The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London 4)

Estelle nodded. “I shall wait for you downstairs.”

Vane watched her unlock the door and leave the room, then he sat on the chair and buried his head in his hands.

The day had been enlightening on many levels. He’d discovered something of her savage life, of the woman she’d become in his absence, of the criminal things she’d done. He sensed there was much more to tell, most of it equally harrowing, deeply unpleasant.

For his sins, his own mind was a muddled mess of confusion. He’d lost count of the conflicting emotions tearing through him: anger, pity, raging lust, and another indeterminable feeling hovering just out of reach. In short, Estelle Darcy had managed a feat beyond the capabilities of any other woman.

She had made him feel something.

And yet amid all the chaos one frightening thought remained constant.

He would never stop wanting her.

Nothing she could say or do could banish the intense longing burning inside of him. No other woman would ever compare, and so he was destined to live a vapid life of meaningless liaisons.

Fate had marked him unworthy of love, marked him to live a lonely, empty existence.

Chapter Eight

Head bent over a ledger, the landlord of The Golden Goose scrawled away with quill and ink as Estelle approached the counter. Sensing her presence, the man glanced up, dispensed with his writing implement and straightened his spectacles.

“Everything all right, miss?” Doubt lingered in his voice as he scanned her face and figure as if searching for a sign of distress.

“Thank you,” she said, sniffing away her tears. “Everything is fine.”

Everything was far from fine.

The pain in her chest had nothing to do with reliving her nightmares. Nor did she allow herself the luxury of feeling anything when it came to her brother, Fabian. She’d come to terms with the fact she would never see him again. Knowing he was happy made the decision much easier to bear.

No.

Spending time alone with Ross was her mistake. Her heart felt like it was breaking all over again. More unshed tears choked the back of her throat. Her body trembled. She could still feel the heavy weight of him pressing her down into the mattress. The intimate place between her legs still burned with need. She moistened her lips. The spicy masculine taste of him coated the delicate skin.

“Pardon me for saying, but you don’t seem all right.” The landlord glanced at the stairs with curiosity. “Is his lordship remaining behind?”

Estelle shook her head. “No, he sent me down to see you and will join me shortly.” Did he think her a servant girl done away with her deviant master? “I have not hit him over the head with the chamber pot if that is what you’re thinking.”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“I assure you he is alive and well.”

The landlord raised his chin in acknowledgement. “Gentlemen of his quality enjoy playing games with us lesser folk.” No doubt he’d made his judgement about her class from the simple style of her clothes, coupled with the fact a lady did not accompany a man to a coaching inn, let alone spend an hour alone with him in a bedchamber. “Made you false promises has he?”

The need to defend Ross pushed to the fore. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I am the one who has led him a merry dance. I hoped he’d put the past behind him. But clearly he has not.”

Why she blurted her business to this man, she had no notion.

He glanced at the stairs once again. “Men like to hold a grudge.”

“And women thrive on malice and spite,” she countered.

“But not you,” he said, seeming to know her after nothing more than a brief conversation.

“No. Not me.”

The heavy thud of booted footsteps on the stairs alerted her to the gentleman in question.

Ross strode over to join her. “I assume all is in order?”