LINDLEY STOOD SILENTLY IN THE SHADOWS AND watched. Sophie had been truthful with him—the man was indeed her father. Yes, he could get a good look at him now and recognized him easily. Philip Darshaw—or more correctly, Philippe D’Archaud, as he was truly named—was not a striking man. He was a bit on the small side, although by no means delicate. He carried himself with a confident air, however, and although the man had been in England for years, he’d never fully lost his continental swagger. Lindley could quite see how the fellow had built himself a successful career on the stage.
Plus, Lindley had heard stories of the great beauty that had been this man’s wife. Indeed, if Sophie was anything at all like her mother, the stories had obviously been accurate. Clearly, Sophie’s attractive features and eye-catching figure were not gifts from her father. It seemed all she had inherited from him was a legacy of shame and hardship.
Lindley knew a bit about D’Archaud. He’d run across the bastard a time or two, been able to determine he was—or had been—closely connected with the very people Lindley was stalking all this time. Oh yes, Lindley had been eager to meet up with Philippe D’Archaud, and he had no doubt this was the man.
At last, he was close to getting what he wanted. But there would be no sense in acting irrationally. He would wait, plan his course of action, and make certain D’Archaud would not get away. Lindley strained his ears to listen as the man spoke to his daughter.
It appeared he and Sophie would be spending the night at this place. If D’Archaud had been involved in the shooting attempt at the posting house, he had given up hope of success. At least for now. Tonight, it appeared, he and Sophie were done running.
But had D’Archaud acted alone? Who was that lone rider who’d been seen leaving the posting house in the other direction? Perhaps D’Archaud had a partner out there who had not cut his losses and run this way. He would no doubt be pursuing his goal all this while. Lindley should have ignored these two and gone after that one. It had been more than foolish to come chasing after Miss Darshaw like this.
What had he been thinking? Rescue? It was ridiculous. Did he truly believe the girl was innocent in all this deception and scheming? What would it matter if she was? His responsibility was to justice. Miss Darshaw was not the only innocent person caught up in this mess, but she was lucky enough to be surviving it. Others were not so lucky. It was to those persons Lindley held a responsibility, not to some pretty face he’d met in a brothel.
Damn, he was a fool. As soon as things were clear, he ought to go retrieve his mount where he’d left it and tear off in the other direction. Feasel would no doubt be looking for him, possibly with further news on Fitzgelder and his particular business. That is what Lindley ought to keep his mind on, not this slip of a criminal’s daughter. He should go right away and forget all about Sophie Darshaw.
But something the girl’s father said to her continued to repeat itself in Lindley’s head. Tomorrow I will take you back where you belong. What could the man mean by it? Where, after all, did Sophie belong? Surely not in a brothel. What father would knowingly drag his child back to a place like that?
Yet she had no other home, not that Lindley knew of. Unless one wanted to count Fitzgelder’s servants’ quarters, and Lindley did not. But could that be what D’Archaud had meant? He was in league with the man, or had been at one time; Lindley knew that for a fact. Could D’Archaud be planning to take Sophie back to Fitzgelder, to have her installed there again for some purpose?
It was unthinkable, yet then again, Lindley had been forced to face several unthinkable things over the past few years. In some sick, disgusting way it made perfect sense that D’Archaud might have been instrumental in placing his daughter in Fitzgelder’s home for his own personal benefit. Now it was just as logical that he might be taking her back there.
Damn him! The poor girl did not deserve that. Lindley acknowledged that he was not entirely thinking straight when he left the lonely shadows behind the inn and stalked around to the door D’Archaud and his daughter had just entered.
He strode in, easily finding D’Archaud in discussion with the proprietor, engaging them a room for the night. Sophie seemed particularly small and exhausted as she stood quietly next to her father. The father who had done nothing to keep her out of that brothel and who very likely was eager to send her back to Fitzgelder. Lindley couldn’t stomach it.
“D’Archaud,” he said, stopping mere feet from the man.
Sophie sucked in a startled breath, and D’Archaud whirled on him.
