Temptress in Training (16 page)

Securing two rooms at the Steward's Brake, careful not to let Rastmoor know he was about or had been asking after him, he went back to the surgeon. He'd left word that D'Archaud should be given something to send him sleeping for a couple of hours. Naturally Sophie would not leave her darling father, and he doubted she was quite up to carrying his snoring body away over her delicate shoulder, so he was confident they would both be there when he returned. The old man needed the extra rest, anyway. He'd looked rather worse for the wear this morning when Lindley had checked in on him, and then again when he'd seen them at lunch.

Some people were simply not fast healers, Lindley had decided, and he was glad he'd chosen to bring the man here rather than let him bleed out on the road. True, he'd been a player in the tragedy that had marred Lindley's life those years ago, but how would justice have been served to lose the man before he'd shared what he knew? Yes, now that D'Archaud was well and rested up, Lindley would find him far more useful.

He was eager, in fact, to stalk into that room and see for himself just what Philippe D'Archaud might know about the conspiracy that had gone so horribly wrong and killed four people Lindley had loved. Indeed, this information would be most welcome. As would, he had to admit, being subjected to more of Miss Darshaw's delicious hatred.

The housekeeper let him into the house and informed him the surgeon was out making a call on one of his elderly patients. She assured him, however, that the sleeping draught had been delivered and there'd been not a peep from their guests upstairs in the hour since Lindley had left. He couldn't quite see this as a good sign. Somehow he had expected more than a peep from Miss Darshaw.

Trying not to appear alarmed, he hurried up the stairs to the room they'd been given. The door was not locked, and he threw it open without so much as a knock. As he feared, the bed was empty. D'Archaud, it seemed, was gone.

“Damn it,” he muttered, then noticed Miss Darshaw.

She was curled up in the same chair she'd been forced to sleep in last night. Her cheeks were rosy, her expression was peaceful, and she could have been an innocent child slumbering there if not for the eye-catching swell of breast and the enticing curve of her hip.

Lindley decided he'd better rouse her immediately, for several reasons.

But she would not waken, not when he squeezed her hand, not when he brushed her cheek, and not when he traced his finger across her fresh, pink lip. She did, however, moan at that. Sadly, moaning was not what he should be after just now, he reminded himself, so he went back to rubbing her hand.

The girl was beyond his reach, though. A glance over to the tea tray with its empty draught bottle and then a quick look at the drops of tea in the bottom of the cup beside Miss Darshaw informed him what had happened. Damn that D'Archaud! He'd drugged his own daughter to make his escape. What a bastard!

Damn the man to hell.
He would abandon her here—with the very man they called enemy—for the sake of his own worthless hide? Maybe leaving him to bleed out on the road would not have been such a bad idea, after all. What sort of father did this to his own child? Had he not seen the way she fairly worshipped him? Would have gladly sacrificed herself for him?

She deserved so much better than a parent like that and the life that came with him. By God, Lindley would see him pay…for this and for all his other crimes. Lindley touched one of Miss Darshaw's soft blond curls. Perhaps someday she would not hate him for it.

He leaned in and kissed her forehead. It was a gesture he would never have admitted to, but it was rewarded by another soft moan from the recipient. What a shame their lives had not been different.

Carefully he slid his arms under her body. She was dead to the world, and he was careful to mind his manners as he gently scooped her up and carried her to the bed. That draught would likely not wear off for several hours. Her father hadn't seemed to care much for her welfare, so the least Lindley could do was see the girl did not get a stiff neck. That chair looked damned uncomfortable.

With Miss Darshaw neatly tucked in, Lindley closed the door behind him.
Damn that D'Archaud.
And damn that if he ever saw Miss Darshaw again, she would probably be looking at him as the man who'd led her father to the gallows.

 

T
HE WORLD SLOWLY BECAME REAL AROUND
S
OPHIE
, as if she were waking from a long sleep. Wait a moment, she
was
waking from a long sleep. And how the devil did she get into this bed?

