A Gentleman's Curse (Avenging Lords 4)

Being an overprotective father, Richard Darling had insisted Emily have a chaperone at all times. Under his watchful eye, Emily believed herself inadequate, an invalid incapable of doing anything unaided. Now, she was making progress, and the prospect of learning to dance was a feat Claudia never thought possible.

“I cannot leave you here alone.” Claudia winced. She hated being the one to put doubt back into her sister’s mind.

“But I won’t be alone. Mrs Bitton and Dickinson and the other servants are here. And Monsieur Dariell is not leaving else he would not have made arrangements to teach me to dance.”

Emily had such confidence in the Frenchman’s integrity it touched Claudia’s heart. She didn’t want to be the one to dash Emily’s hopes and dreams, but it would be better for them both if she came to London, too.

“I shall speak to Mr Lockhart when we take him his supper later this evening.”

“He may not wish to speak honestly if I am there. I shall invite Monsieur Dariell to take supper here, and you may dine with Mr Lockhart.”

Claudia’s nervous gulp reached her sister’s sharp ears.

“If you’re contemplating spending a week with him in London, you must learn to like him,” Emily continued with some amusement.

Learning to like Mr Lockhart wouldn’t be a problem. Learning to forget about him when the week was up would prove infinitely more difficult. But she could not think of that now. Nor could she think about her reputation. Was it not better to spend her days

a scandalous spinster than the wife of the most abhorrent man ever to make her acquaintance?

Besides, she would do anything to ensure Emily always had a home at Falaura Glen.

One week was hardly a sacrifice. She could spend one week with a handsome scoundrel if it meant bringing an end to her troubles. What harm could it do?

Chapter Four

The night was cold. A biting wind nipped at Claudia’s cheeks as she walked down the drive leading to the thatched cottage. The heat from the pot of rabbit stew she carried seeped through the thick blanket protecting her hands.

Emily had sent a note to Monsieur Dariell asking him to dine at the manor. Having accepted the offer, the Frenchman had passed Claudia trudging along the path. Refusing his offer of help, she had merely smiled to hide the sudden rush of trepidation that took hold whenever she thought about being alone with Mr Lockhart.

When she arrived at the cottage, the gentleman in question was standing outside propped against the door, staring up at the inky sky. A scattering of stars drew his gaze in numerous directions. Moonlight illuminated his striking profile. Never had she seen a man with such a strong jaw.

It wasn’t his tall, athletic form that forced her to catch her breath, nor his captivating countenance. It was the look of wonder in his eyes as he stared at the heavens. The yearning returned, the tug deep in her core. A lady might live a lifetime and never have a man admire her like that.

When Mr Lockhart noticed her, he straightened. The mask of a sinner fell back into place. With a wicked grin capable of rendering the most experienced courtesan helpless, he sauntered towards her and took hold of the pot.

Nerves threatened to leave her speechless.

How was it she could deal with a rogue like Mr Thorncroft but crumpled beneath the weight of Mr Lockhart’s stare?

“You look cold,” he said in the smooth way that hinted at amusement. “Come inside. Let me take your cloak, and you can warm yourself by the fire.”

How was it he made a kind gesture sound like a rake’s seductive repartee?

“Thank you,” she managed to say without her teeth chattering. “I can barely feel my toes.”

“I am more than happy to massage your feet if it will help to get the blood pumping.”

Claudia swallowed. “That won’t be necessary.” Never had a man spoken to her so intimately.

Mr Lockhart smiled, proof he was teasing her. “Come. Lead the way, Miss Darling. My stomach is growling like an angry bear.”

No doubt such a virile gentleman required more than a measly helping of rabbit stew to feed his muscles. And yet, judging by his trim physique, he was not one to overindulge, either.

Claudia opened the cottage door and stepped back for him to enter. Mr Lockhart placed the pot on the stand in the middle of the table. He had laid two place settings, poured two glasses of red wine. Perhaps he thought to numb her senses in the hope she would accept his ludicrous proposal.

“How is it we’re dining alone?” Mr Lockhart came to stand behind her, his words breezing past her ear as he lowered his head to speak. “Are you pandering to Dariell’s desire for privacy or mine?”

“I said I would call to discuss your proposition.” Claudia held her breath as Mr Lockhart’s hands swept over her shoulders, his fingers pulling the ends of the silk ribbon securing her cloak.