“Lindley. What the hell do you want?”
The men eyed each other.
“I’ve got a laundry list of things I want,” Lindley replied. “To start with, I want you to tell me what the hell you’re doing here.”
D’Archaud stepped in front of Sophie. “I’m trying to keep my daughter away from the likes of you, that’s what I’m doing here.”
“Why, so you can drag her back to Fitzgelder’s employ?”
“You’ve been keeping tabs on her, I see,” D’Archaud sneered. “I ought to—”
The older man moved quickly, fists raised. Lindley instinctively ducked, just in time. He wished he hadn’t, though. If he’d let the blackguard hit him, killing him would be that much more justified.
Lindley allowed himself the decadent luxury of giving in to his anger. He lunged at the older man. D’Archaud still had some speed left in him, though, and managed to avoid taking the full force of Lindley’s well-aimed facer. The earl only succeeded in a glancing blow to D’Archaud’s jaw.
But it was enough to set the man off balance. Sophie squealed and rushed toward her father while the man staggered back, grasping at a chair to try to keep to his feet. She glared at Lindley. Her cold, frightened eyes stopped him in his tracks. Whatever else D’Archaud was, Sophie still looked at the man as a child would. He was still her father, and she was ready to defend him, despite his negligent care for her all these years.
Lindley supposed he could understand this. He’d had a father, too, and despite the old man’s lifestyle of waste and carelessness, Lindley had still fairly worshipped him. True, it would have been nice if his father had not left him with an estate full of debt and a string of greedy creditors camped at the door. He supposed he could empathize with Sophie’s concern and natural devotion.
He stepped back, giving D’Archaud time to compose himself. The proprietor hurried out from behind his desk to beg the men to be calm. Lindley doubted that would happen.
Sophie turned her back on Lindley and focused on helping her father. He tried to take a step forward, but his leg seemed to crumble underneath him. He fell back into the chair and moaned, clutching his knee. Somehow in their brief struggle the man had been injured. How, Lindley could not entirely be certain.
Something clattered to the floor. Lindley glanced down to discover a knife. He looked back up to discover an ugly red stain appearing between D’Archaud’s fingers, just above the boot. The man was bleeding. Profusely.
“Good heavens!” the proprietor called out.
“You cut him!” Sophie yelled, hovering over her father and giving Lindley a glare that was no less lethal than the knife lying at his feet.
“I did no such thing,” Lindley informed her, still grappling with the details of the situation. “He must have been extricating it from his boot to use the bloody thing on me.”
For a moment the hatred in Sophie’s eyes faded and she turned her face toward her father’s. “Papa?”
“I can’t let him go on using you, Fifi,” D’Archaud growled. “His promises are all lies—whatever he’s told you, it’s a lie. You’ve got to trust me!”
She seemed confused, but certainly no more than Lindley felt. Just what was D’Archaud rattling on about? What on earth did he think Lindley had been doing with his daughter? He was more than happy to find Sophie was eager to clear things up.
“Papa, Lord Lindley has only ever been kind to me,” she explained.
The w
ay D’Archaud rolled his eyes indicated he might not fully believe her. And rightly so, Lindley supposed. He had to acknowledge the girl was giving him more credit than he deserved, considering some of the things he’d said to her these last couple of days. Likely, though, her praise was due more to her wish to calm her father than to any real kindness she’d perceived within Lindley. Pity, that. He was sure he might still be quite a kindly soul if his life hadn’t been wholly consumed by this hunt for justice these last few years. Besides, there was some sort of pleasurable sensation at the thought of Miss Darshaw viewing him in a positive light.
“He doesn’t know the meaning of kindness,” D’Archaud snarled. “I could have cut out the man’s heart and he’d barely notice.”
“Really, Papa!” Miss Darshaw exclaimed. “Lord Lindley is a titled gentleman. You cannot go around insulting him like this and…and pulling knives on him!”
D’Archaud gave a disgusted grunt. “I assure you, Fifi, it was no less than he had planned for me.”