This was Papa's bed! But where was Papa?

And then she remembered. Papa had gone to get things ready for their departure. She glanced at the window. The shadows were long—it was well into evening. Good heavens, how on earth had she slept this long?

The tea…the bottle on Papa's tray…Merciful Lord, Papa had given her the sleeping draught! She'd fallen asleep in that damned uncomfortable chair. But then how had she ended up in the bed?

Lord Lindley.
She'd thought she'd dreamed that, his presence here, his gentle touch as he lifted her into the bed, the way he'd removed her gown…Wait, she
had
dreamed that part, hadn't she? A quick check of her attire assured her that at least most of what she vaguely recalled had been a dream. Her cheeks burned hot. Heavens, what could have been in that sleeping draught to give her such fanciful dreams? Truly, she had no idea her mind could even think such things up!

She jumped to her feet and then waited half a moment for the room to stop spinning. As soon as it did, she rushed out into the hall and ran down the stairs. She found the housekeeper setting out the supper things.

“Ah, there you are miss. You were sleeping so soundly I was afraid you'd miss your meal. The doctor's been out on calls, but he should be in any time now and—”

“My father! Where is my father?”

The housekeeper clucked her tongue. “Gone out, I'm afraid. It's hard when they get feebleminded.”

“Feebleminded?”

“They do wander, don't they? That nice gentleman told me how you'd be so worried for your poor, aging Papa when you woke up from your nap. But fear not, dearie. Your gentleman was so concerned, he took right off after him. Don't you worry, he'll have him soon, I don't doubt.”

Nor did Sophie. Lindley would be furious. Well, so was she.
Feebleminded?
How dare he make up a story like that about Papa! Papa was no more feebleminded than Lindley. Hadn't he managed to outsmart the cagey nobleman? Yes, he had.
Feebleminded indeed.

She glanced at the clock on the mantel. Was it really so late? Papa had been gone for hours. With luck that would put him far ahead of Lindley.

“So, Lindley was here?” Sophie asked, trying to keep her tone calm while inside she was a rush of emotion.

“He was, dearie. Stopped upstairs to see you, but you were asleep.”

“And how long ago was that?”

“Oh, a couple hours, at least. He only stayed for a moment or two.”

So he had been here, but only for a moment. Then obviously those shocking images in her mind had been only a dream.
Drat.

Rather,
good
! She meant
good
. Yes, it was a very
good
thing it had only been a dream.
Good, good, good.
Yes, she was quite relieved.

“Er, did he happen to say where he was going? Where he thought he might find my father?”

The housekeeper went back to her duties and shrugged her shoulders. “No, don't recall that he did. I'm sure once he finds your father he'll bring him back for you. Don't you worry, miss. You're a lucky girl to have such a fine gentleman to look after you and your poor, feebleminded father.”

“Yes, aren't I,” Sophie mumbled.

She left the housekeeper to continue her duties and then sauntered back up to her room. Papa was gone, and there was nothing here to say he'd any intention of returning. She knew he did not. He probably assumed she'd be better off without him. Perhaps he was right. Still, though, she couldn't help but worry.

He was her father, after all, and she loved him. She'd only just gotten him back and had no wish to lose him again. Not like this, not when she could help him. But where could he be?

Surely not in Warwick, although he'd been hoping to meet with Madame at that inn where they'd stopped. Perhaps Madame had arrived and was waiting there. Ah, and Lindley didn't know about that, did he? He might have expected Papa to get as far away from Warwick as possible. The inn would be too obvious a place for a man on the run to hide. Lindley would assume Papa was too smart for that. He'd probably gone right past there on his way out of town, hunting elsewhere for his missing prey.

It made sense, then, for Sophie to hurry herself on over to the inn. Even if Papa wasn't there, perhaps Madame was. Sophie could go to her for help. Madame would help her, she knew it.

