Temptress in Training (38 page)

In one movement he swung the gun around to train it on Warren while grabbing the bedstead to pull himself up onto his feet. Sophie was—thankfully—still making a good deal of noise. So was Warren, actually, as he tossed down his spent weapon and tried to fend off her attack. He staggered and tripped, falling down beneath the woman while she pummeled away at him with a blunt object of some sort.

Lindley rushed over to help. Warren groaned. The blunt object thudded against his skull, his face, the rest of his body. Sophie had become a force of nature with this oddly lethal weapon, its dangling straps lashing at Warren with every blow she landed.

By Jupiter, it was that obscene leather object from her sewing pack! Warren was being soundly defeated by a seamstress with a buckle-on dildo.

Lindley had to try desperately not to laugh as he kicked aside Warren's discarded gun and carefully held his own aimed at the man's black heart. He stooped slightly to grab Sophie and pull her away.

“That's enough. There's no need to kill the man, my dearest.”

“But he was going to shoot you!”

He allowed himself one blessed look at her before turning his gaze back on Warren. “Yet you did not allow it. Are you injured?”

She seemed to pause for the first time and consider this. “Er, no, he missed me. You?”

“I'm fine,” Lindley replied, delighted she was so concerned for him. “Everything is fine.”

Sophie didn't seem entirely convinced. She eyed her victim suspiciously. “So this is Captain Warren?”

“It is. Although I doubt he will be for much longer. I suspect his superiors will not be glad to learn all he has been involved in.”

Indeed, Lindley knew he himself would not be glad at all. He'd rather hoped his suspicions about Warren's involvement in his family's death and the other criminal activities would prove to be false. The man's behavior today seemed to offer proof they were not. Eudora and her son had much to answer for.

Right now, though, all Warren seemed interested in doing was sneering at them both, clearly looking for his chance to escape. Lindley had to do something to prevent that. Damn, but where the hell was D'Archaud?

In the dressing room where Sophie had been, apparently. Following her path, D'Archaud appeared at the rear panel wall and stepped into the room with them.

“Papa!” Sophie squealed, flinging her arms around the man, the dangerous item in her hands slinging wildly.

D'Archaud noticed it, glanced over at Lindley with a frown, then eyed Sophie.

“Er, Captain Warren was going to kill Lindley, so I used this on him,” she said, then added, “as a weapon. I'm afraid I rather dropped my scissors down the stairs while I was hiding.”

D'Archaud glared back at Lindley. Sophie must have recognized the tension. The makeshift weapon dropped from her hand and hit the floor with a noisy, jingling
thunk
.

“She's really quite impressive with it,” Lindley said, for lack of anything better.

Judging from D'Archaud's glower, he should have come up with something better. That was probably not the right thing to say to the girl's father.
Oh well.
Lindley was not interested in discussing that right now, anyway. They had business to attend.

“Help me restrain him,” Lindley ordered. “Where the hell were you anyway, D'Archaud?”

“Secret passage,” the man replied. “It comes all the way up from the cellar. Sophie,
ma belle
, help us find something to tie this
canaille
.”

Sophie glanced around, then dashed back to the secret passageway. She returned in an instant carrying her familiar pack. Lord, but Lindley was glad the girl carried that thing with her everywhere. He did wish, however, D'Archaud were not watching so very closely as she dug through the various contents.

“Here, use these,” she said quickly, pulling out the soft, knotted cords.

Indeed, they would work perfectly, so Lindley grabbed them from her, jerking Warren's hands behind his back and binding them tightly.

“By God, I can see why you were so determined to find that girl again, Lindley,” Warren said, only half mocking.

Lindley pulled the binding even tighter. He glanced over to find Sophie smiling. She caught him noticing and she blushed. Hell yes, he was determined to find that girl again. And never let her go.

But first things must be taken care of. He dragged Warren toward the hallway.

“Come along, cousin. Let's take you to someone who can decide what to do with you.”

Warren had a few suggestions for what Lindley might do with himself, but nothing that aided in bringing the foulmouthed bastard to justice for his crimes. Lindley led the small group downstairs to the cozy entry hall. That was as far as they could get, however. The front door was blocked by Eudora. He almost wondered why he had not expected this.

“Hello, Auntie,” he said. “What brings you here?”

Unsurprisingly, she raised a pistol toward him.

