Temptress in Training (17 page)

“Don't cry,” he said softly.

“I'm not crying.”

“You are.” He reached in front of her to offer a handkerchief. It seemed impossibly clean here in this dirty, forgotten alleyway.

“Well, I don't wish to.”

“I know. You wish to leave and find your father.”

“Yes. You wouldn't happen to know where he is, would you?”

“No, I was rather hoping you could help me there. I take it you cannot?”

“Sorry.”

“And why were you on your way to the inn?”

She decided not to answer that, so he turned her around. Of course she wouldn't look up at him, so he put his fingers to her chin and turned her face up toward his.
Drat again.
He was a horrid, horrid, evil man and she was ready to melt into his arms just as easily as she had last night. What a sap-headed idiot she was!

“I…er, I was hoping to find a way back to London.” That was a sensible answer that made no mention of Madame or her hope that Papa might be still hiding there.

“And just how were you planning to pay for this way back to London?” he asked.

Oh, so he doubted her ability, did he? Well, she'd show him.

“Despite your conviction to the contrary, I could earn that fare with ease.”

He just smiled at her declaration and reached his hand up to touch her hair. Her stupid body seemed to have no will of its own, and she leaned into him. It was most frustrating.

“When your eyes get bright and ferocious like that, Miss Darshaw, I daresay you could lure any man to take you wherever you might ask him.”

She pulled away and forced her lungs to begin working properly. “Don't think for one minute I have any intention of luring you, my lord. There are plenty of others who would be more than happy to help.”

“Oh, indeed,” he said. “But don't you think for one minute that I'll let any of them get within twenty feet of you. So just how will you pay that fare?”

“I'll find a way.”

“Oh? You have money? I was assuming you did not.”

He'd assumed right. Still, she had that one item that Papa seemed to think might be of some use. She still had that damned locket. It was not a tiny object, and obviously Fitzgelder valued it. Perhaps Lindley did, too. And if not him, then surely she could find someone to give a decent price.

“It turns out that thief you just sent on his way was correct after all,” she announced. “I do have jewelry.”

Lindley looked doubtful. “Then you are doubly foolish for walking up to strangers on the street. Miss Darshaw, you cannot just…wait a moment. Fitzgelder said…” His words faded into a knowing smile.

Oh yes, she'd forgotten about that. Mr. Fitzgelder had told Lindley about his suspicion that she'd stolen his locket! Drat, but this was not good. It suddenly seemed as if she'd not thought this through fully.

If she admitted now that she had the locket, what was to stop Lindley from simply taking it and having her jailed for thievery? Oh, but she should not have said anything! What an idiot. Perhaps if Papa had not drugged her earlier, her mind would have been clearer and she would have realized not to make mention of it. Now it was too late.

“You've got his locket, don't you?” he asked.

“Er, no.”

“Yes, you do. The bastard was right; you did steal it from him!”

“I did not steal it! The man attacked me, and in my struggles it must have fallen into my apron. I didn't even know about it until much later.”

“But you do have it.”

“Good-bye, my lord.”

This would have been a most excellent time to walk away. Unfortunately, Lindley grabbed her elbow.

“Let me see it,” he said.

“No.”

“Really, Miss Darshaw, do you think you can keep it from me? Now let's take a look at it.”

“And now who's being foolish? I've already been accosted by one thug on this street. You suggest I should start waving a gold locket around here?”

“Excellent point. We'll continue this discussion at the inn.”

Before she could protest he had her hand tucked neatly in the crook of his elbow and was leading her politely along the street. He kept his hand firmly on hers, and they must have looked to anyone they met to be a very willing couple. She supposed she could have fought him, but one word of
pick-pocket
from him would certainly bring a world of trouble for her. Who would take the word of an unwashed housemaid over that of an elegant gentleman? She would have little choice but to walk along meekly at his side.

One good thing, though. She would find the way to the inn and not have to worry about stumbling into danger again. No, as far as danger went, she was walking hand in hand with it already. Little chance of stumbling into it.

 

S
OMEONE KNEW ABOUT THE LOCKET.
T
HAT WAS THE
only explanation Lindley could think of. That petty criminal who'd crawled away from them could have never mistaken Sophie for a woman of means. If he'd specifically asked her for jewelry, then he must have known there was more than met the eye.

Hell, if the man had let his eye decide what goods to take from her, no doubt jewelry would have never entered into the conversation. The fact that the young man even bothered with conversation at all was every bit the proof Lindley needed to formulate an opinion that this had been more than a chance robbery. A true criminal would have dragged a woman like Sophie off alone, taken what was convenient, and searched her person for any valuables after the fact. At least, Lindley supposed that's what would have happened. Those sorts of goings-on were not exactly his area of expertise, thankfully.

They arrived at the inn, and he was happy to see the proprietor busy in the yard with an overly fine carriage. He was either just receiving guests or seeing them off, but either way it was clear the man wanted to be on hand to help them lighten their heavy pockets. Fine with Lindley. He was not looking forward to explaining the sudden appearance of Miss Darshaw. They slipped indoors, and he escorted her directly to the room he had taken for himself earlier.

“You can't keep me here, you know,” she said with a fiery glare as he locked the door behind them.

“It's for your own safety,” he said. “Don't worry, Miss Darshaw, I'm not interested in acting the part of your prison warden.”

She eyed him with such ferocious distrust that he couldn't help but continue.

“Unless, of course, you'd like me to.”

“No. Thank you. What I want is to find my father. Do you know he was so desperate to get away from you that he had to resort to drugging me?”

“Yes, I saw that.”

