by Clee, Adele
He dropped into the chair with the languid grace born of an aristocrat. The smug grin playing on his lips spoke of arrogance, of the satisfaction gleaned from knowing he had unsettled her composure.
As difficult as it was to remain indifferent, she refused to fall under his spell.
“There seems to be a miscommunication, sir. Regardless of your intentions, I am not any man’s possession.” And she would say the same to Mr Thorncroft first thing in the morning.
Mr Lockhart steepled his fingers as he watched her with an intensity that almost made her drop her gaze. She didn’t. For some reason, she felt empowered. He needed something from her, and she couldn’t help but feel flattered.
“I will not lie. The thought of possessing your mind and body, Miss Darling, has a strange appeal.”
So the wolf had decided to make an appearance.
Not wishing to flounder under the heat of his stare, she said, “Of course it does. What else would one expect from a scoundrel?”
He laughed. “Scoundrels lie and deceive. Scoundrels use and abuse. I come to you with honesty, with the truth that I would not be a warm-blooded male if I did not fantasise about taking you to bed.”
Claudia’s cheeks flamed. No doubt they were a bright shade of crimson. Try as she might to hide her naivety, something always gave her away.
“Finding a bed partner is not considered a life and death situation. And I am no man’s mistress, sir, so you can be on your way.”
Her sharp tone failed to wipe the smirk from his face. “No, I never once thought that you were.” He sat forward. “What I want is for you to come with me to London. What I want is for you to live with me. Sleep with me. Pretend to be my wife.”
Stunned did not even begin to describe her reaction to his shocking declaration. Had she been standing, her knees would have buckled and she would have ended up a crumpled heap on the floor.
“I beg your pardon,” she managed to say because clearly she had misheard.
He exhaled deeply, held his tongue while he scanned her with a scrutiny that sent a shiver from her neck to her navel. “My family believes I murdered a man,” he eventually said, though she wished he’d remained silent. “Someone wanted rid of me and so framed me for a murder I did not commit. I must go home and confront the demons of my past, Miss Darling. Proving my innocence is my priority.”
“I—I see.”
What else could one say when hit with such a terrifying revelation?
An awkward silence descended, the sound broken only by the crackle of the fire’s flames.
“I am innocent of any crime,” Mr Lockhart persisted. “You have no need to fear me.”
She hardly knew him. And while he looked strong enough to beat the life from a man, she doubted he had the heart to do so unprovoked. But what did proving his innocence have to do with needing a wife?
“No,” she whispered. “I am not afraid of you, Mr Lockhart.” He did make her nervous but not for the reason he might think.
You’re afraid to like him.
A relieved sigh left his lips and his gaze softened. “Then you give me hope, Miss Darling. Hope that I have never dared dream of before.”
The fact she wasn’t afraid did not mean he wasn’t dangerous. Mr Lockhart knew what to say to elicit the desired response. A man with his charm might easily convince a woman she was in love.
Live with me. Sleep with me. Pretend to be my wife.
The words echoed in her mind like a siren’s song luring her with the prospect of excitement and pleasure. Every reader of mythology knew that to follow such a bewitching call brought nothing but disaster.
“None of what you have said explains the reason you’re here, sir. Why do you want someone to pretend to be your wife? And what makes you think I would be remotely interested in the role?”
Mr Lockhart lounged back in the chair, his rakish smile returning. “Do you not crave adventure? We would reside in a townhouse in Mayfair, attend balls, soirees, the theatre.”
“The lavish pursuits of the aristocracy do not interest me.”
“I will pay handsomely for your assistance. A thousand pounds for one week out of your busy schedule.”
A thousand pounds!
She almost slid off the sofa.
The gentleman had more money than sense.
A vision of her slapping the banknotes into Mr Thorncroft’s outstretched palm flashed into her mind. She would not bandy words when she told him never to darken her door again.
“You have not answered my question, sir.” Claudia sensed his reluctance to offer a more detailed explanation. His answer might make the notion of earning a thousand pounds less tempting. “Why do you need a wife?”
“Who else can a man trust if not his own wife?”
“Stop being evasive. And you’re not asking me to be your wife. You’re asking me to take part in a deception.”
He stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. “As always, Miss Darling, your directness leaves me no option but to answer, though I fear I do so at the detriment of my persuasive argument.”
“Then as a man who believes he has been duped, sir, I am sure you understand the need for honesty.”
“Indeed.” He inclined his head respectfully, though the rakish lock fell over his brow, distracting her momentarily. “I am afraid I suffer from a gentleman’s curse, Miss Darling.”
“A gentleman’s curse?” Was there such a thing?
“I suspect the traitor—the man responsible for my situation—is a member of my own family. Money, land and enriching one’s bloodline are but a few reasons why someone might want to see me hang from the gallows. Envy, greed and pride flourish amongst the ranks of the landed gentry.”
Such vices were apparent in those who wished to advance their position—Mr Thorncroft being a prime example.
“Allow me to offer my condolences,” she said. Family were supposed to be the ones a person turned to in times of need. “It saddens me to think you speak the truth.”
