The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London 4)

“I wouldn’t call it a trip exactly. More a mission to right the wrongs of the past.”

“And did you succeed?”

He raised an arrogant brow. “What do you think?”

She scanned his face and body. Her gaze fell to the marred hand resting on his knee. “How did you come by that bruise on your knuckle?”

“Oh, that.” He examined the bruise and flexed his fingers. “My hand collided with a gentleman’s nose and then smacked into his jaw.”

“Was it anyone I know?”

“As a matter of fact, he is the son of a merchant who lacks manners when it comes to maids.”

Estelle couldn’t help but feel a frisson of satisfaction. “Is he dead?”

“No, though I fear he may need to recuperate for some time.”

“I see.”

Another gust of wind forced her to suck in her breath. Ross reached over and drew his coat more firmly around her shoulders.

“And what else were you up to on your secret mission?” Surely he’d not gone off in search of the smugglers.

“I spoke to the magistrate who showed an interest in what happened at Drummond’s yard. It seems Hungerford did hire the Frenchman to attack you in the alley. He also hired him to break into the shop. When questioned, the man waffled on about the Erstwhiles eating poisoned macaroons, about Hungerford wanting to take advantage of you when you were at your most vulnerable.”

“Good Lord. The level of deceit is astounding.” Now she knew why Mr Hungerford insisted on serving macaroons when he knew she hated them.

“Oh, and I spent a night in Wissant,” Ross continued. “You’d be surprised what y

ou can learn when you ply the locals with wine and ale.”

“Wissant? You have been busy.” Estelle inhaled to calm the nervous flutter in her stomach. “And … and what did they tell you?”

“Faucheux is dead. That is the name of the smuggler you fear?”

Estelle’s heart thumped hard against her ribcage. “Please tell me you didn’t kill him.”

Ross shook his head. “The band of smugglers were caught and hung years ago. Faucheux was hung for the murder of Monsieur Bonnay. The group fought without a leader and were caught with contraband some months later.”

Faucheux was dead.

A sense of peace settled in her chest, one she’d not felt since the carefree days of her youth. She had been so angry with Ross for leaving, and yet no words could express her gratitude. Never again would she worry whenever she heard a gruff French voice.

She turned and clutched his arm. “Do you know what that means?”

“It means you have nothing to fear. It means no one can ever testify to the part you played all those years ago.”

The love she felt for this man burst through her. She flew into his arms, causing him to fall back onto the sand.

Her mouth closed over his instantly. She devoured him, thrust her tongue wildly against his. Twelve days’ worth of anguish ignited into a passion she could not contain. She kissed his cheek, his chin, nibbled the spot just beneath his ear, bit down on his lobe.

“So you have missed me,” Ross panted as he grasped her buttocks.

Consumed by lust, Estelle straddled him, gathered up her skirts and fumbled with the buttons on his breeches. “Take me now, Ross. Take me here. I need you.”

Freeing himself from his constraints with ease, he gripped his manhood.

“Hurry,” she said, aware that they were alone on the beach but at any moment someone might appear. But she could not wait to take this man into her body. “Quickly, Ross.”