Temptress in Training (13 page)

Lindley allowed himself the decadent luxury of giving in to his anger. He lunged at the older man. D'Archaud still had some speed left in him, though, and managed to avoid taking the full force of Lindley's well-aimed facer. The earl only succeeded in a glancing blow to D'Archaud's jaw.

But it was enough to set the man off balance. Sophie squealed and rushed toward her father while the man staggered back, grasping at a chair to try to keep to his feet. She glared at Lindley. Her cold, frightened eyes stopped him in his tracks. Whatever else D'Archaud was, Sophie still looked at the man as a child would. He was still her father, and she was ready to defend him, despite his negligent care for her all these years.

Lindley supposed he could understand this. He'd had a father, too, and despite the old man's lifestyle of waste and carelessness, Lindley had still fairly worshipped him. True, it would have been nice if his father had not left him with an estate full of debt and a string of greedy creditors camped at the door. He supposed he could empathize with Sophie's concern and natural devotion.

He stepped back, giving D'Archaud time to compose himself. The proprietor hurried out from behind his desk to beg the men to be calm. Lindley doubted that would happen.

Sophie turned her back on Lindley and focused on helping her father. He tried to take a step forward, but his leg seemed to crumble underneath him. He fell back into the chair and moaned, clutching his knee. Somehow in their brief struggle the man had been injured. How, Lindley could not entirely be certain.

Something clattered to the floor. Lindley glanced down to discover a knife. He looked back up to discover an ugly red stain appearing between D'Archaud's fingers, just above the boot. The man was bleeding. Profusely.

“Good heavens!” the proprietor called out.

“You cut him!” Sophie yelled, hovering over her father and giving Lindley a glare that was no less lethal than the knife lying at his feet.

“I did no such thing,” Lindley informed her, still grappling with the details of the situation. “He must have been extricating it from his boot to use the bloody thing on
me
.”

For a moment the hatred in Sophie's eyes faded and she turned her face toward her father's. “Papa?”

“I can't let him go on using you, Fifi,” D'Archaud growled. “His promises are all lies—whatever he's told you, it's a lie. You've got to trust me!”

She seemed confused, but certainly no more than Lindley felt. Just what was D'Archaud rattling on about? What on earth did he think Lindley had been doing with his daughter? He was more than happy to find Sophie was eager to clear things up.

“Papa, Lord Lindley has only ever been kind to me,” she explained.

The way D'Archaud rolled his eyes indicated he might not fully believe her. And rightly so, Lindley supposed. He had to acknowledge the girl was giving him more credit than he deserved, considering some of the things he'd said to her these last couple of days. Likely, though, her praise was due more to her wish to calm her father than to any real kindness she'd perceived within Lindley.
Pity, that.
He was sure he might still be quite a kindly soul if his life hadn't been wholly consumed by this hunt for justice these last few years. Besides, there was some sort of pleasurable sensation at the thought of Miss Darshaw viewing him in a positive light.

“He doesn't know the meaning of kindness,” D'Archaud snarled. “I could have cut out the man's heart and he'd barely notice.”

“Really, Papa!” Miss Darshaw exclaimed. “Lord Lindley is a titled gentleman. You cannot go around insulting him like this and…and pulling knives on him!”

D'Archaud gave a disgusted grunt. “I assure you, Fifi, it was no less than he had planned for me.”

“I had no intention of resorting to violence,” Lindley announced, “until you decided to drag your daughter into all of this. How deeply have you pulled her in? Is her very life forfeit for the sake of assisting you in your crimes?”

D'Archaud tried to rise up from his seat, but the blood was flowing freely from his leg and it almost seemed the man would topple over. Sophie must have recognized the situation. She grasped helplessly at her father's arm, urging him to be still, to let her tend his wound. He pushed her away.

“Sophie knows nothing of my life,” D'Archaud said. “I have had no contact with her…not until now, when she's gotten herself mixed up with you and that, that Clemmons bastard.”

“Papa!” the girl exclaimed, sounding every bit the proper, missish lady.

Lindley couldn't help but chuckle at the irony. She was scolding the man for his crude conversation when he was the very one who left her in a brothel all these years, on her own against a world full of Fitzgelders and worse. Clearly somewhere along the way Miss Darshaw had been raised in propriety and advantage. Such a shame she had fallen to this state now.

Then the full meaning of D'Archaud's words sank in, and Lindley cocked his head in curiosity. D'Archaud had mentioned Clemmons. Could it be the man did not know the truth about Clemmons? Was he truly under the impression his daughter had been chasing the countryside with a
man
? And Sophie had not set him straight? Indeed, it appeared D'Archaud was not the only one keeping secrets from his loved ones.