There was a sudden change in his bearing. He straightened, gritted his teeth and said, “I cannot forgive them, any of them.” Bitterness dripped from every word. “I cannot forgive the one who stabbed me in the back, nor those who stood by idly, those who failed to come to my aid.”
No, that much was evident.
“But why do you want your family to think you’re married?” As soon as she’d spoken, a plausible reason entered her head. “Ah, I see. A gentleman’s curse passes to his male offspring. What is yours would one day belong to your son. Should the motive be money, getting rid of you would not serve the villain’s evil end.”
Mr Lockhart arched a brow but did not confirm or deny her theory. “I mean to lure the devil out. But to do so, I must lay a trap.”
“And you intend to use me as bait?”
Regardless of whether the money would bring an end to her troubles or not, Claudia could not accept such a ridiculous proposition. Even if—in a moment of fancy—she might like a change of scenery, might like to sit in a plush box at the theatre and watch a play, she could not leave Emily.
Mr Lockhart rose to his feet. “A decision made now would be a decision made in haste. Take a little time to contemplate my offer. Let me have your answer tomorrow.”
Claudia did not need time to think. There could be but one answer to such a shocking proposal and that was no.
“Very well,” she said, paying him the courtesy of agreeing to his request. “I shall call on you at the cottage tomorrow.”
He lingered. Stared. Not once did he divert his gaze. “Until tomorrow, Miss Darling,” he eventually said before turning on his heels and striding towards the door.
“Wait!” The command burst from her lips. The nagging question in her mind would have an answer it seemed. “What makes you think I am up to the task of aiding you in your quest for justice?”
The corners of his mouth twitched as he glanced back over his shoulder. “Honesty is a rare trait. You have it i
n abundance.”
Was that it?
She could not help but be a little disappointed. Could he not have said he liked her, that she possessed a refined grace, a radiant beauty that made her an ideal candidate? Could he not have said that her strength of heart and courage appealed to him, too?
“Will your family not wonder why you did not write to them and inform them of your marriage?”
“Why would they?” He shrugged. “My family think I’m dead.”
Chapter Three
The mantel clock struck ten. No sooner had the last chime rung through the drawing room than the clip of Mr Thorncroft’s boots echoed in the hall. The man was prompt. No doubt he had been up at dawn planning how his day of wickedness might end.
Claudia sat in the chair, her eyes fixed on the door, repeating her refusal over and over until confident she had the wherewithal to recite it aloud.
The door creaked open, and Dickinson appeared. “Mr Thorncroft to see you, ma’am.”
“Show him in, Dickinson.”
A hard lump formed in Claudia’s throat as she anticipated locking gazes with the arrogant braggart. The man had the beady eyes of a bird of prey—cold, sharp, eagerly calculating the moment to strike.
Mr Thorncroft marched into the room, the end of his walking cane hitting the floor as if it were a third foot. He did not smile when he bowed. His small mouth and thin lips formed the usual grim expression.
“Miss Darling, I’m thankful you could receive me.”
“I am not a lady who goes back on her word.” Besides, he had left her with no choice. “As this is not a social call, sir, perhaps you should sit so we may discuss our business.”
Mr Thorncroft stared down his long, pointed nose. Perhaps he wanted her to pander to his whims, to fall at his feet, grateful he had offered another means to repay the debt.
“Business is better discussed while taking refreshment.”
Refreshment? She wanted to make her point quickly not partake in idle chatter.
“Then Dickinson will bring tea, though I shall not be joining you.”
Whilst lying awake in bed during the early hours, trying to banish all thoughts of Mr Lockhart’s exciting proposal, Claudia decided it was time Mr Thorncroft heard the truth. She would not continue to feed his delusions of grandeur.
“Please sit, sir.” She gestured to the chair opposite.
After a moment’s pause, he thrust his cane at Dickinson, flicked out his coattails and dropped into the seat.
Claudia wasted no time. The sooner this man was out of her house, the better.
“Well, Mr Thorncroft, I trust you have taken the time to consider the offer you made at our last meeting. Marriage is a serious affair, a union not to be taken lightly.”
Unless a man wanted to prove himself innocent of murder.
“Borrowing money with no intention of repaying the debt is a serious affair, Miss Darling.” His hollow cheeks conveyed his disapproval. “I cannot imagine what your father was thinking.”
Neither could she.
Richard Darling was too proud to take a loan. He cared too much for his daughters to leave them in such a precarious predicament, especially when his passing meant their finances were significantly reduced. The entailed property in Berkshire had passed to a distant relative, so too had the modest yearly income. He had purchased Falaura Glen in its current state a year before her mother died, and they had remained there ever since.
“If only there were receipts to show what my father did with the money,” she said.
How odd that no one knew anything of his lavish expenditure and yet Mr Thorncroft had the papers to prove his claim.
Mr Thorncroft’s head fell slowly forward as he sharpened his gaze. “I might offer an explanation, but it is not for the ears of a gently bred lady, my dear.”
Insulted, for how dare he imply that her father was anything other than an honest and moral gentleman, she said, “I do not care for your sordid implications, sir.” Her hands trembled as every fibre in her body wanted to kick this scoundrel down the length of the drive. “And it is wrong to cast aspersions on the character of a man who is no longer here to defend his position.”