Lindley sighed. “Oh, don't tell me you've come to kill me, too?”

“Don't be silly, Richard. I came to kill
him
.”

With that she pointed her gun past Lindley and took aim at D'Archaud. It was clear she was not making idle threats. Everyone moved at once as Eudora leveled the gun and fired. The sound reverberated in the small area, and Lindley dove to protect Sophie. This turned out to be precisely the direction D'Archaud was moving, as well. They collided—with poor Sophie in the middle—and the force of it caused the whole group to stumble in various directions.

Warren, however, stumbled to the floor. His eyes were wide, and the sudden stain that appeared on his coat just above his left breast indicated where the ball from Eudora's gun had gone. She shrieked and ran to drop by his side.

“Georgie!”

“What the hell were you aiming at, Mother?”

But Eudora didn't answer her son. She looked up at D'Archaud and fairly screamed at him.

“I hope you're happy now! After everything I've done for you, Philip. I looked after your daughter; I fed her and kept the men off her—well, most of them. I even let your precious Annie stay in my house, bearing your brat! Well, perhaps you'll know how I've felt all this time. You claim you wanted to marry her? Now you never will! She took your squalling by-blow and jumped off a roof, she did. They fished them out of a moat just this morning.”

Lindley could only assume Eudora was referring to D'Archaud's woman and that other daughter he'd mentioned. From the man's face this news was devastating.
Poor bastard.

“It's not true, Papa,” Sophie said quickly, laying her hand on her father's arm. “Don't listen to her. We faked it all. Annie took Rosie into hiding, and I sewed effigies. That's what Madame saw them pull from the moat. Annie and the babe are quite well, really.”

D'Archaud appeared very much relieved, but Eudora was furious. She left her bleeding, groaning son and leapt up to her feet as if she might dispatch Sophie with her bare hands. Lindley stopped her, digging his fingers into her elbow until she winced. He likely would have done more, but yet another interruption arrived on scene.

Feasel and Tom came rushing in through the doorway. Well, Feasel rushed. Tom rather limped.

“You found the bugger, eh?” Feasel said, noticing Warren. “He's not quite dead yet, though.”

“Not quite,” Lindley replied. “But what happened to you, Tom?”

“We ran into Warren's thugs along the way. Took care of them for you.”

Warren moaned.

“Many thanks,” Lindley said. “Now how about helping me drag him out of doors? He's bleeding on the flooring.”

They were just hauling Warren and his cursing mother out into the yard when that blustering French actor, St. Clement, rolled up in a wagon with three young men from his troupe. He nodded toward D'Archaud, smiled at a confused Sophie, then hopped down from his perch to come slap Lindley on the back.

“When I found out where you and D'Archaud had disappeared to, I was worried you might need my help. I see you've got it all in hand, though.”

“Monsieur, er, St. Clement?” Sophie asked, clearly overwhelmed by everything.

“Ah, but you must call me uncle now, my dear little Sophie,” the man said.

Now Sophie looked even more confused, her perfect brow wrinkling as she struggled to make sense of things. Lindley could hardly wait to explain it all to her, to see her smile when she realized life would be forever better for her. To assure her she would never again have to rely on someone like Eudora, or ever find herself alone. He would sweep her into his arms and tell her that…

But it was D'Archaud who explained things.

“It is true,
ma petite
. Albert is your uncle—his wife was my sister, Louise. He saved us and brought us here during the Terror in our land. Oh, but I have so much I can finally tell you,
chou-chou
!”

The man linked his arm around Sophie and pulled her away from Lindley. She was so happy to find her father and so amazed by what he was saying that she seemed to have even forgotten Lindley existed. It wrenched at his heart, but he realized it would be wrong to expect anything more from her just now. She'd been through so much; if he truly cared for her, he'd allow her some time to adjust to so much shocking revelation.

Besides, he had his own matters to attend. His own family needed attention. Particularly Warren, as Lindley decided he'd rather see the man live than let him bleed out on the dirt.

“Can I offer the use of a wagon and some able arms for lifting?” St. Clement said.

Lindley accepted. With the help of the actors, he managed to pry the suddenly doting Eudora off her grown son long enough to pile Warren into one of the large theatrical wagons. He was losing a great deal of blood and seemed to have given up the will to struggle against them, but the wound appeared high enough in his shoulder that Lindley expected he would not die from it. Not today, at least.

