The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London Book 4)

by Adele Clee

  Wickett did as Vane commanded, but every man in the courtyard gave him a wide berth.

  Drummond fell silent as he looked at Estelle. “Mrs Hungerford, would you mind stepping out for a moment? His lordship wants to know that you’re well before you leave.”

  “Of course she’s not well,” Hungerford snapped. “Any fool can see that. Have you not listened to a word I have said?”

  While Vane tried his utmost to remain calm, Mr Hungerford’s brash manner ruffled Drummond’s feathers.

  “Now you listen here,” Drummond began. “I’ve had a fist to the face and a pistol to the head because of you. I’ll lose business when people hear of this ruckus. And all because you won’t let his lordship speak to the lady.”

  “Ross?” Estelle’s voice sounded weak, helpless.

  “Who’s Ross?” Drummond said to no one in particular.

  “That would be me,” Vane said.

  Drummond turned, waved him forward and stepped aside.

  Vane cast an assessing gaze over Estelle. Her eyes flickered, her head lolled forward. Hungerford sat next to her. Amid all his bravado, panic flashed in his eyes.

  “Estelle, can you hear me?” Vane reached for her hands but Hungerford slapped him away.

  “You do not have to say anything to him, Miss Brown,” Hungerford whispered.

  Unable to control himself, Vane punched Hungerford on the jaw. The sharp jab served as a warning. “The lady’s name is not Miss Brown,” Vane whispered through gritted teeth. “Her name is Miss Darcy, and she is the sister of Baron Ravenscroft.”

  Hungerford gulped in surprise as he clutched his cheek.

  Vane caught Estelle’s hands and pulled her forward. “Touch her again, Hungerford, and I’ll break your nose.” Her body was limp, and she flopped into his arms like a cloth doll. “Estelle, please speak to me.”

  Her eyes fluttered open. “Ross,” she breathed. “Help me. Don’t … don’t let him take me.”

  All those standing nearby heard her words.

  Estelle’s head fell back and her eyes closed. What the devil was wrong with her? Vane bent his head. He could smell wine and something sweet, almost spicy.

  “Someone run and fetch a doctor,” Vane cried as a deep sense of dread consumed him. “I fear the lady may have ingested something. I fear she may have been poisoned.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Hungerford climbed out of the carriage. “Miss Brown may have taken a drop of laudanum to help settle her stomach for the journey. That is all.”

  “Miss Brown?” Drummond raised a suspicious brow. “So this lady is not your wife?”

  Hungerford’s cheeks flamed and he pushed his fingers down between his neck and cravat as if struggling to breathe. “The paperwork is a mere formality. We intend to marry once we reach Bath.”

  Mr Drummond beckoned his coachman. “Step down, Albert. This coach isn’t leaving the yard until I’ve cleared this matter with the constable.”

  “But you’ve no right,” Hungerford protested.

  “I have every right.” Drummond stepped closer to the fop and stared down his flat nose as if ready to throttle the man. “I’ll not have folk say I came to the aid of a criminal.”

  “Will someone get a blasted doctor!” Vane wanted to beat Hungerford to a pulp, too, but his only concern was for the helpless woman in his arms. He looked down at her. “Estelle, please try to keep your eyes open.”

  She blinked again, lifted a weak hand to his cheek. “You … you came for me.”

  The muscles in his throat grew tight. “Keep talking. Don’t close your eyes.”

  A man lingering near the gates waved his hands and cried, “Here comes the constable.”

  “But this is preposterous,” Hungerford complained. “Let me speak to him.” Hungerford stormed through the crowd as if ready to berate the constable for taking the complaint seriously. “We shall have this misunderstanding sorted out in no time.”

  But it seemed Hungerford had no intention of confronting the constable. As soon as he reached the gate, he turned on his heels and fled in the opposite direction.

  “Someone apprehend that man,” Drummond shouted. “Albert. Connor. Go after him.”

  Both coachmen jumped upon hearing their names called and charged after Hungerford. What with the weight of their boxcoats and their stout figures they would be lucky to spot Hungerford let alone catch the fellow. Wickett, on the other hand, raced off like a whippet.

