Temptress in Training (5 page)

Lindley must have misheard that. “Your
wife
?”

“Yes. We were married last week and have been keeping it secret so she wouldn't lose her position here. However, given how ill she's been treated, I'm convinced she should not remain another day in this house.”

The young man stared defiantly at Lindley, as if he expected an argument. Lindley wasn't quite sure what he himself had expected, but surely not this. Miss Darshaw was
married
? Lindley shifted his gaze to her, requiring confirmation of such a far-fetched claim.

After all, how on earth could this be true? She'd spent the last four years working in a brothel, for heaven's sake! True, Madame claimed she was merely a seamstress there, yet she'd made it clear a time or two that if he was interested in the girl she'd be quite willing to arrange things for him—at a price. Due to the special circumstances of the situation, Lindley had declined. When Miss Darshaw left Madame Eudora to come here for Fitzgelder, it appeared perhaps he may have done better to accept. Hell, he should have accepted. Perhaps he'd have some inkling of a clue as to what was truly going on now.

Had the girl really managed to snag a husband? With a past as colored as hers, what would she have been willing to stoop to for the sake of making an honest woman of herself? Indeed, perhaps that was the prize Fitzgelder had used to entice her into his services. Perhaps this ridiculous actor was her reward for helping Fitzgelder continue evading justice.

Lindley was rather inclined to think that must be the case. Surely she could have no other reason to align herself with this…this man-child. He watched them closely. The smooth-cheeked actor glanced at his beloved as if for reassurance. Miss Darshaw responded by gazing up at him with those dewy eyes, rounded in concern. Her rosebud lips pursed in a luscious pout, and her thick, dark lashes fanned porcelain cheeks as she blinked up at her gallant protector. In that pitiful cap and faded apron, the girl was indeed the very picture of maidenly virtue. No human man could be immune. Had she but gazed up at her Romeo with those liquid eyes and whispered tender words in her sweet, whiskey-warm voice, Lindley was convinced the young man would have done practically anything for her. Even marry her.

And follow her wishes by aligning himself with a swine like Fitzgelder.

Yet things had not gone according to their plans. Fitzgelder was still howling about the missing actress. It sounded as if he would storm back here and confront the quaking Romeo about it, as a matter of fact. It was quite plain neither Miss Darshaw nor her husband was eager for that event.

“Hurry now, Sophie,” the young man directed. “Go. We must leave. Now.”

Miss Darshaw hesitated. “But, I came back to tell you that…er, we can't…”

Her protests trailed off and Lindley could only wonder what they meant. All he understood for certain was that clearly Miss Darshaw was afraid. Lindley could use that to his advantage.

Her husband again urged her to hurry and leave this place, but the girl seemed unable to comply. For just a moment she turned her blue-eyed gaze upon Lindley. He realized her feet were still tangled in the velvet pantalets. Quite a predicament she was in. Lindley smiled. He had no desire to move.

Romeo cleared his throat. “If you would let her pass, sir.”

Something crashed on the other side of the screen and Miss Darshaw jumped. The revelers laughed, but Fitzgelder merely bellowed. Apparently the acrobatics had gone awry and things were getting worse. Romeo and his mistress appeared ready to panic.

“Let her pass, damn you!” the young man demanded.

But Miss Darshaw regained her composure and laid one small hand on her husband's soft arm.

“Dearest, this is Lord Lindley,” she began. Her careful tone indicated a reminder for her husband to keep his place when speaking to his better. It appeared to have little effect. The actor didn't seem to realize he had any betters.

“I don't care who the man is. I know all about his type.” The scowling actor glanced up at Lindley as if he were contemplating an insect. “If you would be so kind, allow my wife to pass. My lord.” The last came out more as an insult than a tribute to Lindley's station.

Well, the pup certainly had nerve. He'd not last a moment should Lindley decide to seriously take him on, but of course he wouldn't. A confrontation here would only draw Fitzgelder's attention and make things far more difficult than they already were. Lindley would be farther from gaining any useful information, and Miss Darshaw would perhaps be placed in an even more uncomfortable position. He stepped aside and wondered what she would do about the pantalets.

Nothing, it appeared. Somehow she must have quietly extricated her feet from them. With one last glance up at her husband, Miss Darshaw darted past and out the narrow doorway. The pantalets were left in an enticing heap. Romeo was too busy glaring at Lindley to notice.

Lindley found the whole thing enormously amusing. His gaze followed as Miss Darshaw disappeared into the servants' corridor, her careful footsteps silent as she fled. That left Romeo alone to glower hatred at Lindley, but this was short-lived. The pup's jealously was interrupted by Fitzgelder, storming into the alcove and fuming at the actor. He came up short, perplexed by Lindley's presence.

