Secrets to a Gentleman's Heart (Gentlemen of Intrigue Book 1)

by Samantha Grace

She hesitated half a breath before placing her hand in his and allowing him to draw her toward the middle of the room. When they were a safe distance from the wall, he dropped her hand and squared his body in front of her. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

  Hold me. Kiss me. “Er...” She captured her bottom lip between her teeth and tried to focus on what she was supposed to be doing.

  His mouth slanted up on one side. “It just occurred to me to ask. Am I the white crane or the snake?”

  She snapped to attention. He wanted to see how her training worked in a real situation, not stand by as she fantasized about him. “You are the snake, sir. Try to strike me.”

  “Strike you? But you are a lady.”

  “Or try to grab me.”

  His sculpted jaw hardened. “I would never hurt a woman.”

  “I know, Mr. Vistoire, but not every man has honor. If you wish for a demonstration, you must pretend to be something you are not.”

  “You say this with the confidence of a woman who has encountered such men.”

  She shrugged. “Uncle Charles taught me to judge a man on what my instincts tell me and not by his station, appearance, or promises. This advice has served me well, and my encounters with such men have been rare.”

  “Even one time is too many. I’m afraid I must insist you enlist your uncle’s godson to escort you about Town from now on.”

  “You are not in a position to insist on anything, sir.” A warm tingling sensation expanded in her chest despite her protest. It was silly to want him to care for her when he would be on a ship embarking by high tide tomorrow, sailing toward a place she would never see.

  Nevertheless, she savored the possibility that he might hold some affection for her. That he might remember her fondly through the coming years and wonder about her from time to time. It seemed only fair since she suspected she would be doing the same when it came to him. “Do you wish for a demonstration? If so, try to strike me.”

  He didn’t offer any more arguments and assumed a fighting stance. Focusing on his torso, she watched for hints of movement before he reached for her. She swept his arm to her left, knocking him off balance, and drove her right hand toward his face, stopping short of gouging his eye with her thumb.

  He flinched. “Faith! You are quick. Are you certain you aren’t the snake?”

  She laughed and released his arm. “You didn’t commit, Mr. Vistoire. You are too gentlemanly to pose a threat, but I can protect myself when I must.”

  “Perhaps.”

  He poised himself to attack. She could tell from his stance that he’d had training in boxing. His body was positioned at a slight diagonal, his weight evenly distributed between both legs, and his dominant hand in back. He struck and she deflected his blow again. As they continued to spar, he grew bolder, throwing more than one punch at a time. She fanned her arms, each move flowing into the other. It was all very similar to a dance in her mind, although she was more graceful when practicing Wing Chun than she was dancing a waltz.

  They were both breathing heavily when they eventually stopped. The curls around Mr. Vistoire’s face were damp. “My confidence in your ability to protect yourself has increased,” he said, “but I would still prefer you have an escort.”

  “I will consider your request.”

  He stepped toward her and brushed a strand of hair that had slipped from the knot on top of her head and moved it behind her ear. His thumb lingered on her cheek. “I am forever in your debt, mademoiselle. Merci.”

  Cradling her face, he brushed his lips against her cheek then kissed her other one. She exhaled and turned toward his kiss just as he drew back. They stared at one another with lips parted. His breath stirred the hair at her temple, creating a delicious tickle that traveled down her back. His hand still cupped her face.

  “You are not deflecting me.” The husky sound of his voice competed with the drumming in her ears.

  “I know,” she whispered.

  “You promised to protect yourself.” His fingers slid to her nape, and he gently pulled her toward him. He flashed a rueful smile before pressing his lips to her forehead. She sank against him and his other arm circled her waist. He held her a long time, their jagged breaths intermingling.

  “I am not a man to deny himself,” he murmured. “Resisting you is taking all the strength I possess.”

  When he released her, she barely held in her cry of protest. “Stay safe, Miss Darlington. The world is a kinder place with you here.”

  As he walked away, she knew she’d been wrong about avoiding him. She wasn’t any better off for having never experienced his kiss.

