Temptress in Training (12 page)

“Good girl,” he said, apparently relieved by her suffering.

Leaving her to watch over their gig, he gave one last glance around before he went inside. The horse watched him go, then immediately plodded away from her new keeper to go rip a branch off the rose trellis nearby. Sophie grumbled.

“Come on,” she said, grabbing the halter and dragging the animal—and its trailing gig—away from the plantings. She had no idea what sort of money her father carried on him these days, but she was certain he would not wish to waste it all paying for damage to the local matron's favorite posies.

There was a patch of grass nearby, in an open space between the buildings. A leafy oak spread out overhead, and Sophie decided this might be a better place to wait for Papa. The horse followed her willingly, and she let the reins sag as the animal munched. Sophie leaned her aching body against the solid tree trunk. Yes, despite her prickling conscience, a bed safely away from Fitzgelder and the stink of London certainly would be welcome tonight.

She was midway through a well-needed yawn when she heard a sound. It came from behind and was probably nothing out of the ordinary. A rat, perhaps. But the horse's ears flicked and the animal stopped happily ripping tufts of grass. Its huge round eyes caught on something and the large head came up. Sophie leaned forward to peer around the tree.

She didn't see much, though. From the darkness, arms reached for her, pulling her into a tight hold against a body every bit as solid as the oak trunk but far warmer and entirely masculine. A hand clamped over her mouth, preventing any sound she might have been about to make. Her cheek was pressed against a soft woolen coat that smelled distinctly of Lindley.

Lindley!

“Your protector is hardly doing his job, leaving you alone out here in the dark,” he said, a low growl in the stillness around them.

She struggled to pull away from him, terrified to realize she felt far more secure tucked up against him than she had the whole time she'd been traveling here with her father. Lord Lindley was a dangerous man. She feared her involuntary attraction for him might prove to be even more so.

He allowed her to push away from him, yet he did not release her. His fingers dug into her shoulders as he held her there, inches from him, as his eyes locked onto hers with a force she could not break.

“Do you need my help, Miss Darshaw?” he asked. “Or did you come here of your own accord?”

For one disturbing heartbeat she thought about lying. Oh, but she might indeed enjoy whatever help this man had in mind. Then, of course, she reined in those wayward thoughts. She did not need Lord Lindley's help, nor would she allow herself to succumb to it. Papa may have been thoughtlessly absent for the past several years, but she was far better off with him than the likes of Lindley, despite how her knees went weak the longer he gazed at her. Or perhaps, specifically
because
of how her knees went weak.

“No…I'm fine.”

But he did not release her, not from his secure grip nor from his untiring gaze. “You don't appear fine. Who brought you here?”

“My father,” she managed to say after just the slightest hesitation.

Lindley's eyes went stormy and his left eyebrow rose slightly. “Your
father
?”

She broke free of his gaze and stared intently at the tree trunk beside her. “Apparently he's not quite as deceased as I've thought him these past years.”

Lindley's right eyebrow rose up to join the other. Was he surprised to find the man alive, or to learn she had believed him dead? Then again, why would she suppose he had any knowledge whatsoever that she even had a father? Of course, there would have been very little reason for Madame to mention anything about her sad past to this fine gentleman. Sophie was silly to have hoped perhaps he might have asked after her at some point. Just as she was silly now for being happy to see him.

“He has gone in to secure us a room for the night,” she explained. “But whyever are you here, Lord Lindley?”

The eyebrows came back down and he gave half a sly smile. “I followed you, of course, Miss Darshaw. I saw you leave with a strange man and thought perhaps you needed assistance.”

“As you can see, I do not.”

“Indeed. But how odd that your husband was left behind. And with someone so carelessly shooting, and all.”

She glanced around. “Is…er…did you bring my husband with you?”

Now he actually laughed at her. “No, Miss Darshaw, I did not. I'm assuming that particular person is safely back in Geydon with my friend Rastmoor. They are probably both wondering where you've gone, though.”

