by Clee, Adele
His phrasing reminded her that this had started as a business arrangement. Money sealed the deal. Payment reflected a job well done. But nothing about her time with him felt like a transaction.
Good Lord!
The sudden realisation that she could not take his money stole her breath. Money devalued everything that had occurred between them. Money tainted their love.
Claudia glanced at the diamond and amethyst ring on her finger. She could never part with something so precious.
So where in the devil’s name would she get the money to pay Mr Thorncroft?
“Return to Falaura Glen and deal with your problems,” Hudson said, the richness of his voice pulling her from her reverie. “Know that I will be waiting here for you should you wish to return.”
“There is nothing I want more than to come home to you.” Claudia tried to fight the tears. “Will you do something for me?” she said, choking back a sob.
“I would do anything.”
“Hold me. Let me sleep in your arms tonight.”
She did not need to ask twice.
Hudson gathered her to his chest, stroked her hair, kissed her brow. “Our paths are entwined, our fate shared. We must have faith that life will give us what we need.”
“You sound like Dariell.”
“He’s an intelligent man.” Hudson drew the coverlet up around their shoulders. “I am attempting to use wisdom as a crutch.”
Claudia closed her eyes as she listened to his heartbeat.
She had to trust that this was not goodbye or farewell. She would put her faith in the only thing she believed in—she would put her faith in love.
* * *
The second Lockhart opened his eyes he knew she was gone.
The house was quiet, the bed cold.
A huge hole filled his chest.
Despite fighting against it, the urge to turn his head and glance at her pillow proved overwhelming. The empty space confirmed his worst fears. For a few minutes he strained to listen, hoping to hear the pad of footsteps, hear the giggle that left her lips whenever she whispered secretly with Lissette.
Silence.
This was not how he envisioned things would end.
Then again, nothing about his time with Miss Darling—his darling—had gone according to plan.
He supposed he should dress, check on his father, wait for the doctor. He supposed he should visit Terence, offer his condolences, meet with his mother and revel in the prospect of informing her she’d been duped by a devil. He supposed he should bring some semblance of normality to his disordered life, and yet he could not find the strength to drag his body out of bed.
An hour passed, maybe two or three.
He missed the rhythmical sound of her breathing, missed the soft breeze of her breath on his neck.
Everything about his world felt different, felt wrong.
Anger surfaced.
Goddamn, she hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye. A rush of rage enlivened his spirits. He imagined her creeping into the armoire, emptying his satchel, sneaking off into the night like a thief who had stolen his heart.
The painful organ beating in his chest told him that was untrue.
She’d abandoned him, then. In effect, she was as good as standing on the dock in Portsmouth, telling him she couldn’t come with him, forcing him to board the boat alone.
The need to prove a point forced him from the bed. He marched into the dressing room, yanked open the armoire and snatched the leather satchel.
He returned to his chamber, stood at the end of the bed and with a violent shake emptied the contents onto the coverlet. Banknotes, letters, bills and receipts tumbled out. He sorted through the pile, paused when he counted the notes.
Three thousand pounds’ worth of signed notes stared back at him.
Miss Darling had not taken a penny.
Rejection replaced anger. Was his money not good enough?
He continued this odd form of self-flagellation until fear crept up on him unawares. It wrapped its bony fingers around his heart and squeezed so hard he wanted to cast up his accounts.
How would she pay her debts?
Who the hell was Mr Thorncroft? And why in the devil’s name did she owe him money?
What if the blighter took advantage of her when she couldn’t pay?
He stared at the ceiling and yelled in frustration before dropping onto the bed to grieve, to wallow in morbid thoughts for another three hours.
The loud rap on the door—the fourth since he’d woken—no doubt brought another concerned member of staff, wondering when he wanted to break his fast. The soft, masculine burr of a French accent calling to him from the other side of the door forced him to sit up and pay attention.
“Enter.”
Dariell walked into the room. “Is it not a little late to lounge in bed?”