  “Is there somewhere the lady can lie down?” Vane asked Drummond.

  He didn’t care what happened to Hungerford. If he didn’t pay for his crime today, Vane would see to it that he paid eventually.

  “Bring her into the office. There’s a trundle bed I use when waiting for late arrivals.”

  Vane carried Estelle to the small wooden building. He was about to cross the threshold when a chorus of cries and high-pitched screams pierced the air. A cacophony of other noises accompanied the din: splintering wood, the squeal of frightened horses, a blood-chilling shriek.

  Albert returned. “Mr Drummond, come quickly.” The man couldn’t catch his breath. “The … the carriage ploughed right into him.”

  Fear rattled in Vane’s chest.

  Don’t let it be Wickett.

  Drummond hurried off after his coachman.

  Vane kicked the open door and entered Drummond’s office. He placed Estelle down gently on the bed, knelt at her side and clutched her hand.

  A boy knocked the door and stepped into the room. “Doctor’s on his way, my lord, said he’d be a few minutes.”

  Vane nodded.

  He sat staring at Estelle, brushed strands of silky hair off her face and stroked her cheek. Memories of the past surfaced, images that pained him even now. He had been too late to save her from the disaster on The Torrens, too late to save her from eight years of hell. But Fate had blessed him today.

  “Ross.” Estelle opened her eyes and looked at him. “Don’t … don’t go. Stay with me.”

  Vane forced a smile. “Nothing could tear me away.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Doctor Hanson spent thirty minutes examining Estelle. Vane suspected Hungerford had given her an overdose of laudanum and prayed to God he was right, and that no permanent damage was done.

  While Vane stood waiting for the results of Hanson’s observations, Wickett returned and explained how Hungerford had darted across the street, dodged one carriage but fell into the path of another. The poor coachman failed to stop in time and now had the death of the foolish fop on his conscience.

  The constable spoke to Vane and Mr Drummond, but as Hungerford had already met his end, the only thing left to do was fetch the coroner.

  “The constable witnessed the incident himself,” Drummond said as they waited in the courtyard for the doctor to finish tending to Estelle. “He agrees it was an accident though I had to explain why my men were chasing him. One word from you should please the coroner when he arrives. I’d hate for him to think it was a witch hunt.”

  “Trust me. Hungerford is the only one guilty of a crime, and I shall inform the coroner of all the facts.” Including details of the assault in the alley by a Frenchman from Spitalfields. Perhaps he might suggest they investigate the recent death of Hungerford’s wife, too.

  Vane spent another two hours at Drummond’s yard. The doctor explained it would be beneficial to leave Estelle to rest for a while before moving her. And it gave Vane an opportunity to deal with the coroner.

  “Good Lord,” Mrs Erstwhile said, rushing into the courtyard with Mr Erstwhile in tow. Vane had sent Wickett to speak to the couple, knowing they were awaiting Estelle’s return. “Where is she? Please tell me everything is all right. What on earth happened? Your coachman said Mr Hungerford is dead. Is it true? Is he to blame?”

  Mr Erstwhile placed a hand on his wife’s arm. “My dear, at least let his lordship answer the first question before you bombard him with the rest.”

  “Miss Darcy is sleeping in Mr
Drummond’s office.” Vane gestured to the wooden building. “You may go inside and sit with her. Doctor Hanson said she requires rest but is certain she’ll make a full recovery.”

  Mrs Erstwhile scurried off while her husband hung back.

  “Wickett said Mr Hungerford drugged her in order to spirit her away.”

  “Based on her constricted pupils the doctor believes she has ingested laudanum. And yes, the dose was given by Hungerford to subdue her while he made his escape.” One did not need to be a constable to reach that conclusion.

  Mr Erstwhile shook his head. “Estelle avoids taking any medicine and always refuses my offer of a restorative.” Water flooded his eyes, and he inhaled deeply to keep his emotions at bay.