  Eight

  Xavier reluctantly crossed Wedmore House’s threshold to be swallowed up by the murky night. Miss Darlington closed the door, and he stopped on the walk to listen for the turning of the lock. When the telltale clank sounded, he smiled. She wasn’t abidingly stubborn at least.

  He drew in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the dank London air, and tried to get his bearings in the fog. The hour was growing late for decent folk. Lingering with Miss Darlington might have cost Xavier a chance to catch his former landlady before she retired for bed. Nevertheless, he couldn’t have slipped away without expressing his gratitude and saying good-bye to the kind young woman who’d cared for him this past week. Unfortunately, once he was in Miss Darlington’s presence again, his drive to go had wavered.

  He glanced back at the four-story town house with only one window aglow. Miss Darlington was likely curling up with a book and her rascally dog to await her family’s return. The pull to rejoin her was a strong pulsing in his chest.

  She fascinated him. Beautiful. Tenderhearted. Vulnerable in her innocence. And yet, she was no helpless maiden. Frankly, she’d impressed the hell out of him, matching him move for move when they’d sparred. She seemed to know what he was going to do even before he did.

  Perhaps this would have made him uneasy in the past, to meet a woman who could read him so easily, but he derived a certain satisfaction from it now. She appeared to understand him. Perhaps she’d even recognized his true character in the end. Xavier was not a criminal or a reprobate. He was a desperate man grabbing for freedom.

  Dragging his fingers through his hair, he issued a low growl of disgust with himself. This wasn’t the time to have his head in the clouds. He needed to remain vigilant for signs of Farrin’s men. Although he hadn’t detected anyone lurking outside Wedmore House when he’d scouted the area earlier, he wouldn’t rest comfortably until he was far from England.

  A thick fog blanketed the neighborhood and rendered the street lamps nearly useless as he began the trek to his former residence. In the distance, the lamps’ dim glow reminded him of fireflies he and Serafine once chased in the fields around Le Bijou, the aging house he and his sister called home.

  He only had his memory of Mayfair to guide him, and with no clear landmarks, he couldn’t be sure he was headed in the right direction. Trusting his instincts, he forged on and hoped he didn’t plow into anything hidden in the fog.

  His worries about becoming lost vanished when he passed Berkeley Square. He was halfway to his former bachelor quarters. As he reached a crossroad, a lone carriage turned onto the cobblestone lane. The dull clop of horse’s hooves and a squeaky wheel hailed its approach. A prick of unease caused him to look over his shoulder. The mist formed halos around the lamps and hid the driver from view. The carriage crept down the lane as if in no hurry to reach its destination.

  Or they are searching for someone.

  Xavier’s mouth grew dry as the carriage drew closer. His muscles tensed. At the last moment, he darted behind a hedge to crouch low. The carriage rolled past, the squeaking of the wheel grating to his nerves. He remained hidden until the sound faded and eventually disappeared. When he was certain the carriage presented no danger, he rose from the ground, smacked the dirt from his hands, and strode on.

  At the corner where Hill met Waverton, he was afforded a clear view of Mrs
. Zachery’s modest town house. Light peeked through a crack in the curtains. She was awake. He exhaled, only now realizing he’d been holding his breath, and hurried his step. Even if he’d had to scale the trellis in the backyard and enter through a window, he would have found his way inside. Discovering the light turned up, however, would make his task easier.

  He bounded up the stairs and banged on the door, noting that even after two years the paint was still peeling. As he lifted his fist to knock again, the door flew open.

  A diminutive man wearing a blue satin banyan stood in the doorway, squinting up at him. His wispy, blond hair had been carefully brushed to sweep across his bald head as if creating a bridge from one ear to the other. He seemed all that was proper, which was likely the reason his blunt greeting came as a surprise. “Who the hell are you?”

  Xavier fell back a step. The town houses on the street butted against one another and looked similar, but he’d been certain he was at the correct place. “Is this the Zachery residence?” he asked. “I am seeking Mrs. Zachery.”

  “I am Mr. Zachery, her nephew.” The man’s dour expression didn’t alter. “What is it you want?”