“Bugger off!” he imagined saying, but the love in his heart drew one important question from his lips. “Have you seen Miss Darling? She returned to Falaura Glen this morning. I trust she is safe and well.”
“Yes, she arrived safely. Fleet brought me back to town.” Dariell’s curious gaze fell to the papers and banknotes sprawled on the bed. “Ah, I see Miss Darling forgot to take her fee.”
“Her fee?” Lockhart almost spat the words. It undermined the true value of their connection.
“The money you were to pay her for pretending to be your wife.” Dariell sauntered over to the chair flanking the fire and dropped into the padded seat. “She tells me she did a remarkable job convincing your family that she loves you.”
“She is an exceptional actress.”
Dariell smiled. “And you lack her skill, my friend. If you’re going to use arrogance to hide your pain, you must learn to convey it in the eyes.”
“Of course, you’re as easy to read as an open book.”
Dariell shrugged. “Why complicate matters?”
“As a man who rarely speaks about his own feelings, I imagine that’s an easy feat.”
“I like to keep life simple.”
Lockhart snorted. Dariell might think differently if persecuted by murderous scoundrels. “So in simple terms, can you explain your interest in Emily Darling?”
“Of course,” Dariell said with an exaggerated wave of the hand. “I am in love with her and intend to marry her.”
Damnation. He did make it sound simple. But then Lockhart had been of a similar mind until Claudia Darling disrupted his plans. “And I trust the lady feels the same and welcomes your attentions.” Maybe she might find an excuse to whip his world from under his feet.
Dariell inclined his head. “She has accepted my proposal, professed that it is a sentiment shared. Simple.”
Blast.
“Well,” Dariell continued. “I have an urgent call to make in New Bond Street. You’re welcome to come if you can drag your weary body out of bed.”
“New Bond Street?” The mere mention of the name roused thoughts of Claudia, of the time spent together in his carriage. It felt like a lifetime ago. “I have no need of new gloves.”
“And stationery? Might you have need of a new quill?” Dariell came to his feet. “I’m told Mr Higson has a remarkable skill in chirography.”
Mr Higson? It could not be a coincidence.
Lockhart narrowed his gaze. “Clearly you are party to a secret and intend to tease me to the point I might lose my mind.” Snippets of conversation came flooding back. Claudia’s desperate interest in the stationery shop, her questions relating to forged signatures. “If this is about Claudia, then I deserve to know.”
“Because you love her?” Dariell probed.
“Yes, because I love her.”
“And yet she did not tell you about the deceitful devil she has promised to marry.” Dariell snorted. “Well, that is what the contract says. I have seen it for myself. Though how she expects to marry this fellow when she loves you is rather perplexing.”
A black cloud descended to obscure Lockhart’s vision. His h
eartbeat thumped so loud in his ears he convinced himself he’d misheard.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Miss Darling is being blackmailed over her father’s debt. The lady accepted your proposal to avoid marrying Mr Thorncroft. Fifteen hundred pounds or her hand in marriage, that is how I read it.”
Lockhart swallowed past the lump in his throat. “And you know this how?”
“Emily sought my advice. She believes this fellow will find any means necessary to marry her sister.” Dariell strode towards the door. “Of course, Miss Darling faces a dilemma considering the fact she did not take her fee.”
“It’s not a damn fee. It’s the money I agreed to pay her for her assistance.”
“Yes, the money she was going to use to pay the debt. Strange that she did not take it.”
Numerous questions bombarded his mind.
A plague of emotions sought to torment and harass.
Why had Claudia not trusted him with the truth?
Why in God’s name had she not taken the money?
“You obviously know more and intend to dangle the bait and wait for me to snap.”
“One cannot put a price on love.” Dariell smiled. “Love is simple. People make it complicated. And while I would prefer to leave you to come to the same logical conclusion, time is a constraint. But I will give you a moment.”
Silence descended.
Dariell folded his arms across his chest and stared while Lockhart sat on the bed, lost in thought.
