The Deceptive Lady Darby (Lost Ladies of London Book 2)

by Adele Clee

  His other hand slid around her waist and guided her to stand between his legs. “I know what it’s like to be a viscount with endless responsibilities, to be a father and lord of all he surveys. But I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be a man.”

  “You’re more of a man than anyone I’ve ever met.”

  The compliment warmed his heart as well as another part of his anatomy. “Can I kiss you, Rose?”

  She exhaled, moistened her lips and nodded.

  The touch of her lips was everything he imagined it to be: instantly soothing, deeply arousing. What started as light brushing and chaste nips, soon ignited into something far more powerful and intense.

  With a moan of appreciation, he crushed her to his chest, coaxed and teased her lips apart so his tongue could explore her mouth’s wondrous depths.

  Rose.

  She met him with equal enthusiasm. Her hands journeyed up over his chest and around his neck. Dainty fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, holding him in position. Audible pants filled the air as a desperate hunger to taste each other deeply took hold.

  He broke contact on a gasp, his body wracked with the need to carry this woman to his bed and make her his own.

  “My lord,” the whispered words drifted over him as he kissed along her jaw and neck.

  “Call me Christian. Let me hear my name fall from your lips.”

  “Christian.” Her head fell back exposing the elegant column of her throat. Damn. He’d never seen a sight as beautiful.

  As he worked up to the sensitive spot below her ear, relishing in her little moans and sighs, he opened his eyes and stared out at a sky littered with stars. God, he felt so alive. So blissfully free. Perhaps the Lord had answered his prayers.

  But then something caught his attention.

  A plume of black smoke crept into his field of vision, swirling higher and growing in density. Another person might have questioned the phenomena, but Christian knew exactly what it was.

  “Rose.” He clasped her arms and forced her to straighten, kissed her once on the lips as she gazed dreamily into his eyes, purely because he couldn’t help himself. “I need to open the window.”

  A mischievous smile touched her lips. “It is rather hot in here.”

  He shook his head. “There’s smoke in the sky above Morton Manor.”

  On a loud gasp, Rose swung around. She stepped aside, and Christian rushed forward and raised the sash. The smell of burning wood flooded his nostrils, carried on a breeze from the direction of the house.

  “You’re sure it’s the manor?” Panic infused every word.

  “Most definitely.”

  “Then we must do something.” She grabbed his sleeve and pulled him towards the door.

  Christian caught her by the arm and forced her to stop. “I’ll go. Stay here with the children. I fear if they wake to a commotion it might rouse painful memories of the night Cassandra died.”

  “But what if there are people trapped inside? You can’t tackle a fire alone.”

  By the time he reached the manor, it would be too late.

  “Stay here,” he insisted. “I shall return shortly.” He took her face between his hands and claimed her mouth in a kiss that could well have to last him a lifetime. “Do not open the door to anyone. Promise me. Promise me you’ll remain here.”

  She hesitated and glanced back at the window.

  All the old doubts crept into his mind. What if his nightmare wasn’t over? Visions of the future flashed before his eyes. He saw Rose rushing towards him just as the burning building collapsed, leaving her buried beneath the rubble.

  “Promise me, Rose. If you care for me at all, you’ll stay here.”

  She rubbed her neck, her pretty face marred by an inner conflict. Her answer would prove telling.

  Eventually, she sighed and placed her hand on his arm. “Very well. I shall remain here. You have my word.”

  Chapter Ten

  The biting wind nipped at Christian’s cheeks as Valiant galloped down the lane leading to the manor. Thick smoke filled the air and half choked him. The scent of burning timber almost made him cast up his accounts, but he forged on ahead.

  As soon as they passed through the gates, his horse grew restless and pawed the ground at the sight of the flames licking the walls and devouring everything in its path.

  Morton Manor blazed like a beacon. A pyre in memory of all the poor souls who’d perished there. A fitting end for a place once regarded as the sanctum of witches.

  Water filled his eyes. But he was not sad or sorry.

  He glanced around the courtyard, one last jubilant goodbye.

  Good God!

