A Gentleman's Curse (Avenging Lords 4)

“Mr Lockhart!”

Claudia rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms, convinced she was still dreaming.

“Do not call out,” he whispered. “I come merely to discuss a matter of some importance. A private matter spoken only in the strictest confidence.”

Claudia’s head spun—probably because she had drunk far too much sherry in an effort to banish thoughts of Mr Thorncroft’s visit.

“How did you get in here?” She snatched her bare foot from his grasp and scrambled to tuck her legs beneath her skirts. But not before Mr Lockhart had taken an admiring peek at her ankles.

“The front door was open. I simply turned the knob and walked in. After noting the light spilling out beneath the door, I thought to try in here first.”

Claudia gulped. She tried to look him in the eye but failed. “And if there had been no light, what would you have done then?” Would he have crept upstairs and into her bedchamber?

Mr Lockhart brushed a hand through the tantalising lock of hair falling over his brow. “I would have stolen up to your room,” he said in the soothing voice that made the hairs on her nape prickle, “slipped inside and spoken to you there.”

It seems she had the measure of this man though she had to admire his honesty. During his time at Falaura Glen, he’d had many opportunities to take liberties. The fact he had always been above reproach meant she had to trust his word now.

Claudia gathered her courage and shuffled to sit straight, though he remained in a submissive position.

“What is so important, sir, that you would enter my home uninvited?”

A sudden panic rushed through her chest. Had he come to withdraw Monsieur Dariell’s offer to tutor Emily? Oh, she would have to drop to her knees, too, and beg him to reconsider.

A dark, solemn look swept over his features as his arrogant facade faltered. For a moment, she saw pain and torment in his eyes. “I come to you on a matter of life and death.”

The words carried a menacing undertone. Good Lord, surely he was teasing.

“That is a rather dramatic statement, sir.”

“Nonetheless, it is the truth. My life is in danger, Miss Darling.”

“In danger?” Claudia clutched her hands to her breast. She glanced at the window with some trepidation. Was that why a man with his intelligence and aesthetic appeal had locked himself away in a cottage?

Mr Lockhart inclined his head, his expression grave. “I come tonight to beg for your assistance.”

Beg? She doubted a man with his charm had ever begged for anything in his life.

Intrigued, she asked, “You wish to remain in the cottage for an indefinite period?” Heavens above, perhaps this gentleman was the answer to her prayers. With a regular income, she could meet Mr Thorncroft’s demands.

The deep furrow between his brows dashed her hopes. “I must re

turn to London within the week.”

Return to London?

Disappointment sank to the pit of her stomach like a brick in a water barrel. “You agreed to a two-month tenancy.”

Would Monsieur Dariell be leaving, too?

“And I shall more than compensate you for my need to vacate the premises.”

Claudia could not hide her despair.

“Do not look so downhearted, Miss Darling,” he continued in the flirtatious voice she found unnerving. “I have a proposition that may be to your benefit. I can see how much you enjoy my company and I would never abandon a friend in need.”

They were far from friends, barely even acquaintances, and yet the thought of him leaving Falaura Glen created an unexpected anxiety that stemmed from more than her need for money.

Keen to dismiss the feeling as foolish, she forced herself to meet his gaze. “You have certainly piqued my curiosity.”