The simple truth was that he loved Claudia Darling to the depths of his soul. He didn’t care about the money. Taking the fee would have made their time together seem like just another contract, a business deal for their mutual benefit, and it was so much more than that.
He did care that she had not told him about this bastard Mr Thorncroft. Men could be devious. They knew how to take advantage of unmarried women living alone. Then again, Selina had almost destroyed his life. Deceit lived in the hearts of the wicked, regardless of gender. But there was not one deceitful bone in Claudia’s body, and so he had to do what she’d asked.
He had to trust her.
Lockhart cleared his throat. “Put simply I love Miss Darling. I intend to marry her and will bring the devil’s wrath on anyone who seeks to prevent our union.”
“Excellent.” Dariell clapped his hands. “Hurry. Get dressed. Our friends will meet us in New Bond Street. I called on Greystone en route, and he will rally Drake and Valentine.”
“Is that necessary?” Did it take five men to descend on Mr Higson?
“Oui, we will need an army when we launch our attack.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Claudia sat behind her father’s mahogany desk, picking at the worn corners of the green leather surface. A distant clock struck ten. Another rang the hour a few minutes later. The damnable things had never kept good time. Indeed, a heavy heart and crippling trepidation forced her to glance at the mantel clock, just as that infernal timepiece donged, too.
Had she been waiting for Hudson, she would relish every tick, welcome every chime. Knowing that it was Mr Thorncroft coming to call made her want to steal all the pendulums in the house and lock them away in a dusty drawer.
To add to the assault on her nerves and her eardrums, the knocker on the front door fell with a loud bang. Not once. Three times. Mr Thorncroft liked to make a grand entrance.
A long minute passed before Emily entered the study, her mouth drawn into a grim line. “Mr Thorncroft is here. I’ve told Mrs Bitton to keep him waiting in the hall, just in case you needed a moment to gather your thoughts. Mr Hollingsworth is with him, too, as you requested.”
Heavens! Claudia felt sick to her stomach.
She resisted the urge to press her forehead to the desk, to curse and weep and lament her reckless decision.
“Before I speak to them, Emily, I must ask you the same question I have asked five times already.” Claudia gathered herself and straightened her shoulders. “Are you certain you wish to marry Monsieur Dariell?”
Emily’s face brightened, and she clasped her hands to her chest. “I cannot think of anything I want more.”
“And your decision has nothing to do with the fact we might have to sell Falaura Glen?” If not the house, then they would have to part with the contents. “You’re not worried about my growing attraction to Mr Lockhart?”
Growing attraction was somewhat of an understatement.
“I love Monsieur Dariell.” Emily edged closer to the desk. “When I am with him I feel alive, so alive I could conquer the world. He doesn’t treat me like an invalid, like my lack of sight must mean I’m a simpleton, too. Oh, we talk about the most amazing things.”
Claudia certainly knew what it was like to feel the power of love flowing through one’s veins. And yet this was not a sudden revelation. Every day for the last month, she had watched the beginnings of their love blossom.
“And during my absence, he behaved like a gentleman?” The image of Hudson’s naked body flashed into Claudia’s mind. Hypocrite some might say, but she hated the thought of anyone taking advantage of Emily.
“Of course,” Emily said, like it was the most ridiculous question in the world. “But I have kissed him. I just couldn’t help myself. One minute we were waltzing about the room, the next …”
The declaration brought a smile to Claudia’s lips. Passion was potent, powerful. “Monsieur Dariell will make a fine husband, I’m sure.”
Indeed, the Frenchman had a charm that went beyond gentlemanly manners. He listened with his penetrating gaze as if he could read every thought in her mind. Ten minutes spent in his company this morning and Claudia had told him she’d not taken Hudson’s money and, more surprisingly, the reason why. The man had a mystical power, one capable of dragging a confession from the Cato Street conspirators.
“So, I have your permission to treat Mr Thorncroft with the disdain he deserves?” Claudia asked.
“Most definitely.” Emily’s smile faded. “Do what you must, but you cannot marry him.”