Well, perhaps it was for the best that Miss St. Clement and Lord Rastmoor were left alone back there. Clearly they had things to resolve between them. Wouldn't it be lovely if even through all this chaos that pair might somehow be reunited? The actress had been most strenuous in her insistence that would never happen, but Sophie could not be so sure. Miss St. Clement had been quite desperate to locate the gentleman again.

“Come,” Lindley prodded, still holding her with his gaze and looming far too close. “Tell me why you are here. Is this really your father you have traveled with, or is that merely the story he's inside telling the innkeeper?”

“He
is
my father!” she insisted, not at all appreciating what the man insinuated.

Just at that moment Papa proved her words by appearing at the corner of the inn and calling for her. She jolted, and Lindley's fingers dug more firmly than ever into her shoulders. She winced.

“Let me go. Please,” she whispered. “He must not see you here.”

Thankfully the horse and the gig and the tree and the darkness were concealing Lindley's presence. From what Papa had said of him earlier, she doubted things would go well if Papa found him with her now. Lindley seemed to concur.

He dropped his arms to his sides and took a silent step back from her. Oddly enough, she nearly staggered under the reality of having to solely support herself again. Surely it was just exhaustion that made her feel this way. Never before had she so wanted to cast herself into a gentleman's arms and beg him to carry her off. Thank heavens she was too smart for that—or too frightened, at least.

She hurried away from him, moving around the horse while it happily ignored her in favor of the grass. She caught one last look at Lindley but said nothing more to him. Whatever was going on, she wished to heaven he had not been involved. It had been so lovely to watch him from afar at Madame's, to admire him and tease herself with fantasies that this was the sort of man a woman could look up to, could trust. Obviously such men did not exist—even Papa had shown her that.

It would be best if she forgot all about Lord Lindley and concentrated on making a new life for herself. If Papa might be of help, how wonderful. If not, then she was no worse off than before. She met Papa in the yard.

“Here I am, Papa. Your stubborn horse was trying to eat the roses.”

Papa glanced toward the creature, and for a heartbeat Sophie feared he might detect Lindley there, still hiding in shadow. But Lindley must have gone, for Papa merely smiled fondly at his lazy nag. “She does like her roses. Perhaps when we get where we are going there will be a whole bush of them for her.”

“And just where are we going, Papa? Did you find—”

“
Chut, chut,
Fifi. Our friends are not here, so I have sent a boy across the way to inquire at the other inn. Ah, see? Here he comes with news for us.”

The boy trotted across the empty street and eagerly accepted the promised coin from Papa. He informed them there was no word of Madame's arrival at the other inn, either. Papa frowned.

“Well, we will simply take a room and wait,” he decided. “Tomorrow I will take you back where you belong. You will see, Fifi, all this has not been in vain.”

Papa was as dramatic as ever. He seemed to truly believe he could make all of this right. Handing the boy another coin and instructing him to run to the stable and secure a place for the horse, Papa laid his cool hand on Sophie's shoulder. She felt the urge to cringe, though Papa was far more gentle than Lord Lindley had been. Most disturbing.

“Come, Fifi, your cheeks are flushed and you seem none too steady on your feet,” Papa said, taking her elbow. “Let's get you into bed.”

She let him lead her into the inn. Thank heavens it was Papa who spoke this way now. She feared if those words had come from Lindley she'd be following him just as easily.

 

L
INDLEY STOOD SILENTLY IN THE SHADOWS AND
watched. Sophie had been truthful with him—the man was indeed her father. Yes, he could get a good look at him now and recognized him easily. Philip Darshaw—or more correctly, Philippe D'Archaud, as he was truly named—was not a striking man. He was a bit on the small side, although by no means delicate. He carried himself with a confident air, however, and although the man had been in England for years, he'd never fully lost his continental swagger. Lindley could quite see how the fellow had built himself a successful career on the stage.

Plus, Lindley had heard stories of the great beauty that had been this man's wife. Indeed, if Sophie was anything at all like her mother, the stories had obviously been accurate. Clearly, Sophie's attractive features and eye-catching figure were not gifts from her father. It seemed all she had inherited from him was a legacy of shame and hardship.

