“Please,” Regina implored, “I don’t want Aunt Beatrice to know about Lord Geoffrey or the man upstairs. I cannot stand the thought of disappointing her.”
Sophia pushed from her seat to embrace her. “Oh, Gigi,” she said, reverting to the moniker she’d given Regina when she was too young to pronounce her name. “Auntie would never be disappointed in you. We will sort this out. You will see.”
“If he must stay,” Evangeline said, “it would be wise to keep Aunt Beatrice in the dark. She has never been good at keeping secrets.”
Regina smiled at her sister’s attempt to lighten the mood. Aunt Beatrice was infamous for presenting them with Christmas gifts weeks early, so she wouldn’t have to worry about spoiling the surprise. Regina and her sisters suspected in reality, she derived immense pleasure from making gifts for them, and she was too excited to wait. Her enthusiasm and devotion to Regina and her sisters were just two qualities that made her dear to them.
“What will we tell Joy?” Sophia asked. “We wouldn’t want her to get a shock if she decides to clean the spare room.”
Regina exhaled slowly. “We will tell her the truth. Joy can be trusted.”
Four
Benny hunkered in the dark several houses down from where Mr. Vistoire was being held. No one had come to take away his friend yet, but it couldn’t be much longer.
A carriage had stopped at the house a while ago, but only ladies with pretty gowns and a man in fancy clothes had climbed out of it. The man left alone, so Benny knew he couldn’t have been the Runner.
He sighed and glanced in the direction of the park. Tommy—Farrin—was waiting for him to deliver Mr. Vistoire and the map. Benny had to remember not to call his brother by his real name anymore. Tommy got real mad when he did, and Benny didn’t want to end up like the men his brother brought to the farm before Mr. Vistoire. Tommy had said they were bad men, and Benny shouldn’t care what was happening in the cellar, but he had. He didn’t like to remember the screaming.
Mr. Vistoire wasn’t a bad man, though. Tommy thought Benny didn’t understand much so he usually spoke freely in front of him. An important man had accused Mr. Vistoire of being a spy, and he wasn’t. When Tommy realized the truth, he’d smashed a glass in the kitchen hearth and said no bloody noble was going to manipulate him into doing his bidding. Benny didn’t know what manipulate meant, but he’d understood the man told lies about Mr. Vistoire, and his brother had been in a temper about it.
While Tommy had been debating what to do with his prisoner, Benny had shored up the courage to ask if Mr. Vistoire could stay with him. It was lonely on the farm during the long stretches between his brother’s visits. Benny almost withdrew his request when Tommy’s icy gaze had locked onto him. He said if Benny ever set the prisoner free, he would watch while his men skinned him alive.
Benny knew from experience Tommy was telling the truth.
Now with the threat of Mr. Vistoire going to gaol, Benny wished he’d been brave enough to defy his brother. His friend wanted to go home. He spoke about it often, and Benny had hoped Mr. Vistoire might take him to America, too.
He glanced toward the park again. He didn’t dare arrive without Mr. Vistoire or the map. He’d never been a smart man, but he was no fool.
Xavier buried his fingers in the goddess’s gold-spun hair. It was like the finest silk he’d ever touched. She reached to release the toga fastened at her shoulder, but he stopped her. “Allow me.”
Her teasing smile as she dropped her hands to her sides heated his blood. She moved closer as if to kiss him, but at the last second, her tongue shot out and she licked his nose. Xavier sputtered and tried to turn his head, but she lapped at his mouth, his cheek—even across his eyelid—making a wet mess all over his face.
“Sacre bleu!”
What the devil was happening? Slowly, he came to realize the goddess had merely been a dream, but something very real and annoying was launching a slobbery attack against him. He cracked an eye open, and bright light split his head in two. Groaning, he squeezed both eyes shut and blindly tried to fend off the persistent little tongue.
“Cupid! Stop that,” a feminine voice said.
Xavier blinked to bring the room into focus.