  Preoccupied with his own private celebration, he’d failed to notice the gentleman sitting on the ground clutching a woman in his arms. Christian gave Valiant a reassuring pat, dismounted and rushed towards the couple.

  “I saw the smoke and came immediately.” Christian pointed to the building. Within hours Morton Manor would be a pile of ash and rubble. “But I can see I’m too late.”

  The man failed to tear his gaze away from the woman’s face. He held her to his chest, brushed loose tendrils of red hair from her brow. Were they the owners, returned after a lengthy trip? Though dirty, the cut of his clothes suggested a man of wealth. Was this the lord who’d hired Rose?

  Christian bent down at their side. “She is alive I take it?” At times like this one had to ask insensitive questions.

  The gentleman nodded. “Yes, but she’s inhaled smoke, fallen somehow and hurt her head.” In obvious distress, he continued to stroke the woman’s cheek.

  “May I?” Christian gestured to her hand, waited for a nod of approval and then checked for a pulse. The steady beat thrummed against his fingers. But he knew the dangers of smoke inhalation. “There’s a doctor in Abberton a few miles up the road. I’ll ride there at once.”

  A heavy sigh of relief burst from the gentleman’s lips. “We’ll wait at The Talbot Inn. I don’t care what it takes. Have him come at once.”

  It crossed Christian’s mind to direct them to Everleigh. As the closest neighbour shouldn’t he be the one to offer the gentleman and his wife a bed for the night?

  “Will you be all right at the Talbot? I have a large house and would offer you a place to stay.” If he did, then they would discover he’d stolen their maid. And the injured woman bore too many similarities to Cassandra. “But I have young children who would be … be easily distressed at the sight of …” Christian struggled to finish the sentence.

  “Thank you for the thought. The inn is clean and comfortable, and Mrs Parsons is a capable woman who’ll know what to do.”

  Christian nodded. “Then I shall return with the doctor and meet you there.”

  Time was of the essence and so he did not dally, did not give the manor a second glance, but mounted his horse and galloped down the drive. The ride to Abberton through dark country lanes took fifteen minutes. He’d pushed the horse hard, hoping the wind would blow the smell of smoke from his coat.

  “Dr Taylor.” Christian rapped the wooden door of the doctor’s house three maybe four times before his housekeeper answered.

  “You’ll be wanting the doctor no doubt.” The woman’s bulging cheeks swamped her tiny mouth and chin. She blinked rapidly when she recognised him. “My lord, come in. Come in. Goodness. The doctor wouldn’t want me to leave you waiting out in the cold.”

  “I must speak to your master. It’s a matter of great—”

  “Lord Farleigh?” Dr Taylor appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing a shirt and loose-fitting trousers. “What has brought you out at this hour?” He padded in his stocking feet down to the hall. “Is it Jacob? Is he unwell?”

  “No. It’s not Jacob.” Christian swallowed to catch his breath. “There’s a fire at Morton Manor. The whole place is ablaze. A young woman needs urgent attention.”

  Dr Taylor’s face grew ashen. “A woman? But I thought all the occupants had left the manor.”

>   “Who told you that?”

  Dr Taylor scratched his head. “I-I can’t remember. Perhaps it was Mrs Brown or was it your housekeeper, Mrs Hibbet? Never mind.” He turned to his housekeeper. “Fetch my bag from the study and have Carter saddle my horse.”

  After bobbing a curtsy, the woman scurried off.

  “Give me a few minutes to dress, and I’ll meet you outside.”

  Christian sat astride Valiant, staring out into the distance while he waited for Taylor. But it wasn't the disaster at the manor that plagued his thoughts. For the first time in years, he looked forward to going home, to having another private conversation in the study with his governess.

  Guilt flared as the image of that sweet, sensual kiss came flooding back. His desire for Rose should have roused a pang of shame. But no matter what position she held in his household, he refused to see her as a servant.

  For heaven’s sake, he'd never met a more intelligent woman. And regardless of her situation now, she could hold her head amongst the elite of society. Perhaps he should press her for more information regarding her background. But what if his probing questions pushed her away? He’d grown accustomed to having her around. Couldn’t bear the thought she might leave.

