A Gentleman's Curse: Avenging Lords - Book 4

by Clee, Adele

  “Of course he may.” Miss Darling bit down on her bottom lip and dabbed her finger to the corner of her eye. “Though we cannot pay you for your time, monsieur.”

  “The pleasure of seeing your sister glide about the floor would be payment enough.”

  Silence descended.

  Miss Darling came to her feet. “Well, thank you for supper, but we must return to the house before the servants send out a search party.”

  Lockhart stood and moved around the table. “May I walk with you?”

  The lady shook her head. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Will you not permit me this one indulgence?” he said, offering a wicked grin.

  A faint smile touched her lips. “I think I have indulged you enough this evening, Mr Lockhart.”

  He captured her hand and bowed low. It crossed his mind to inform her that he was a man with an insatiable appetite, but he simply said, “Then I bid you good night, Miss Darling. I look forward to seeing what delights you have to offer tomorrow evening.”

  “Delights?” She snatched her hand back.

  “Will it be pheasant or might I hope for goose?”

  Her cheeks coloured. “If you hope for goose, you will be sorely disappointed.”

  An odd feeling settled in his chest upon noting her mild embarrassment. The urge to drop a purse full of coins into her palm proved overwhelming. A woman so humble might struggle to convey the bearing of an affluent aristocrat. How would she fare living in the luxury afforded a man of his wealth?

  Dariell assisted Emily Darling to the door. He promised to call at the house the next day and discuss the arrangements for her first lesson. After returning the lady to the care of her sister, he bid them both a good evening, watched them walk away and then closed the door.

  Neither man spoke as they cleared away the plates, ready for the footman who came to collect them every evening. It was not until Dariell had stoked the fire and they settled into their chairs that Lockhart broached the subject of Emily Darling.

  “That’s the first time I’ve seen you take a genuine interest in a woman,” Lockhart said.

  Dariell saw no merit in meaningless liaisons. So what was it about Emily Darling he found intriguing?

  “I am interested in anyone with a pure heart and kind soul.”

  Lockhart snorted. “Then why the hell are you friends with me?”

  Amusement flashed in Dariell’s dark eyes. “For the reasons I have just mentioned. You are an honest man still trying to find the right path.”

  “Your interests in Miss Emily run deeper than appreciating her character,” Lockhart said, eager to steer the conversation away from his own failings.

  “Perhaps.”

  “It does not bother you that the lady is blind?”

  “Why would it when she can see better than those with the gift of sight?”

  Dariell had a point. Some people spent a lifetime unable to see the beauty of their surroundings, unable to appreciate the love radiating from their children’s innocent faces. Some parents failed to see their child’s strengths and only focused on their weaknesses.

  Lockhart stared at the fire’s amber flames.

  The empty feeling returned—a crippling hopelessness a man ought not dwell on. Except for his friends, Lockhart was alone in the world. He doubted his family would welcome him with open arms like the prodigal son.

  “You are thinking of your return home,” Dariell said. It was a statement, not a question.

  “Is it home anymore? I am not so sure.”

  “Home, it is anywhere love resides. You have friends who care for you there.”

  His friends—Greystone, Drake and Valentine—were like brothers. Now they were all married, and he would embrace their wives as his sisters.

  “You have always been a good friend, Dariell.” Damn. Thoughts of home brought various emotions to the fore.

  “Then as your good friend, I ask that you accept my counsel regarding the matter of your wife.” Dariell sat forward. “With Miss Darling at your side, success shall be yours.”

  During the years Lockhart had known the Frenchman, he’d had a gift for predicting the outcome of events, a gift for seeing each man’s destined path. If Dariell believed in Miss Darling, who was he to argue?

  “You have not been wrong yet.”

  “Trust me. Miss Darling, she is a perfect choice.”

  Lockhart sighed.

  The actress would have indulged in after-dark activities. A romp beneath the bedsheets might have made the whole process less tiresome. That said, perhaps it was easier to sleep next to a virgin. With no hope of settling between Miss Darling’s soft thighs, he could focus on the grim task ahead.