Rather than appear affronted by her sudden outburst, Mr Thorncroft managed a faint smile.
“Your loyalty to your kin does you credit, Miss Darling. Any man would be grateful to have such a faithful and honest wife at his side.”
“So I am told.”
Mr Lockhart had said a similar thing, too. Not that she wanted to appear shallow, but she would like to think she had other attributes besides a desire to speak her mind.
A mild look of panic passed briefly over Mr Thorncroft’s features. “You have had an offer from another gentleman in the parish?”
Perhaps she would give this toad a reason for concern. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I have.” Remembering Mr Lockhart’s need for secrecy, she added, “Though, as I told the gentleman in question, I have no intention of marrying.”
A timely knock on the door brought Mrs Bitton with the tea tray. The fact she had not sent a footman said more about the housekeeper’s protective nature than their current staff shortage.
Silence descended as Mrs Bitton placed the tray on the stand beside Claudia’s chair and poured for the gentleman. Numerous times she cast a scowl at Mr Thorncroft whenever he diverted his attention. When she left the room, she wedged the door open.
“Who is he?” Mr Thorncroft said as soon as they were alone. He did not give her a chance to answer—not that she would have broken a confidence—before saying, “Your only hope of being rid of the debt is to marry me. I thought I had made that clear.”
“Tea?” Claudia gripped the saucer and offered Mr Thorncroft the beverage.
He took hold of it, but the rattle of the china cup showed his annoyance. After gulping the hot drink down until he’d drained every drop, he stood and returned the china to the tea tray.
“Just in case there should be any doubt as to my claim,” he said, delving into the inside pocket of his coat and removing a folded note, “the magistrate has assessed my case and agrees you must pay the debt forthwith.”
He thrust the note at her, and she took it in the hope he would return to his seat. It was difficult enough sitting opposite the man without him hovering over her like the crow of death ready to peck her eyes from their sockets.
When he failed to move, Claudia gestured to the chair opposite until he obliged.
She peeled back the crisp folds, observed the signature of the man acting for the Crown but who took bribes when his wife overindulged on her frequent trips to town.
“And Mr Hollingsworth based his decision solely on a piece of paper that bears my father’s signature?”
“It is a legally binding document.” Mr Thorncroft stared in the menacing way that made every hair on her body stand to attention. “The magistrate agrees and will assign the case to the assizes should you fail to repay the debt. It clearly says that should death occur I may recover the sum from the deceased’s estate.”
Claudia scanned the document written in Mr Thorncroft’s hand. There were no signs of tampering. The writing was fluid and even. At the bottom, her father’s signature acted as the damning mark.
Perhaps it was the need to get rid of this devil that brought Mr Lockhart’s proposal to the forefront of her mind. Perhaps it was the thrill of a challenge that caused excitement to flutter whenever she thought about the role he wanted her to play. One thing was certain. She would rather spend a week with Mr Lockhart than a lifetime with Mr Thorncroft.
A thousand pounds for one week out of your busy schedule.
The debt was fifteen hundred pounds.
Mr Lockhart seemed desperate enough to pay more.
But Claudia couldn’t leave her sister. How would Emily cope in her absence? Then another idea took root. Would Mr Lockhart consider taking Emily with them?
The options bounded back and forth in her head until Mr Thorncroft cast an
arrogant grin and said, “It is time you accepted your fate, Miss Darling. Agree to be my wife, and I shall wipe the debt.”
Nothing in the world would make her believe she was destined to marry this conceited fool. Had the man a conscience, one might think he had been awake half the night consumed with guilt for his misdeeds. But the dark shadows beneath his eyes were a permanent feature.
“I shall make a pact with you, Mr Thorncroft,” she said, desperate to get rid of him for she could not bear the sight of his vanity a moment longer. “Permit me one week. One week to pay the debt. Should I fail in the task, I will agree to be your wife. Together we will visit Mr Hollingsworth where he will witness our agreement. However, I require my own signed copy of the document.”
She would be damned before she’d trust either of the fools. Something strange was afoot. She just couldn’t prove it.
Mr Thorncroft sat in silence.
“Well? Are you in agreement, sir?”
“Where do you propose to find fifteen hundred pounds in a week,” he eventually said, “when you have failed to pay the debt these last twelve months?”
“That is my affair.”
The final word sent a tingle down the length of her spine. Mr Lockhart had mentioned sharing his bed. Surely that was only for appearance’s sake. Surely he did not expect to take liberties for his thousand pounds.
Mr Thorncroft narrowed his gaze in suspicion. “And if I refuse?”
It would mean selling the house, moving to a small cottage, but such things took time. She could sell furniture, paintings, perhaps raise enough to satisfy the gentleman.
“I could never marry a man who lacked an ounce of Christian charity.”
Mr Thorncroft’s expression remained sombre. He pursed his thin lips. “Very well. I shall give you one week to pay the debt in full. I shall return home and draw up a contract, and we will visit the magistrate today.”
“Agreed.” Claudia came to her feet. There was nothing more to say, and she needed a nip of sherry to quell her nerves.