Temptress in Training (32 page)

“And what of word from Loveland?” Lindley asked, leaving Hutch propped against a discarded crate. “I still do not know if D'Archaud has met up with those actors.”

“I wish I had news for ye, milord.”

“I'll just have to go back there and keep watch until you can join me. You'll be well enough here until then? You can handle yourself with this ruffian when he wakes?”

“I'll be fine, sir.”

“Then let's set our stage, shall we?”

The boy nodded energetically. “I'm looking forward to it, milord.”

Lindley wasn't sure how he ought to take that.

 

H
ER ARMS FELT SO HEAVY, AS IF A GREAT WEIGHT RESTED
on them. She tried to pick up her head to look around, but it seemed her whole body was pinned to the bed. She could barely even open her eyes.

But she had to, for some reason. She knew she had to open her eyes, move her arms, get out of this place. Where was this place, anyway?

It was all a blur. Was Lindley here? He would know what was wrong; he could help her. She tried to look for him, but her silly eyes just would not open for her. Papa? Was he here? Nothing made sense.

A soft hand touched her forehead. It felt cool, and she wished it would linger, but it did not. She heard voices.

They were close by, hovering over her. Were they angels? The one voice was so soft, so pretty…it could have been an angel. But no, angels would never sound so sad. The soft hand was touching her again, lifting her head up off the pillow. My, but how could such a soft little hand be so very strong to lift something so enormously heavy as her head?

It seemed ridiculously silly, and Sophie wanted to laugh. She was laughing, perhaps. But there was no sound. Just the sad, sad voice near her head.

“She's sleeping, Madame. She doesn't need more,” the voice said.

“Give it to her, Annie. We can't have her waking up and making a commotion. No one needs to know about this. Not yet, anyway.”

This voice was not so sad. Not very sweet either. She decided she very much did not like this voice, though it seemed she could almost recognize it. If only her eyes would open, but they would not. That suddenly seemed very funny, too. Yes, perhaps all of it was a great joke and she was laughing.

Still, though, she would have expected to hear it.

The soft hand put something to her lips, and she had to swallow or else choke on the bitter liquid that was poured down her throat.
Tea?
My, but what dreadful tea they had in this place. She wished they did not force it on her this way. Grandmamma would be appalled at such manners!

And then it seemed very funny again. Oh, what a lovely day this must be for her to find everything so inordinately humorous. Wouldn't Lindley love to hear about it? She would have to tell him.

But where was he? She should have heard his voice by now. He should be here; she was quite sure she'd been looking for him. Why wasn't he here? She needed him here.

“She's calling for someone,” the sweet, sad voice said. “Lindley, I believe.”

The other voice gave a grating laugh. “Let her call for him all she wants. He won't hear her. I paid good money so that he won't hear anything ever again.”

Nothing was making sense. Why would Lindley not hear her? The harsh voice said he could not. Had something happened? Yes, she seemed to recall she'd been worried over something…something important. But what was it? Was it Lindley? Was he in some sort of trouble?

She choked as more liquid was poured into her mouth. Her head was so heavy, and now the room seemed to be moving, perhaps carrying her away to somewhere else. Yes, somewhere else would be lovely.

Oh, she hoped they would have better tea wherever she was going. And Lindley. It would be so nice if he were there with her. She wanted Lindley with her so very badly. And she'd really like to laugh, but she just couldn't. Nothing at all seemed remotely worth laughing at suddenly.

 

S
ILENTLY
L
INDLEY MOVED CLOSER.
H
E'D BEEN KEEPING
watch over Loveland several hours now, and so far nothing seemed to be happening. The actors were indeed in residence, and they seemed perfectly content to stay. There was no sign of messengers coming or going, and certainly no sign of D'Archaud.

Was the man gone? Was he not coming? Or could he already be there, hidden in the house? In the daylight Lindley had been afraid to get close enough to find out. But finally night had fallen, and he decided it would be safe enough to draw nearer.

