The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London 4)

“We should leave,” he heard himself saying, “before we both do something we may well regret.”

He turned to the window, desperate to look at anything other than her swollen lips and bed-tousled hair.

The people outside were busy going about their business oblivious to his inner torment. All except one woman who stared up at him intently. She stood too far away for him to distinguish her features. Perhaps it was a coincidence or a consequence of his strained nerves. Suspicion flared when she turned and hurried away from the courtyard.

A creak and a weary sigh drew his attention back to the room and led him to conclude Estelle had stood too.

The tension in the air was palpable.

“Emotions are running high,” he continued. “We still have much to discuss, but we shall leave it until another day.” Did he want to know what prompted her to leave Prescott Hall, to leave him? He wasn’t sure.

“You’re right,” she said weakly. “No doubt Mr Erstwhile will wonder what happened to me, and he has enough worries at the moment.”

Vane turned to face her and wished he hadn’t. Sadness filled those dark brown eyes. He pr

eferred seeing the fire of passion alight there.

“You speak of the theft at the shop.”

Estelle patted down a few stray locks of hair and gathered her bonnet. “The intruder stole nothing. He left the money box full of sovereigns and only sought to cause unnecessary damage.”

“Then it is not the mark of a thief but of someone with a point to prove,” Vane said, grateful that someone else’s problem distracted him from his own. “Has Mr Erstwhile upset anyone?”

“I highly doubt it.” She brushed her hand down her dress to remove the creases. “There is not a kinder more honest man than Mr Erstwhile.”

“How did you come to work for him?”

“We spoke on the crossing to Dover. He has a way of seeing what other people cannot, of understanding a person’s secrets without a word passing from their lips.”

“Like a seer? Like a man renowned for his moral and spiritual insights?”

A brief smile brightened her face. “Yes, exactly like that. I owe him a debt of gratitude.”

“Then I shall escort you on your errand to gather provisions.” Part of him wanted to return to Berkeley Square, to put this woman from his mind and concentrate all efforts on ruining Lord Cornell. Part of him needed to remain at her side, to know she was safe, to discover more about this Mr Hungerford. “It’s the least I can do after dragging you away from your errant knight.”

She frowned. “Errant knight?”

“Mr Hungerford. Clearly, the gentleman has designs on securing more than your company.” The thought roused Vane’s ire.

“He is just a lonely man who cannot function without a wife.”

The cryptic comment proved intriguing. “And you believe he has marked you for the role?”

Estelle shrugged. “When it comes to understanding the motives of men, I am often left baffled.”

“Likewise, I gave up trying to understand a lady’s motives eight years ago.” He spoke of the way Estelle had professed her love only to flee on a ship heading to France.

A howl of satisfaction from the adjoining room brought another blush to her cheeks. “Now I know why the landlord insisted I visit him before leaving. The sounds of pleasure and pain are often the same.”

Never had truer words been spoken.

“Then I shall meet you downstairs in a moment.”

She looked at him with some confusion.

“The landlord will want to see you alone,” he added. “To ensure your opinion is your own.”

It was not a lie but an exaggerated truth. Vane needed a minute to gather himself. The mask he’d held in place these last few minutes needed adjusting, repositioning.