by Clee, Adele
As a gentleman, Mr Thorncroft had no option but to stand, too. He bowed, appeared eager to be on his way. One could not pledge their soul to the devil without making their mark, and Mr Thorncroft would want to see her name scrawled in blood.
“I shall return in due course to convey you to Meadowbrook.”
Claudia offered a weak smile. “Then you will not object if my sister accompanies us.” Emily would act as her chaperone should Mr Thorncroft have dishonest intentions.
That meant she would have to reveal the full extent of their troubles. She would have to tell Emily the truth if Mr Lockhart agreed she could accompany them to London.
“No,” he huffed. “I have no objection.”
“My sister must be part of the arrangement, as I intend to care for her always. Any man who wishes to be my husband must accept that Emily will live with us.”
A muscle in the man’s cheek twitched. He gave a half smile though his eyes remained as cold as the morning frost coating the blades of grass. “You want that written into our agreement?”
“I do.”
He muttered beneath his breath, inclined his head and promised to return. Without another word, he swung around and marched from the room. She heard him snipe at Dickinson for some petty misdemeanour before the front door opened and closed.
Claudia dropped into the chair, her knees about to buckle under the strain of her predicament. So much for a nip of sherry. She contemplated downing the contents of the decanter.
The day would prove long and taxing. A frank talk with Emily was long overdue, and the thought of a twenty-minute carriage ride to Meadowbrook filled her with dread. Once she’d given her oath—and ensured she had a witness to the fact that payment of the debt brought an end to the matter—she would descend on Mr Lockhart, ready to make a bargain.
“I heard Mr Thorncroft leave.” Emily’s voice dragged Claudia from her reverie.
“He has an important errand to run,” Claudia replied, looking up to find her sister hugging the doorframe. “How long have you been there?”
“Long enough to snoop.” Emily straightened and entered the room.
For weeks, ever since Mr Lockhart and Monsieur Dariell arrived at Falaura Glen, Emily had been practising walking unaided. She had memorised the number of steps required to reach the sofa.
“Long enough to hear of the debt that brings the man to our door most weeks,” Emily added. She reached out, found the arm of the sofa and edged around before taking a seat. “Why did you not tell me he is trying to force you to marry?”
There was no right way of answering. It had been wrong to keep secrets. Despite wanting to protect Emily from the truth, Claudia had done her sister a disservice.
“I didn’t want you to worry.”
Emily’s life was hard without wicked men like Mr Thorncroft causing mischief.
“Just because I cannot see does not mean I am too weak to share in your troubles.”
Guilt wrapped around Claudia’s heart like a strangling vine. She had sworn an oath to their father, a promise to take care of Emily. “I do not think you weak at all. You’re the strongest, most courageous woman I know.”
Emily smiled but the expression soon faded. “Surely you don’t believe Father incurred such a huge debt? He was always so frugal. Ever since Mother made him buy this house, he had to be mindful of his expenditure.”
Claudia didn’t know what to believe. “Mr Thorncroft has the papers to prove his claim. The magistrate agrees that the signature belongs to Father, and I am of the same view.” She had studied it in some detail through the lens of her magnifying glass.
Emily gripped the arm of the sofa. “Then all is lost. Despite what Mother wanted, we must sell the house and get rid of Mr Thorncroft for good.”
Upon first glance of the quaint manor house during one of their weekend excursions, her mother had insisted her father purchase the property. Anna Darling often acted on impulse. She believed the house held the key to her family’s destiny, said she felt the truth of it deep in her bones. And so they had moved from Berkshire to Hertfordshire and leased the entailed property. Twelve months later, her mother perished from a fever.
“You know Mother and her whims,” Claudia said.
“I’m not sure they were whims. Monsieur Dariell said that the truth of all things lies in the heart, not the head. She loved it here. We love it here. But needs must.”
Claudia fell silent.
She was so lost in the myriad of thoughts filling her head she could no longer hear the whispers of her heart.
