The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London 4)

“Can you not claim me as a friend, Miss Brown?” Vane said in a rich drawl.

Estelle raised a coy brow. “Well, yes, but are we not a little better acquainted than that?”

Vane bit back a chuckle. In the guise of Miss Brown, Estelle cared nothing for her reputation. His amusement faded. Why would she care when she had no intention of remaining in London?

Lady Cornell cleared her throat. “So, Miss Brown, are you new to town? I would be happy to take you on a tour of all the interesting places.”

“Thank you, my lady. But my work with Mr Erstwhile takes up most of my time.” Estelle gestured to the apothecary shop. “And Ross—” She stopped abruptly. “Lord Trevane commands every spare minute at my disposal. As I’m sure you’re aware, he can be quite a demanding gentleman.”

Vane captured Estelle’s hand and brought it to his lips. “And I appreciate the patience it takes to put up with me.”

Lady Cornell’s gaze journeyed over Estelle’s clothes, face and plain bonnet. Jealousy oozed from the woman like a poisonous green mist in danger of choking all those in the vicinity. Vane could see it, could feel it contaminating the air.

“Then I should have a care, Miss Brown.” The lady’s tone held a hint of amusement that belied her unpleasant sneer. She forced a little titter and added, “Some men go to great lengths to avoid marriage. Society ladies expect so much more from their friends you see.”

The lady could not hide the grin of satisfaction at her veiled putdown.

“Or is it simply a case that unconventional men seek unconventional partners,” Estelle said. “After all, what lady of the ton would dine in the common room of a coaching inn? What lady of the ton could speak on topics that might interest a man with such a voracious appetite for conversation?”

From Lady Cornell’s flustered expression, clearly, she had never been challenged by an intelligent woman. She struggled to catch her breath as she floundered in these uncharted waters.

“Well,” she eventually said. “I have an appointment with my modiste and must not delay.” Beneath hooded lids, she looked up at Vane and said in a husky tone, “Will I see you tomorrow night, my lord? I hear Lord Cranbourne’s ball is to be the crush of the Season. And you know what that means.”

Oh, he knew only too well. A lady might easily slip away without her husband’s knowledge, only to return an hour later without ever being missed.

“I’m afraid not. I am engaged to dine with Miss Brown tomorrow evening.”

Estelle quickly masked her sudden look of surprise. “Indeed. I am certain we will have plenty to discuss.”

Lady Cornell sucked in her cheeks. “Should your plans change, know you will also have a friend at the ball.” She inclined her head to him and flounced away, giving Estelle the cut direct.

After a brief moment of silence, Estelle sighed. “Well, you are certainly in demand, my lord.” Did he detect a hint of jealousy in her voice? “Now I know why you insisted I pretend to be in love with you.”

You were in love with me once. Do you remember? Do you ever think of me?

The words echoed from the empty chambers of his heart. How was it a man made of stone and steel became as fragile and flimsy as silk in her company?

A chuckle escaped Estelle’s lips dragging him from his reverie. “Do you remember when the Reverend Moseley’s daughter used to follow you around the village? Did she not hide in your stables once hoping to catch sight of you?”

“She did.” What Estelle did not know was that he’d been forced to tell the girl that another woman had claimed his affections. The one who stood before him now. The one who still lived and breathed inside him no matter how many times he’d tried to rid himself of the affliction. “I believe Miss Moseley married Captain Rogers’ son in the end.”

“How wonderful.” Her smile faded. “It is good to know she found happiness.”

The comment drew his thoughts to the reason Estelle had left him. This was the perfect opportunity to broach the subject. In his mind, he tried to phrase the only question that mattered. And yet he couldn’t quite bring himself to form the words.

He knew why.

It had nothing to do with pride. He could stand in a dank alley and taunt men wielding blades, could stand opposite a scoundrel pointing a pistol at his head, and feel nothing. And yet, thinking of Estelle’s answer filled him with fear and dread.

Ask her, damn it. Ask her now!

“Sadly, we are not all as fortunate as Miss Moseley.” Vane mentally shook himself in a bid to stop the raging voices demanding more than he could give.

A solemn silence hung in the air between them.

“Well, I should take the package to Mr Erstwhile. He has had his nose pressed to the window for the last five minutes.”

Vane forced a smile though he was somewhat relieved she had changed the subject. “May I call on you this evening?” The question left his lips without thought. Damnation. Never had he sounded so eager, so desperate.