  “If you would be so kind as to retrieve your aunt, so I might speak with her.”

  Mr. Zachery’s blank stare was less than encouraging.

  “Uh... I am a former tenant—of Mrs. Zachery,” Xavier said. “I’ve come to collect my personal belongings, if you please.”

  Her nephew’s shoulders sank and he sighed wearily. “I thought that sordid mess was finally behind me. Well, I suppose you will want to come inside and sift through everything.”

  Mr. Zachery proved to be more cooperative than his gruff manner had suggested. He moved aside and gestured for Xavier to enter. “Follow me.”

  He led Xavier down a narrow corridor past the stairwell. “Aunt Gert was up to quite a bit of mischief over the years. I only discovered her misdeeds after I inherited the house and found the crates. I shouldn’t have been surprised when gentlemen began arriving at the door to demand their belongings.” He stopped in front of a door built beneath the stairs.

  Xavier offered his condolence on Mrs. Zachery’s passing, but her nephew provided no indication he heard him. He tugged hard on the handle with both hands before the door gave way. From floor to ceiling, the small space was jammed with items.

  Mr. Zachery shrugged. “She must have been stealing from her tenants for years, although no one has been able to prove she took anything of value. I will bring you a candle for light.”

  He turned on his heel and walked away.

  Xavier rubbed away the tightness gathering at his temple. It could take all night to sift through everything in the closet. Fortunately, what Xavier came for was upstairs. Before Mr. Zachery returned, Xavier darted up the staircase and stalked toward his former rooms. The door was unlocked, so he let himself inside.

  Men’s clothing littered the floor, indicating a new tenant was letting the apartment, but he’d apparently stepped out for the evening. Xavier hurried to the loose board in the floor, kicked the current tenant’s slippers aside, and bent to pry up the board. Blindly, he reached into the niche and grabbed the purse.

  “You there,” Mr. Zachery called from the stairs. “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be up here. Where are you?”

  Xavier shoved the purse into his pocket and felt around for the papers that proved his identity and worth. Everything of value was exactly where he’d left it. He’d replaced the board and was walking toward the door when Mr. Zachery appeared in the threshold with a candle.

  “I suspect you are right about my belongings being under the stairs,” Xavier said, “but I haven’t the time to search.”

  The man scrambled out of his way as Xavier swept into the corridor and headed for the stairs.

  “I told you where they would be,” Mr. Zachery said.

  “Oui, and I thank you.” When Xavier reached the ground floor, he pulled six pounds from his purse—five to clear his debt to Mrs. Zachery, and one for her nephew’s trouble. He dropped the bills on a small table by the front door and slipped outside to disappear into the fog.

  Now that he could pay for a hack, he would hire one to carry him to the wharf. It was too far to walk, and the sooner he secured a room at one of the inns, the better. His luck had held out thus far, but he’d be a fool to believe the men who’d taken him prisoner had undergone a change of heart and wouldn’t lock him away for good if they found him.

  He determined his chances of finding transportation would be greater around the gentlemen’s clubs and set off in their direction. He hadn’t gone far, however, when he spotted a hackney coach stopped at the next intersection.

  The driver might be waiting for another fare, but Xavier would offer double to carry him to the wharf if that were the case. Cutting across the road, he hailed the driver. “Carry me to the docks, and I will make it worth your time.”

  The driver touched the brim of his hat, inclining his head slightly. “Yes, sir.”

  Xavier climbed into the carriage, dropped on the bench, and froze. His heart hammered. Filtered lamplight glinted off the silver barrel of a flintlock pistol, and it was aimed at him. The click of the firearm being set to full cock reverberated in the small space.

  “Mr. Vistoire, what a pleasant surprise.”

  Xavier cursed. It was Farrin.

  The carriage lurched forward. The squeak of a wheel penetrated the interior. Xavier’s hand curled into a fist against his thigh. He’d been followed. The blackguard had been toying with him since Berkeley Square.

  “I was beginning to believe you and Benny had conspired against me. Perhaps you have, and I’ve intercepted you before any harm could be done.”