Grabbing up her bundle of things, she left the room and tiptoed quietly downstairs. She hoped Lord Lindley had already settled their bill with the doctor, but if he hadn't, she certainly didn't want to be the one caught leaving unexpectedly. The housekeeper was humming off-key to herself in some back room as Sophie let herself silently out the front door.

Lindley didn't learn much by following Rastmoor. It seemed the man really had no idea what he was doing, wandering around town questioning random passersby, hoping to find someone with any hint of a clue as to Sophie's whereabouts. He hardly seemed to care about D'Archaud, which didn't help settle Lindley's nerves.

Why was Rastmoor so obsessed with finding Sophie? Was it just because he'd promised his friend he'd search for Lady Dashford's long-lost cousin? Or was it the locket that motivated him? The latter made more sense but did not bode well for Miss Darshaw. Concerned, Lindley trailed after Rastmoor until the man finally tired and made his way back to the Steward's Brake. It appeared his only goal at that point was to get drunk.

Well, so much for Rastmoor giving him any information. Lindley might have done better to ignore the man and toss a coin to decide which direction to go hunt for D'Archaud. Of course, he would have to have done that without his phaeton. Damn those stable hands down in Geydon, but how many years was it going to take to get that thing brought up here? The men at the Steward's Brake assured him they'd sent someone over there first thing, yet here it was evening and still he had no word on it. D'Archaud was probably miles and miles from here by now. Most frustrating.

He'd best head back to the Steward's Brake where he'd taken a room for himself. He wanted to be easy to find if, by some miracle, his phaeton ever did arrive. It would also be easier to keep an eye on Rastmoor just in case the man did get some notion of where to find Sophie or her father and set out to make trouble for them.

Plus it would be far safer for him to sleep here rather than risk going back to the surgeon and being under the same roof as Sophie Darshaw—for several reasons.

He'd sent word for Feasel to meet him here. He really had no idea where the man was, but someone back in London would know. Somehow Feasel always kept in touch with his people. Trouble was, with all the chasing around they'd both been doing, there was no telling when his message might meet up with the man or how long it would take him to arrive here. With luck Lindley would have turned up some sort of lead on D'Archaud and already be on his way by that point. Then Feasel would be stuck waiting here until further word arrived.

But what to do until then? He wondered if he ought to take the chance of seeking out a report on Miss Darshaw's well-being at this point. Surely she'd come out from the effects of that draught by now. Likely she'd be furious with her father for leaving her. He could hardly blame her for that—he was furious with D'Archaud, as well. It was probably fortunate for the old man, as well as for the sake of justice, that Lindley hadn't found him yet.

But what of Miss Darshaw? She might know where to find him, mightn't she? He was, after all, her father. Surely he would have told her where…

No, that was unlikely. D'Archaud had probably told her nothing, else he would not have drugged her like that. He was, after all, willing to let the poor girl think him dead for the past four years. Why should she have any more notion today where the man might run off to than Lindley had? In fact, Lindley probably knew more about the man than his own daughter did. No, he could not use this as an excuse to go visit her.

Damn, but he needed to get her out of his head. What was wrong with him that he could be so all-consumed by such a silly thing as a female? A female who left a brothel to go reside in Fitzgelder's home, no less? By God, he was addled like a schoolboy. He simply had to get control over himself.

Perhaps he should not repair to his room but head for the mews to recheck the status of his carriage. That would at least distract him from this infernal waiting and those unwelcome thoughts of Miss Darshaw and what she must be doing right now. But what
was
she doing right now?

Damn it.
He should have left some money for her. No telling how she would be forced to make her way alone now. Maybe he ought to go and…

No, he was being a fool. Miss Darshaw was none of his concern, and he'd do well to forget about her. Perhaps the surgeon would take pity on her and let her stay on until she could find respectable work. Or perhaps the surgeon was not a blind idiot and could see for himself just what sort of work a woman like Miss Darshaw was best suited for. He'd certainly keep her around then.

Hell, but that did not sit well with Lindley.