Now he was as close as he could get. He laid his hand on the old whitewashed wall of the cottage and crept behind a mountainous lavender that seemed almost to burst from its bed. There was a window just above. Lindley inched his way up to peer through.

Inside a fire glowed, and he could make out several men lounging about. D'Archaud was not one of them.
Damn.

Ah, but their voices did carry. One man in particular was quite jovial and boisterous. And French. Lord, but that man was French.

He rattled on in English, carelessly tossing out phrases here and there that gave away his heritage. When the group spontaneously broke into song, this one sang in French. A middle-aged woman came in to join them and was dragged into a dance until she nearly tripped over the feet of one of the younger men. Everyone laughed and wine flowed. Actors, indeed.

Yet there was no sign of Sophie's useless father. Lindley wondered if perhaps he had already missed D'Archaud, if he'd been here, discovered the treasure without the use of that locket, and left his friends behind to celebrate their portion of it. Could Lindley have been so close only to have lost the man? D'Archaud could be halfway back to France by now.

Approaching voices startled him, and Lindley practically dove for cover behind an overgrown rose. Who on earth could be coming? Riders on horseback from what he could hear. He strained to listen.

Two riders trotted up to the cottage and dismounted. Lindley dared to peek out and was a bit disappointed to find not D'Archaud there in the moonlight, but two servants wearing Dashford's livery. What in the devil could this be about?

One servant held the horses and another went to the house. He knocked politely on the front door. The squatters inside were suddenly quiet. The man knocked again, and this time Lindley could hear footsteps. How would these actors take a visit from Dashford's men? He slipped one of the pistols he'd retrieved from his carriage out from its place at his waist.

The voice of the Frenchman sounded at the door. Apparently he'd chosen to greet these servants as guests rather than fight. Lindley listened.

The servant informed the Frenchman that this cottage was owned by the viscount Dashford. It appeared Dashford had heard the troupe of actors had come to stay here and had a request. Instead of booting them out on their ears, it seemed his lordship would very much like the troupe to come to his home in the morning to provide entertainment for some guests the lord was hosting.

The Frenchman agreed without hesitation and asked the servants to please send their gratitude to his lordship for the hospitality. It was all very polite, and in minutes the two Dashford men were back on their way to Hartwood. Lindley was alone in the darkness, wondering what this was all about. What on earth would make Dashford insist on hosting these actors as entertainment for his guests?

And just what guests could those be? Certainly the house had been quite full when Lindley was there for the wedding several days ago, but hadn't the poor man been able to get his bride alone at this point? Lindley was fairly certain that if he himself ever did get around to taking a bride he'd not want a houseful of guests—and certainly not actors!—three days into what ought to be a rather enjoyable honeymoon.

No, if he had the opportunity to get Sophie all to himself in his big sprawling home, he'd certainly not want to waste any time with…

Good God, what was he imagining? Sophie in his house? Certainly not. He couldn't do that. A gentleman did not bring that sort of woman into his home. Haven Abbey was one thing, but to bring her to Durmond Park, his family seat? It was not done. Someday he'd have to keep a proper wife there, not someone like Sophie.

And then the panic hit.
A proper wife?
Hellfire, he could never be happy with the sort of wife he'd be expected to take one day, some blue-blooded diamond who'd been raised since birth to be more interested in her place in society than her place in Lindley's heart. He knew a lifetime being shackled to someone proper and appropriate was expected of him, but Lord, the idea was depressing. How could he ever be content with someone like that, someone who was not…damn it, someone who was not Sophie!

By God, if he was going to install some pretty young wife at his ancient family home, it was going to have to be Sophie Darshaw. And he was sure as hell going to spend an awful lot of time there with her. No acting troupe would be needed.

He slumped back against the wall and ignored the rose thorns that poked him in various places. He was hopelessly in love with Sophie, wasn't he? How on earth did that happen? Certainly he'd been attracted to her right from the start. What red-blooded man wouldn't be? Certainly he'd enjoyed his time with her, taken pleasure in their passion…that was all to be expected. But to fall in
love
with her? Well, that was quite another matter.

