The Deceptive Lady Darby (Lost Ladies of London 2)

“Promise me, Rose. If you care for me at all, you’ll stay here.”

She rubbed her neck, her pretty face marred by an inner conflict. Her answer would prove telling.

Eventually, she sighed and placed her hand on his arm. “Very well. I shall remain here. You have my word.”

Chapter Ten

The biting wind nipped at Christian’s cheeks as Valiant galloped down the lane leading to the manor. Thick smoke filled the air and half choked him. The scent of burning timber almost made him cast up his accounts, but he forged on ahead.

As soon as they passed through the gates, his horse grew restless and pawed the ground at the sight of the flames licking the walls and devouring everything in its path.

Morton Manor blazed like a beacon. A pyre in memory of all the poor souls who’d perished there. A fitting end for a place once regarded as the sanctum of witches.

Water filled his eyes. But he was not sad or sorry.

He glanced around the courtyard, one last jubilant goodbye.

Good God!

Preoccupied with his own private celebration, he’d failed to notice the gentleman sitting on the ground clutching a woman in his arms. Christian gave Valiant a reassuring pat, dismounted and rushed towards the couple.

“I saw the smoke and came immediately.” Christian pointed to the building. Within hours Morton Manor would be a pile of ash and rubble. “But I can see I’m too late.”

The man failed to tear his gaze away from the woman’s face. He held her to his chest, brushed loose tendrils of red hair from her brow. Were they the owners, returned after a lengthy trip? Though dirty, the cut of his clothes suggested a man of wealth. Was this the lord who’d hired Rose?

Christian bent down at their side. “She is alive I take it?” At times like this one had to ask insensitive questions.

The gentleman nodded. “Yes, but she’s inhaled smoke, fallen somehow and hurt her head.” In obvious distress, he continued to stroke the woman’s cheek.

“May I?” Christian gestured to her hand, waited for a nod of approval and then checked for a pulse. The steady beat thrummed against his fingers. But he knew the dangers of smoke inhalation. “There’s a doctor in Abberton a few miles up the road. I’ll ride there at once.”

A heavy sigh of relief burst from the gentleman’s lips. “We’ll wait at The Talbot Inn. I don’t care what it takes. Have him come at once.”

It crossed Christian’s mind to direct them to Everleigh. As the closest neighbour shouldn’t he be the one to offer the gentleman and his wife a bed for the night?

“Will you be all right at the Talbot? I have a large house and would offer you a place to stay.” If he did, then they would discover he’d stolen their maid. And the injured woman bore too many similarities to Cassandra. “But I have young children who would be … be easily distressed at the sight of …” Christian struggled to finish the sentence.

“Thank you for the thought. The inn is clean and comfortable, and Mrs Parsons is a capable woman who’ll know what to do.”

Christian nodded. “Then I shall return with the doctor and meet you there.”

Time was of the essence and so he did not dally, did not give the manor a second glance, but mounted his horse and galloped down the drive. The ride to Abberton through dark country lanes took fifteen minutes. He’d pushed the horse hard, hoping the wind would blow the smell of smoke from his coat.

“Dr Taylor.” Christian rapped the wooden door of the doctor’s house three maybe four times before his housekeeper answered.

“You’ll be wanting the doctor no doubt.” The woman’s bulging cheeks swamped her tiny mouth and chin. She blinked rapidly when she recognised him. “My lord, come in. Come in. Goodness. The doctor wouldn’t want me to leave you waiting out in the cold.”

“I must speak to your master. It’s a matter of great—”

“Lord Farleigh?” Dr Taylor appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing a shirt and loose-fitting trousers. “What has brought you out at this hour?” He padded in his stocking feet down to the hall. “Is it Jacob? Is he unwell?”

“No. It’s not Jacob.” Christian swallowed to catch his breath. “There’s a fire at Morton Manor. The whole place is ablaze. A young woman needs urgent attention.”

Dr Taylor’s face grew ashen. “A woman? But I thought all the occupants had left the manor.”

> “Who told you that?”

Dr Taylor scratched his head. “I-I can’t remember. Perhaps it was Mrs Brown or was it your housekeeper, Mrs Hibbet? Never mind.” He turned to his housekeeper. “Fetch my bag from the study and have Carter saddle my horse.”