A slender young woman stalked to the bed and snatched a small black dog off his chest. She tucked the drooling bundle under her arm and brushed a strand of golden auburn hair away from her face with the back of her wrist. “I’m sorry he woke you. Somehow he keeps nosing his way inside, no matter how many times I try to secure the door.”
A rosy pink blush dusted her cheeks as if she’d come from taking exercise, or perhaps she was simply put out with the dog. Whatever the cause, the result was breathtaking. She was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. And he had no bloody idea who she was.
Xavier eased up to his elbows to glance around the unfamiliar room. The square chamber was half the size of his dressing room back home in New Orleans. A faint musty scent hung on the air even though the window was open. A slight breeze stirred the sheer curtains, causing the miniature Egyptian sphinxes on the wallpaper to undulate. Queasiness welled at the back of his throat.
“Oh, dear. He’s going to be sick.”
The woman thrust the dog toward another young woman he hadn’t noticed earlier and grabbed an empty bucket from the floor. She sat beside him, sliding her arm beneath his shoulders to help him sit up.
An icy wave of nausea churned inside him. He clutched the bucket. Panting to stave off the urge to toss up his accounts, he closed his eyes, willing the sickness away. When it passed, his hands went limp on the bucket. His nursemaid took it from him before helping him lower to the bed and adjusted the pillows behind him.
“Evangeline cornered Dr. Portier at the lending library yesterday and questioned him about knocks to the head. You might be ill for a few days until you are healed.”
Nothing she said made much sense, but the raspy quality to her voice soothed him. The bed shifted when she stood, and his stomach roiled again. An involuntary moan slipped through his lips. He couldn’t remember ever being this incapacitated.
The dog whined.
“Shush, Cupid,” the younger lady scolded.
Xavier stole a peek in her direction. She was another beauty with pale blond hair and an air of naiveté, whereas his nursemaid exuded confidence and seemed very capable. Neither struck him as the type to work for Farrin, but he couldn’t lower his guard.
When his nursemaid returned to the bedside, she placed a cool wet cloth over his forehead. Something about her seemed familiar—the soft curve of her cheek, slightly pointy chin, and the elegant length of her neck. His breath caught. She resembled the goddess from his dream.
“Joy prepared a restorative broth,” she said. “When you are able to sit up without becoming sick, I will help you take a sip.”
Joy, Evangeline, Dr. Portier... Xavier didn’t recognize any of these names, and he couldn’t comprehend how he’d come to be flat on his back under their care, but he was relieved to wake to new faces. Pretty faces. After too many mornings of staring at Benny’s ugly mug, Xavier had almost forgotten the pleasure of gazing upon the fairer sex.
A cart rattled over cobblestones outside, and a gravel voice announced the approach of a vegetable seller. He had to be in London, but he didn’t know where he was being held. He recalled arriving in Town after dark and Farrin threatening him if he tried to escape. He’d been charged with the task of breaking into an earl’s house and stealing a map, but he didn’t remember arriving at the town house.
Xavier’s gaze darted toward the bedchamber door to look for Benny or one of Farrin’s men guarding him, but the corridor appeared to be empty. “Was there an accident? Where are the others?”
His nursemaid crossed her arms. “If you are well enough to talk, so be it, but you are in no position to lead this interrogation, sir.”
“Interrogation?” His pulse skipped. He tried pushing to a seated position and collapsed a
gainst the headboard as another dizzy spell slammed into him. How was he to endure an interrogation in his condition? “How many men?”
There had been three when he’d been questioned in the beginning of his incarceration. Two to hold him while the other drove his fist into Xavier’s gut.
The ladies exchanged a look he couldn’t decipher.
“Never you mind how many men we have for protection. It is enough,” the goddess said with a slight pinch to her mouth. “Don’t even consider trying to overpower us.”
He bristled at her insinuation. “I would never hurt a lady, Miss— uh... Miss...?”
“Regina Darlington.” She spoke in clipped tones. “But I suspect you already know my name. The question is who are you?”
Her name didn’t spark any recognition, nor did he follow her logic. How was he to know the name of a lady he’d never met?
