No! Her father would not have wanted her to keep it if she could assist her family with it. It had only sentimental value, but someone would allow her to use it as ante.
The locket brought her luck at the card tables as she won three hands of brag and had amassed fifteen guineas. She thanked her father silently. It would be one of the few times he had come to their aid where money was concerned, albeit posthumously. She decided to try one last hand. Twenty guineas would be enough until she could borrow from Harry.
She stared at her hand. Two aces and a seven. A middling hand. She eyed the other players. Newcastle did not have a good hand. She could tell by the way he wrinkled his brow. Rutgers was in deep concentration. Perhaps he had a decent but unimpressive hand and attempted to gauge if he should risk a better hand. She decided to stay with her cards.
“Well, Miss Sherwood, you have a flair for risk,” Newcastle pronounced as he tossed his useless cards on the table.
Breathing a sigh of relief, she lay down her cards. But a large smile broke over Rutger’s face.
“Three of a kind,” he declared, showing the four of diamonds, the four of spades, and the four of hearts.
Eagerly he picked up the locket and brought it to his lips. “At last! My most prized winning here at Mrs. T’s, I think. It shall bring me great joy when I remember where it once rested.”
“Surely you will not stop Lady Luck now?” Darcy prodded hastily.
“Perhaps not, but no one will win this treasure from me!” He deposited the locket into his waistcoat and patted it. “Lest there be a prize more worthwhile than this?”
She rose to her feet and smiled. “But then what would be your incentive to return, I wonder?”
Laughter and a few hollers followed her banter. Excusing herself to tend to her toilette, she went upstairs. Once in her bed chamber, she sank to the floor and drove her fist into a nearby armchair.
She had lost everything: her guineas and her locket. There was nothing left to wager. How was she to help Nathan now? How was she to help any in her family? Would Lady Luck never grace the Sherwoods? Would she only tease them, as she had with the deed to Brayten, only to strip it from them?
The tears began to roll.
“Oh, Papa,” she moaned. If only he had been more prudent…but it was not in his nature. He had too much the blithe spirit. She loved and hated him for it.
Come, come, my girl, she rallied herself. Such sentiments did nothing to help Nathan. She had to put her mind to the task at hand.
There was the offer from Newcastle. And he would not be the only one willing to pay for her favors. She would become a true whore. But would she not do anything for Nathan? Of course she would.
Wiping away her tears, she took in a deep breath and prepared herself to return to the card room. She opened the door to find the Baron Broadmoor upon her threshold.
She started, “Lord Broadmoor!”
“Miss Sherwood…” His gaze roved over her features, and he took her by the shoulders. “What is it?”
“What is what?” she returned.
“Something is the matter? What is it?”
Her defenses threatened to crumble at the sound of his concern. How was he able to see her troubles?
He led her back into the room and closed the door after them.
“Tell me,” he urged.
She couldn’t. Could she?
“Tell me,” he repeated softly.
The dam gave. She could not hold back the tears. Her strength deserted her and she had to clutch at his arms for support. To her relief, he held her close. Those strong arms seemed able to protect her from anything, and in his compassion, she indulged herself.
“I can help,” he said when the brunt of her tears had subsided. “But you must tell me what has happened.”
“It is Nathan—he’s been hurt—terribly.”
She felt his arms stiffen about her.
“Mauled by a dog,” she explained between shudders.
His jaw tightened. “Where is he?”
“With my sister. And a doctor—I hope.”
“You hope? Has one not been called?”
Swallowing a new wave of sobs threatening to overcome her, she sputtered, “I told Priscilla to send for one, but we have no means to pay for one. I pray that we shall find one with a charitable heart, one who will see that a boy—a child—is in need of aid…surely a doctor will help him even if he cannot be compensated?”
He did not answer her immediately.
“I can come up with the money,” she added desperately, “I’ve been trying…”
He put a finger to his lips. “Worry not. If you will go and tend to Nathan and your sister, I will see to the doctor. Will you do as I say?”
Oddly assured, she found herself nodding.
“Good,” he said. “I will send a physician to your address.”
He saw her into his chaise.
“Your friend,” Darcy remembered. “Were you not to have dinner with a friend?”
“I ate fast.”
Before urging his coachman on, he brought her hand to his lips. It was dark, but she could see the look in his eyes. It made her heart soar. He had come to see her because he wanted to see her. She marveled that she could feel such happiness even in the midst of distress.
The chaise did not travel fast enough for her. When it came upon the Sherwood residence, she flew into the house and up the stairs.
“Darcy!” Priscilla cried in relief.
Even Leticia proffered a “thank heavens.”
Darcy approached the bed where Nathan lay, groaning, his form small, his countenance pale. She would sooner have had a dagger twisted into her belly.
“Where is the doctor?” she whispered to Priscilla.
“He came and went,” Priscilla replied. “Said there was little to be done till the bleeding stops. And, Darcy, it won’t stop bleeding!”
Mrs. Sherwood paced the floor, wringing her hands and bemoaning the evils of dogs, until Darcy bade her leave the room. The two sisters in silent watch over Nathan until a knock sounded at the front door. Darcy leaped to her feet. Was it Broadmoor?