  “Along with her slight frame, that might explain why she reacted so badly.” Vane put a reassuring hand on the old man’s shoulder. “You weren’t to know of Hungerford’s intentions.” Indeed, Vane struggled to fathom the fop’s rationale. “The coroner seemed so interested in the case, he decided to speak to the magistrate. When a man is confident enough to abduct a lady, the consensus is he may well have committed a similar crime before.”

  Mr Erstwhile closed his eyes briefly. “And to think I left her alone with him, entrusted her to his care. The lady was out of her depth, and I didn’t see it.”

  A pang of guilt hit Vane squarely in the chest. For a second, he had doubted Estelle’s loyalty. “The lady has been out of her depth for eight years, battling one criminal attack after another. If it is any consolation, I did not see it, either.”

  They exchanged consolatory smiles.

  “She deserves so much more from life,” Mr Erstwhile said. “Do you not think?”

  Two weeks ago he would have refuted the claim. Eight years ago, he would have said she deserved a grand house and a prestigious position in society. Now, she deserved the only thing that mattered — love.

  “Come.” Vane patted Mr Erstwhile on the back. “Let’s see how she’s faring. And then I shall escort you all home.”

  Once back at Whitecombe Street, Vane carried Estelle up to her chamber. Mrs Erstwhile followed and settled her into bed. The effects of the laudanum were wearing off. And so, Mrs Erstwhile agreed to give them a few minutes’ privacy.

  Vane dropped into the chair next to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

  “The urge to sleep does not feel so great now,” she said. “Doctor Hanson assured me I should feel more like myself tomorrow.”

  They stared at each other. So many words filled his head. But where should he start?

  “At what point did you suspect Mr Hungerford’s motives?” he said.

  Estelle took longer than usual to reply, no doubt her mind was still hazy. “I knew nothing until we arrived at the yard, but by then it was too late.” She sucked in a breath. “While I have found myself in many precarious situations over the years, I am just a naive country girl at heart.”

  “You’re not naive, Estelle. Hungerford had everyone fooled.” Thank heaven for Mr Joseph. “Were it not for the fact I hired a man to follow him, you would be on your way to Bath now.” Bile bubbled in his stomach at the thought. “And I—”

  “Would have believed I had left you once again.”

  He tried to swallow down the lump in his throat. “Yes,” he whispered. “You would have been the devil who betrayed me twice.”

  A tear trickled down her nose. “I am too weak to talk at length now. But know that I never betrayed you, Ross. The only person I betrayed was myself.”

  He didn’t know what that meant. Despite wanting to ask a myriad of questions, he knew now was not the time to pester her for information. She would tell him when she was ready, and somehow during the last week he’d learnt patience.

  Vane captured her cold hand and pressed a kiss on her knuckles. He lingered there for longer than necessary. “Rest now.” He stood and straightened the coverlet. “I shall call again tomorrow to see how you fare.”

  Estelle smiled. “Thank you. I dread to think where I would be without you.”

  Her remark hit him like a lightning bolt to the heart. That was all he’d ever wanted. To be her protector.

  “Have no fear,” he said in a rich drawl. “I’m sure I can think of a way you might repay me for my efforts. Pleasure is as good a currency as any.”

  A blush touched her cheeks, bringing life to her pallid countenance. “I’m afraid you might be disappointed. I lack your experience in such matters.”

  “How wrong you are. You’re the only one with the skill to please me.” He inclined his head. “Now, I must leave before I’m tempted to draw back the bedsheets and sidle in beside you.” He could feel a stirring in his loins at the mere thought. “I doubt Mrs Erstwhile could take another shock today.”

  A weak chuckle left her pale lips. “You would be most welcome, though I can’t promise I won’t mumble and mutter incoherently. Then again, I imagine I’m not the first woman to fall asleep with you in bed.”

  There was a touch of amusement in her tone and a hint of jealousy.

  “It may surprise you to learn that I have never fallen asleep with any woman.” There was something intimate about the act, something deeply personal. “You would be the first.”

  The energy in the room shifted. Desire sparked in the air between them. He imagined a host of delicious ways he might wake her in the morning: a gentle suck of her earlobe, nimble fingers wandering down to a warm haven, pressing his erection against her soft buttocks.