No, she could most certainly not do that.
The dilemma regarding the contract had kept her awake for most of the night, amid daydreams about Hudson Lockhart, and crying into her pillow. It would be unwise to come out and directly accuse Mr Thorncroft of fraud, not in front of the magistrate, but she might lead the conversation in that direction. The penalty for breach of contract would most probably involve financial compensation. It would take months for Mr Thorncroft to bring a private prosecution, giving her time to investigate further.
Months!
One night away from Hudson felt like forever.
“Call Mr Thorncroft and Mr Hollingsworth into the study.” Claudia straightened the papers on the desk and attempted to look composed.
Emily nodded. “I might hit Mr Thorncroft with my stick when he’s not looking,” she said, gripping the walking cane Dariell had given her to help navigate the furniture and doorways.
“What a splendid idea.” Claudia feigned an amused tone yet inside her heart thumped hard, and her stomach roiled.
Emily left the room and returned a few moments later with both gentlemen in tow.
Claudia did not stand to welcome them or offer a curtsy, mainly because she feared her legs might buckle under the strain.
Mr Thorncroft looked smug as he clutched his cane and dropped into the seat opposite. Mr Hollingsworth—a stout gentleman with ruddy cheeks and a shock of white hair—looked mildly irritated. No doubt it was all a dreadful inconvenience.
“I trust you’ve had an eventful week, Miss Darling.” Mr Thorncroft’s beady stare sent a shiver from her neck to her navel.
“Eventful?” Oh, yes, she had attended a masquerade, the theatre, bathed naked in an unmarried gentleman’s bedchamber. She had been shot at, kissed, ravished, devoured by her hot-blooded lover.
“I imagine regular trips to the pawnbroker might be your only hope of paying the debt,” the devil said.
“Then the answer is no, sir. Pawnbrokers pay a pittance.”
Mr Thorncroft scanned the cluttered room as if it were a hovel for the poor and needy. “Yes, and I highly doubt there’s anything here worth selling.”
The magistrate’s weary sigh and numerous glances at the clock conveyed his thoughts about being dragged from Meadowbrook to listen to Mr Thorncroft’s irritating snobbery.
“Precisely why I did not waste my time.” Claudia drew the papers towards her in a bid to look efficient. “Indeed, having some reservations regarding the contract, I took a trip to town to consult a solicitor.”
“A solicitor?” Mr Thorncroft frowned. His hawk eyes flicked back and forth in their sockets. “We signed the document in front of the magistrate.” He gestured to the gentleman at his side, who had suddenly sat up and taken notice. “Your sister acted as a witness, too.”
Claudia shook her head. “I am not referring to the contract made a week ago, but of the agreement made by you and my father when he supposedly asked for a loan.”
“Look, my dear,” Mr Hollingsworth began, leaning forward in order to appear intimidating, “we are here to discuss payment of a debt not what occurred more than a year ago. Are you able to settle? That is the only question of any consequence.”
“It is not the only question, sir. During my visit to London, I happened to see Mr Thorncroft exiting Higson’s stationery shop in New Bond Street.” Dariell had extracted that piece of information from her, too.
“The gentleman’s shopping habits have no relevance,” Mr Hollingsworth snapped.
Mr Thorncroft remained silent, his intense gaze boring into her.
“Imagine my surprise when I discovered the proprietor’s skill with a quill extended to forgery,” Claudia said with the confidence of an actress used to playing demanding roles, for it was pure supposition after all.
Perhaps it was foolish to make such a sweeping statement. Perhaps she risked being charged with slander for challenging the authenticity of the signature. But having begun her case for the prosecution, Claudia wouldn’t rest until she had proven Mr Thorncroft was guilty.
Mr Thorncroft snorted. “Buying paper and ink is hardly a crime. And my only dealings with the proprietor extended to paying the bill.” He cleared his throat. “Let us stop this nonsense. Do you have the funds to pay or not, Miss Darling?”