“There is another option,” Claudia said, knowing Emily would catch the hint of trepidation in her voice.
Emily jumped to her feet but kept her balance. “You are not marrying Mr Thorncroft. I would rather beg on the streets than know you must suffer his company daily.”
It was not his daily company but his nightly company that made the thought unbearable.
“Marrying Mr Thorncroft is not an option I am willing to consider. But Mr Lockhart came to visit last night and made me a rather lucrative offer.”
Open-mouthed, Emily flopped down into the seat. “Mr Lockhart wants to marry you. Why did you not say so before? I am not surprised. There is something in his voice that is different when he speaks to you.”
The bubbling excitement returned to plague Claudia’s stomach. Oh, it was ridiculous. “He has not offered marriage but is willing to pay for my assistance.”
Claudia told Emily the details of her conversation with the enigmatic Mr Lockhart.
“A thousand pounds?” Emily exhaled. “If we sold Mother’s jewellery and a few paintings, we would have enough to pay Mr Thorncroft.”
“Precisely.” That had to be the priority now.
After a brief silence, Emily said, “But we know nothing about Mr Lockhart. You would be risking everything if you helped in this deception.”
True.
But when given limited options, did one choose the fallen angel or the evil devil?
“He has friends in high places—a lord, a viscount. And Monsieur Dariell is a man above reproach.”
A smile brightened Emily’s face. “Yes, he is.”
“Besides, I’ve never been to London, to a ball or the theatre. With so many engagements the week will pass quickly. You could come, too.”
“Me? Oh, no! I couldn’t.” Emily remained rigid in the seat. “I am just learning to navigate my way around here on my own. It has taken months to pluck up the courage.”
Being an overprotective father, Richard Darling had insisted Emily have a chaperone at all times. Under his watchful eye, Emily believed herself inadequate, an invalid incapable of doing anything unaided. Now, she was making progress, and the prospect of learning to dance was a feat Claudia never thought possible.
“I cannot leave you here alone.” Claudia winced. She hated being the one to put doubt back into her sister’s mind.
“But I won’t be alone. Mrs Bitton and Dickinson and the other servants are here. And Monsieur Dariell is not leaving else he would not have made arrangements to teach me to dance.”
Emily had such confidence in the Frenchman’s integrity it touched Claudia’s heart. She didn’t want to be the one to dash Emily’s hopes and dreams, but it would be better for them both if she came to London, too.
“I shall speak to Mr Lockhart when we take him his supper later this evening.”
“He may not wish to speak honestly if I am there. I shall invite Monsieur Dariell to take supper here, and you may dine with Mr Lockhart.”
Claudia’s nervous gulp reached her sister’s sharp ears.
“If you’re contemplating spending a week with him in London, you must learn to like him,” Emily continued with some amusement.
Learning to like Mr Lockhart wouldn’t be a problem. Learning to forget about him when the week was up would prove infinitely more difficult. But she could not think of that now. Nor could she think about her reputation. Was it not better to spend her days
a scandalous spinster than the wife of the most abhorrent man ever to make her acquaintance?
Besides, she would do anything to ensure Emily always had a home at Falaura Glen.
One week was hardly a sacrifice. She could spend one week with a handsome scoundrel if it meant bringing an end to her troubles. What harm could it do?
Chapter Four
The night was cold. A biting wind nipped at Claudia’s cheeks as she walked down the drive leading to the thatched cottage. The heat from the pot of rabbit stew she carried seeped through the thick blanket protecting her hands.
Emily had sent a note to Monsieur Dariell asking him to dine at the manor. Having accepted the offer, the Frenchman had passed Claudia trudging along the path. Refusing his offer of help, she had merely smiled to hide the sudden rush of trepidation that took hold whenever she thought about being alone with Mr Lockhart.
When she arrived at the cottage, the gentleman in question was standing outside propped against the door, staring up at the inky sky. A scattering of stars drew his gaze in numerous directions. Moonlight illuminated his striking profile. Never had she seen a man with such a strong jaw.