“I had no intention of resorting to violence,” Lindley announced, “until you decided to drag your daughter into all of this. How deeply have you pulled her in? Is her very life forfeit for the sake of assisting you in your crimes?”
D’Archaud tried to rise up from his seat, but the blood was flowing freely from his leg and it almost seemed the man would topple over. Sophie must have recognized the situation. She grasped helplessly at her father’s arm, urging him to be still, to let her tend his wound. He pushed her away.
“Sophie knows nothing of my life,” D’Archaud said. “I have had no contact with her…not until now, when she’s gotten herself mixed up with you and that, that Clemmons bastard.”
“Papa!” the girl exclaimed, sounding every bit the proper, missish lady.
Lindley couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony. She was scolding the man for his crude conversation when he was the very one who left her in a brothel all these years, on her own against a world full of Fitzgelders and worse. Clearly somewhere along the way Miss Darshaw had been raised in propriety and advantage. Such a shame she had fallen to this state now.
Then the full meaning of D’Archaud’s words sank in, and Lindley cocked his head in curiosity. D’Archaud had mentioned Clemmons. Could it be the man did not know the truth about Clemmons? Was he truly under the impression his daughter had been chasing the countryside with a man? And Sophie had not set him straight? Indeed, it appeared D’Archaud was not the only one keeping secrets from his loved ones.
In some convoluted way, this seemed in Sophie’s favor.
“Are you implying your daughter has no knowledge of the despicable ways you’ve supported yourself over the years, D’Archaud?”
“I’m informing you flat out, sir, that Sophie is innocent.”
“Well, that still remains to be seen, doesn’t it?”
D’Archaud snarled at him. “She has no knowledge of anything you are interested in, Lindley. If you think there is business between us, leave her out of it. I’ll go with you, but Sophie remains here, unharmed.”
So D’Archaud had eluded him all this time, only to go peacefully now? Lindley doubted it. Still, the man’s concern for his daughter seemed genuine. Perhaps this could be useful.
“If she’s connected to you, D’Archaud, she’s guilty as sin. I’m taking you both. Justice will determine your fate.”
Lindley wasn’t quite sure how he would follow through on that threat, considering it was late at night, he didn’t know a soul in this town, and he’d arrived here on a rented hack. Still, where his daughter was concerned D’Archaud appeared to be unwilling to take chances.
The man forced himself up onto his feet—despite his daughter’s protests—and he met Lindley’s eyes dead-on. “I will go with you, but not Sophie. No, listen to me, damn it. I know what you’re after, Lindley, and you’ll never find it on your own. Take me now and I’ll lead you there. But Sophie stays.”
So she could meet up with D’Archaud’s contact and he could send warning that Lindley was on the way? No, he was not about to fall into that trap. Sophie may not know exactly what her father was up to, but she still cared for him and would surely do whatever she could to protect him. Even now, he could see it in her eyes. She was trying to make sense of all this and decide what she could do about it.
But if Lindley could ferret out that contact person—and he had no doubt there was one—then he’d be one step ahead of things. He knew, of course, that D’Archaud had no intentions of actually leading him to the men he was after. That was simply a ruse to get Lindley away from Sophie, and of course no father could be blamed for attempting it. But if Lindley were to pretend to believe the man and go along with his suggestion, he could lull Sophie into making that contact. All Lindley would have to do after that was watch, follow, and wait.
But what to do with D’Archaud in the meanwhile? Sophie must believe they were gone and that her father was in danger. Well, that ought to be easy enough to manage.
He smiled at her and set his plan in motion.
Chapter Seven
Lindley was going to take Papa away! No, not after she’d just found him again after all these years. How could she let it happen? And the poor man was injured, his lifeblood rushing out of his body with nothing to check it. She still could not be sure who inflicted that wound, although she tried and tried to wish it were Lindley. That would make it so much easier to hate him. However, common sense told her that was not likely the case.
