A Gentleman's Curse (Avenging Lords 4)

“No.” In truth, he wasn’t sure if he had loved her at all. “She married my brother three weeks after I left these shores.” Surely that told Miss Darling all she needed to know.

After a moment of reflection, she said, “People do inconceivable things when frightened and under pressure. I understand what it is like to act out of a sense of hopelessness.”

The comment drew his thoughts back to the problems at Falaura Glen.

“Your situation must be desperate for a woman of your good character to accept my proposal, for you to leave your sister alone.” The more time he spent with Miss Darling, the more he admired her strength and tenacity. A pang of guilt stabbed his chest. He should not have made the financial reward too tempting to resist.

Her shoulders sagged. “Yes, desperate is one way of describing my predicament, and Emily is always in my thoughts. I must trust that Monsieur Dariell is a man of his word.”

“I can assure you he is.”

Silence descended once more.

Lockhart turned to face the fire. He watched the flames dance and flicker as he unbuttoned his waistcoat and tossed it to join the other garments on the chair. When he tugged his shirt out of his breeches, he heard Miss Darling’s faint gasp.

A surge of respect for the lady surfaced. “Would you prefer if I undressed elsewhere?” He did not turn around though part of him longed to see anxiety flash in her eyes. It was the only time he could be certain he was witnessing the truth.

Lockhart could almost hear the internal cogs turning as she pondered his question.

“I told you I would never betray a trust,” she said with a sudden determination. “This is a partnership for our mutual benefit. No matter how difficult it might be, I promised to act as your wife, and so that is what I will do.”

Claudia Darling was unlike any woman he had met. A steely resolve flowed through her veins. At times, she appeared shy, timid, and yet he had witnessed her wrath, tasted the raw passion buried beneath the prim exterior. If she loved a man, she would cross the ends of the earth to be at his side. She was too good for him, too kind, too loving.

Lockhart turned to face her, surprised by his urge to worship her as she deserved. “I trust that means you’re happy for me to undress here,” he said in the teasing tone he used to disguise any genuine feelings.

She forced a smile. “I can always close my eyes.”

“With your inquisitive mind, I imagine there would be lots of peeking.”

A chuckle escaped her. “You know me so well, husband.”

He laughed, despite feeling an odd sense of comfort at her use of the endearment. To distract his mind, he perched on the edge of the bed, removed his shoes and the rest of his clothes until his shirt was the only garment covering his modesty.

“You promised to tell me about India,” she said nervously. “You said you would paint a vivid picture. One I am unlikely to forget.”

He had said that, but merely to tease her about joining him in bed. No doubt she sought a distraction, a means to draw her mind away from a fear of sleeping next to a half-naked man.

“Then we will talk for an hour instead of reading.”

Lockhart moved to the washstand. He fought the urge to drag his shirt over his head and use a cold cloth to douse the flames of lust licking his skin. After drying his hands and face on a towel, he blew out the candles and moved towards the bed.

“Wait!” she said, panic rising when he grabbed the edge of the coverlet, ready to yank it back. “I am losing faith in Monsieur Dariell’s character.”

“In Dariell’s character?” He couldn’t hide his shock at her odd outburst. “Why?”

Miss Darling clutched the coverlet to her chest as if she may lose her head should she let go. “Perhaps it is because he is French.”

“You dislike the French?”

“No. Perhaps his nationality accounts for his taste in clothes.”

“Forgive me, but I’m struggling to follow your train of thought.” Nerves had affected her logic.

She dropped her gaze to her chest. “Monsieur Dariell instructed the modiste to design bedroom attire, too.”

“And?”

“My nightdress—if one can call it that—is silk.”