  “Well?” Dariell persisted. “Will you approach Miss Darling with a proposition?”

  “What choice do I have?”

  “None.” Dariell chuckled.

  “Then tonight, I shall visit the manor and make Miss Darling a scandalous offer.”

  No doubt one the lady would refuse.

  Chapter Two

  “Must you walk so quickly?” Emily panted as they marched back to the house. “No matter how hard you try, you’ll not escape the biting wind.”

  “It’s not the wind I am trying to escape.” Claudia slowed her pace before her sister tripped and stumbled. It was the dark, brooding gentleman staying in the cottage that caused a fluttering panic in her chest.

  “Each night, we creep to the cottage as if a wolf lives there.” Emily’s breathing settled to a steadier pace. “Each night, we leave as if the creature might pounce from behind a tree and tear our flesh from our bones.”

  Claudia could not dispute Emily’s claim. In her defence, Mr Lockhart looked eager to sink his teeth into someone’s pulsing vein. “Is it not right to be nervous when visiting an unmarried gentleman?”

  One could not deny Mr Lockhart had a hypnotic charm. Claudia had made the mistake of staring into those chestnut-brown eyes, had made the mistake of noting the gold flecks that glowed whenever his voice turned smooth and suggestive. As a woman with no hope or opportunity of ever dabbling in affairs of the heart, she might easily fall under his seductive spell.

  “And yet tonight your fear stems from more than the man’s marital status.” Having lost her sight at the age of ten due to an illness, Emily had learnt to hone her other senses. Consequently, it was as if she could read Claudia’s mind.

  “I am not afraid of Mr Lockhart.”

  “You’re afraid to like him,” Emily countered. “I can hear the hesitance in your voice when you’re in his company.”

  “We know nothing about the gentleman”—and she used the term loosely for there was an air of sinful wickedness about his countenance—“other than he has spent the last five years living abroad.”

  Mr Lockhart might be a master criminal. A thief! A murderer!

  Why else was he hiding in a cottage in the Hertfordshire countryside?

  It was easier to think the worst. Only in fairy tales did a handsome knight arrive to rescue a damsel in distress. Distressed and desperate certainly described her current predicament. Beneath Mr Thorncroft’s polite facade lay a savage brute. Of that she was certain. The mild threats would soon escalate when she failed to settle the debt. And while Mr Lockhart paid handsomely to rent a run-down cottage, it was not enough to keep the real wolf from their door.

  “Anyone who has such a kind and considerate friend as Monsieur Dariell must have a good and honest heart,” Emily said in the dreamy tone of one suffering from a mild infatuation.

  “Perhaps.”

  Monsieur Dariell was the most pleasant man Claudia had ever met. He seemed wise beyond his years. Not once had he looked upon Emily with pity but treated her as a woman without a debilitating affliction.

  “Describe him again,” Emily said as they approached the small portico supported by two Doric columns, the entrance to their modest-sized manor house.

  “Well, he has soft full lips and wavy black hair that f
alls rakishly over his brow.” A chuckle burst from Claudia’s mouth in a stream of white mist. “He has a strong physique and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes whilst still looking scholarly.”

  Emily squeezed Claudia’s arm and laughed, too. “I am not talking about Mr Lockhart.”

  “I know you’re not, but one cannot help but admire such a virile male specimen.” And the man had a smile that turned her insides to blancmange.

  “Are Monsieur Dariell’s eyes as kind as his voice?” Emily persisted. “I imagine they are.”

  “They are indeed. Every mannerism conveys depth of character. And yet despite being slight of frame, he possesses a physical strength beyond that which I have seen before.”

  On one of her daily walks with Emily, Claudia had witnessed Monsieur Dariell and Mr Lockhart out in the field practising some strange form of combat.

  “What’s his most striking feature, do you think?”

  That was an easy question, one Emily has asked before, but Claudia humoured her all the same. “I would say his hair. It’s as black as ebony and tied back in a queue.”

  A satisfied smile illuminated Emily’s face.

