The Deceptive Lady Darby (Lost Ladies of London Book 2) Page 11

  Would she?

  Chapter Eleven

  “Close the window, Alfred. We don’t want any smoke in here. We’ve just had the tapestries cleaned.” Mrs Hibbet batted the footman’s hands away and pulled down the sash with such force Rose feared the noise would wake the children.

  From the first-floor window, they had a perfect view of the drive leading around to the stables. They could see the amber glow skimming the tops of the trees around Morton Manor, the sky above a menacing orange and grey mass.

  Two hours had passed since Christian departed, though the agonising wait made it feel like days.

  “Surely he should be back by now.” Rose placed her hand flat on the window pane. The glass was warm beneath her palm. “What if his lordship has suffered an injury and cannot get help?”

  Rose’s heart pounded in her chest. She could still taste the essence of the man she’d grown to admire. Could still feel the imprint of his hand where he’d gripped her waist in a moment of pure passion.

  “Oh, his lordship knows how to take care of himself never fear.” Mrs Hibbet’s confident tone belied the nervous twitch of her mouth.

  What if Stokes’ had started the fire out of spite or for revenge? The beast of a man thought nothing of hammering his fists into the face of anyone who got in his way. What if Nicole hadn’t left for London?

  “Perhaps one of us should go and look for him?” Rose said. Christian couldn’t expect her to keep a promise when his life was in danger.

  Mrs Hibbet raised her chin. “The master said to wait here and wait here is what we’ll do.”

  “Rose is right.” Alfred glanced at the buttons on his shoes to avoid meeting Mrs Hibbet’s hard stare. “His lordship could have burnt his hands like last time. If a man can’t grip the reins how’s he supposed to ride home?”

  Panic flared. An image of Christian lying crushed beneath the glowing timbers flashed into her mind.

  “I’ll go and speak to Dawkins. Send him to check the lane to see if there’s any sign of him.” Rose had made up her mind, and so hurried along the landing and down the stairs before Mrs Hibbet could protest.

  She had every intention of doing just that, but as soon as she stepped out into the open air, the smoke clawed at her throat. The smell of charred wood clung to her nostrils, and all thoughts turned to Christian. If she could feel the effects of the fire here, then surely those in the vicinity would struggle to breathe.

  There was no time to go in search of Dawkins. And so she gathered her skirt and hurried along the path leading to the stile.

  So much had changed since the night she’d lost her way and ended up at Everleigh. She’d taken the job as a maid purely to avoid seeing her father and being carted back to the manor. She’d taken the job of temporary governess because she felt an overwhelming need to help the children.

  With one leg over the stile, she stopped and glanced back at Everleigh. Her heart melted. She loved how the house sat nestled amongst the trees, hidden away from the world. She loved the connection she shared with the children and Mrs Hibbet. Most of all, she loved the feel of Lord Farleigh’s lips when they moved wildly over hers.

  Christian.

  Her heart flew up to her throat when she imagined kissing him again. How had she ever believed herself in love with Lord Cunningham? But she’d been desperate to escape the clutches of a tyrant. Desperate to live in a house full of love and laughter. Desperate to believe anything.

  Despair descended.

  Her father would find her, eventually. Would it be a day, a week, a month? She had no idea. All thoughts turned to finding Christian, to making the most of the time left. And so she climbed over the stile and hurried along the path, eager to find the route that led to Morton Manor.

  This time, an amber glow illuminated everything within a mile of the manor. The fork in the path proved easy to find. As Rose drew closer to the burning house, the heat from the flames roasted her cheeks. The smoke stung her eyes, and she coughed to clear the dust irritating her lungs.

  For a second she thought she saw a black figure moving through the trees. Rubbing her eyes made them water, and she blinked numerous times before glancing up again.

  The dark shape staggered towards her.

  Rigid with fright, she froze. The knot in her stomach tightened. “Who’s there?”

  “Miss Asprey?” The figure called out to her as he stumbled along the path. “Is … is that you, my dove?” He tripped and fell, coughed and spluttered. “God damn.”

