The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London 4)

“When it comes to deception, there is always a victim.”

A tense silence filled the room.

Vane’s thoughts drifted to the countless times Lillian had cried in his arms. No lady should have to deal with such heartbreak. And what of Estelle: the smuggler’s lackey, the injured maid? She had borne her shame better than most — with a disguise and a level of acceptance he admired.

Lady Cornell suddenly gasped. “What if I was seen coming here?”

“Then your husband will soon learn of it and perhaps I may get the opportunity to punish him for what he’s done.” Vane pushed the thought from his mind. Cornell was weak and cowardly, and would never challenge him to a duel.

She blinked rapidly. “Do you want me to tell him? Do you want an opportunity to seek revenge? I will do anything for you, you know that.”

What he wanted was to take Estelle and go far away from these hypocritical fools. Yes, the burning need for vengeance still flowed through his veins, but revenge did not keep a man warm at night. And after shooting Lord Martin, Vane knew that satisfaction was fleeting.

“I don’t care what you do. But you need to leave.” He gestured to the mound of material. “Get dressed, and I shall escort you out. I trust you’ve brought your carriage. If not, I shall rouse my coachman.”

She nodded. “Yes, my carriage is waiting in the mews.”

Vane thrust his feet into his boots and left the room. He paced the hall to distract his mind. Lady Cornell finally emerged. Her mussed locks hung about her shoulders and she looked like she’d been tumbled in a haystack.

“Are you certain you don’t want me to warm your bed?” she said in a seductive lilt. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

How many times must he explain his lack of interest? “For fear of sounding like Lady Hamilton’s parrot, I think you know the answer.”

They descended the stairs and took the door from the hall that led down to the servants’ quarters.

“I’m afraid there’s glass on the floor,” she said as they approached the back door.

“I shall have someone clean it up in the morning.”

“Will you not carry me to safety?”

“Certainly not.”

They dodged the fragments of broken glass. Vane escorted her to the waiting carriage. Merely because he wanted to ensure she didn’t hide in the broom cupboard and sneak upstairs while he slept.

He opened the door, and she stopped before him. “I’m sorry for whatever pain Cornell has caused. With any luck, he is not long for this world, and then we can both celebrate.” Without warning, she kissed him on the cheek.

A gasp from behind drew Vane’s attention.

Another figure approached — smaller in height and frame. The woman had the hood of her black cloak raised, the gold lining framing her face like a halo.

She stepped closer, the light from the coach lamp illuminating her features.

“Estelle? What are you doing here? I didn’t expect to see you this evening.” Why was it his tone carried a guilty edge when he had done nothing wrong?

“I … I came because I had something important to say that couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”

“Then come inside.”

Lady Cornell gave a sly snigger.

Estelle looked at him, pain swimming in her eyes. “No. It’s not important now. It can wait until another time.” She noted Lady Cornell’s state of dishabille. She looked at his open shirt hanging out of his breeches. And then she swung around, picked up her skirts and ran.

Chapter Seventeen

“Estelle, wait!”

She could hear the clip of Ross’ boots on the cobblestones. He would catch her, of that she was certain. Still, she would not make it easy for him, and so she pressed on even though she w