The other young woman stepped forward with the dog. “I’m Sophia Darlington, her sister, and this is Cupid.” She lifted the poodle’s paw and waved it toward him in greeting.
The elder Miss Darlington frowned. “Sophia, this is not a social call.”
“I know.” She snuggled the little dog against her cheek. Her pale blond hair was a sharp contrast to the poodle’s black coat. “But he has been here for three days. He no longer seems like a stranger.”
Three days? How could that be? Now that the nausea had passed, he began to notice details that had evaded him earlier, such as the caress of soft fabric against his skin. He lifted the bedcovers to discover he was wearing a lightweight ivory linen tunic and pants that were baggy in the hips and tapered to hug his calves.
“These are not mine. Where are my clothes?”
Sophia looked to her sister. “Didn’t you hang them in the wardrobe after you removed them?”
“Sophia.” A furious crimson flush invaded Miss Darlington’s cheeks, but she held her head high and refused to look away.
He smiled; she frowned. She was definitely the goddess from his dream. He was certain of it. He must have woken briefly when her hands were on him, because he vaguely recalled the rush of arousal in response to the gentle touch of a woman.
The poodle twisted his small body in an attempt to break free of Sophia’s hold, his pink tongue flopping about as much as he was. “Be still.” She hugged him, and he released a shrill yip that nearly shattered Xavier’s brain.
“Please take Cupid downstairs,” Miss Darlington said. “Aunt Beatrice will look for him when she and Evangeline return from shopping.”
“You mustn’t worry about Auntie. We will keep her occupied.” Sophia headed for the door but tossed another smile over her shoulder. “Could I trouble you for a name, sir? You know ours.”
Under different circumstances, he might have refused, but good manners dictated he comply with the lady’s request. “Xavier Vistoire, miss. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Thank you.” Sophia closed the door as she went.
Miss Darlington sighed. “You’ve been talking in your sleep, but you have told us nothing useful. Tell me who you are, and I do not mean repeat your name. What were your intentions when you broke into Wedmore House?”
“Have I been talking in my sleep?” he asked to cover the shock of learning he had made it into the earl’s town house and remembered nothing about how he’d gained entrance. “Did I say anything else of interest?”
“I am uncertain the word interesting applies. Perhaps entertaining fits better.” Her full lips curved into a wry smirk. “You’ve been referring to our aunt’s dog as a goddess and whispering loving words to him.”
“Absurde! I would never—” Heat flashed up his face. He’d been dreaming of Miss Darlington before he woke to the little dog licking him. “Please, tell me I didn’t.”
“Oh, I am afraid you did.” Miss Darlington laughed. “For what it’s worth, Mr. Vistoire, your efforts to woo Cupid have worked. He seems to have forgotten all about your altercation. I, on the other hand, remain on my guard.”
Xavier pinched the bridge of his nose to ease the ache behind his eyes. “Have I truly been out for three days? You said this is Wedmore House, no? This is your home?” He didn’t want to admit to breaking into the town house when she could still summon a Runner and he was too ill to move. “Why does it feel like I’ve gone several rounds with a prize pugilist?”
“You don’t remember anything, do you?” Miss Darlington released a noisy breath and smiled. She seemed relieved, although he didn’t know why she should be happy he’d lost his memory. “Dr. Portier said when people bump their heads, they often cannot recall the accident or events leading up to it. Do you remember anything about breaking into our home?”
An enticing vision of Miss Darlington in a bath sheet invaded his memory. Her hair hanging loose, the wet ends a deeper gold and curling around her shoulders. Pink skin glistening in candlelight as the flame flickered. Slender arm lifted as if performing an exotic dance. And elegant fingers wrapped around a... fireplace poker!
His eyebrows shot up. “Did you hit me?”
“No! You fell down the stairs.”
“But you had a poker. And, and a bath sheet around your—” He motioned to his chest. His blood soared through his veins as vivid memories of her bare breasts flooded him, arousing him all over again. “You were prepared to strike me. Don’t deny it.”