And it irked him to no end when he realized he'd done nothing to encourage her to feel the same way toward him. Hell, he'd left her alone to come all the way out there and drag her father off to the gallows! Damn it, but he'd only given Sophie reason to hate him. That hurt.

Well, starting now he would be changing his plans. He'd do everything in his power to make up for what he'd done, how he'd treated her. He'd somehow find her father and…

Footsteps interrupted him. He realized he was no longer alone here in the yard. Through the roses he caught a glimpse of a figure moving quickly, approaching the cottage from the narrow lane that led out to the main road.

It was a young man on foot, as far as Lindley could tell. There was no sign of livery, and everything about the man's halting movements said he was hoping to avoid detection. He dashed up to the front door and let himself inside without knocking. Lindley slid back up to listen at the window.

The young man made his presence known inside right away. Instantly the actors made a great fuss over him. Apparently his arrival was an unexpected pleasure for them. Lindley was glad when the party filed into the room nearest him, just inside the window.

He eavesdropped shamefully; it only took a moment to make a startling discovery. The newcomer was not a young man. It was a woman—the same actress who had been in Fitzgelder's house, who had posed as Sophie's husband. As to where she'd been in the time since they were divided at the posting house, he had that answer quickly.

She'd been at Dashford's. She made no mention of Rastmoor, and Lindley wondered what she'd done with him. It was not a mark in her favor that the Frenchman seemed so happy to see her. Lindley was still trying to puzzle out that relationship when another piece of news caught his attention.

The actress announced that Fitzgelder was at Hartwood. He apparently was one of the guests Dashford would like the actors to entertain. To their credit, none of the actors sounded exactly thrilled to hear that name. Neither was Lindley.

After some nervous debate, the Frenchman calmed his troupe and told them he would handle things. The older woman in the group herded everyone to the kitchen for something she had been cooking, and little by little the noisy group filed out of earshot. He waited a moment before moving, just to be certain he would not be detected.

Fitzgelder is at Hartwood.
Damn, but somehow while Lindley had kept Feasel guarding the abbey and Tom had been scheming in Lack Wooton, their dangerous quarry had slipped past and gone on to Hartwood, of all places. This was news indeed. What could have taken him there? Did he expect Lindley to go there with the locket? Perhaps he'd not gotten word yet that Lindley was dead. Or perhaps Tom had failed and their ruse had been found out.

Damn, but where was Tom? He glanced at his pocket watch. It was getting late. What should he do?
Hell.
He knew what he should
not
do.

He should
not
sit here waiting for D'Archaud when Tom was somewhere risking his life to save Lindley's skin and Sophie was alone back at Haven Abbey. By God, he was a fool. He knew exactly what he should do.

First, he would find the boy. Indeed, the lad had helped him, and now he must need Lindley's help. Lindley would go back to Lack Wooton. Then he would find out what Fitzgelder was doing at Hartwood. Perhaps Dashford was in danger. The man was his friend; Lindley could hardly sit idly by. He had a responsibility to the living as well as the dead.

The truth came barreling at him, and Lindley was forced to admit he'd made a monumental error. He'd been stalking the wrong prey. D'Archaud was not his target. Whatever the man had done in the past, he was not the orchestrator. Even if he had been Fitzgelder's willing assistant, his capture would gain Lindley nothing. Lindley needed to let go of the past and focus on today. He needed to let go of D'Archaud.

Then maybe, by some miracle, Sophie might find a way to forgive him.

Sophie pulled the bedcovers up closer and realized her whole body ached. Heavens, but she felt as if she'd been sleeping for ages. She cracked her groggy eyes open and realized by the darkness around her that, most likely, she had been.

