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

by Adele Clee

Oh, heavens!

  Not knowing how to tempt a man, all she could do was listen to the demands of her body, embrace the fierce passion flaming within. She closed her eyes briefly and let lust take her.

  “Do you want me, Ross?” she whispered, reaching up and removing the pins from her hair. Raven black locks tumbled down over her shoulders.

  “Good God, I want you so badly, I’m struggling to stand.”

  His reply bolstered her confidence.

  She skimmed her hands down the front of her chemise intending to reach for the hem. But her aching nipples relished the light brushing, and so she cupped her breasts and fondled them as she wanted him to do.

  Ross blinked, gulped, his breathing grew heavy, and she found she rather liked playing the temptress.

  “Minx,” he said.

  Excited by his response, she ran her hands over her hips, dared to venture to the intimate place that throbbed for his touch. When her fingers skimmed down between the apex of her thighs, a pleasurable moan left her lips.

  His hard shaft jerked in response, and he took himself in hand and stroked back and forth as if it eased the pressure building inside. Gripping the hem, she slid the material up inch by inch, aware that he was biting down on his bottom lip, that a hum resonated in his throat when she exposed her breasts.

  “I knew you would be beyond beautiful,” he said, his heated gaze devouring every inch of her body as she dropped her chemise on the floor. “I cannot tell you how many times I have imagined it in my mind. But still you take my breath away.”

  “I too have thought of you many times. I have stared out at sea and dreamed that a wave would come and scoop me up and carry me back home to you.”

  He closed the gap between them, bent his head and kissed the brown birthmark he’d last looked upon with disdain. “You are home now. This is where you are supposed to be.” His arm snaked around her back as his tongue traced the outline of her nipple, teasing her, tempting her.

  She pushed her hands into his hair, inhaled the intoxicating scent of bergamot, of something unique, totally masculine. “Tell me how it would have been on our wedding night.”

  He straightened and looked at her, his blue eyes sparkling. “I would have been gentle and tender. I would have taken you slowly, stared into your eyes as I filled your body. I would have given you everything of myself, held nothing in reserve.”

  Oh, it sounded so perfect. “Will you not do so now?”

  He kissed her, a slow melding of mouths that tugged at the muscles deep in her core. Their tongues danced in a sensual, erotic rhythm. The taste of him fed her addiction, soothed her soul.

  “I will do whatever you ask,” he said, breaking contact. “But you must answer one question first.”

  She had nothing to fear anymore. This man made her feel strong and invincible. “Ask me anything.”

  “Do you love me, Estelle?”

  The directness of his question made her catch her breath.

  “I am not speaking of how you felt years ago,” he continued. “Or how you felt while living in that hellhole in France. I am speaking about how you feel now. Here. In this moment.”

  She did not have to examine her thoughts. The answer lived within in her. Indeed, she heard it before he asked the question. “I have loved you for as long as I can remember. Yes, I love you now as much as I did then.”

  One corner of his mouth turned up into a wicked smile. He took her hand, pulled the coverlet back to the end of the bed and gestured for her to lie down.

  She sank down into the mattress, gloried in the sight of him rising above her. He lavished her body with tender kisses, tasted her intimately in a place she never imagined he would. His actions were slow, yet she could feel an intense passion barely contained.

  He did not bring her to that glorious place where she cried out his name and shuddered in his arms, but it was not far away. Indeed, the feel of him entering her body, of him pushing deep, sent a pleasurable shiver racing to her toes.

  Ross cupped her face and kissed her as he withdrew and entered her again.

  “Oh, Lord,” she panted for the sensation was beyond anything she had experienced before. It was beautiful, highly arousing. Heavenly. “Do it again.”

  Their eyes locked and the power of it touched her soul. “With pleasure.”

  He closed his eyes on the next deep, measured thrust. A groan left his lips.

  “Give yourself over to me, Ross.” She wrapped her legs more firmly around his waist as he rocked in and out of her.

