
!”

“Since when has anyone mistaken me for a lady?” she said with a disgruntled snort. “And I'll have you know I worked very hard creating this costume. Madame says my work is exciting and unique.”