Temptress in Training (23 page)

She would never forget Lindley, never forget wanting him. Or having him. It made the future—even if she did manage to rescue Papa—terrifyingly bleak. It would be a future with no Lindley, and the very thought of that now threatened to send her back to unstifled sobbing.

Eventually she had managed to extricate herself from Lindley's too-comfortable embrace. She feigned exhaustion, yawning and sliding away from him and making it very clear she was ready for sleep. He hadn't argued.

He'd turned to face the other way, and here they'd stayed. She was certain he was asleep. Apparently he'd exerted himself enough.
Odd.
The girls at Madame's often made it sound as if such a thing could take literally hours. Surely they had not been at it that long. Then again, how could she say? When Lindley was making love to her it was as if the whole universe simply ceased to exist. For all she knew, it could be days later. Dear heavens, how was she to go on, knowing she'd tasted paradise and would never come close to it again?

Yet she had to go on. There was no other choice. Papa needed her, and Madame had made things clear. There was nothing to do but what needed to be done.

Very slowly and very carefully she shifted position. He did not stir.
Good.
She gingerly slid out from under the covers and lowered her feet to the cold, worn floor. He still did not move, so she continued. She left the bed, rising and pulling her shift off the bedstead where she had left it earlier.

She'd intentionally left her clothing scattered around the room, hoping Lindley might find that provocative. He had, so she smiled as she tiptoed to them and cautiously gathered them up. Piling them neatly on the washstand, she managed to get herself out of the silk mesh costume and slip into her shift. Then the stockings. Then her usual, more appropriate stays. Then her faded gown.

She'd been dressing herself alone for years now, ever since she'd lost Mamma. She'd modified the fastenings so that she could do them herself. She supposed self-pity would have her wonder how many more lonely years she'd be doing just the same, but she refused to allow it. Now was not the time for self-pity. Now was the time to act. And acting meant leaving Lindley behind.

Her pack of belongings waited just behind the washstand, so she pulled it out. All was intact; the locket was still hidden inside. She was ready to leave. All it would take was just to walk away. Lindley would wake hours later to find her gone. She would meet Madame as planned and never have to face the man again. The locket would be out of his reach and Papa would be safe.

She turned to allow herself one last glance at him sleeping soundly where he had so recently kissed her and caressed her all the way into blissful abandon. She was glad she'd at least had the good sense to say thank you. Now did she dare leave the slightest whisper of a kiss on the way out? No, she'd better not. Her legs were weak, and despite her best efforts to pretend otherwise, she had indeed been much affected by his lovemaking. To touch him again would be a torment too pleasant to allow herself.

If he woke and ordered her to stay, she doubted she'd have the strength to resist. Best to leave while she could. She took her gaze from him and headed for the door.

“What, no kiss before you go, Miss Darshaw?”

She jumped. He was not asleep! Good heavens, had he been awake this whole time, watching her dress? How very rude.

“You should have told me I'd woken you.”

“But you didn't. I haven't slept.”

“You sounded like you were sleeping,” she remarked, not quite certain what to do at this point.

“As did you. I take it the locket is in that pack there?”

“No. I've hidden it elsewhere.”

He bolted up out of the bed, still bare from the waist up. She couldn't help but stare at his supple muscles.

“It's no use lying to me, Sophie,” he said. “I've no more stomach for it. You were leaving me.”

“Yes.”

“Even after some damned rogue assaulted you on the street this evening?”

“I'll be careful.”

“You'll be murdered! Or worse. What are you thinking, heading out there alone?”

“I have to find my father.”

This couldn't come as any surprise to him; he would have guessed by now what she was planning. What would he do to keep her from going?

“I thought we were going to do that together in the daylight,” he said simply.

“I changed my mind.”

She could feel his eyes on her, condemning her, yet she still could not meet them.

“You looked inside the locket, didn't you?” he said after another pause.

“What?”

“While I was seeing about my carriage. You looked inside the locket and you have some idea where to find your father. That's the whole reason for this sudden desire to seduce me, isn't it?”

“Seduce you! Really, sir, I hardly seduced you.”

“You were waiting in here in my bed, half naked when I returned!”

“And if you recall, you said you preferred to sleep in a chair.”

“And still you got me into your bed, didn't you?” he continued. “You seduced me, Sophie. Admit it.”

“I will not!”

Instead of escalating the argument, he suddenly shook his head. The man even had the gall to laugh at her. She didn't think that was very nice. This was a serious matter, after all.

“Oh, Sophie, you do amaze me,” he said.

Her heart skipped a beat when she glanced up to catch him looking at her the way he was, but she forced herself to remember what was truly at stake. Or perhaps she was realizing it for the first time. She stood to lose much more than just her father. Lindley was perilously close to robbing her of her heart.

He touched her face, and she wondered if perhaps it was too late, already.

“Silly girl. You seduced me so you could take that locket and go find your worthless father.”

Yes, very well, he was right about that. Still, she didn't think it quite fair to say she had actually “seduced” him. As she recalled, he did a fair amount of seducing her right back.

“But there's something you should know,” he said, cupping her face in his hands so she had nothing to do but gaze up at him. “I've already lost too many people I cared about. I won't lose you.”

Heavens, but did that mean he cared about her, too? She suddenly couldn't breathe.

“Run to your father if you like,” he went on. “But I will always find you.”

Oh.
His caring only went so far as he cared about capturing Papa. She could have cried at her own foolishness.

“But keep in mind, my dear,” he added, still touching her and standing so close she could smell the sweet scent of him, “I may not be the only one looking for you.”

She swallowed. “All the more reason I need to find my father.”

“Not without me, you don't.”

“But you'll just haul him to the gallows! I cannot allow that, my lord. I've got to go find him…alone.”

“And I cannot let you put yourself in danger like that.”