  “Do you like the feel of me inside you?” he breathed before moving to kiss her lips, her chin, to suck her lobe. “Do you like it when I fill you full?”

  “Like it? It’s divine.”

  Her words brought a slight shift in energy, he quickened the pace, angled his hips in such a way that he rubbed against the intimate place begging for release.

  “Oh, Ross,” she gasped as the bed creaked and he drove harder.

  “I need to withdraw soon.”

  “Don’t.” The foolish word left her lips unwittingly, for common sense played no part in it.

  He stopped and looked at her, his eyes heavy with desire. “If I don’t withdraw, you know what that means should there be a child?”

  Oh, she knew. Nothing in this world would make her happier. “I know.”

  He pushed inside her again. “Then you will swear it before God.”

  She didn’t know if he meant to marry her or make her his mistress. “What am I to swear to?”

  “That you will marry me. What else?”

  “I swear.”

  He plunged inside her. Four strokes and they were both hovering on the brink of their release. Her body exploded first, and then he stilled above her, flooding her with the essence of the man she loved, as he would have done on their wedding night. A guttural groan left his lips. They gasped each other’s names. She felt whole, blissfully happy. Surely nothing could come between them now. Surely nothing but happiness lay beyond this night.

  Chapter Eighteen

  They lay wrapped in each other’s arms, their legs entangled, their souls entwined. Vane stroked her hair, caressed her cheek, ran his hand over her bare shoulder because he could not stop touching her.

  “When you came here, you said you had something important to tell me,” he reminded her. They were on the verge of falling asleep, but he knew Mr Erstwhile wouldn’t settle until she returned home.

  Her warm brown eyes searched his face. “I came because it is time you learnt the truth. It was wrong of me to keep it from you, and now I can see that not knowing caused more pain than disappointment ever could.”

  “Why not wait until tomorrow?”

  “I hoped we could put the past behind us, that tomorrow could be a fresh start, a new day.”

  Vane came up on his elbow and gazed down at her. “Then tell me everything. Leave nothing out. Let us have no secrets anymore.” He suspected the truth would be unpleasant. After all, it had given her cause to leave him and flee to France.

  “I’m not sure where to begin.”

  “Begin with what this has to do with my father.” He was desperate to know.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Estelle told him about his father’s deliberate effort to ruin her father. Vane discovered the extent of his father’s betrayal, of the vile threats, of the ultimatum given to a young woman so torn she had not known what to do.

  Tears flowed as quickly as her words.

  Water filled his eyes, too. Not for his poor mother, for her father or brother, but for the innocent woman cornered by a tyrant. Vane pictured Estelle standing in the orchard, wringing her hands, gazing up at the sky and pleading for the Lord’s help. He could feel the gut-wrenching pain that accompanied leaving those you loved behind.

  Were it not for the love filling his chest now, he would rage through the house in a destructive frenzy. He would smash his fist through the portrait of his father hanging in the hall, chop it into small pieces and use it for fi
rewood. But nothing could change what had happened in the past. And all he wanted now was to bask in this beautiful state of bliss.

  “I’m sorry I left without telling you.”

  Vane sighed as he wiped her tears away. He understood her motive now. “I cannot imagine how hard it must have been for you, but I wish you had trusted me. We could have eloped. Together, we might have found a way to help your father.”

  “Mr Erstwhile would say that hindsight is the Devil tormenting our minds. That no one can foretell what might have been.” She gave a weak smile. “But I do have one question.”

  “What is that?”

  “If your father went to great lengths to ensure you married his mistress’ daughter, why did you not wed?”

  He fell silent for a moment while he gathered his thoughts. Those months after he believed she’d drowned in the shipwreck were the most painful of his entire life.

  “Everything makes more sense now,” he said with an air of melancholy. “I became withdrawn after you left, then angry, then rebellious. My father tried to console me, control me, but I refused to listen. He made many attempts to persuade me to marry, threatened me, even came up with a list of prospective brides, the current Lady Cornell being his favourite.”