In some convoluted way, this seemed in Sophie's favor.

“Are you implying your daughter has no knowledge of the despicable ways you've supported yourself over the years, D'Archaud?”

“I'm informing you flat out, sir, that Sophie is innocent.”

“Well, that still remains to be seen, doesn't it?”

D'Archaud snarled at him. “She has no knowledge of anything you are interested in, Lindley. If you think there is business between us, leave her out of it. I'll go with you, but Sophie remains here, unharmed.”

So D'Archaud had eluded him all this time, only to go peacefully now? Lindley doubted it. Still, the man's concern for his daughter seemed genuine. Perhaps this could be useful.

“If she's connected to you, D'Archaud, she's guilty as sin. I'm taking you both. Justice will determine your fate.”

Lindley wasn't quite sure how he would follow through on that threat, considering it was late at night, he didn't know a soul in this town, and he'd arrived here on a rented hack. Still, where his daughter was concerned D'Archaud appeared to be unwilling to take chances.

The man forced himself up onto his feet—despite his daughter's protests—and he met Lindley's eyes dead-on. “I will go with you, but not Sophie. No, listen to me, damn it. I know what you're after, Lindley, and you'll never find it on your own. Take me now and I'll lead you there. But Sophie stays.”

So she could meet up with D'Archaud's contact and he could send warning that Lindley was on the way? No, he was not about to fall into that trap. Sophie may not know exactly what her father was up to, but she still cared for him and would surely do whatever she could to protect him. Even now, he could see it in her eyes. She was trying to make sense of all this and decide what she could do about it.

But if Lindley could ferret out that contact person—and he had no doubt there was one—then he'd be one step ahead of things. He knew, of course, that D'Archaud had no intentions of actually leading him to the men he was after. That was simply a ruse to get Lindley away from Sophie, and of course no father could be blamed for attempting it. But if Lindley were to pretend to believe the man and go along with his suggestion, he could lull Sophie into making that contact. All Lindley would have to do after that was watch, follow, and wait.

But what to do with D'Archaud in the meanwhile? Sophie must believe they were gone and that her father was in danger. Well, that ought to be easy enough to manage.

He smiled at her and set his plan in motion.

Lindley was going to take Papa away! No, not after she'd just found him again after all these years. How could she let it happen? And the poor man was injured, his lifeblood rushing out of his body with nothing to check it. She still could not be sure who inflicted that wound, although she tried and tried to wish it were Lindley. That would make it so much easier to hate him. However, common sense told her that was not likely the case.

She had not seen Lindley with a knife, and, after all, Papa was a criminal. That seemed nearly undeniable. Why else would he have let her—and everyone else—think him dead all this time? Now that Lindley had found him, he would certainly have resorted to violence to save himself. Even if it meant attacking an earl. Lindley's story was too easy to accept.

But was it the truth? She honestly couldn't know. Lindley was a gentleman, true, but she'd certainly seen enough gentlemen come through the doors at Madame's brothel and heard the whispers of how they'd behaved in the privacy of their hostesses' rooms to know not every gentleman was, indeed, a gentleman.

Yet Lindley spoke of justice. He seemed rock-solid in his conviction that Papa had done some terrible wrong and needed to pay for it. Of course it was true.

Papa, however, spoke of trust. He claimed Lindley was a liar and none of his words could be believed. All he asked was for Sophie to trust him. Yet, how could she?

She watched—helpless—as the handkerchief she'd held against his wounded leg began to drip blood. Right now none of it mattered; not justice, not trust, and not discovering the truth. All that mattered was saving Papa's life.

“Very well,” Lindley said, interrupting her before she had the chance to beg. “I will take you, Darshaw, and leave your daughter here. I suppose the girl has been well educated in fending for herself. I doubt she's privy to much useful information, anyway.”

“Thank you,” Papa said, his voice sounding weak.

“Stay here,” Lindley went on. “I'll go arrange a conveyance. We'll leave within ten minutes. Say your good-byes and don't force me to get ugly about this.”

What, it wasn't ugly already? Oh, but this was dreadful! Papa was in the process of bleeding to death, yet he would simply agree to go with the man? He'd leave her again? Indeed, this was ugly enough for her.

“Wait!” she called before Lindley walked back out the door he'd just come in. “You can't mean to take him like this! He'll never make it. He needs a doctor!”

“He'll see the hangman soon enough.”

She could scarcely believe her ears. Lord Lindley was so cold as to drag her father away, knowing he'd likely bleed to death long before they ever reached any magistrate or court of law? But that was inhumane! What on earth could Papa have done to make the man hate him so?