Lindley forced Eudora back into the carriage she'd arrived in and placed a burly young actor on the box with the driver, instructing them both that heads would roll if Eudora did not make it safely to Hartwood. He hoped Dashford wouldn't mind if Lindley interrupted his honeymoon just a bit longer to see that the proper authorities were notified and took possession of the mother and son schemers. It was handy that he'd left Fitzgelder there safely in custody, too.

All that remained was for D'Archaud to retrieve his Annie and their child from Haven Abbey.

“She must be so worried,” Sophie said as she and her father joined the rest of the group in the yard.

“I'll take you there just as soon as things are settled at Hartwood,” Lindley offered.

D'Archaud was not content with that answer. The man took one step forward, placing himself partially in front of Sophie. Lindley understood. He was keeping her from him, protecting her as he should have done all along.

“Sophie and I will go now, milord. You have no objection?”

Hell yes, he had objection! But he couldn't very well keep Sophie from taking her father back to his Annie and infant. No, they should not be forced to wait for that reunion.

“Take my carriage,” he said, realizing that would leave him to ride one of the pitiful creatures that still grazed on the Loveland garden.

D'Archaud appeared grateful. Lindley supposed he could understand the man's rush—yet here he was helping escort Sophie to the conveyance that would take her miles away while he remained here to handle the most unpleasant business of handing people he cared deeply for over to the authorities. Damn, how he hated these turns of events.

He did, however, manage to position himself perfectly for helping Sophie up into her seat before D'Archaud could assume the task. She took his hand politely when he offered it but did not look at him. She still carried her little pack under her arm, he noticed. He would have to go find those missing scissors and give them back to her at some point. Perhaps the binding cords, too.

He lifted her up to step into the phaeton and wanted so much more than just this casual touch. It simply felt wrong to allow her to leave this way. How could she be so cool, as if nothing had happened between them? He held her hand much longer than was appropriate.

Finally she was forced to look at him, to send her gaze down his way and let his eyes capture hers. Could she read on his face all the things he wished to say? Could she see in his eyes any of the things he felt?

“How shall we return your carriage to you when we are done, sir?” she asked, breaking the silence between them.

His first instinct was to reply “naked,” but good sense won out and he refrained.

“I'll find you,” he said instead. “I will always come for what is mine, Sophie.”

She looked away now and tried to pull her hand back. He held on.

“
You
are mine, Sophie,” he added, just in case she might not yet understand.

She kept her eyes on her lap, but her cheeks colored beautifully.

“Yes, my lord. I am.”

He let her have her hand back. Her father had pulled himself up into the seat on the other side, and clearly she was uncomfortable discussing this in front of him. Lindley didn't mind.

She'd told him what he needed to know—her heart belonged to him. Good God, but he'd had no idea he'd needed that so badly. It was as if that dark, empty place inside of him was suddenly flooded with light. Sophie was his.

He could cling to that until they were together again. And then he would make sure it was forever. Smiling like a dolt, he gave D'Archaud a friendly nod and stepped back to let the man drive away with his horses, his carriage, and the future Countess Lindley.

Sophie stared at the blank page, holding the pen carefully but not knowing what mark to make on the paper. It was the finest paper she'd ever seen, and it seemed a shame when her hesitation produced nothing more than a blot.
Drat.
Did she toss the page into the grate and waste another? The writing set was a gift from her cousin Evaline.

Dear Evaline—at last there was a chance to be close again. Papa was a noble-born Frenchman, and taking on his true name meant Sophie's past could be virtually wiped clean. With their new connections, Sophie had been presented to society as everything proper and respectable. Lord Dashford backed up Papa's claim that he and Sophie had been living peacefully with friends all this time. So far it appeared no one was questioning them. Perhaps Papa's hefty new bank account had something to do with that.

Never in her wildest dreams could Sophie have imagined her good fortune. Seemingly overnight, her life had gone from a dreadful, dirty existence to being full of family and friends, all healthy and secure with bright, shining futures dawning on the horizon.

She'd been reunited with Evaline just two days ago. The viscountess and her new husband had come to London to meet her as soon as Papa had secured his portion of the treasure with the bank and found them a decent place to live. Julia St. Clement had come, too, and fairly glowed with excitement as she talked of her upcoming wedding to that dratted Lord Rastmoor she'd claimed to have hated.