  Despite her fear, Rose stepped forward to help him. Taking hold of his scrawny arm, she assisted him to his feet. From the black marks on his face and the stench of smoke on his clothes, he must have come from the manor.

  “Can you forgive a man for his stupidity?” His breath smelt like rotten meat mixed with claret. The man’s bloodshot eyes and skeletal features would have scared the Devil away. “I should not have left you in there to perish. Thank the Lord you escaped.”

  She’d never set eyes on the man before. But for some reason he recognised her. Then again, he did seem delirious.

  “You’ve mistaken me for someone else, sir.” Rose batted the fellow’s hand away from her arm. “Have you escaped the fire at the manor?”

  “Fire?” He appeared dazed, unsteady on his feet. “Oh, the fire, yes.” A length of spittle hung from the corner of his mouth. “There’s nothing left you know. But what a clever dove you are.”

  Clearly, the man had lost all grasp of his faculties. Trauma did that to a person, made them lose all hold on reality.

  “Was there anyone else with you at the manor?”

  “Only you, my angel. And I’ll not make the mistake of losing you again.” In a move as swift as it was sudden, he grasped a lock of her hair.

  “Ow! Let me go. Have you lost your mind?”

  He examined the hair in his fist. “Your hair is as gold as the sun, not red as fire.”

  The man spoke in riddles. If the manor accepted patients, he would be a prime candidate. “What on earth are you talking about? Release me at once.”

  “Wait! You’re not my dove.” Keeping a firm hold of her hair, he turned and scanned the woods. “Miss Asprey? Miss Asprey, are you out there?”

  Rose tried to prise his bony fingers apart but to no avail. But then the sound of snapping twigs caught her attention.

  “Listen. Do you hear my dove approaching?” He tugged Rose’s hair until her head almost touched her knees.

  “Please. Ow! You’re hurting me.”

  A deep growl sliced through the air. “Get your bloody hands off the lady, now!”

  Rose tried to look behind but couldn’t move her head more than an inch.

  “Bugger off. You’ll not take her from me again.”

  “I swear I will drive my fist through your heart if you do not release her this instant.” The gentleman spoke more clearly now, and she knew at once it was Christian. Thank heavens he was safe.

  “I told you. She’s with me now.”

  “He’s not right in the mind,” Rose called out. “He thinks I’m someone else. Someone from Morton Manor.”

  Christian approached them. He grasped the man’s hand and squeezed until she heard the crack of bones. “Release her. I’ll not tell you again.”

  The man cried out in pain, but as soon as he let go of her hair, Christian punched him hard on the jaw. The fellow fell back and landed on his backside in the ferns.

  Christian turned to her. “Are you all right?” He stroked her cheek, gazed into her eyes.

  Rose nodded. “I came looking for you.”

  “I told you to remain at Everleigh.”

  Rose didn’t have a chance to answer because another man came charging through the trees. Christian stepped in front of her to act as her shield, and she clung to his waist.

  “My lord! Where are you? Lord Mosgrove?”

  Christian squared his shoulders. “Who are you?”

  The newcomer glanced at the man lying amid the foliage,
mumbling to himself and rubbing his chin. “I’m his lordship’s coachman. He wandered off, and I couldn’t find him.”

  “Then I suggest you drag him back to the hole he crept out of,” Christian’s hard tone caused the coachman to step back, “else he’ll find himself buried in a permanent one.”

  Rose peered around the broad expanse of Christian’s chest. “Was your master at the manor? Was there anyone else there with him?”

  The coachman shuffled uncomfortably. “I just do as I’m told. It ain’t for me to comment on his lordship’s business.” The servant reached down and pulled his master to his feet. “Come on, my lord. Let’s get you back to the carriage.”

  “But … but what about my dove?”

  “Happen she’ll find her way back.”

  They stood in silence and watched until the coachman and the crazed lord disappeared from view.

  Christian swung around to face her. Puffs of white mist drifted up into the air as he struggled to regulate his breathing.