Lindley figured he'd best explain himself quickly lest Fitzgelder get the wrong idea about his curious prowling, which might, in fact, be dangerously close to the right idea.

“Heard you roaring there was supposed to be an actress here,” Lindley explained with a wandering leer and a halfhearted shrug. “Thought I'd nip back here and take first crack at her.”

Fitzgelder frowned. “And?”

“Didn't find her. It's just as this fellow said; seems she's long gone. In faith, old man, this entertainment is a bust! Not a pleasing wench within sight.”

“No, it would appear not,” Fitzgelder reluctantly admitted. He glared at Romeo.

The young man visibly shuddered. “I'm sorry, sir. She always was a most headstrong actress.”

Fitzgelder sneered. “Manipulating little whore, more like it.”

Romeo stiffened but kept quiet. So he was offended by his patron's words, was he? Odd, considering the little troupe master would likely have much to lose by his actress's abandonment. Lindley might have expected the young man to be first up to lay criticism at the woman's door.

Another crash and the ridiculing laughter of Fitzgelder's guests erupted outside the screen. Fitzgelder snarled at Romeo. “Don't imagine you'll be getting paid for this debacle.”

Romeo dropped his gaze and nodded.

“Get out of here,” Fitzgelder ordered. “Take your damn horrid actors and get the hell out of my house.”

With a disgusted shake of his greasy head, Fitzgelder left the little alcove and stormed back into the salon, reviling the actors and advising his guests to call for their carriages. It appeared they would all be quitting his home and heading for greater enjoyments elsewhere. Romeo gave out a sigh of relief and swallowed back what Lindley supposed was a lump of fear. Not that he actually took note of any lump in the young man's smooth, graceful neck.

The actor gave him one last, suspicious look, then scurried out to roust his troupe into gathering their few things in preparation for a hasty retreat. Lindley watched until he was out of view, his unusual gait suddenly making sense. An amused smile slid over half of Lindley's face.

Indeed, Fitzgelder was a fool. This Romeo was no love-struck lad. He was, however, a damn fine actress. Which meant, of course, that Miss Darshaw was still quite unmarried but completely involved in some dangerous intrigue.

And that, of course, meant Lindley had good reason to go hunt her down. He scooped up the velvet pantalets—still warm, though he tried to ignore that tantalizing fact—and let himself out into the servants' corridor.

Sophie held back a sneeze and buried herself deeper behind the thick drapery. She could hear Fitzgelder ordering people about back in the large salon. Clearly the actors were done for the evening. She listened—sure enough, footsteps approached.

Lord Lindley. She feared he might come this way, following her. That was why she'd tucked herself neatly behind the drapes. With luck, the sneeze would not present itself just now and Lindley would go away before detecting her. Heaven only knew what he might do if he found her here.

Had he believed Miss Sands's wild story of them being husband and wife? He'd seemed to; he gave no overt sign of doubting. Not really, at any rate. For a few moments there she'd thought she'd seen suspicion in his eyes, but in the end it appeared he believed. Still, that could have done nothing to increase his esteem for her. He knew where she had come from.

They'd met at Madame Eudora's more than once. Not that he'd ever given indication she had any cause to fear him, but she'd felt his eyes on her when they passed in the hallway or when she'd been sewing in Madame's chamber and he'd come to visit. Thankfully all he and Madame appeared to do was engage in polite and friendly conversation, but she'd blushed and shuddered at thoughts of the man's obvious purpose in the house. She never learned whom he favored among the ladies, but he seemed to appear often. And there was but one reason for that at Madame Eudora's.

Every now and then Madame asked Sophie if she might be interested in meeting some of the establishment's regular clients on a more intimate basis, but Sophie had always firmly declined. She begged to be allowed to earn her keep by simply mending and stitching and tending to Madame's unconventional costume requests. Madame assured her their arrangement was fine, yet she informed Sophie that certain gentlemen had asked after her and that a seamstress could never do so well as a sought-after courtesan.

Sophie had almost been tempted to ask if Lord Lindley could be one of those “certain gentlemen” who might have asked after her. She hoped to heavens her resolve to remain a seamstress alone would not have wavered had she found out he was. She still was not sure that it would have.

Not that her resolve would have mattered much either way to Lord Lindley. After facing his smoldering gaze tonight, she knew he was the sort of man who always got what he wanted. Even drunk he exuded a force too strong to be denied. Heaven help her if he ever did take an interest in her beyond a momentary curiosity. She doubted she would defend herself against him with the same vigor she had shown her employer.

She could hear him. He paused in the tight hallway, standing very near the hangings where she huddled. Oh, but she prayed he might not notice the drapery shaking as a prickling chill tore through her body. It was as if she could almost sense the heat coming off him, feel his deep blue eyes studying her, seeing her even through the thick fabric. She shuddered again and held her breath, willing that blasted sneeze to dissipate.