  “You should know I’m an early riser,” he added just to fan the flames of lust a little more.

  “I shall bear that in mind as I am full of vitality in the morning, too.”

  “Then you should most definitely get some rest.” With a wide grin, Vane bowed. “Until tomorrow, Miss Darcy.”

  “Until tomorrow, my lord.”

  After spending an hour taking tea with the Erstwhiles, Vane returned to Hanover Square. He went straight to the drawing room, poured a glass of brandy and downed the entire contents.

  Hungerford was dead — and he was not sorry.

  Estelle had no intention of leaving — and he was elated.

  Soon, he would have the answers he desired, and then eight years’ worth of suffering would be buried in an earthy grave, never to see the light of day again.

  Excitement sparked in his chest when he considered a life filled with love, not bitterness and resentment. Reuniting with Estelle had wrought a change in him. The urge to fight rogues in the back alleys had abated. Though one man still needed to feel the full force of his wrath.

  Vane contemplated stalking to the museum and creeping through the cold corridors until he found Lord Cornell. From what Vane had read, the explorer Belzoni had brought an Egyptian sarcophagus to London, and he imagined lifting the lid, gagging Cornell and depositing him inside.

  A chuckle left Vane’s lips. There would be stories in the broadsheets of ghosts and curses, of strange mumbles coming from the ancient tomb. The museum would never be more popular as people stared at the gold coffin unaware that a man had slowly suffocated inside.

  Or he could just march to Bedford Square, roll Cornell out of his bed and beat him into submission. But Vane refused to fight a weak man. And so that brought him back to Fabian’s plan to ruin the lord financially, to cause him great humiliation.

  With his mind made up, Vane called Marley and informed the butler he was going to bed.

  “But it’s ten … ten o’clock, my lord?”

  “I know what time it is, Marley.” No doubt the man recalled the days when his master left the house at ten and retired at dawn. “It has been a long day.” And he’d not slept well these last few nights.

  Marley inclined his head. “Of course, my lord, I did not mean to be impertinent.”

  Vane noted the dark circles under his butler’s eyes. “You look as though you need rest, too. I have sent word to Sandford Hall, and you should be back to a full complement of staff in a few days.”

  Almost t
hree years had passed since Vane left this house and swore never to return. Consequently, he’d sent most of the maids and footmen to his country estate. With a house as large as Sandford Hall the staff were never short of work.

  “Thank you, my lord. I know Mrs Barton will appreciate help in the kitchen and Pierre is distressed about the time it takes to launder your clothes.”

  “Pierre is only happy if he is complaining.”

  “He decided that all your cravats needed pressing, and that Lord Farleigh’s staff were unskilled when it came to keeping your linen white.”

  “I shall speak to him in the morning.”

  “Thank you, my lord, and may I take this opportunity to welcome you home.”

  “Thank you, Marley. Now, let us both retire.”

  Vane ventured up to his bedchamber. Pierre arrived to undress him, but Vane had no time for dramatics this evening, not when his mind was the calmest it had been in years. After dismissing his valet, Vane washed, stripped off his clothes and settled into bed.

  Sleep came upon him in a matter of minutes.

  He woke an hour later to the creak of a floorboard. With awakened senses, he listened for another sound but heard nothing more and so closed his eyes as he lay sprawled on his stomach.

  His mind was slowly drifting when he caught a whiff of jasmine in the air. The scent irritated his nostrils. A gust of cool air breezed over his bare buttocks, and the boards near the bed creaked again.

  Vane turned over and sat up.

  It took a moment for his eyes to grow accustomed to the dark. A figure stood but a foot away, gripping the corner of the bedsheets. He would have reached for the blade hidden under his pillow, but from her clawing scent and the flare of her hips, evidently the intruder was a woman.

  “What the hell do you want?” And more to the point how the hell did she get in?

  From the golden locks draped over her bare shoulders, it was not Estelle. Anyone else could go to the devil.

  “Don’t play coy, Vane.” She slipped beneath the sheets. “You like to taunt me. You like to make it difficult as that is how you judge a woman’s worth.”