  They entered the house and made their way to the drawing room. A healthy fire blazed in the grate, candles flickered in the lamps. The welcoming sight was enough to chase the chill from their bones. Mrs Bitton had placed two small glasses of sherry on the side table ready for their return, and so they sank into their usual seats to reflect on the night’s event.

  “How do you truly feel about Monsieur Dariell teaching me to dance?” Emily clutched her glass between her palms and took a sip of sherry. “Do you think it’s foolish?”

  Claudia could not lie, but she did not wish to ruin a moment of happiness. “I think it is a wonderful idea, but it will take time and perseverance. No doubt Monsieur Dariell is a patient teacher.”

  Emily sighed as she gazed at the fire. “To glide once around the floor in the arms of a gentleman would be a dream come true.”

  “It would,” Claudia said, sharing in her sister’s fantasy.

  They sat in silence for a brief time. Doubtless, Emily imagined a magical moment on the dance floor, while Claudia’s thoughts turned frosty as she anticipated Mr Thorncroft’s arrival the next morning. The man wanted money or her hand in marriage. She could give him neither.

  “Would you mind if I went to bed?” Emily said, stifling a yawn.

  “Of course not.” Claudia rose to her feet. Perhaps Emily wanted to dream of Monsieur Dariell without disruption. “Let me help you. Let me escort you to the first-floor landing.”

  Emily stood, too. Gripping her glass with one hand, she batted the air with the other while searching for the side table. Claudia longed to offer assistance, but Emily craved independence.

  After placing her glass down, Emily held out her arms and drew Claudia into their usual nightly embrace. “Very well. But then you must let me find my own way.”

  “Agreed.”

  Emily held Claudia’s arm as they left the drawing room and mounted the dimly lit staircase. Once safely clear of the top step, Emily tugged her arm free and whispered, “Pleasant dreams.”

  Claudia lingered in the gloom and watched her sister edge her way along the wall as she navigated the corridor.

  When Emily entered her bedchamber, and the house plunged into silence once more, Claudia returned to the drawing room and quickly downed another two glasses of sherry. Liquor was said to help people forget their problems. She slipped off her boots and stockings and stretched out on the sofa before the fire. In the morning she had the farrier’s bill to pay. Mrs Bitton had requested the funds to settle their account with the tea dealer, she had to approve the grocery order, and the footmen needed new shirts.

  But the stress of household business was not the reason nausea roiled in her stomach. No, while Emily lay in a snug bed and pondered the prospect of dancing the waltz, Claudia closed her eyes and contemplated her fate. The thought of meeting Mr Thorncroft tomorrow filled her with dread. The man was a vile letch looking for any excuse to trap her into marriage. She could only keep him at bay for so long.

  Who knew when he would tire of her excuses?

  Who knew when the blackguard would strike?

  * * *

  Mr Lockhart had entered the drawing room. Claudia could not see him through the misty veil of her dream, but that did not mean he wasn’t there. The smell of his cologne filled her head—oriental rose infused with incense and the warm woody notes that gave the scent its masculine depth.

  She felt the soft touch of his fingers trace the line of her jaw. Heat warmed her chest, the exciting sensation moving in a southerly direction as she imagined him climbing on top of her on the worn sofa in front of the fire.

  The first thread of consciousness came when she heard her own soft hum of pleasure. The faint whiff of brandy and wine reached her then, dragging her out of her trance. A large hand took hold of her bare foot, forcing her to open her eyes and sit bolt upright.

  A shriek caught in her throat as she noted the handsome gentleman staring at her from a kneeling position on the Persian rug.

  “Mr Lockhart!”

  Claudia rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms, convinced she was still dreaming.

  “Do not call out,” he whispered. “I come merely to discuss a matter of some importance. A private matter spoken only in the strictest confidence.”

  Claudia’s head spun—probably because she had drunk far too much sherry in an effort to banish thoughts of Mr Thorncroft’s visit.

  “How did you get in here?” She snatched her bare foot from his grasp and scrambled to tuck her legs beneath her skirts. But not before Mr Lockhart had taken an admiring peek at her ankles.