  Xavier forced himself to relax against the seatback. As long as he remained on alert, Farrin wouldn’t lower his guard, and Xavier would have no chance to escape. “As you can see, I am alone. I’ve no idea where Benny has gotten off to.”

  The man lowered the firearm and leaned forward. One side of his face remained in shadow. “It is odd Benny never returned,” the man said. “Perhaps my brother met with a foul end at your hands.”

  Xavier didn’t deny the charge. If Farrin believed him capable of murder, perhaps he would reconsider the wisdom in holding him against his will. “Benny never mentioned having a brother. I see that he inherited the brains and beauty,” Xavier drawled.

  The man affected a laugh, holding his belly and drawing out the pretense by wiping fake tears from his cheeks. His jaw hardened, and his piercing gaze nailed Xavier. “You are hilarious.”

  Xavier ground his teeth. The man was an arse.

  Farrin raised the pistol again, aiming at Xavier’s chest. “Give me the bloody map.”

  “I don’t have it. Maybe you should be searching for Benny.”

  “You can’t expect me to believe Benny took the map. He does everything I tell him. The idiot cannot think for himself.”

  Xavier’s spine stiffened. “He is quiet. That doesn’t make him stupid.” He’d heard his young cousin Rafe referred to as a simpleton too many times to allow the insult to pass.

  “And here I believed Benny’s love affair with you was one-sided. I think you do know where he is. You’ve been together this whole time.” Farrin’s voice dripped with derision. “Take me to the map.”

  “You must be a dreadful bore at parties with all this blathering on about dusty old maps.”

  Farrin growled low in his throat. “Take me to the map, or I’ll blow a hole in you.”

  “I don’t have the map. Neither does Benny. And you are to blame.” Xavier glowered. “You failed to mention Wedmore House has a dog.”

  “It is a small dog.”

  “And he barks. You were wrong about the servants, too. I barely escaped.”

  He was taking a risk with the tale, but if Farrin was lying about Benny’s disappearance, he probably knew a woman had threatened them with gaol. Xavier wanted to keep Miss Darlington’s involvement and his
extended stay a secret to protect her and her family.

  They sat in silence except for the incessant squeaking wheel and the rumble of the carriage bumping along the street.

  “I should have sent someone with more experience,” Farrin said at last. “Someone who knows how to deal with dogs and servants without becoming squeamish. Fortunately, there is still time.”

  A low roar built inside Xavier until it thundered in his ears. Miss Darlington and the women at Wedmore House would be no match for one of Farrin’s men. “You can’t send in another man.”

  “I can do whatever I please—with the dog, the occupants of Wedmore House, you.”

  “Allow me to try again.” He prayed desperation didn’t resonate in his voice. “I can retrieve the map.”

  “Garrick can retrieve it, and he won’t fail.”

  “You sent me for a reason. We have no connection to one another. If I am captured or there are witnesses, the crime cannot be traced to you. You need me.”

  Farrin lowered the gun. Perhaps posing a danger to others grew tiring after a time. “What did you retrieve from Mr. Zachery’s house? Money? What is to keep you from going straight to the docks as soon as I allow you out of my sight?”

  There was nothing to stop him. Nothing except Miss Darlington. Two years ago, he wouldn’t have given a second thought to saving his own skin. But he’d had an abundance of time to reflect on his character during his captivity, and he’d found himself lacking. He’d vowed to stop living up to his father’s expectations and become an honorable gentleman.

  “I give you my word,” Xavier said.

  Farrin scoffed. “The word of a scoundrel.”

  Xavier drew himself up on the carriage bench. “The word of a gentleman. I will bring you the map, but you must allow me to find it my way. And I will need time.”

  Time would allow him to contact Lord Wedmore’s godson, Margrave. The viscount could offer the ladies protection, and once Xavier knew they were safe, he could return to his family in New Orleans.

  Farrin’s glower appeared deadly. “Will your word as a gentleman stop you from running away? I fear not. Unless...” Farrin drummed his fingers against his thigh. “Unless your sister serves as collateral.”