The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London 4)

How could she answer when she didn’t know what to do anymore?

“By your own admission you have had relations with other women,” she said, choosing to be aloof as a means of self-preservation. “How is this any different?”

“How is it different!” he repeated, seemingly unimpressed with her answer. “Please tell me you’re joking. Eight years may have passed, but the same raging need flows through our veins.”

“What happened brought us both comfort at a time—”

“Trust me. Comfort was not what I tasted on your lips. Comfort is not what I felt when thrusting inside you, nor when you panted my name and shuddered in my arms.”

She shivered at the delicious memory, wishing she could go back to the beginning and relive it all over again. “You’re right. It meant more than that.” The perfect moment would live forever in her heart. She would embrace it during long, lonely nights. “What do you propose we do?”

For the first time, she witnessed a look of panic mar his handsome features. “Do?” It passed quickly, replaced by a wicked glint in his eyes. “I propose we return to Hanover Square. I propose we spend the next week in bed and take matters from there.”

So it was lust, not love, then.

“Have you forgotten that I have work to do in the shop? I cannot abandon the Erstwhiles, not while Mrs Erstwhile is unwell.”

She wasn’t saying no even though she knew she should.

“Estelle, while I admire your loyalty to them, you no longer need to work for a living.”

Anger erupted. Such an intelligent man should know better than to preach nonsense. “Oh, and what do you suggest I do, my lord? Perhaps I should call my man of business and ask him to increase the rents. Perhaps I might sell the family jewels to give me an income while I sit about idle.”

“A man is not idle because he owns land,” he admonished. “And you would want for nothing if you stayed with me.”

The comment robbed her of breath. Good Lord, her worst fears had come to pass. Ross did not see her as a woman of equal status — not anymore.

“So you’re proposing I become your mistress.”

“Mistress?” He seemed confused.

“That is the name for a woman who has intimate relations with a man who supports her financially.”

She should not scoff at the offer. A mistress was all she could hope for should anyone discover the truth about her scandalous time in France. If only she could forget this man, move away to the country and take a husband, raise a family and let society believe she had perished in the shipwreck.

“Are you saying you would accept the offer should I be inclined to make it?” Ross sat forward awaiting her answer with a look of keen interest.

“The fact you have asked the question means you do not know me at all.”

Ross snorted. “Forgive me for thinking that the eight years we’ve spent apart has changed us irrevocably. How am I to know what you think or want when you keep so many secrets?” He dragged his hand down his face and sighed. “The lady I remember would not have permitted me to make love to her in a carriage.”

Estelle gasped at the implication that she was somehow loose with her affections. She had given up everything so that this man could sit on his gilded throne.

“You self-righteous ass,” she spat. Anger bubbled away inside, but it was merely a reaction to years of hurt. “I permitted you to make love to me because you’re the only man I have ever wanted. You’re the only man I would ever willingly give myself to, and yet you have to ruin what would have been a beautiful memory.”

Ross gulped at her sudden outburst, shock tainting his features. “Estelle, I did not mean it like that. I was—”

“I don’t care how you meant it. Clearly, we are different people now, but I do not need you to remind me of my shortcomings.” Estelle glanced out of the window, relief flooding through her when she noted the familiar surroundings of Whitecombe Street. “If tonight proves anything it is that we cannot live for the past.”

The carriage slowed. The wheels were still rolling when she grabbed the handle.

“You’re beginning to sound as philosophical as Mr Erstwhile,” Ross mocked. “Why do I get the sense this is all my fault? So I spoke thoughtlessly. Forgive me for being human. Forgive me if I fail to understand what the hell is going on.”

The carriage stopped, and she opened the door. Despite the torrential rain, she stepped down to the pavement. Tears welled. The memory of what could have been, pushed to the fore. She could have been his wife not his whore.

“It is not your fault, Ross.” Estelle turned to face him. “It is mine. I was too weak to fight for us. I was too frightened to do anything but surrender to those who professed to have our best interests at heart. And I will spend my life living with that regret.”

The dam burst. Tears fell. She swung around, rushed to the front door of the apothecary shop and hammered hard with her fist.