  “You swore you’d stay at Everleigh.” His hands settled on her upper arms. He scanned her face, his beautiful green eyes holding a look of panic. “You gave me your word. What if I’d not come back when I did? What if Mrs Hibbet hadn’t seen you climbing the stile?”

  Rose swallowed. “I needed to know you were safe. I needed to know you were not trapped in that burning building.” Tears welled, and her heart raced so fast she feared it might burst from her chest. “I just needed to see you.”

  He stared into her eyes for the longest time. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

  She didn't know what he meant or how to answer.

  “On one hand, you make me feel like the strongest of men,” he continued. “I could race up a mountain, climb that damn tree. Punch any man who threatened to harm you. And yet inside …” He paused and shook his head. “Pay me no heed.”

  She didn’t know why, but she stepped closer, wrapped her arms around him and placed her head on his chest. He held her close though said nothing. She could have stayed like that forever — warm, listening to his heartbeat, encircled in his strong embrace.

  “I don’t know what’s happening to me either,” she muttered into his chest for she daren’t look into his eyes.

  Oh, what a terrible friend she was. She should have been looking for Nicole. But every fibre of her being lived to hear his voice, craved his attention, his tender touch. This obsession would pass. A woman deprived of love surely latched on to any display of kindness. Genuine sentiment took months, even years to form.

  So why could she not step away? Why did thoughts of kissing him fill her head?

  “It’s my fault,” he said breaking the brief silence. “If I’d just left you to your work. If I’d done the honourable thing and—”

  “Don’t say that.” She looked up at him. “I have never met a man with more integrity.”

  He gave a mocking snort. “Rose, when I’m with you my thoughts are far from moral.”

  Heat rose to her cheeks. She wanted him to dream about kissing her. She did not want this fantasy to end.

  A weak chuckle escaped from her lips. “When I’m with you my thoughts are far from moral, too.”

  Christian clenched his jaw as his breathing grew shallow. Energy sparked in the surrounding air. Blood pumped molten hot through her veins. He lowered his head, and she came up on her tiptoes, eager to meet him.

  He stopped a mere inch from her mouth, and stared at her lips as if they were the most wondrous thing he’d ever seen.

  His hands drifted down her back, daring to delve lower to cup her and cage her in his embrace. The first touch of his lips sparked a fire deep in her core. She clutched the lapels of his coat, pressed her aching breasts against his hard body. With light sweeps of his tongue, he teased her lips apart. Her eager tongue touched his, each stroke causing a strange pulsing between her legs. Heavens, his mouth was so warm, so wet, so utterly addictive. A growl resonated somewhere in his throat as their tongues tangled. Their ragged breathing obliterated all other sounds.

  “We should not be doing this,” he whispered kissing her throat, nipping the sensitive skin below her ear.

  “No, we shouldn’t.” A delicious shiver raced through her body, leaving her mind in a cloudy haze of lust and desire. “Don’t … don’t stop, Christian.”

  He claimed her mouth in the same masterful way he did most things. Oh, she could not taste him deeply enough to satisfy the hunger clawing her belly. He balled the material of her dress in his fists. A cool breeze caressed her legs, and she gasped into his mouth when his hot hands traced a path up over her bare thighs.

  “Christian.”

  His fingers brushed against her most intimate place, once, twice, the third time her knees sagged.

  “I’ve got you, love.” One muscular arm gripped her tightly as he continued to pluck a potent rhythm.

  She could think of nothing but him, touching his bare skin, devouring his mouth, taking him into her body.

  “My lord! Are you in there?” The words echoed through the woods. “Rose? Lord Farleigh? Can you hear me?”

  “Bloody hell.” The muttered curse revealed his frustration.

  Being slightly detached from reality, it took a few seconds for her to realise someone else had entered the woods. Christian released his grip, straightened her dress and stepped away. She wobbled, struggled to gain her balance.

  Christian cupped her elbow. “Alfred is coming.” His gaze drifted over her lips and hair. “I’m afraid we shall have to explore our mutual attraction some other time.”