  “Lady Cornell?” Estelle snorted. “That confirms his logic was flawed.”

  As the words left her lips, recognition dawned. The veil of secrecy slipped away and he saw the truth for the first time.

  “Good God. Lady Trent was my father’s mistress.” Vane sat up and dragged his hand down his face. “Lady Cornell’s mother was known for her conquests. Everyone spoke of a secret lover though no one knew his name. That’s why my father insisted her daughter would be a perfect match.”

  Vane had been given an ultimatum — marry her or suffer eternal damnation. His father’s weak heart meant he was denied an opportunity to carry out the threat.

  Estelle sat up. Vane’s gaze fell to the soft curve of her breast, and he draped his arm around her, drew her close and settled back against the pillows.

  “Perhaps that’s why Lady Cornell is so obsessed with you,” she said as her fingers twirled the hair on his chest, traced the numerous scars he’d received from brawls in dark alleys.

  “It certainly explains why she thinks we might be well suited.” Vane chose that moment to explain again how the lady happened to be in such a state of dishabille as she left his house. “My friend, Lord Farleigh, believes the woman is dangerous.”

  “Well, she is not afraid to take risks.” Estelle paused. “You told me she wanted you to kill her husband. Do you think that’s her motive or is it that she still hopes to marry you?”

  Vane shrugged. “I would say it’s both. After tonight, she knows I would like nothing more than an excuse to ruin Lord Cornell, whether by legitimate means or not.”

  “What grievance do you have with him?”

  “Cornell orchestrated Lillian’s ruination.” Vane went on to tell Estelle about the events two years ago, about how Lord Martin offered marriage, took what he wanted and then boarded the next ship to France. “Fabian threatened Cornell when he discovered the truth about his involvement.”

  Estelle fell silent.

  “I have hurt Fabian, too, haven’t I?”

  Vane refused to lie to her. “Yes, but he believes you left because of something I did. He’s blamed me for years. We fought about it only a few weeks ago.” Fists had flown. Threats were exchanged.

  “Then I shall have to correct his misconception.”

  “We could travel to the island. Your brother deserves to know you’re alive and well.” And time away from London would give them an opportunity to make plans for the future. “Though I should warn you, his men are somewhat brash and unconventional.”

  “You forget I’ve spent four years with a gang of smugglers.” She chuckled, but the sound lacked any genuine amusement.

  It was his turn to fall silent. Vane pushed all thoughts of her time in Wissant from his mind, lest it torment him.

  “What will you do about Lady Cornell?” Estelle asked. “You cannot permit her to continue in this outrageous manner.”

  In truth, he didn’t know. When he married Estelle — and he would marry her — perhaps it would bring an end to her obsession.

  Vane was about to answer when a knock on the door commanded his attention.

  What the hell did Marley want at this hour? Perhaps the butler had discovered the broken glass on the floor and feared an intruder.

  “I should attend to that,” he said.

  In spite of his nakedness, Vane strode to the door, opened it ajar and peered at his butler. “What is it, Marley?”

  “Forgive the disturbance, my lord, but Wickett insisted I give you this at once.” He handed Vane a letter. The burgundy wax seal meant it wasn’t from Mr Joseph.

  Vane took the letter. “Wait here a moment.” He closed the door, broke the seal and strode over to the lit candelabra to read the missive. He read it twice. Not because it was illegible, but because he couldn’t quite believe what he was reading.

  “Is there something wrong?” A frown marred Estelle’s brow.

  “Here, you may read it for yourself.”

  She took the letter and muttered as she absorbed the words. “Lord Cornell wants to meet with you at this hour? Do you think he discovered his wife came here this evening?”

  “I doubt it is a coincidence.” Vane cursed inwardly. After their earlier conversation, no doubt Lady Cornell told him where she had been and what she had discovered in the process.

  “Why would he ask to meet you at the museum? Is it not closed?”