“Hornsby. Dr. Hornsby, at your service, Miss Sherwood,” the gentleman at the door greeted as he removed his hat. “I was sent by Lord Broadmoor.”
She closed her eyes and uttered a silent appreciation to the Baron before ushering the doctor to Nathan’s room.
“He is fortunate,” Dr. Hornsby pronounced to Darcy and Priscilla after examining the boy. They stood in the hall and spoke in hushed tones. “There appear to be no broken bones. I gave him a sedative to make him sleep. When the wounds are better healed, the stitching can be removed.”
“But he is at risk of infection,” Dr. Hornsby continued. “Change his bandages often and clean the wounds as best you can. Watch for fever. I will be by tomorrow to see how he fares.”
Darcy walked the doctor to the door while Priscilla returned to Nathan’s bedside. Her sister would no doubt stay the entire night there.
“Doctor Hornsby, how can we thank you for your kindness?” she asked.
“Not at all, my child.”
“The fee for your services—”
Dr. Hornsby shook his head. “Let us say I am indebted to Lord Broadmoor and thank you for the chance to repay the favor.”
The fever appeared the second day, but true to his word, Dr. Hornsby came every day to see to Nathan and sent a nurse to assist the family. Priscilla and Darcy took turns sitting beside Nathan’s bad. Gradually the fever broke, and though weak, Nathan was able to sit up in bed and inquire after Swifter.
Priscilla shook her head. “He worries more for the dog than for himself.”
“Someone has to run with Swifter,” Nathan protested. “Mama, can you read my letter again?”
Darcy raised her brows inquisitively.
Priscilla held up a parchment and read aloud, “‘Dear Master Sherwood, we eagerly await your recovery. Signed, Gibbons and Swifter.’”
Nathan smiled. “Eagerly await.”
When Nathan was once again asleep, Darcy urged her sister to rest.
“And you, Darcy? What of you?” Priscilla returned.
“With the nurse here, I ought to return to Mrs. T’s,” Darcy answered. “She is sure to have missed me.”
“You are a wonder. How did you ever come across such a wonderful physician?”
“I didn’t. Lord Broadmoor…”
“The Baron Broadmoor?”
Darcy relented and confessed that she had told him about Nathan and that he had been the one to send for the doctor.
Priscilla seemed deep in thought.
“Are you troubled by it?” Darcy asked.
“No. I…”
“What is it, Priscilla?”
“Nothing. I am weary and find I cannot think well.”
Darcy nodded, but she sensed that her sister wanted to tell her something. She wondered what it could be?
CHAPTER TWELVE
“MY LOCKET!”
With a wide smile, Broadmoor placed the object in her hands.
“But how did you come by it?” Darcy inquired.
“By no easy means,” he replied. “It would have cost me less to procure you a new one.”
“And how did you know?”
“Rutgers couldn’t stop boasting about it. I overheard him and challenged him to play for it. He didn’t want to at first. Had to wager some forty pounds before he would give it over.”
In an uncharacteristic show of exuberance, she threw her arms about him. He stumbled backwards, and they both fell onto her bed. Realizing what she had done, she pulled back from him and cast a suspicious eye.
“And what do you wish from me? Forty pounds? The deed to Brayten.”
“Good God, woman. Can a charitable deed not go uncensored? It is yours. Free and clear. Though perhaps I will settle for a kiss. Seems only fair since you were giving kisses away to half the men in London the other night.”
“Then a kiss, my lord, you shall have.”
She rolled back on top of him and pressed her lips down upon his, drawing him into her mouth. His hand went to the back of her head as she showed him the depths of her appreciation, pressing her tongue low into his mouth, engaging his tongue, and caressing his lips.
“Mmmm,” he approved when she lifted her head for breath. “Worth every pound.”
She stared at him, her heart filled with gratitude.
“What is it?” he asked.
“No one has shown our family such kindness before,” she answered.
“You’ve not needed it.” He stroked the hair from her face. “You’ve been the little father for your family.”
She crooked her smile. “Not an effective one. I abhor to think what would have happened to Nathan were it not for Dr. Hornsby.”
“Hornsby tells me that Nathan is recovering with astonishing alacrity.”
“He couldn’t wait to get back to walking Swifter.” She shook her head. “I would like nothing more than to give him his own dog.”
“You will. You are Darcy Sherwood. Many things are possible with you.”
How was it he could have more confidence than she? she wondered.
“Come,” he said, “let us return the locket to where it belongs.”
He took it from her and sat up to clasp it about her ankle. His hand smoothed over her stocking.
“I think,” he said, his hand trailing up to her knee, “I shall require more than a kiss.”
“Such as?” she teased.
Bringing her mouth to his, he leaned her back down on the bed, reversing their previous position. She wound her hands around his neck and pressed her body eagerly against him. They kissed with surprising thoroughness, given the frenzied heat that always ruled their bodies when they came into contact. In a slower, scintillating manner, their tongues danced and plumbed the depths of their mouths.
Broadmoor cupped her buttock and fitted his hardness between her legs. She curled a leg about his, willing to delay her need to couple her body to his, as she explored him through his clothes. Her hands went under his coat and up his back. He unlocked his mouth from hers and applied the heat of his mouth to her neck.