Good heavens, what time was it? Last thing she recalled was…She had to think for a moment before her mind could clear enough for her to remember. What had she been doing just before…

The tea!
Lord above, but Annie had drugged her tea. Yes, Sophie could remember that now. And worse…she remembered Madame. Sophie's memory was hazy, but she could quite clearly recall Madame's voice, speaking horrible things about Lindley. Dear God, Madame had claimed Lindley was dead!

Sophie jerked up to sitting. Her head throbbed. Her stomach churned. She blinked into the darkness, hoping it was all a dream. Of course it wasn't.

“Sophie, what is it?”

She glanced over to find Annie sitting nearby, one dim taper glowing beside her. She looked awful; her face was pale and her eyes were red and swollen. Gracious, what had happened? Sophie's heart pounded.

“Lindley…is he…?”

Annie shushed her and came to sit on the bed beside her. “You must keep quiet, Sophie. No one must hear you.”

“Keep quiet? But Madame said…and you drugged my tea…and…where's Rosie?”

“Madame took her,” Annie said. “She only allows me a few minutes at a time with her.”

“Why?”

“Because she knows I hate what she's doing. She knows I'd never cooperate if Rosie's very life didn't depend on it!”

“Her very life? What on earth is Madame doing?”

“Please, Sophie, you've got to remain quiet. I assured Madame I would not allow you to wake up. She believes I gave you more, er, tea this evening so you will sleep through the night.”

“She's forcing you to drug me?”

“Hush, yes.”

“But why?”

“So you will not cause any trouble for her or ruin her plans.”

“And her plans involve…murdering Lindley?”

“I'm so sorry, Sophie. Madame believes he has that locket she wants and…well, there are some very bad men who do whatever she says.”

“She sent someone to…to kill him to get that silly locket?”

“It's hardly a silly locket, Sophie! Hush, now. She should be coming to check on you any moment. No matter what happens, you must let her think you are asleep.”

“I need to get away from here. All of us—you, me, and Rosie. We've got to go help Lindley.”

“Sophie, we're trapped here in a castle! Even if we could get away, where would we go?”

“I don't know, but I can't sit by and do nothing, not if there's a chance…”

“There's not. I'm sorry, Sophie. We just have to do as Madame says until she gets what she wants.”

“And that is…?”

Annie was quiet a moment before she replied. “She wants your father's money.”

“That's absurd. My father doesn't have any money! Don't tell me that's why you became involved with him. You thought he had money?”

“No! Of course not. I fell in love with your father before I knew any of this. But it's true; he's a very wealthy man.”

“Annie, he's been dead for years…How could he have any money?”

“I don't know; he won't talk about it and…and I haven't seen him for weeks now. But I do know that locket is the key to some sort of treasure. Madame wants it.”

“And she's willing to kill Lindley for it.”

All this time she'd thought Madame and Lindley were…friends. How could the woman turn on him so? Sophie's head ached, and she felt weak as a child. Madame was not at all the woman she thought she'd known. She and Annie simply had to find a way out of there. Perhaps they could…

“Listen…I think I hear her coming!”

Sure enough, Madame's voice was just outside in the corridor, directing the servants. The bedroom door opened half a heartbeat after Sophie dropped back down onto her pillow and shut her eyes. She listened while carefully keeping her breathing low and regular.

“Yes, yes, the girl is fine,” Madame was saying as she breezed into the room.

“His lordship meant for us to look after her,” Mrs. Wimpole said on her heels, with more than a little annoyance in her tone.

“Well, look at her,” Madame said. “See? She's fine. I told you, she's very tired. Annie's been sitting with her. Now, go away and stop buzzing around like an unwanted bee. When I have need of you, I'll ring.”

Mrs. Wimpole huffed, but Sophie heard the door shut and only one set of footsteps continue in. Madame's, no doubt. She could feel the woman's eyes on her, probably looming over and assuring herself that Sophie was, indeed, well. And unconscious.

“She appears to be breathing,” Madame commented.

“Yes, she's quite comfortable,” Annie said.