Papa and Annie were set to be wed soon, too. Sophie would lose a dear friend yet gain a step-mamma and a sister. It was all a bit much to take in.

And still…the one thing she wanted more than all was missing.

Ten whole days had gone by, and she'd heard nothing from Lindley. Nothing—no note, no message, no visit. It was as if he'd forgotten her completely.

And it wasn't as if he hadn't been in Town. No, she had read in the papers that the man had brought an infamous whore to justice and discovered treason within the Home Office. It seemed he was quite lauded for his efforts, bringing testimony to the court even as early as last Friday. Indeed, he was in London for a week and had done nothing to contact her.

So she'd decided to contact him. But what could she say? Perhaps his parting words to her had meant nothing, but hers had meant everything. Whether he wanted her or not, she was his. She would never be anyone else's.

But how could she put that on paper? She wanted him so badly. Must he leave her to beg? She wasn't asking for much from him, just a bit of his time. If he didn't intend to make her his mistress, at least surely he could not be opposed to an occasional meeting? She would be discreet.

Bother.
How did one craft a polite letter inviting a man for an impromptu tryst? Papa would only be gone until this evening. Her window of opportunity was rapidly narrowing. If she did not get this letter drafted and sent on, she might never have another chance. Papa was meeting with his solicitor now, setting the last details for taking a country house somewhere. He would be carting them all off to the country, and she would never see Lindley again.

She scribbled furiously on the paper. At a time like this she supposed there was simply no use for propriety. If she wanted to entice Lindley before it was too late, she'd best be direct. He would either respond favorably, or he would not. Either way, she would have done her best to try.

Her letter was very nearly complete when a rap at the front door of their home interrupted. As she'd planned ahead and given the servants the afternoon off—then proceeded to pay the housekeeper to leave after the woman claimed not to want a day off—there was no one available to answer it for her.
Drat.
With all of Papa's business dealings lately she supposed this could be something important. Surely word would get back to him if someone had come and found the house empty. She'd best answer it and get rid of the visitor quickly.

Wiping at the ink on her fingers, she stalked to the door and tried to make a happy face. She was becoming rather proficient at that, smiling for everyone with all the wonderful things going on around her, yet secretly withering inside as every hour passed without any sign of Lindley even so much as remembering her. She patted her hair, hid her emotion, and pulled the door open.

Lindley.
Dear heavens, he looked even more wonderful here at her doorstep than he had in her dreams last night. Or the night before. Or ever.

“Good afternoon, Miss D'Archaud,” he said, removing his hat and smiling in a way that completely robbed her of breath.

She simply stared at him. He held his hat in one hand and a package in the other.

“May I come in?” he said after a pause.

She stepped out of the way. It was the closest thing to an invitation she could muster in her weakened state.

He entered, walking past her and then helping her shut the door when she merely stood there gaping at him. She knew he must think her a fool, but for the life of her she could do nothing more than stand and gawk. Lindley was here! He'd come to her!

“Er, you were expecting someone else?” he asked after another pause.

She shook her head.

He smiled. “Well, I'm glad to hear that. So, would you like to invite me into the drawing room?”

She nodded.

He stepped into the drawing room where she'd recently been working. Apparently she forgot to follow, because a moment later he came back to the entryway and took her by the hand.

“Perhaps you should come with me,” he said.

She nodded again and let him lead her obediently. Lord, what a ninny she was! Surely he would tire of her and leave if she didn't find her voice soon.

He placed his package on a table and his hat on top of it. Then he waited for her to speak. After listening to the clock tick on the mantel for far too long, however, she still could not quite remember how to do so.

“Your father is out?” he asked, standing in the center of the room and rocking on his heels.

More nodding. At least she could do that much.

“Your stepmother-to-be?”

Papa had insisted on propriety. Annie and Rosie were staying with Annie's family in Town until the wedding in two weeks. The family was quite happy to have them, considering Papa had been rather free with his money as a way of showing gratitude. She thought it was completely unjust that the family should prosper now after having done nothing for Annie when she'd been forced to seek employment with Madame, but it made Annie happy to think in some way she'd redeemed herself for her mother and younger siblings.

Of course it would require the use of speech to convey all this to Lindley. Instead, she simply shook her head. Drat, but if she could have spoken she would have cursed her faulty tongue.

“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
N
s, 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.”