It wasn’t his tall, athletic form that forced her to catch her breath, nor his captivating countenance. It was the look of wonder in his eyes as he stared at the heavens. The yearning returned, the tug deep in her core. A lady might live a lifetime and never have a man admire her like that.
When Mr Lockhart noticed her, he straightened. The mask of a sinner fell back into place. With a wicked grin capable of rendering the most experienced courtesan helpless, he sauntered towards her and took hold of the pot.
Nerves threatened to leave her speechless.
How was it she could deal with a rogue like Mr Thorncroft but crumpled beneath the weight of Mr Lockhart’s stare?
“You look cold,” he said in the smooth way that hinted at amusement. “Come inside. Let me take your cloak, and you can warm yourself by the fire.”
How was it he made a kind gesture sound like a rake’s seductive repartee?
“Thank you,” she managed to say without her teeth chattering. “I can barely feel my toes.”
“I am more than happy to massage your feet if it will help to get the blood pumping.”
Claudia swallowed. “That won’t be necessary.” Never had a man spoken to her so intimately.
Mr Lockhart smiled, proof he was teasing her. “Come. Lead the way, Miss Darling. My stomach is growling like an angry bear.”
No doubt such a virile gentleman required more than a measly helping of rabbit stew to feed his muscles. And yet, judging by his trim physique, he was not one to overindulge, either.
Claudia opened the cottage door and stepped back for him to enter. Mr Lockhart placed the pot on the stand in the middle of the table. He had laid two place settings, poured two glasses of red wine. Perhaps he thought to numb her senses in the hope she would accept his ludicrous proposal.
“How is it we’re dining alone?” Mr Lockhart came to stand behind her, his words breezing past her ear as he lowered his head to speak. “Are you pandering to Dariell’s desire for privacy or mine?”
“I said I would call to discuss your proposition.” Claudia held her breath as Mr Lockhart’s hands swept over her shoulders, his fingers pulling the ends of the silk ribbon securing her cloak.
“Then you have given the matter serious thought?”
He was standing so close she almost closed her eyes and leant back against his broad chest. “I have.”
“Good.”
He untied the bow and slipped the cloak off her shoulders. When he stepped away, the gnawing ache inside returned. The gentleman always sent her nerves scattering and yet, truth be told, she welcomed his attention.
“Then let us sit and discuss your decision over supper.” Mr Lockhart hung her cloak on the coat stand near the door and then played the role of footman by pulling out her chair.
“Do you intend to serve me, too?” she said to lighten the mood, for the atmosphere thrummed with intensity.
“If that is what you want.” He paused. “I need you, Miss Darling, and will do whatever it takes to win your favour.”
“You will do anything?” Claudia chuckled as she took a seat.
Mr Lockhart shook out her napkin and draped it across her lap. “Anything to ease your fears, anything to ensure your comfort and mental wellbeing.”
A foolish woman might be flattered, might relish the prospect of having Mr Lockhart at her beck and call. But this was about deception, Claudia reminded herself, and this man knew how to make a woman feel desirable.
“Then sit down, sir, for I cannot concentrate when you loiter.”
When Mr Lockhart dropped into the seat opposite, Claudia wondered if she had been hasty in her instruction. The man had a devilish glint in his eyes that sent her heart fluttering like a host of bewildered butterflies.
Heaven help her.
How could she sleep in his bed when she couldn’t even look him in the eye?
Claudia remained silent in a desperate attempt to gather her wits while Mr Lockhart proved a master with a ladle and filled both their plates without spilling a drop.
“So,” he began after tasting a mouthful of stew and giving a nod of approval, “am I to wait until the end of the evening to hear your answer?”
Claudia placed her cutlery down and dabbed her lips with her napkin.
Look at him, damn it, else he’ll think you weak.
She raised her chin. “I have a few stipulations if I am to accept your proposal.”