She must not have cared much for the idea of him spying on her while she was incoherent. A flaming blush crept over her complexion, and she twisted her fingers nervously. Could she have been aware that he visited the surgeon's house and took the liberty of tucking her into bed? He rather hoped not. It would not do for her to realize just what hold she had over him, bringing out these unwanted feelings of protective tenderness he so wished he could deny.

“Your father was a coward to abandon you like that, Miss Darshaw,” he said, keeping himself safely across the room and staring absently out the window to avoid meeting her gaze. “Are you still so eager to defend him?”

Of course she was. He knew before she even answered.

“He's my
father
.”

Yes, she was right. Blackguard though he might be, D'Archaud was the only father she'd ever had, and as far as she was concerned, he'd just returned from the dead. She had no one else; it would be only natural for her to defend the man, criminal or not. Given the least opportunity, she would do whatever she could to protect him. Lindley would be wrong to expect her to do anything else.

At the same time, Miss Darshaw would be wrong to expect Lindley to allow her an opportunity. He would do whatever he could to keep her from helping the man who had played such a role in destroying innocent lives. Indeed, Lindley held the cards here. He would decide whether or not this tempting young miss followed after her scapegrace father or whether she remained here. Safe.

“Show me the locket,” he ordered.

She did not comply. He moved a few menacing steps closer to her.

“I will have it, Miss Darshaw,” he said. “Unless perhaps there is something else you might wish to offer me?”

“I thought you made it clear I have nothing else you want, my lord.”

She faced him squarely. Her jaw trembled just slightly, but she kept a bold front. He had to admire that. Still, did she honestly think he couldn't just take the item from her? Was she willing to consider toying with him in a vain effort to keep it from him? By God, he almost believed she would. Well, then. He'd best take care not to allow her to call his bluff.

“Then you are a foolish girl to waste my time with games.”

“I do not play games, sir,” she said. “My father indicated this locket has some sort of value. It appears he was right. I truly would be a fool just to hand it over to you without a fight.”

“A fight, Miss Darshaw? You think I need to resort to
fighting
to get that locket?”

Her steady gaze held his. “I assumed, since you've made it clear I'm just a dirty little nobody with nothing else to interest you.”

Botheration, but she had plenty to interest him. Had she at last figured that out, read the way his eyes couldn't help but stray over her body as they'd been having this discussion? Did she realize how difficult it was for him to keep himself focused on what he
should
be doing rather than what he'd prefer to be doing?

“Where is your father, Miss Darshaw?” he asked, unhappy with the strain he could hear in his own voice.

“I don't know. He's managed to escape both of us, my lord.”

“Then let me see that locket. Perhaps it holds the key to where he might be going.”

“That's ridiculous. How could Mr. Fitzgelder's locket—”

He didn't let her finish the question. Obviously her father had not given her any information about that locket, yet he'd allowed her to keep it. That had to mean it contained just what Lindley had long suspected: the list of French sympathizers who D'Archaud could run to for help. He would want Sophie to have that, to use it to find him. Yet if someone knew she possessed it…

He took her by the shoulders. “As long as you have that locket, your life is in grave danger, Sophie.”

She stared up at him, not seeming to grasp the full force of his meaning. Indeed, it would appear she completely misunderstood it altogether.

“You would kill me for the locket, my lord?” she asked at last.

Fear radiated from her, yet she stood her ground. Her chest was heaving, and he couldn't help but glance down at it. The fabric of her faded gown pulled tight and made it easy to see the outline of a chain hanging there. Something heavy weighed it down and disappeared into the cleft between her fresh, round bosoms. He hated to think what would have happened if the man in the alley had discovered it.

The locket.
She was wearing it.
Beneath her clothes.
Damn, but that thought should not drive him wild the way it did.

“No, Sophie,” he said, touching her cheek with the gentlest brush of a fingertip. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

Of course that was a lie. It was, however, an excellent start in his campaign to get his hands on that locket. He slipped his arms around her and pulled her close, finding those pink, quivering lips every bit as sweet and inviting as they had been last night.

 

H
E DID WANT HER.
T
HE WORDS FAIRLY SANG THROUGH
her brain as she let herself melt into Lindley's kiss. He was strong and forceful, and she responded in kind. How could she not?

Of course she knew he was just using this to distract her. Lord, yes, she was distracted! His lips were demanding, and she could not help herself but to give in. Lindley's hands slid over her back, holding her, caressing her. He toyed with the strings that the surgeon's capable housekeeper had tied for her this morning. She was torn between hoping the woman had done an adequate job and hoping she'd failed miserably.

Then again, the longer Lindley could be kept on task the better. Sophie was rather coming to enjoy the bolts of unexplainable electricity that shot through all parts of her as his lordship continued his marvelous exploration of her mouth and the oh-so-pleasant caressing of her other parts. She knew it would all come to an unwelcome halt should Lindley manage to get those dratted strings loose and slide her dress from her body.

He would get the locket then and be done with her. She knew that was all he truly wanted.
Pity.

“Why do you want it so badly, my lord?” she asked when his lips moved to trail kisses across her jawline and down her neck.

“I've been asking myself the same thing,” he murmured. “Perhaps it is because of the way you…” He paused, stopping himself midsentence. His head rose up from his efforts to very nearly inhale her and he frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I meant the locket, my lord,” she said, and she couldn't quite hide the little smile that took hold at the corner of her lips. “What did you think I meant?”

“I rather hoped you had somewhat forgotten the locket for a moment or two.”

“So you could more easily relieve me of it, of course.”

“Well, I did tell you that was my intent.”

“And I suppose I should be grateful you decided to use kisses as your weapon rather than something a bit more deadly.”

He let her go and stepped back, rubbing his neck as if seducing her had been a very great effort on his part. “Yes, it does seem my weapon of choice turned out to be rather ineffective.”

“Then will you resort to violence?”