Lindley knew a bit about D'Archaud. He'd run across the bastard a time or two, been able to determine he was—or had been—closely connected with the very people Lindley was stalking all this time. Oh yes, Lindley had been eager to meet up with Philippe D'Archaud, and he had no doubt this was the man.

At last, he was close to getting what he wanted. But there would be no sense in acting irrationally. He would wait, plan his course of action, and make certain D'Archaud would not get away. Lindley strained his ears to listen as the man spoke to his daughter.

It appeared he and Sophie would be spending the night at this place. If D'Archaud had been involved in the shooting attempt at the posting house, he had given up hope of success. At least for now. Tonight, it appeared, he and Sophie were done running.

But had D'Archaud acted alone? Who was that lone rider who'd been seen leaving the posting house in the other direction? Perhaps D'Archaud had a partner out there who had not cut his losses and run this way. He would no doubt be pursuing his goal all this while. Lindley should have ignored these two and gone after that one. It had been more than foolish to come chasing after Miss Darshaw like this.

What had he been thinking?
Rescue?
It was ridiculous. Did he truly believe the girl was innocent in all this deception and scheming? What would it matter if she was? His responsibility was to justice. Miss Darshaw was not the only innocent person caught up in this mess, but she was lucky enough to be surviving it. Others were not so lucky. It was to
those
persons Lindley held a responsibility, not to some pretty face he'd met in a brothel.

Damn, he was a fool. As soon as things were clear, he ought to go retrieve his mount where he'd left it and tear off in the other direction. Feasel would no doubt be looking for him, possibly with further news on Fitzgelder and his particular business. That is what Lindley ought to keep his mind on, not this slip of a criminal's daughter. He should go right away and forget all about Sophie Darshaw.

But something the girl's father said to her continued to repeat itself in Lindley's head.
Tomorrow I will take you back where you belong.
What could the man mean by it? Where, after all, did Sophie belong? Surely not in a brothel. What father would knowingly drag his child back to a place like that?

Yet she had no other home, not that Lindley knew of. Unless one wanted to count Fitzgelder's servants' quarters, and Lindley did not. But could that be what D'Archaud had meant? He was in league with the man, or had been at one time; Lindley knew that for a fact. Could D'Archaud be planning to take Sophie back to Fitzgelder, to have her installed there again for some purpose?

It was unthinkable, yet then again, Lindley had been forced to face several unthinkable things over the past few years. In some sick, disgusting way it made perfect sense that D'Archaud might have been instrumental in placing his daughter in Fitzgelder's home for his own personal benefit. Now it was just as logical that he might be taking her back there.

Damn him!
The poor girl did not deserve that. Lindley acknowledged that he was not entirely thinking straight when he left the lonely shadows behind the inn and stalked around to the door D'Archaud and his daughter had just entered.

He strode in, easily finding D'Archaud in discussion with the proprietor, engaging them a room for the night. Sophie seemed particularly small and exhausted as she stood quietly next to her father. The father who had done nothing to keep her out of that brothel and who very likely was eager to send her back to Fitzgelder. Lindley couldn't stomach it.

“D'Archaud,” he said, stopping mere feet from the man.

Sophie sucked in a startled breath, and D'Archaud whirled on him.

“Lindley. What the hell do you want?”

The men eyed each other.

“I've got a laundry list of things I want,” Lindley replied. “To start with, I want you to tell me what the hell you're doing here.”

D'Archaud stepped in front of Sophie. “I'm trying to keep my daughter away from the likes of you, that's what I'm doing here.”

“Why, so you can drag her back to Fitzgelder's employ?”

“You've been keeping tabs on her, I see,” D'Archaud sneered. “I ought to—”

The older man moved quickly, fists raised. Lindley instinctively ducked, just in time. He wished he hadn't, though. If he'd let the blackguard hit him, killing him would be that much more justified.