  “The front door was open. I simply turned the knob and walked in. After noting the light spilling out beneath the door, I thought to try in here first.”

  Claudia gulped. She tried to look him in the eye but failed. “And if there had been no light, what would you have done then?” Would he have crept upstairs and into her bedchamber?

  Mr Lockhart brushed a hand through the tantalising lock of hair falling over his brow. “I would have stolen up to your room,” he said in the soothing voice that made the hairs on her nape prickle, “slipped inside and spoken to you there.”

  It seems she had the measure of this man though she had to admire his honesty. During his time at Falaura Glen, he’d had many opportunities to take liberties. The fact he had always been above reproach meant she had to trust his word now.

  Claudia gathered her courage and shuffled to sit straight, though he remained in a submissive position.

  “What is so important, sir, that you would enter my home uninvited?”

  A sudden panic rushed through her chest. Had he come to withdraw Monsieur Dariell’s offer to tutor Emily? Oh, she would have to drop to her knees, too, and beg him to reconsider.

  A dark, solemn look swept over his features as his arrogant facade faltered. For a moment, she saw pain and torment in his eyes. “I come to you on a matter of life and death.”

  The words carried a menacing undertone. Good Lord, surely he was teasing.

  “That is a rather dramatic statement, sir.”

  “Nonetheless, it is the truth. My life is in danger, Miss Darling.”

  “In danger?” Claudia clutched her hands to her breast. She glanced at the window with some trepidation. Was that why a man with his intelligence and aesthetic appeal had locked himself away in a cottage?

  Mr Lockhart inclined his head, his expression grave. “I come tonight to beg for your assistance.”

  Beg? She doubted a man with his charm had ever begged for anything in his life.

  Intrigued, she asked, “You wish to remain in the cottage for an indefinite period?” Heavens above, perhaps this gentleman was the answer to her prayers. With a regular income, she could meet Mr Thorncroft’s demands.

  The deep furrow between his brows dashed her hopes. “I must re
turn to London within the week.”

  Return to London?

  Disappointment sank to the pit of her stomach like a brick in a water barrel. “You agreed to a two-month tenancy.”

  Would Monsieur Dariell be leaving, too?

  “And I shall more than compensate you for my need to vacate the premises.”

  Claudia could not hide her despair.

  “Do not look so downhearted, Miss Darling,” he continued in the flirtatious voice she found unnerving. “I have a proposition that may be to your benefit. I can see how much you enjoy my company and I would never abandon a friend in need.”

  They were far from friends, barely even acquaintances, and yet the thought of him leaving Falaura Glen created an unexpected anxiety that stemmed from more than her need for money.

  Keen to dismiss the feeling as foolish, she forced herself to meet his gaze. “You have certainly piqued my curiosity.”

  “I possess a certain skill for rousing a lady’s interest.”

  Good Lord! Was this an attempt at seduction?

  Did he think to bed the mistress of the manor before taking his leave?

  “You will find I am unlike other women, Mr Lockhart.” It was a small lie, but he was not to know. “Feigned words of affection are unlikely to provoke a reaction. Speak plainly. Tell me what you’re doing here. Tell me what you want.”

  The rogue smiled. His tongue swept over his kissable lips, and she resisted the urge to moisten her own mouth. “To be blunt, Miss Darling, I want you.”

  “Me!”

  Saints preserve her!

  What on earth did he mean?

  Claudia struggled to catch her breath as her pulse pounded in the base of her throat. The smell of Mr Lockhart’s cologne swirled in her head, making her dizzy. The mischievous glint in his eye made her hands tremble with excitement, not fear.

  The man was far too close for comfort. Claudia flicked her fingers towards the fireside chair. “Sit down, Mr Lockhart. How can I concentrate when you’re crawling about on bended knees like a grateful peasant?”

  The gentleman inclined his head. When he stood, he seemed so tall, so broad and large. His thighs were eye level, and she could not help but steal a furtive glance at the solid muscles filling his breeches.