“Only a few?” He smiled. “I could think of ten questions a gently bred virgin might ask.”
“Heavens, you’re keen to make assumptions, sir.”
Mr Lockhart arched a brow. “Please. It is a compliment to your character, not a criticism.”
Still, he should not presume to know her. “Perhaps I eloped with a lover, and my father caught up with us before we reached Gretna Green. Perhaps, as mistress of the manor, I have a penchant for stable boys.”
Amusement replaced his initial look of surprise. “Then for once, I wish I was born to the lower ranks and destined to care for horses. There is nothing like a rampant roll in the hay.”
Heat rose to her cheeks.
Oh, she hated how he had the means to unsettle her so easily.
“As long as one has a thick enough blanket,” she replied with affected confidence.
“Indeed.” He raised his glass in salute. “To frolicking in forbidden places.”
Being forced to raise her glass, too, it appeared she agreed. They both sipped their wine, their gazes remaining locked for all of a few seconds.
“Would you care to hear them?” he said as he lowered his glass and ran his tongue over his bottom lip.
“Hear them?”
“The questions you should ask.”
Claudia managed a weak smile. “Certainly.”
He lounged back in the wooden chair. “You should ask how we plan to make others believe we’re in love. You should ask what I wear to bed. If I plan to make love to other women whilst partaking in our little game of deception.”
“Do you?” she suddenly said as jealousy slithered through her veins for his imagined infidelity.
“What? Sleep naked? Of course.”
She quickly dismissed the vision filling her head. “Do you plan to bed other women while playing the doting husband?”
Mr Lockhart straightened, his gaze growing intense as he stared at her across the table. “When in a committed relationship, you shall never meet a more faithful gentleman.”
“You class me assisting you in deception as being in a committed relationship?”
“I’m saying that you will have my undivided attention, Miss Darling. As your husband, legally or not, I shall remain devoted, dutiful in my care and consideration.”
The heat from her cheeks moved in a southerly direction.
How wonderful it must be to hear those words and know a
man meant them.
“And you think people will believe ours is a love match?” she asked, addressing his first point. “It is impossible to feign love.”
An arrogant smirk made him appear devilish. “The look of love and the look of lust are similar.”
“I disagree,” she said, noting the way his gaze dropped to the swell of her breasts. “Love is conveyed through eye contact.” And so she had no hope of being convincing. “Lust involves detailed scrutiny of the whole body.”
Without warning, Mr Lockhart pushed out of the chair.
“Show me.” He snatched his glass and swallowed a mouthful of wine before skirting around the table. “Give me your hand, Miss Darling.”
She should insist he sit down for he was intent on embarrassing her. And yet the defiant woman inside, the one who had found the courage to deal with Mr Thorncroft, wanted to show this man that she could be bold, too.
“I am more than happy to demonstrate my meaning,” she said, placing her hand in his.
With the absence of gloves, the touch of his skin sent her pulse racing. He drew her to her feet and led her to the centre of the room.
“Let us pretend we are at Lady Cotterill’s ball. We have escaped to the terrace, desperate for a minute alone.” He kept a firm hold of her hand. “Music drifts out from the ballroom. Stars twinkle in a clear sky.”
“It sounds beautiful.”
“It is.” The arrogance faded for a moment as he stared at her. “Now show me. Teach me the difference between the look of love and that of lust.”
He spoke as if she were an expert. In truth, she was just a naive girl experienced in fanciful dreams. Still, she closed her eyes briefly and attempted to step into the role. After all, this might be his way of testing her ability to act.
“Which emotion shall I demonstrate first?” she whispered.
“Lust. Show me what lust looks like to you, Miss Darling.”
Pushing aside her embarrassment, and with her eyes still closed, Claudia focused on the warmth of his skin radiating through her palm. She pictured his tongue sweeping over his lips, the muscular thighs bulging against the material of his breeches, recalled the tickle of his hot breath at her nape.