Very well.
He would re-ascertain the situation regarding his missing phaeton and then he would go back to the surgeon's house. Simply to ease his own conscience and nothing more. What became of Miss Darshaw was no concern of his.

He repeated this phrase several times as he marched around the corner to the mews behind the Steward's Brake.

 

I
T WAS A PLEASANT EVENING, ALL THINGS CONSIDERED.
Sophie was glad to be out walking in it, clearing her head from the remnants of that awful draught Papa gave her. Honestly, what sort of father would do that to his own child? Lying to her, then abandoning her like that.

Yes, he would probably say he did it for her own good. And he might even be in earnest, thinking this the best course. But what did he think she would do now? Well, she could only hope Madame had arrived and would welcome her back.

She readjusted the little pack of belongings she'd tucked under her arm and tried to remember her way from the surgeon's house back to the Steward's Brake. She wasn't perfectly certain she'd made the right turn. The streets were somewhat narrower now than she recalled, and though Warwick had not appeared a thriving metropolis, she had to admit it was just large enough for her to possibly be a little bit lost.
Drat.

Most people must have been indoors, sitting down to an evening meal, as the streets seemed somewhat empty. She'd passed a few pedestrians but hadn't thought to ask directions. One lone carriage—a nice one, too—sat at the side of the street just up ahead of her. There seemed to be a surplus of nice carriages in Warwick, as she was positive she'd seen one quite similar in front of the surgeon's house. Or had it been the same one?

Well, that hardly mattered. Perhaps as she walked on she would encounter someone else to ask whether or not she was headed the right way. Ah, there was someone now. A man stepped out of a recessed doorway just ahead of her. He had his head down and had not seen her yet, so she walked steadily toward him.

It was a bad idea, though. No sooner had she come within greeting distance than the man's head popped up, his eyes focused directly on her with an unpleasant smile oozing over his lips. She'd never seen this particular man before in her life, yet it was almost as if he'd expected to find her here and was quite glad he did. She stepped back.

He stepped forward, his hand shooting out to grab her at the throat. He shoved her around a corner, into the dark gap between two buildings. The pack tumbled out of her arms, and she was helpless against his unexpected actions. Good heavens, she couldn't let him do this! She fought back as best she could.

But the suddenness of his attack had her off balance, while his grip on her throat kept her from screaming. It was a nightmare. She struggled and kicked, but he was just out of her reach.

His hand was still at her throat, and he used his body to pin her against the wall. His other hand came up to her neck. Was he going to choke the life out of her? Not if she could help it! She fought all the harder against him.

But his hands circled her neck, feeling their way as if searching for something. The best way to completely obliterate her windpipe, probably. But her struggles still accomplished nothing.

“Where is it?” he growled at her.

“Where is what?” she gurgled back.

He paused slightly before answering. “Jewelry! Ain't ye got no jewelry on ye?”

Did she look like someone who wandered strange parts wearing a lot of jewelry? If she wasn't so horribly terrified she might actually laugh. If she had any air left in her lungs, that is. As it was she was doing well to remain conscious and gasp out any sort of short reply.

“No jewelry…sorry.”

She didn't want to think what he might then try to take in return.

He fumbled at her clothes, letting just enough pressure off her throat that she thought maybe she might be able to call out for help. She cried out in pain instead when he was suddenly dragging her down toward the ground. But his hands released her at the last minute and she regained her balance, jumping away from him and plastering herself against the heavy beams of the wall beside her.

He didn't come after her. Instead, she glanced back to find her assailant sprawled on the ground, thrown there by the tall man who stood over him.

Lindley.

What on earth was he doing here? Was he in league with this scoundrel who'd attacked her? No, it didn't appear so. Lindley kicked the fellow so hard he yelped like a scared dog and curled into a ball. Sophie did not get the idea they were at all friendly.

Still, Lindley was not exactly smiling when he turned to her.

“What the hell are you doing, striking up conversation with strange men on the street?”

“I was not conversing with him!”