There was nothing she could do but watch Lindley's tall, elegant form as he strode out the door and into the darkness. By God, whatever Papa may or may not have done hardly counted for anything just now. The only thing that could make any difference was what she herself might do about it.

And she knew what to do. She'd lived long enough under Madame's roof and seen the fire in Lindley's eye. Indeed, she knew exactly what to do. She'd do it, too, by God, if it might save Papa's life.

“Hold on, Papa,” she said, and she glanced up at the gaping proprietor, whose wife must have heard the commotion and appeared at his side. “Quickly! Find him bandages.”

Then she kissed Papa's clammy cheek and gave him a reassuring smile just before she hurried out the door after Lindley. Papa said nothing, but she could feel his eyes follow her. She prayed he might not guess her intentions.

 

L
INDLEY MOVED OUT INTO THE DARKNESS, AWAY FROM
the doorway to the inn and the glowing lamp that had been hung there. He would not need a conveyance, but his brief absence would allow D'Archaud to give his daughter instruction. Whether she was a party to his criminal actions or not, Lindley had seen the desperation displayed clearly on her face. She would do whatever the older man asked of her, and Lindley did not doubt he would ask her to contact his friends.

He couldn't help but smile. Finally, he was this close to finding what he'd been after all this time. He would be able to go to Warren with names, details, proof that would condemn the monsters who had gotten away with murder and treason. Well, they'd not get away with it much longer. Lindley would finally be able to sleep at night.

Provided, of course, his conscience could allow him that. By baiting D'Archaud into sending his daughter to deliver word to his cronies, Lindley was thoroughly implicating the girl in her father's crimes. She may be innocent now, but once she stood in the way of justice and took warning to the enemy, she was guilty and would bear the consequences. And Lindley's conscience would bear the consequences of
that
.

He was almost relieved when he heard her footsteps behind him.

“Lord Lindley, please,” she began, trotting toward him, then stopping just out of arm's reach. “You cannot take Papa. Not now.”

“You don't know what he's done, Miss Darshaw.”

“But I know what will happen if he does not see a doctor right away.”

“He's wounded; nothing more. He'll survive.”

“But the blood…Please, have some compassion.”

She was so earnest it was all he could do to deny her. Her helpless, desperate eyes searched his. His resolve returned, however, as soon as he recalled another pair of helpless, desperate eyes that had begged him for rescue. Rescue he could not give. Those eyes had shut and never opened again. D'Archaud carried the guilt for that. Damn it, but Lindley couldn't let himself be weak now. Four souls left in the cold ground of his family plot needed justice. They would get it.

“My compassion is buried with my family, back in Kent,” he informed her.

She must have recognized the icy reality of this on his face. She took a step backward, away from him. The glow from the lamp hanging near the doorway spilled out into the yard where they stood. The warm light played against the heavy shadows, making her eyes seem endlessly deep and her skin soft as rose petals. Emotion only allowed her to draw short, halting breaths. Her worn gown pulled against those unignorable curves. Damn it, why couldn't he forget just for these moments how beautiful the girl was?

“Maybe you can't feel compassion, but surely you can feel something,” she said, then swallowed and gave the tiniest hint of a smile. “You are, after all, a man.”

Oh, he felt something, indeed. He just did not wish to discuss it at present. “My feelings are hardly your concern, Miss Darshaw. Go back to your father and say farewell.”

Now she regained that hesitant step she'd taken away. “Please, I'll do anything.”

She let that phrase hang in the air. He knew exactly what it meant. Holy hell, could he actually be tempted?

“
Anything
, my lord,” she repeated with another halting step closer.

By God, he had to admit
anything
sounded remarkably enticing. She was barely a hand's span away. Every soft curve of her body and every slight tremor in her lip lured him. She offered herself for the sake of her treacherous father, and Lindley wished to heaven he had the resolve to refuse.

He did not. Reacting before his better judgment could intervene, he pulled her into his arms. She was either eagerly willing or too shocked to protest; he really did not care one way or the other. All that mattered was that her face tipped up toward his and he was finally able to capture those tremulous lips with his own. She was as soft and delectable as he'd often imagined.

He pressed her for a response and was pleased to find one. Her fingers dug into his coat, clinging to him as if she were as desperate for his touch as she was to rescue her father. He explored her mouth with his own, willing her to forget everything but this moment. Damn, but it would have been easy enough for him to put all his many worries aside and simply enjoy the feel of her, the taste of her.

Of course he could not afford it, though. There must be purpose to this madness. He might allow her to crumble into mindless desire, but he would have to remain in control. He must use her for his objective and never forget what that was.