  “Cornell works closely with the curators. Quite often he sources new pieces and rearranges displays. When it comes to antiquities and the study of ancient cultures, there is not a man in London more knowledgeable.” He hated paying the scoundrel a compliment.

  “And he works there this late?” Her voice held a nervous edge.

  “He’s been known to work through the night on many occasions.” Vane returned to address his butler. “Have Wickett ready the carriage. I shall be down as soon as I’m dressed.”

  “Shall I wake Pierre, my lord?”

  “No. I’ll see to things myself.” The last thing he wanted was the Frenchman stumbling upon the naked woman in his bed.

  Vane closed the door. He could sense Estelle’s anxiety before he turned to face her.

  “You’re not going?” She climbed out of bed and came to stand before him in all her wondrous glory.

  He drank in the sight of her soft breasts, of the gentle flare of her hips. He stared at her in awe, in lust, in love. “I must.”

  “But why? Has he not already caused untold damage to your life?”

  “Which is why I must put an end to it once and for all.”

  She placed her warm hands on his chest. “Don’t go. Forget about them. I cannot imagine he simply wants to talk.”

  “Estelle, the man is a menace, as is his wife. I shall not have either of them ruining things for us now.”

  Her breathing grew ragged. “Then I’m coming with you.”

  “The hell you are. I don’t trust either of them.”

  She ignored him, moved to the pile of discarded garments and found her chemise. “Either I come with you, or I’ll make my way there alone.” The thin chemise slithered over her body to distract him momentarily. She continued dressing, the firm set of her mouth and determined stare a sign he should not challenge her.

  Vane was unused to being defied. But then he would rather have Estelle with him than sit wondering when she would appear.

  “Then you’re to remain in the carriage,” he said as if he was in control of this situation.

  “If that is what you wish.”

  Vane entered his dressing room, rummaged around in the armoire and returned dressed in his usual black garb. Estelle sat on the edge of the bed, her boots fastened, her cloak tied around her shoulders and the hood raised. She’d plumped the
pillow and straightened the coverlet. He’d forgotten she was accustomed to making her own bed.

  “Are you ready?” she asked, and he thought he saw a guilty glint in her eye.

  “I was born ready.”

  Wickett drove past the museum and brought the carriage to a stop on Russell Street, some three hundred yards away, as Vane instructed.

  Shrouded in her black cloak, Estelle sat opposite, staring at him with wide eyes and an open mouth. “This is madness.”

  “Yes, but it is necessary.” Since the embarrassing incident with Fabian, Cornell had hidden in the shadows. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t planning his revenge.

  “So necessary you’re willing to risk your life?” she mocked.

  “There is nothing to fear. The night you stumbled upon me in the alley I’d been brawling with two rogues.”

  “And look how it ended. You were practically unconscious when we found you.”

  Only because the wolfhound sought to distract him. “I am more than capable of defending myself against Cornell.”

  Estelle glanced out of the window at the dimly lit street. “But you don’t know the museum as he does. The smugglers always outwitted the revenue men because they knew every hiding place.”

  “Don’t worry about me. Thirty minutes and I’ll be back.” Perhaps with an appointment to meet at dawn on Hampstead Heath.

  She crossed the carriage and fell into his lap. “I cannot lose you now. Not after all we have been through.”

  Vane kissed her: a slow, languorous affair that stirred his loins and teased his senses. “Only when we’ve dealt with the past, can we think about the future.”

  “Mr Erstwhile would disagree.”

  “Mr Erstwhile is not here. And in this instance, I’m confident of his support.” He kissed her again for good measure. “Now, promise me you will wait here until I return.”

  She shook her head. “I cannot do that.”

  “You cannot wait, or you cannot promise?”

  “Both.”

  “God damn, Estelle, must you be so stubborn? How can I deal with Cornell if I’m worried about you?” He lifted her up and deposited her on the seat opposite, then he opened the door and dropped to the pavement.