“She's not going to wake up anytime soon, is she?”

“No, of course not. The laudanum seems to agree with her.”

Sophie heard Madame chuckle. The nerve of the woman to chuckle over her when she was pretending to be insensible! And to think Sophie had once looked at Madame Eudora as almost a second mother. Well, as of right now she did not get along with her mother. At all.

“Good. That will be of use when our guest arrives from London.”

“What?” Annie said, and Sophie recognized the concern in her voice. “Who is coming from London?”

“Oh, just a gentleman who's been, shall we say, interested in meeting little Sophie. I owe him a favor, so I sent him word that he ought to pop in for a visit. I expect him first thing tomorrow. Sophie should be adequately, er, pliable by then.”

“Oh, Madame! Please, you cannot do that to her. You know her father will do as you say. He'll pay that ransom, I know he will.”

Again, the older woman chuckled. “Oh, I have no doubt he'll pay. After all, I've got his entire family right here in the palm of my hand, don't I? He'll give me what I've asked for—eventually. Why should I not bring in a little additional profit in the meantime?”

“But she's not…Madame, you know she's innocent.”

This time Madame's laugh was more than a mere chuckle. It was like a guffaw, as a matter of fact. Sophie was quite miffed, and it was all she could do to keep herself silent and still.

“Don't be so naive, Annie! She's been traveling with Lindley. I assure you the man has sullied our little dove. More than once, I would imagine. Indeed, the girl is well primed for her eager visitor.”

“But you told her father you would look after her! That she would be safe if he paid you quickly.”

“Honestly, Annie, your sentimentality is sickening. I thought we agreed you would do exactly as I say in exchange for me not tossing your child off the ramparts.”

Annie squeaked in horror at the very thought of such a thing. Sophie could hardly believe her ears—Madame was a monster! Good heavens, how could she never have realized just what the woman was capable of? Well, Sophie was simply going to have to save them all somehow.

“Stop your whimpering,” Madame said. “I want you to stay in here tonight to see that Sophie stays nice and quiet. When your little brat starts hollering again, I'll have that useless housekeeper bring her in for you. I can't abide the way that child interrupts my sleep every night.”

“I could get her now,” Annie offered.

“No, you will keep an eye on Sophie now. Remember, Annie, do as I say and things will go well for you. If you choose to do something foolish, however…”

“Yes, Madame. I understand.”

“Good. I always knew you were a smart girl, Annie.”

“Thank you, Madame.”

Annie sounded as if her heart were broken. Madame's footsteps went toward the door, and Sophie could hear it open. She did not stir even though her neck was at an odd angle and was beginning to ache dreadfully. She waited what felt like an eternity before finally she heard Madame march out into the corridor. The door shut behind her and all was silent. Annie let out a halting breath.

Sophie waited just a few moments to make sure Madame would not come back, and then she sighed, too, stretching her arms and moving her head to get the kink out of her neck. Oh, but what a mess they were in! Madame was waiting for Papa to somehow pay a ransom? Surely that would never happen. She had no idea where Madame and Annie got any notion Papa had money, but she was quite certain they were mistaken. No ransom would come to rescue them.

“I didn't know Madame was planning to invite someone here, Sophie.”

“I can't imagine who it would be.”

“I can,” Annie said. Sophie did not miss the dread in her friend's voice. “That man who used to ask after you all the time.”

“Who on earth was that?”

She wished it had been Lindley. Judging from Annie's tone, however, she knew it was nothing like that. Lindley had only been interested in her because she was her father's daughter. Whoever this man was, he obviously had other things on his mind. Good heavens, but what on earth would she do if Madame's friend showed up and expected, er, these other things? Her flesh crawled at the very thought.

“His name is Warren,” Annie said. “I believe Madame calls him Captain. He works for the government in some capacity, but none of the girls like him. He has certain preferences…”

Annie didn't finish that statement. She didn't have to. It was common knowledge that Madame prided herself in accommodating certain preferences. She paid Sophie good money to create articles to facilitate some of these. Usually these special clients were harmless, although she'd heard whispers of some who weren't. What on earth did Madame have in mind for her?