God, he wished he could, though. Holding Sophie, hearing her muffled moan and feeling the heat that flowed between them, Lindley would have given nearly everything to believe this was real. Yet of course he'd already given everything, and he knew for a fact Miss Darshaw was not what she seemed.

Her halting breath was what he might have found in any woman. Her timid, tentative exploration of his mouth as his own ransacked hers was not to be mistaken for innocence. Her willing response to him could easily be nothing more than a manufactured ploy to distract. He would not fall into the trap of imagining she'd refrained from offering herself to any number of others for far less noble purposes over her years at Eudora's.

Despite what he felt as his hands roamed over her back and silked through her loosened hair, Lindley was fully aware of who she was and what part she must play in what would follow. He could not give in to his wants. He needed her to lead him to her father's collaborators.

With an effort nearly beyond his capacity, he pushed her away.

“You are almost tempting, Miss Darshaw,” he said with a smile meant to insult her. “Come back to me when you are a grown woman and we'll see what might happen then. For now, though, go give your good-byes to your father.”

She appeared stunned. Probably amazed that her kiss should have so little effect on him. Well, he would be certain to allow her to continue thinking that way. Inside he might be shaken to the core, but on the surface he would force himself to be controlled. Desire would fade. Justice was permanent.

She glared at him, and a sheen of pure hatred stole over her expression. “I was wrong,” she hissed. “You are
not
a man. You're a monster.”

Then she turned and ran back around toward the front of the building.

 

T
HAT SCOUNDREL…
T
HAT DEVIL
!

How could she let him do that to her? He lured her into compromise and then laughed in her face.
Abominable man.
He would treat her this way and then haul Papa off to the hangman, would he? Not over her dead body!

And not over Papa's, either. Somehow they had to escape, to get out of here before Lindley came back in to collect his prey. Sophie would see to it that beast never got his hands on Papa. They had to leave—now. If Papa couldn't walk, she would drag him, if she had to.

And it appeared that would be exactly what she'd need to do.

“Papa!”

He was crumpled on the ground, lying in a heap just at the corner of the inn. It appeared as if he'd been trying to follow her—probably to stop her from throwing herself at Lindley as she had planned. Well, he needn't have bothered. The grand Lord Lindley was far above wasting his time with the likes of her, even if she had made it very clear she'd do anything to spare her father the fate Lindley had planned.

But now it seemed her offer of sacrifice had been unnecessary. Papa lay unmoving. She dropped to her knees beside him and pulled his head into her lap.

Thank God, she was not too late. Papa's weary eyes slitted open. She could see he would speak, but she tried to soothe him, to keep him still. His leg had bled profusely, though someone indoors must have offered him a bandage before he left. A linen strip was wrapped over his wound but had not been tied tightly. She quickly set to adjusting it.

“Here, Papa, let me tie this. It needs to be tighter to stop the blood,” she said, moving as fast as she dared without aggravating the wound. “Hush now, and let me tend this.”

But her father would not be calm. He struggled to sit, craning his neck to see around the corner of the building. “I'll kill him. By God, I'll kill him!” he muttered, repeating himself a few more times in French, adding some rather unpleasant words here and there.

“No, Papa, you must be still. I need to remove your boot.”

“He put his hands on you, Sophie! Yes, I will kill him. I'll take him by the throat and I'll…”

“Papa, be still! You may not kill Lord Lindley.”

“But he touched you!”

“No, he—”

“I saw him. He was manhandling you as if he owned you! I'll kill him.”

“Papa—”

“Eudora swore to me you were safe, that none of those filthy devils were allowed near you.”

“Papa, you must settle down. We've got to take care of this and find you a doctor.”

Suddenly Papa's struggles became more intense. He tried to shove Sophie away, but she held her ground, keeping a firm hold on the newly tied bandage. The cause of Papa's agitation was soon evident: Lindley. The worthless nobleman was at the corner of the building, watching them. Sophie felt her breath catch.

“I'll kill you, Lindley,” Papa said, his voice a tired growl that still harbored enough threat to worry her.

Apparently not Lindley, though. “So I've heard,” he replied with a cool drawl. “It appears your daughter, however, would have you abandon that plan.”

“My daughter is none of your business, Lindley!” Papa said, pulling himself upright and grabbing the wall beside him as he tried to stand, despite Sophie's best efforts to keep him calm and still. “I said I'd go with you, but by God, you'll leave her out of this!”

The exertion appeared too much. Papa sagged, falling against the wall. Sophie cried out and dove to catch him, to save him from collapse. She managed to prop him against the building, but his face was pale and his eyes had lost their spark. Oh Lord, but she was losing him! All his struggles were draining him right before her eyes.

“Papa…please, we've got to stop the bleeding.”