  “Forgive me for keeping you waiting, my lord.” Dr Taylor appeared on his mount. “Carter, my groom, grows less efficient as the years pass. Now, where are we headed? I trust someone moved the woman in question to a safer location.”

  “Yes, The Talbot Inn.”

  “Ah, we’d best get there before Mrs Parsons mixes one of her tinctures. The woman cooks the best lamb stew for miles around but is lacking when it comes to herbal remedies.”

  They nudged their horses out onto the lane and set off towards the inn.

  Alerted by the clip of their horses’ hooves on the cobblestoned courtyard, Mr Parsons rushed out to greet them. “His lordship said you’d be coming. They’re waiting upstairs.”

  So the gentleman was a member of the aristocracy. Damn. Not only did that present a problem when it came to stealing servants, but there were still those in London who liked to gossip about Cassandra. It was yet another reason for remaining in the country.

  They dismounted, and a groom took their horses.

  “Take me to her at once,” Dr Taylor said, removing the leather satchel draped across his shoulder. “Ensure Mrs Parsons doesn’t give her anything to eat or drink until I’ve made a thorough examination.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  They hurried inside. Mrs Parsons appeared and beckoned them upstairs. “I’ve put the lady in here.” She rapped on the door, opened it ajar and peered inside. “The doctor is here, my lord.”

  “Praise the saints. Show him in.”

  Christian tapped Taylor’s arm. “I’ll be downstairs should you need anything.” The doctor liked privacy when he worked, and Christian wanted to avoid making polite conversation.

  Despite the late hour, numerous people sat around the crude wooden tables in the taproom, supping their drinks. Christian found a spot in the corner near the fire and ordered a tankard of ale. Mr Parsons approached the table, wiping his hands on the apron tied around his waist.

  “Terrible news about the lady,” he said in a hushed voice. “Although I doubt any of us care what happens to the manor.”

  “No doubt some of Mr Watson’s old patients will rejoice once they hear the news.” Christian swallowed a mouthful of ale. “As will I once I’m assured the lady is in good health.”

  “Oh, we’re all hoping for that, my lord.” Mr Parsons stepped closer. A whiff of stale sweat wafted past Christian’s nose. “His lordship doesn’t seem too bothered about losing the house. I know some who’d be crying over the burnt timbers.”

  “I imagine anyone who’s spent a few nights in that place would welcome an excuse to leave.” Christian sat forward. “Did he give his name? It’s been years since I spent time in the city.” Much longer since he’d attended balls and social engagements. “And I must admit, I'm curious as to the identity of the gentleman willing to purchase an old asylum.”

  “The Earl of Stanton’s been back and forth from London twice this week, though that’s the first time we’ve seen him since he bought the old house.”

  The Earl of Stanton?

  Oh, he knew the name but remembered the portly gentleman with white streaks running through his black hair. The fellow upstairs was obviously the son and heir.

  “Then I trust the lady is his wife?”

  Mr Parsons raised a brow. “If she’s his wife, then my aunt Fanny’s a bishop.”

  “I see.”

  The news banished all feelings of guilt Christian had over keeping Rose at Everleigh. The earl had purchased the manor for his mistress, hence the reason for two visits in one week. One needed brash servants when dealing with the sort of parties held by the members of the demi-monde. As a maid in such a house, Rose would have fallen foul to the rakes and rogues looking for easy sport.

  Once again, the need to question his motives pushed to the fore. He cared about Rose. Bloody hell. The thought caught him off guard. He shook his head. Devil take him, he did care about her. And the kiss they’d shared was precisely that — shared not forced. Pleased to shake off the label of rogue, he drained what remained in the tankard.

  The thud of boots on the wooden staircase caught Christian’s attention. Dr Taylor appeared, scanned the room and raised his chin in recognition.

  “I’d best fetch the doctor a well-deserved drink.” Mr Parsons hurried off and exchanged a few words with Dr Taylor as he passed.