“How do you intend to keep me here, bound and gagged as your prisoner?”

He actually smiled at the suggestion. “Are you trying to seduce me again, Sophie?”

“Er, no…”
But is it having that effect anyway?

“Then we will go together. In the morning.”

“No, I don't want—”

“It's not about what you want, Sophie! It's about what's right and wrong.”

“As if you know anything about what's right and wrong for me, my lord.”

“I know it was wrong for you to throw away your virtue for that man,” he said, staring at her in a way that made her very self-conscious. “He is not worth it.”

She shook her head and hoped to heaven he wouldn't see the tears welling up in her eyes. “He's my father. He's all I have.”

“Damn it, Sophie, you deserve better.”

His arms went around her and pulled her in close. The warmth of his skin against her was intoxicating, and it didn't even dawn on her to put up a fight. She willingly sought out his lips when he leaned in to kiss her. The urgency and desperation was every bit as strong now as it had been before he'd joined his body with hers in that terrifying abandon that had so thoroughly driven her wild with pleasure. Dear Lord, but she wanted him again and again and again.

She let him pull her tighter, engulfing her with his being. She slid her arms around him, too, raking her fingers up over his solid frame and burying them in his thick, dark hair. She kissed him as if it would save her life. It was heaven, it was bliss, it was…

“What the hell…?”

Lindley pushed away from her. Something clattered to the floor at their feet. Sophie glanced down and realized what had happened.

“Oh no!” she cried, scrambling down to scoop up her pack that had been forgotten, wedged between their bodies.

“What on earth do you have in that thing?” he asked, stooping to help her.

She quickly shoved everything back as best she could. Oh heavens, but it would be dreadful if he found some of these particular contents! She would much rather have him simply take the locket than to see the rest of her possessions.

“I swear, something stabbed me,” he said. “Are you an assassin, Miss Darshaw?”

“No! It's merely my sewing things, my lord.”

At this point he picked up her scissors that had spilled out. “So I see. And just what else is it you sew, my dear? I was quite taken with that article you wore for me earlier tonight.”

She tried to prevent it, but the man was too quick for her. He snatched up her pack and stood with it, peeking inside. She grabbed for it and it tumbled out of his hands, dumping itself neatly on the bed. Oh, dear heavens, but everything scattered about, right there in plain view.

Lindley stood there, and slowly his left eyebrow came up. His lip did the same. Sophie felt her cheeks go warm. He reached down and extracted a scrap of amethyst velvet from the assortment. He rubbed it between his fingers and turned to smile at her.

“This looks familiar. I take it you crafted those pantalets you were so eager to get out of at Fitzgelder's theatrical event?”

“Er, I was testing them. They didn't work.”

He kept staring at her with that sly smile as he ran the fabric slowly over his lips. “Indeed, they worked for me, Miss Darshaw. Your display behind that screen had me mesmerized.”

“Yes, well, I need to put these things away.”

But he blocked her path, reaching past her to push aside the various swatches and pin rolls until his hand fell on something she rather wished it hadn't. And it was not the locket.

It was the ghastly strap-on article she'd been working on for one of Madame's more, er, adventurous clients. He picked it up to examine it. She could only pray he'd not realize what he held.

“What is this?”

“Ah, that? Er, a pincushion.”

He cocked his head to one side. “No, I don't think so.”

“It's nothing!” she said and dove for it, hoping to rip it out of his hands. She missed.

“Nothing? It looks very much like something.”

He held it up at eye level, and there was no doubt what it was. A series of straps with buckles fell limply about while the main object of the item did not. She'd crafted it of very soft leather over a wooden dowel and filled it with sawdust. No, it did not fall limp. She winced.

“What are you doing with something like this?” he asked.

“Put that down. It isn't yours.”

“I'll say for damn sure it's not mine!”

“Then put it back. You have no right to rummage through my things.”

Of course he went right on rummaging through her things, with more vigor than ever now. He dropped the strap device down beside the velvet and pin rolls and proceeded to extract what appeared to be a roll of gauze.

“Are you making bandages now?” he asked.

Of course he did not believe her when she replied in the affirmative. He shook out the little roll and his eyes got large. So did his grin.

“Ah, indeed this would cure any man's ailment.”

“It's a nightgown,” she said, as if calling it that would make it any less daring.

“I see. But where is the rest of it? It would seem parts of you will be a bit chilly at night.”

And he was right. The top line of the bodice was made to fit below the breasts, and the front of the gown was slit all the way from the bosom to the bottom. Except that the garment hardly went all the way to the bottom. It ended in a flirty ruffle just at the thigh. And, of course, it was almost entirely sheer.

Though this invisible nightgown was hardly as shocking as that leather device with the straps, she still wished he had not seen it. She had sewn it to her own measurements, and it felt a bit too personal to have him studying it the way he was. The man was well acquainted with her body by now and could easily be imagining her in it. That was a bit unnerving. His smile, though, said she ought to be enormously flattered.

“I tell you, Miss Darshaw, you do have the most interesting sewing supplies. Let's see what else you need in order to keep up with your mending, shall we?”

Her protests fell on deaf ears as he let the nightgown flutter back onto the pile and moved on to scrutinize the next item at hand.

“And this is…?”

“Also not yours.” Nor was it hers. She was not at all interested in wearing a hooded mask with rabbit ears. One of Madame's usual patrons, however…

“It's very, er, cute. Go ahead, why don't you put it on?”

“Because it is not finished, my lord,” she announced, reaching for it. “It still has pins in it.”

She yanked it away from him and he got caught by one. He swore in pain and pulled his hand back. She felt immediately guilty.

“Oh! I'm sorry. Let me see that,” she said, grabbing his hand without thinking and pulling it up into the thin light from the window to look at it.