“You certainly were going to. What, did you think you could try some of those tricks you learned at Eudora's and convince him to part with some coin before you gave up your goods? Not too clever, Miss Darshaw.”

“I most certainly was not going to…How dare you accuse me of something like that!”

“Then what did you have in mind, walking right up to him on a public street like some brazen hussy?”

The man tried to scramble up to his feet, but Lindley kicked him again. Wisely, the assailant collapsed once more. Lindley hardly seemed to notice, his eyes remaining pinned on Sophie.

“I was merely going to ask him directions,” she replied.

“And I'm certain he'd have been most happy to give them to you,” Lindley said, taking a worrisome step toward her. “Directions on how to do what, precisely? Maybe I can be of some help.”

“I was looking for the way to that inn where you nearly killed my father last night,” she said, hoping he might not remember what else transpired at that inn.

“Following me, were you?”

“No. I thought perhaps…”

She didn't want to finish that thought. There was no need to let Lindley know she thought perhaps her father might still be there or that Madame was expected. Fortunately, movement caught her attention and she was able to shift the topic.

“Your man is escaping,” she announced as her attacker silently made it up onto all fours and began crawling out toward the street where they had come from.

Lindley did nothing but shrug as the man scrambled to his feet and ran away. “Let him go. It appears he did not get what he was after.”

The long, bold look he ran over Sophie's disheveled person told her he had little doubt what the man had been trying to do here in the shadows of this unpopulated street. She figured she ought to be quick to redirect her savior's way of thinking. Again.

“He wanted my jewelry.”

Lindley's frown told her this was, indeed, not the way he'd been thinking. “Your jewelry? Really now, Miss Darshaw, but you purport to believe that street rat attacked you because he expected to find jewelry? Surely neither of us is so naive as to believe this.”

“It's what he said!” she defended, though truly this was none of his business. “He expected I should have some jewelry.”

“You're an unwashed little housemaid who ran away three days ago. You've slept in your clothes and your hair is un-combed. How could he possibly expect
you
to have jewelry?”

Well, despite the fact that it was all true and she really could not have cared less about the man's opinion of her, this was by far the cruelest thing he could have possibly said. The thought that he should see her this way…that she might actually
be
this way…drove a spike right into her soul. Lord, but how she hated him. He made her feel dirty and unimportant. No man should ever have the right to make anyone feel such a thing.

“You know nothing about me,” she said and shoved her way past him.

Her packet of things was lying nearby. The ruffian who attacked her could have grabbed it easily, but apparently he was more interested in escaping Lindley's boot than filling his pocket. Sophie was glad for that. Those scissors she'd stowed in there had cost her a pretty penny and she would hate to lose them.

Scooping her things from the dirt where they lay, she realized she was swallowing back the stinging onslaught of tears. Drat, but she could not let herself become emotional now. She had to get away, to put Lindley from her mind and find Papa. Nothing else could matter to her.

Somehow she would survive this. She'd get away from Lindley and all would be well. Papa would be well. She'd do what she had to do for things to be well. She'd find Madame.

She'd been a fool to think she could have ever made anything of herself outside her life at Madame's. It was pure folly to believe she could find a respectable situation. All her life she would be nothing more than what Lindley thought her, a dirty little bit of trash from Madame's brothel.

Even her own father had seen no need to stay and protect her. He'd left…twice. Only a daydreaming little twit would pretend things were not the way they were. It was stupid to ignore the opportunities Madame had tried to offer her. By God, she'd go back there now and make up for it. She'd take whatever money was offered her and never, ever let herself foolishly rely on kindness from the likes of Lindley and his condescending smugness again.

Apparently, though, her eyes were determined to have a good cry first. She could not see to walk away and had to pause in her grand exit to swipe at the tears with the back of her hand.
Drat it all.

Lindley muttered something—profanity, she thought—behind her. Then he came closer and actually touched her. His large hands were warm on her shoulders, and she really, truly wished she did not enjoy the feel of his body brushing against hers as much as she did.