“I don't know what to do, Sophie,” Annie went on. “Perhaps it would be better for you if you did take the laudanum.”

“No! Heavens, Annie, I will not simply lie down and give up. There must be some way out of this.”

“But how?”

How indeed?
Sophie's mind raced, desperate to think of something they could do. But what resources did they have? They were two women and a baby. How were they to slip away undetected in the middle of the night? Madame had her sources; she would find them in a heartbeat. And she'd be furious!

Oh, if only Sophie could believe Lindley were somewhere out there thinking of her, wondering about her. But of course she could not even know if he was still alive. She prayed that he was, but even then she knew he would be no help to them. That little purse full of coins told her she had fulfilled her purpose for him. Lindley—if he did survive Madame's schemes—was through with her.

She needed to think of Annie, of little Rosie. She needed to find their way out of this. She needed a plan, she needed courage, and she needed to believe Lindley was safe, out there somewhere thinking fondly of her. Indeed, there were a great many things she needed right now.

Apparently, what she needed most was a miracle.

There was a knock at the door and both women jumped. Sophie quickly fell back into her pillow, adjusting her covers approximately as they had been minutes ago. This time she kept her head turned so that she could crack her eyes open just slightly to see who might be here to make life yet more complicated for them.

Annie took a deep breath and went to open the door. It was Mrs. Wimpole with Rosie.

“Miss Eudora sent for me to bring her to you,” she said, cradling the fussy baby and glancing in Sophie's direction.

“Thank you,” Annie said, smiling as she took the child. “I'm sure this is all we'll need tonight. Madame said I am to sleep in here to keep an eye on Miss Darshaw.”

“Oh? And why exactly does Miss D'Archaud need so much attention?” Mrs. Wimpole asked. “It isn't normal for a healthy young woman to sleep so much. Should I call for a doctor?”

“No!” Annie said quickly, doing her best to settle Rosie, who very obviously did not care for all this conversation and would much prefer a meal. “She's fine. Really, you may go to your bed now.”

But Mrs. Wimpole didn't leave. “His lordship was quite worried for Miss D'Archaud. I'm not at all convinced he would be pleased to find that you and Miss Eudora have got her in that bed there like a prisoner. Now step aside and let me look in on her myself.”

“No, it truly is not necessary…” Annie said but cut herself off before Rosie's crying could get out of hand.

It would not do at all to alert Madame to this confrontation. Sophie half expected to find the woman charging into her chamber at any moment. Mrs. Wimpole did not back down. Her feet shuffled just slightly as she moved toward the bed and laid her hand on Sophie's forehead. Sophie pinched her eyes shut tight.

“See? She is perfectly well,” Annie said.

“Then why does she not rouse herself with all the commotion your child is making?” the housekeeper inquired. “I'm no fool, miss. I know what sort of person Miss Eudora has become, and I have my suspicions about you. I can see that you are up to no good where Miss D'Archaud is concerned, and I know his lordship wouldn't stand for it. I've got half a mind to call for the magistrate.”

Oh, wouldn't Madame just love that? The magistrate would probably throw them all out into the dark. Madame would be furious, then little Rosie truly would be at her mercy, and it seemed mercy was a trait Madame was sadly lacking. No, Sophie certainly could not let the woman call for the magistrate.

“Please do not send for the magistrate,” she said, pushing the covers aside and sitting up.

Annie made her familiar squeaking sound, but Mrs. Wimpole jammed her fists into her hips and glared at Sophie in the flickering candlelight.

“So you're not asleep,” she said.

“No, but Madame must believe I am,” Sophie announced. “Please, Mrs. Wimpole. We need your help.”

The woman eyed her, raising one brow and waiting for an explanation. Sophie cleared her throat before giving her one.