She had not seen Lindley with a knife, and, after all, Papa was a criminal. That seemed nearly undeniable. Why else would he have let her—and everyone else—think him dead all this time? Now that Lindley had found him, he would certainly have resorted to violence to save himself. Even if it meant attacking an earl. Lindley’s story was too easy to accept.
But was it the truth? She honestly couldn’t know. Lindley was a gentleman, true, but she’d certainly seen enough gentlemen come through the doors at Madame’s brothel and heard the whispers of how they’d behaved in the privacy of their hostesses’ rooms to know not every gentleman was, indeed, a gentleman.
Yet Lindley spoke of justice. He seemed rock-solid in his conviction that Papa had done some terrible wrong and needed to pay for it. Of course it was true.
Papa, however, spoke of trust. He claimed Lindley was a liar and none of his words could be believed. All he asked was for Sophie to trust him. Yet, how could she?
She watched—helpless—as the handkerchief she’d held against his wounded leg began to drip blood. Right now none of it mattered; not justice, not trust, and not discovering the truth. All that mattered was saving Papa’s life.
“Very well,” Lindley said, interrupting her before she had the chance to beg. “I will take you, Darshaw, and leave your daughter here. I suppose the girl has been well educated in fending for herself. I doubt she’s privy to much useful information, anyway.”
“Thank you,” Papa said, his voice sounding weak.
“Stay here,” Lindley went on. “I’ll go arrange a conveyance. We’ll leave within ten minutes. Say your good-byes and don’t force me to get ugly about this.”
What, it wasn’t ugly already? Oh, but this was dreadful! Papa was in the process of bleeding to death, yet he would simply agree to go with the man? He’d leave her again? Indeed, this was ugly enough for her.
“Wait!” she called before Lindley walked back out the door he’d just come in. “You can’t mean to take him like this! He’ll never make it. He needs a doctor!”
“He’ll see the hangman soon enough.”
She could scarcely believe her ears. Lord Lindley was so cold as to drag her father away, knowing he’d likely bleed to death long before they ever reached any magistrate or court of law? But that was inhumane! What on earth could Papa have done to make the man hate him so?
There was nothing she could do but watch Lindley’s tall, elegant form as he strode out the door and into the darkness. By God, whatever Papa may or may n
ot have done hardly counted for anything just now. The only thing that could make any difference was what she herself might do about it.
And she knew what to do. She’d lived long enough under Madame’s roof and seen the fire in Lindley’s eye. Indeed, she knew exactly what to do. She’d do it, too, by God, if it might save Papa’s life.
“Hold on, Papa,” she said, and she glanced up at the gaping proprietor, whose wife must have heard the commotion and appeared at his side. “Quickly! Find him bandages.”
Then she kissed Papa’s clammy cheek and gave him a reassuring smile just before she hurried out the door after Lindley. Papa said nothing, but she could feel his eyes follow her. She prayed he might not guess her intentions.
LINDLEY MOVED OUT INTO THE DARKNESS, AWAY FROM the doorway to the inn and the glowing lamp that had been hung there. He would not need a conveyance, but his brief absence would allow D’Archaud to give his daughter instruction. Whether she was a party to his criminal actions or not, Lindley had seen the desperation displayed clearly on her face. She would do whatever the older man asked of her, and Lindley did not doubt he would ask her to contact his friends.
He couldn’t help but smile. Finally, he was this close to finding what he’d been after all this time. He would be able to go to Warren with names, details, proof that would condemn the monsters who had gotten away with murder and treason. Well, they’d not get away with it much longer. Lindley would finally be able to sleep at night.
Provided, of course, his conscience could allow him that. By baiting D’Archaud into sending his daughter to deliver word to his cronies, Lindley was thoroughly implicating the girl in her father’s crimes. She may be innocent now, but once she stood in the way of justice and took warning to the enemy, she was guilty and would bear the consequences. And Lindley’s conscience would bear the consequences of that.
He was almost relieved when he heard her footsteps behind him.
“Lord Lindley, please,” she began, trotting toward him, then stopping just out of arm’s reach. “You cannot take Papa. Not now.”
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