She bolted from the bed to stalk over to a tray resting on a chest of drawers. “I thought you didn’t remember anything,” she grumbled.
No wonder she hadn’t wanted him to remember. She didn’t want him picturing her half-dressed and as enticing as sin. Well, that was too bad. He couldn’t stop thinking about her now.
Her back was to him as she poured a cup of the restorative broth. “You fell, and it was your own fault for breaking into Uncle Charles’s town house.” She carried the cup to the bed and frowned down at him. “You are lucky I didn’t have you hauled to gaol.”
He rubbed his forehead where he was sorest, wondering if she was telling the whole truth about the fall. “I suppose you were well within your rights to bash me over the head, but I assure you, it was a mistake. I wandered into the wrong home. I was looking for a friend. What were you doing at home alone?”
“I owe you no explanations,” she snipped. “And I don’t believe you.” She lowered to the bed beside Xavier. When she met his gaze, the lines on her forehead deepened. “Do not think because we are helping you that we won’t still summon a Runner.”
He shook his head cautiously so as not to set off another bout of nausea.
“Are you feeling well enough to try the broth? You’ve had nothing but a few sips of water since Saturday.”
“Oui.”
She slipped her arm around his back and held the cup to his lips. After the first sip of savory broth went down easily and didn’t threaten to come back up, he tried another. Miss Darlington encouraged him to keep drinking until he’d finished the cup.
A whiff of citrus teased his nose. She not only looked like summer with her glorious sunset hair, she smelled like heaven. He handed her the cup and angled away from her, not wanting to be distracted. He needed to focus on leaving Wedmore House and finding his way to the docks.
“I promise to answer any questions you pose to the best of my ability,” he said. Gaining her trust would be imperative if he hoped to escape. “But may I ask one more question of you?”
She nodded sharply and scooted from the bed.
“Has anyone come looking for me? Does anyone know I am here?”
“That was two questions, Mr. Vistoire, and why would anyone look for you here if you wandered into the wrong house?” She returned to the tray to pour another cup of broth.
Damnation. She had the advantage of having her wits about her, and his head was pounding.
“No one has been around asking after you. I imagine your accomplice believes you’ve been taken to gaol. I saw him hiding behind the hedge, and he ran off when I threatened to summon a
Bow Street Runner.”
She brought him another cup of broth without asking if he wanted one. “Now it is my turn.” Her sculpted brows rose as she waited for him to take the cup.
“Merci.” He took another drink of broth, feeling his strength returning bit by bit, and studied her over the gilded rim.
“Why are you truly here, sir?”
“What do you mean?”
She crossed her arms. “You don’t expect me to believe you are a common thief with the way you were dressed, unless you stole the clothes you were wearing. And your story about walking into the wrong house is ludicrous. I will ask once more. What is the real reason you broke into Wedmore House?”
He wasn’t sure what his choices were—thief or what, exactly? Unsure of the correct answer, he held his tongue.
“Because if you came here believing I would welcome you into my bed,” she said, “you have been listening to the wrong people. Mr. Lawrence is a liar. I never kissed him nor do I plan to allow any other man liberties, and if you tell anyone you stayed at Wedmore House or make up tales about what happened between us, my sisters and I will find a way to make you pay.”
Xavier gaped. He could either be a thief or a lecherous rake? Neither choice was acceptable, but men were not locked away for being libertines. “I won’t say a word. I am sorry. I was deep in my cups and Mr. Landry—”
“Lawrence.”
“Oui, Lawrence. Mr. Lawrence challenged me.” He hung his head in real shame. Mistreating ladies was not part of his repertoire. He had a sister, for pity’s sake, and a female cousin who was as dear as a sister. He was a champion for the fairer sex. Before his abduction, he’d been helping an actress plan her escape from her abusive benefactor. He looked up and held Miss Darlington’s gaze. “This is not who I am. I swear it upon my mother’s grave. I made a mistake.”
She dropped her arms to her sides. “I don’t know that I have any choice except to believe you.”
Secrets to a Gentleman's Heart (Uncle Charlie's Angels Book 1) Page 4