Then he was moving again. His footsteps sounded on the flooring. Thank heavens, they were moving away. She struggled to calm her pounding heart until she was certain the confident cadence of those footsteps signified he was leaving to continue his search for entertainment elsewhere. They had long echoed off into another part of the house before she dared draw a safe breath and peer out.

Indeed, he was gone and she appeared quite alone.
Thank God.
The sneeze erupted in a half-muffled squawk. Terrified, she scanned the corridor. No one appeared.

Creeping back to the narrow doorway that provided entrance to the screened alcove, she carefully peered in. Was Mr. Fitzgelder gone now, too? Or was he still commanding the actors as they prepared to depart?

Listening, she found his voice at the far end of the salon. He was laughing with his guests, directing servants as they arranged to put everyone back into their proper conveyances to head off for more amusing venues.
Good
. One could only hope they would all soon be gone—those horrible, leering guests, Mr. Fitzgelder,
and
his perplexing friend Lindley.

The voices trailed out of the salon at the opposite end, and before long she could tell only the actors remained, scuffing and grumbling to themselves as they gathered their things. Sophie stepped into the alcove. She went to retrieve her pantalets but was shocked to find they'd disappeared. Heavens, had Lord Lindley taken them? Or worse, had Mr. Fitzgelder found them?

She rubbed her forehead, wondering if she should worry over this or simply be glad to be rid of the damn things. A sound from the actors nearby caught Sophie's attention, and she glanced around the screen and caught Miss Sands's eye. The actress, her mustache decidedly lopsided now, scurried into the alcove to meet her.

“What is wrong? Why are you not gone with my father?” she asked in hushed tones.

“He sent me back,” Sophie explained quickly. “He said I must warn you! It was a trap. We were followed by two men; two of Mr. Fitzgelder's men. He must have been expecting you and laid out a trap!”

Miss Sands was nearly frantic. “And Papa? Did they get him?”

“No, he is safe,” Sophie was glad to reassure her. “He is clever, your father. He knew how to escape. But when we were safe he begged me to come back to warn you. He feared your disguise would not be enough to protect you. I'm happy to see that it did.”

“Only just.” The actress sighed. “Where was my father going? Where are we to find him?”

“He said it was too dangerous for you to come to him here in London,” Sophie began, hoping she'd remembered all the details correctly despite all she'd been through this awful evening. “He said you should gather the other actors and then go to meet him in Gloucester. He said you would know how to find him there.”

Miss Sands bit her lip, but she didn't seem as confused by it all as Sophie felt. What on earth could Mr. Fitzgelder possibly have against these people? Would they be safe from him even now?

“All right,” Miss Sands declared, fixing her mustache. “We'll leave for Gloucester. And you, Miss Darshaw, will be coming with us.”

This caught Sophie off guard. “To Gloucester?”

“You certainly can't stay here. Have you anywhere else in London to go?”

“No. I haven't.”

That, at least, was certain. Even if she could bring herself to go back to Madame, which she could not, she didn't dare for fear of encountering Fitzgelder. Or Lindley. Gloucester seemed as good a place as any to begin her life anew.

“Then you'll come with us. We have our wagons outside. Have you any belongings you need to retrieve?”

“Yes, miss. Up in the garret, where I sleep.”

“Fine. Let's finish up here and we'll go get them.”

For the first time in years, Sophie found herself wondering if perhaps things around her were starting to get just a bit brighter.

 

“I
T'S RATHER DARK IN HERE
,” M
ISS
S
ANDS WHISPERED
as Sophie led them slowly down from the servants' quarters, her little bundle of belongings tucked close against her chest.

“That's because the master is out,” Sophie replied. “Mrs. Harwell knows better than to waste candles when Mr. Fitzgelder does not need them.”

“Seems he might have a care whether or not his staff breaks a leg tending their duties in the pitch black like this.”

Sophie just snorted. “I'd hardly say this could be called tending to duties. Heavens, but Mrs. Harwell would throttle me if she found us sneaking away like this! The other girls will surely get their ears boxed if they don't tend to all their work plus mine until a replacement is found.”

“That's not your concern,” Miss Sands assured her. “Now show the way out. I don't like being here one more minute than I have to. Look, there's a light up that corridor. What is that?”

“That would be Mr. Fitzgelder's study. He must have left it burning when he went with his friends. I'll go take care of it.”

Miss Sands grabbed her arm. “You certainly will not! We're leaving. Let it be.”

“But someone will be reprimanded for it!”

“Then they should not have neglected to put it out, should they? Show us the door.”

It hardly seemed fair to let someone suffer Mrs. Harwell's wrath when it was but a few steps and a simple matter for Sophie to tend to the forgotten lamp. Ignoring Miss Sands's plea, she moved into the corridor and was just feet from reaching the study when she felt her companion's hand clench around her elbow. At the same time, Sophie heard voices in the lighted room. One voice in particular she recognized.

