The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London 4)

“Fate intervened, though I’ve come to learn it can be cruel as well as kind.”

“Personally, I have yet to witness evidence of the latter.” Ice-blue eyes settled on the neckline of her simple forest-green dress.

Why did he speak so calmly? Why did he not rip her to shreds and leave her in a tattered heap? At the very least she deserved a scathing reprimand, a dozen lashes of his tongue.

“Why did you come?” She had to say something to move the conversation towards the real crux of the matter.

“For proof you exist, nothing more.”

“And are you satisfied?” She waved her hand down the front of her dress. Disappointment flared. Though her mind knew better, in her heart she’d often imagined him pulling her into an embrace, telling her nothing mattered other than the fact she was alive and well.

What a fanciful fool!

“Not nearly satisfied yet.” He closed the gap between them. His large hand settled on her waist, searing her skin even through the layers of fabric. “There is something I must see.”

He reached out and traced a finger from her chin down the column of her throat, leaving a burning trail in its wake.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“Discovering the truth for myself. You may hide behind a false name, but you cannot hide the mark of your birth.”

She knew what he spoke of. “You distrust what your eyes tell you is true?”

“I did not say that.” Skilled fingers followed the edge of her neckline, skin-to-skin, stroking her flesh, the soothing, caressing motion teasing her nipples to peak.

Estelle stood frozen to the spot as his fingers dipped between her breast and bodice. Her breath came in ragged pants. She wanted him to fondle her, to claim her mouth, to hike up her skirts and give life to this empty shell of a body.

“Well?” The word left her lips on a sigh. It took every effort not to arch her back and push against him.

Estelle gasped when he tugged the material to reveal the upper curve of her breast. When his gaze settled on the small brown birthmark, he inhaled sharply through his nose.

She waited for him to say something, but he whipped his hand away and stepped back. Lust and love flowed through her veins. Disdain and abhorrence radiated from him.

“How could you?” His clipped tone sliced through the air and yet for a moment she saw something other than controlled anger. She saw pain flash in those fierce blue eyes.

I never meant to hurt you.

Estelle opened her mouth to speak, but he raised a hand to stop her.

“Do not waste your breath. I am in no mood for explanations. Nothing you could say would ever tempt me to forgive you.”

Without another word, Ross turned on his heels and marched towards the door, kicking away the broken bottle in his path. The sound of the overhead bell preceded his departure.

Tears swam in her eyes. Her heart ached with regret, with the throbbing pain of an old wound never healed.

Estelle hurried to the window. She wiped away the mist caused by her heavy breathing, pressed her face to the glass and watched Ross stride towards his black carriage. Without warning, he came to an abrupt halt. Fog swirled around his legs, clawed at his body. He looked up to the heavens, cursed the Lord and punched the air.

And then he gathered himself, shook his head and squared his shoulders, climbed into his conveyance and slammed the door.

The vehicle jerked forward, quickly gathered momentum and disappeared into the blanket of fog.

Chapter Five

“Do not say a word.”

“I’m not a fool.” Lord Farleigh sat back in the dark confines of Vane’s coach. “You look ready to unleash the Devil’s wrath upon anyone who glances your way.”

Vane gritted his teeth. An intense rage burned in his chest, heating to a roaring inferno. Hot pulses of energy throbbed in his fingers. He needed to punch someone, needed to release the pent-up emotion.