“Darcy…” he moaned into her throat as he devoured her, trailing his mouth to the tops of her breasts.
He cupped a breast and pushed it up to his mouth. He pulled the bodice down.
“You have the most marvelous nipples, Miss Sherwood,” he told her before his mouth descended upon her.
His attentions upon her breast had the effect of teasing the sex between her legs.
“And you, Lord Broadmoor,” she began to say as his erection pressed against her thigh, flaring her carnal hunger.
“Radcliff,” he supplied. “I think you and I qualify as being on intimate terms.”
“Radcliff, then.”
Grinning, she reached for his buttons. She liked the sound and feel of his name upon her mouth. She slid her hand into his pants to grasp his arousal. He grunted his approval and was content for her to play with him a while. When she glanced into his eyes, there seemed more than lust shining there. She herself felt something more intense than desire, a feeling that made her patient, that made her want to savor the moment, to bring him pleasure.
“Too pleasing,” he said gruffly, grabbing her hand away from him and pinning it above her head.
“I could take you in many ways,” she said. “With my hands—or in my mouth.”
He closed his eyes and groaned. “Not tonight, but soon. You cannot proffer such suggestions and not see them through.”
Sliding down he lifted her skirts and settled his head between her thighs. She shivered when he licked her there.
“I would enjoy the chance, Lord Broad—Radcliff.”
He stroked her with his tongue, fondling her in the most sensitive ways, sending waves of bliss through her belly, and taking her breath away. She cried out as tremors erupted through her. Replacing his tongue with his finger, he pushed the last of her spasms through her. But already a fresh desire had begun to build within her. She reached over and pulled out his shaft, felt the weight of its rigidity.
“Take me, Radcliff,” she directed.
He obliged and speared himself into her wetness. Wantonly, she wrapped her legs around him and ground her pelvis at him. He held himself above her, rolling his hips, as he fitted his mouth about her. She kissed him hungrily, carelessly, as she bucked him against him. The insides of her body began to contract tighter and tighter before, like a spring being sprung, it exploded in a euphoric paroxysm. Grunting low in his throat, Radcliff thrust himself deep and spent with her.
Despite the heat of their clothes, they lay in each other’s arms. And this, too, was bliss.
“I should return to the card room,” Darcy murmured after she had waited as long as she could, wishing they could lay together forever.
“No.”
The roughness of his tone startled her. “But they are awaiting my presence.”
A cloud seemed to pass over his eyes, and he pressed his lips together firmly, tightening his hold upon her.
“Leave them be. You need not tend to them.”
“But I am expected.”
“You don’t have to be.”
“Don’t have to be expected?”
He fixed an intense gaze upon her. “Be my mistress.”
Darcy blinked a few times. “How many mistresses do you need?”
“Only one. You.”
“Do you not have one already?”
“Lady Robbins and I have severed our relationship.”
“Ah.”
“I would treat you well,” he pledged. “You would want for nothing. I can set up an apartment for you, provide you with clothing and servants.”
The image of a life of luxury danced before her. One that could surpass the comforts of her life when her father had fared well. But her thoughts quickly turned to Priscilla and Nathan.
“I am comfor
table enough residing with Mrs. T,” Darcy said, her voice shaking slightly.
“I could secure accommodations for your sister and nephew as well,” he disclosed.
Surprised at how well he knew her thoughts, she hesitated.
“You would be an outcast,” she demurred while a voice inside her scolded her for being a fool. What idiot would not take his offer?
“Other men have had far more controversial love affairs and survived.”
Her heart was pounding in her head. A home for Priscilla and Nathan. Her own living conditions secured. She would no longer have to work at the gaming hall. She could be with him.
And yet, she had never been anyone’s mistress before. What did a mistress do? What was the appropriate etiquette for a mistress? Her responsibilities? Her freedoms?
Her words to him from what seemed ages ago echoed in her mind: I am no man’s mistress. She would be bound to him. Dependent upon him. Her independence gone.
How long before she went the way of Penelope Robbins? Until he found a wife? That she could not handle.
“No,” Darcy said, and though she avoided his gaze, she could tell he was surprised.
“That is hardly a rational answer,” he responded.
She looked him in the eyes, hoping he did not detect the uncertainty within her. “I am no man’s mistress.”
“And why is that?” he asked angrily. “Because you wish to entertain the attentions of more than one lover?”
“Because I do not wish to be at any man’s beck and command.” Sensing his anger growing, she added quickly. “If you please, my lord, Mrs. T is waiting for me.”
“It pleases me not at all,” he retorted.
But Darcy pretended she did not hear and went to wrap a shawl about herself. He strode over and caught her by the arm.
“Have you nothing else to say?” he asked.
“I have said all that I have to say on the matter.”
“But what of…us?”
She was trembling so hard on the inside, she thought she would shatter into pieces, but she mustered a reply. “What about us?”
He paled, but he was not the only one to feel a dagger through the heart.
“I have patrons to attend,” she said before fleeing down the stairs.
That Wicked Harlot (A Steamy Regency Romance Collection Book 2) Page 12