“Damn!” the actress swore beside her, pulling Sophie back against the wall. The voices were accompanied by footsteps—large, male footsteps. And these males were moving in the study as if preparing to leave it. “What do we do? Where can we go?”

Sophie paused just long enough to gather her wits, then dove across the hall and into an open doorway. She dragged Miss Sands with her. Drat, why had she ignored the young woman's warning? She should have taken them straight out to the street when she'd had the chance.

So Mr. Fitzgelder had not gone when all his guests departed, had he? No, he had stayed behind for some reason. That was his voice in the study, Sophie was sure of it. Oh, but if they should be found out here…How dreadful! Clearly they had to hide.

But where? There was nothing to hide them in this small room, just a narrow cabinet with some ugly, half-wilted floral arrangement in a gaudy vase. Obviously Mr. Fitzgelder did not spend much time in this room. Hopefully that was a good thing and meant he and his friend would not bother to come in for any reason. Perhaps if Sophie and Miss Sands stayed very quiet they would be safe until the men went elsewhere. Oh, she prayed that would be the case.

“And you just let them go, just like that,” Mr. Fitzgelder was complaining. They could hear him quite clearly from where they crouched behind the cabinet.

“I'm sorry, sir,” another voice replied. This one Sophie did not recognize. “I don't know how it happened. We was following them real close. That old man moved awfully quick, he did.”

“And the actress? Did you see her?”

“Aye, right pretty young thing, just as you said.”

“So where did she go?” Fitzgelder demanded. “I told you not to let her get away!”

“I'm sorry, Mr. Fitzgelder, sir. Somehow they just lost us on the streets.”

Now a third man spoke up. This one Sophie recognized from earlier. These must be the men who had chased them and very nearly caught them! Their voices were quite near now, probably just inside the study doorway. Sophie sank down even lower and tucked her knees up under her chin.

“Sir, we'll go back out and find them if you like. They can't have just disappeared.”

“No, they can't,” Mr. Fitzgelder agreed. “And I'll find them, damn it, I will. But for now, I've got something else I need you to do.”

Miss Sands leaned in close to Sophie's ear. “Are those the men who were after you and Papa?”

Sophie nodded. There was just light enough from the candle glow spilling in through the open doorway that she knew the actress could see. Not that it mattered. From what the men said, things were pretty obvious. Miss Sands's father had been right; Mr. Fitzgelder had been expecting them, and not to simply invite them for tea.

“So,” the first man said, “you still want us to take care of that other little problem for you?”

“Yes. You'll have to leave now to be sure to meet him along the road. And remember…” Mr. Fitzgelder's voice nearly sizzled with hatred. “If you botch this and anyone gets wind of my involvement, I'll personally pry your bollocks off and stuff them down your lifeless throats.”

The men were understandably silent, and Sophie managed to catch Miss Sands's wide eyes. The actress shrugged.

“I don't care how you do it,” Mr. Fitzgelder continued, “but I must remain out of it. Make it an accident on the highway, a tumble off a high building, or a run-in with a jealous husband. I don't care. When he's dead and no one comes 'round asking me any questions, you get your money. Got it?”

Good God!
Sophie could hardly take this to mean anything other than the obvious. The two men who had been following them earlier had just been instructed by Mr. Fitzgelder to go commit murder! What in the world had she gotten herself into?

“Aye, we got it, sir,” one of the men assured. “I can make it an accident, all right, but are you sure you want this? It's rather permanent, you know.”

“Hell, it had better be permanent,” Mr. Fitzgelder snarled. “My cousin isn't worth the paper his damn patent comes written on.”

Miss Sands drew a sudden sharp breath. Sophie slid another glance her way. The woman's face was distinctly pale in the dim light here behind this cabinet. Sophie could well understand how she felt. She did, however, wish that the actress was not digging her fingernails so sharply into her shoulder where her hand had been resting.

“Well, he won't be enjoying that lofty title much longer now, will he?” One of the murderers chuckled.

Mr. Fitzgelder concurred. “He'd better not. Here, can you read?”

There was the sound of papers shuffling. “I can, some. What's this?”

“It'll give you directions to meet up with him,” Fitzgelder explained. “Now I've already helped you by getting things in motion. My cousin's off at some bloody wedding north of Warwick, but very soon I expect he'll head for home. I've made things, shall we say, difficult for his darling mother and simpering little sister. He'll no doubt feel the need to come rushing back to them here. That will be your chance. Get him while he's on the road from Warwick; that's the easiest.”

“Shot by highwaymen?”

“Whatever. Just do it. The only way I want Anthony Rastmoor returned to his family is as a corpse.”