  Her heartbeat pulsed hard in her throat. It amounted to more than exploring an attraction. That word made the whole affair sound superficial. And though she thought him the most handsome man of her acquaintance, her desire to be with him came from her heart as well as her loins.

  But guilt flared.

  How could she be so selfish? She’d pressed him for more kisses rather than information about the occupants of Morton Manor. At some point, she would have no choice but to leave him, leave Everleigh. If he discovered her identity, he’d offer marriage. But it would be a marriage based on a lie. Another marriage doomed out of a need to conform to society’s rigid rules.

  And what of the children? They did not need any more disruption in their lives.

  “My lord.” Alfred caught sight of them and hurried forward. “Mrs Hibbet sent me to help you find Rose.”

  “Thank you, Alfred.” Christian placed his hand on her back and guided her through the foliage and onto the path. “I found her near the boundary.”

  Rose forced a smile although her head was a jumbled mess of contradictions. Should she stay another day? Should she run? “I thought someone should check that his lordship was unhurt.”

  Alfred glanced at a point beyond their shoulder. “Mrs Hibbet said there’ll be nothing left of the place after this.”

  “Mrs Hibbet is right. Come the morning Morton Manor will be a pile of ash.”

  Rose looked back over her shoulder. “Thank heavens the occupants left when they did.” Then again, the fool in the woods said he’d come from there. Either way, it didn’t matter. Her father couldn’t send her back to the manor now even if he wanted to.

  “Oh, there were people staying at the house. If you didn’t know already, the Earl of Stanton is the gentleman who employed you to work at Morton Manor.”

  “The house was occupied?” Rose swayed as the ground seemed to slip away beneath her feet. "By whom?"

  “Well, I say the earl, but in truth, his mistress has taken residency.”

  “His mistress?” Rose blinked, but her head whirled. Her father despised women who sought affairs out of wedlock. Woe betide he ever discovered Lord Farleigh had ravished his daughter in the woods. “The Earl of Stanton doesn’t have a mistress.”

  Christian turned to her and frowned. “You mean you were unaware he hired you to keep house for a courtesan.” He paused and glanced at the footman. “Walk on,
Alfred. I’ve no intention of spending the rest of the evening gossiping in the woods.”

  With a curt nod, Alfred strode back along the path, and they followed.

  “I … I trust the occupants escaped un-unharmed.” She despised her father but couldn’t bear the thought he’d perished in the fire.

  “Both the earl and his mistress are staying at The Talbot Inn. Dr Taylor is with them. Stanton’s mistress is suffering from the effects of the smoke but should be up and about in a few days.”

  Relief coursed through her. But what of Nicole? “And the servants escaped too?” What if Stokes or Mrs Gripes came to Everleigh looking for work? Her father would pay handsomely for news of his runaway daughter.

  “Apparently there are no servants.” He offered his hand as they approached the stile. Rose gripped his fingers for fear her knees might buckle. These new developments only added to her confusion. “By all accounts, he dismissed them a few days ago although I wonder how the earl and his companion managed on their own.”

  Dismissed? It came as no surprise. Her father refused to tolerate incompetence.

  “But the gentleman in the woods said he’d come from the manor?”

  Christian jumped over the stile and fell into a slow pace at her side. “Perhaps the earl has stolen the man’s mistress, and he refuses to accept the fact. What woman wouldn’t opt for a younger gentleman?”

  “The earl is hardly what one would consider young.” Rose snorted but then caught herself. “S-someone told me he’s approaching sixty.”

  “Sixty. No. The gentleman I met didn’t look a day over twenty-five.”

  How was she to argue without revealing too much?

  Rose cast him a sidelong glance as they approached the house. “And you’re certain you met the Earl of Stanton?”

  “Undoubtedly. Now I come to think of it I recall reading that the old earl died. No doubt the fellow I met was the heir.”

  Rose stopped abruptly.

  Her father was dead!

  How could she not know? Christian’s words echoed over and over in her head. Her heart lurched. Bile bubbled in her stomach and rose to burn her throat. But Oliver was the heir to the earldom.