The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London 4)

“Aye, my lord.” The landlord inclined his head. “Although you have paid for another hour.”

Ross raised a brow. “Perhaps you might offer an extension to the couple next door. I imagine they might make better use of the time.”

Heat warmed Estelle’s cheeks. Just like those in the adjoining chamber, they too had almost fallen prey to their desires.

Part of her wished she had known Ross’ body, wished that she had an erotic memory to cling to when she lay alone at night. But this man was dangerous beyond measure. Just being in his company fed her addiction for him. Lord, he approached kissing with the skill and mastery of a great painter: varying his strokes, applying different degrees of pressure, bringing a vibrancy to life that touched her deeply.

“Where is it you need to go?” Ross’ voice broke her reverie. With a hand at her elbow, he guided her away from the counter and towards the door.

Estelle blinked in confusion and looked up at him. “Excuse me?” Where could she go? The ends of the earth were not far away enough to escape this man.

“You said you need to collect provisions for Mr Erstwhile.”

“Oh, yes.” She straightened. “I must call in on Mr Potter. He has agreed to lend Mr Erstwhile a few herbs and tonics so he may open the shop.”

“Then I shall be your escort.” Ross seemed colder now, a little distant.

They left the coaching inn and made their way along St Marti

ns Lane to Mr Potter’s shop on Castle Street. The apothecary had packaged the necessary items, but Estelle did not have an opportunity to mention the intruder.

Ross carried the parcel as they headed back to Whitecombe Street. While his outward manner was that of any considerate gentleman, she could not shake the thought of how savagely he’d claimed her mouth.

She cast him a sidelong glance, wondering what emotion lay behind the stone planes of his face. At some point, he would ask her the only question that mattered. Why had she left Prescott Hall instead of marrying him? To tell him the truth would only confuse matters. The prospect of a life together vanished the day she left. They were different people now, on different paths. And the sooner she put some distance between them the better it would be for both their sakes.

“May I ask something of you?” She had no right to expect anything from him, and yet somehow, she knew he would not refuse her request.

Ross glanced at her. “That all depends on what it is.”

“Don’t tell my brother you found me.”

“You want me to lie?” A weary sigh left his lips, and he turned from her to focus ahead. “I gave Fabian my word. That may mean nothing to you, but it does to me.”

Oh, if only he knew why she’d left he would not be so cold.

“I am not asking you to break an oath. I am merely asking you to delay.”

“Why, so you can run again?”

“Yes.” What was the point of lying? “You do not understand. Fabian will want to hear everything, every detail of my life. He will want to punish those who have harmed me, want to seek vengeance. All I ask—”

Ross came to an abrupt halt and swung around to face her. “What do you mean those who have harmed you? Do you speak of the smugglers?”

She could not risk telling him about Faucheux, or about the merchant’s son, Monsieur Robard. “A woman alone is an easy target. You know that.”

A growl rumbled in the back of his throat. Just like the landlord, he scanned her body as if signs of her mistreatment were still evident there.

“You’re avoiding my question. I suggest you tell me what happened now or there’ll be hell to pay.”

“This is precisely the reason I do not want you to tell my brother.” Estelle turned away from him and marched along the street.

Ross caught up with her in two strides. “Is it wrong that people care what happened to you?”

“No, it is not wrong. But I do not want my brother consumed with guilt or thoughts of revenge when he should focus on being happy.”

The same applied to Ross. Her love for both men had set her on her course all those years ago.

A tense silence ensued as they navigated the crowded pavement.