  Taylor came over to the table, released a weary sigh and dropped into the chair. “Never underestimate the dangers of inhaling smoke.”

  “Were you able to help her?” Christian swallowed. Fire smoke attacked like a silent devil. By the time he’d reached the gamekeeper’s cottage, Cassandra had stopped breathing.

  “She’ll live. Thankfully, his lordship reached her in time. A few days rest and recuperation will see her right again though the cough and dry throat will last a while longer.”

  Mr Parsons brought the doctor’s drink and placed it on the table.

  “Thank you, Parsons.” Taylor gave a pleasurable sigh as he downed his ale. As Parsons walked away, the doctor turned to Christian. “Any news on the manor?”

  “Put it this way. The place will no longer be a blot on the landscape.”

  Dr Taylor considered him over the rim of the vessel. After an uncomfortable silence, he said, “And you’re all right? No memories come back to haunt you?”

  During those first few days after Cassandra’s death, Taylor had practically lived at Everleigh, tending to the burns on Christian’s hands that thankfully healed leaving no scars. “I’m fine.”

  “Just fine?”

  “What do you want me to say? That seeing the manor ablaze brought back painful memories of the night I tried to rescue Cassandra?”

  Dr Taylor shrugged. “The mind is a complicated thing. What you saw tonight might help you remember what happened in the woods that night.”

  Christian gritted his teeth. “I remember what happened. I know what I saw.”

  “Yes, a faceless figure in a long black cloak.” Taylor kept his tone even. Had Christian detected a hint of mockery he might have grabbed the doctor by his cravat and shook an apology from him. “One minute it was there, the next it simply vanished. You’ve told me many times before.”

  The acrid smoke had made it impossible for him to identify the figure watching from the woods. Blinking made his eyes sting, and his only concern was for the lifeless body he’d pulled from the flames.

  “It is of no consequence now.” Christian brought his tankard to his mouth but slammed it on the table when he realised it was empty. “But to answer your point, no. Tonight’s incident did not rouse memories of the past.”

  Another patron’s cackle of a laugh distracted them both momentarily.

  “Your new maid,” Dr Taylor began. He paused and shook his head.
“Forgive me. I cannot remember her name.”

  There was no reason why he should. “Rose. Her name is Rose. But she’s not the maid. She’s the governess.”

  “Indeed.” The corners of the doctor’s mouth curled up. “It’s clear she has the wherewithal necessary for the position. And with the illness spreading it’s wise to move her from the servants’ quarters.”

  Every conversation came back to the strange sickness. “You’re still convinced contact with a deadly plant brings about the fever?” He couldn’t help but convey a hint of cynicism. It sounded ludicrous.

  Dr Taylor raised a questioning brow. “What other explanation is there?”

  Christian stared at his empty tankard. The problem began not long after Cassandra’s death. Maybe Reverend Wilmslow had a point. Had Cassandra brought something into the house — left herbs in the kitchen or a potion to cure insomnia?

  There had to be a rational explanation.

  His thoughts drifted back to Morton Manor, to the earl and his mistress lying in the courtyard. At the time, he’d not thought to question the absence of any servants?

  “Did Lord Stanton say what happened to his staff? Please tell me no one perished in the fire.”

  “Stanton dismissed them two days ago.”

  “Dismissed them? Did he say why?”

  “No. His lordship omitted to mention it, and it’s not a question a doctor asks. I heard the news from the baker in the village. Apparently, one of them came looking for work.”

  Christian frowned but said nothing. Thank heaven Rose had remained at Everleigh. The thought drew his mind to the beguiling woman waiting for his return. She’d be pacing the floor, eager for news, fearing the worst.

  Christian stood. “I should return to Everleigh. What with the manor being so close, I left the servants with their faces pressed to the window. They’ll want my reassurance there’s nothing to fear.”

  Mrs Hibbet wouldn’t rest until she saw him cantering up the drive. And what of Rose? A woman with her courageous temperament would not stand at the window and watch events unfold. But she’d given her word that she’d remain at the house. And she would not break an oath.