The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London #4)(13)

“Miss Brown?”

“My assistant. The young lady you mentioned.”

Ross Sandford stepped into the light.

Good Lord, no!

It could not be. Not now. Not so soon.

The room spun.

Her heart thumped.

Anyone else entering the shop would look at the floor to avoid stepping on broken glass. With wide eyes, they would scan the disorderly room, shocked to see such a state of disarray.

But not Ross Sandford.

His piercing blue eyes settled on her instantly and did not falter, not for a second. A dangerous energy filled the room. Ragged breathing invaded the tense, oppressive silence. His hard stare proved unnerving, but she deserved no less.

The urge to run came upon her, but it was a coward’s choice, she knew.

The crunch of glass beneath Ross’ feet signalled his move towards her. With slow, purposeful strides, he came to stand but a few feet away. Broad shoulders filled her line of vision. The firm, arrogant tilt of his jaw conveyed his displeasure. Controlled anger emanated from every fibre of his being.

“May I present Miss Brown, my lord?” Mr Erstwhile introduced her as a grand matron would a debutante. Bless him. Like her, the old man gave no consideration as to what was deemed de rigueur. “My assistant.”

What could she do other than plunge into a curtsy? “My lord.”

Nausea took hold. Her stomach flipped.

The gentleman had inherited his father’s title, that much she knew. The name Marquess of Trevane suited the strong, powerful figure of the man standing before her. Estelle scanned his face, looking for a sign of the benevolent gentleman she once knew. But her search was in vain.

“Miss Brown.” The words were cold, hard, tinged with contempt. Ross inclined his head though his gaze remained fixed on her, his target — his prey. Casting Mr Erstwhile a brief sidelong glance, his countenance softened slightly. “While eager to ease your distress after the unfortunate events of the evening, my primary reason for calling at such an improper hour is because I believe Miss Brown and I are acquainted.”

Mr Erstwhile gasped. “How interesting. Miss Brown thought you seemed familiar but dismissed the idea as folly given the circumstances. Then Miss Brown must have lived in the village close to your country estate.”

“Indeed, though that was many years ago,” Ross said sharply. “One might easily be mistaken.”

Heat rose to Estelle’s cheeks, hot and scorching. He despised her. That much was evident. The last time she’d seen him, other than in a dank alley in St Giles, his smile had stretched from ear to ear. Alone in the orchard, he’d picked her up, swung her around until she laughed so hard she couldn’t breathe. He’d caressed her cheek, ran the pad of his thumb over her lips. Kissed her so deeply and with such tenderness, her heart melted.

He had loved her then.

Oh, Ross!

The muscles in her throat tightened. Tears welled, but she refused to let them fall.

Estelle lifted her sagging shoulders. “Would you mind, Mr Erstwhile, if I had a moment alone with his lordship?” There was no time to answer all of his questions now. How did one explain eight tragic years in a matter of minutes?

Mr Erstwhile frowned. Suspicious eyes moved back and forth between them. But one did not refuse a marquess anything.

“I will go upstairs and check on Mrs Erstwhile.” He turned to Ross. “My wife has taken ill. The shock of it all, you know.” The man inclined his head. “I shall return presently.” He said no more, but with every retreating step Estelle’s heart thumped harder against her ribs.

With his eyes flicking briefly to the door, Ross waited to hear the creak of the stairs before taking one last step forward.

Estelle braced herself for the barrage of questions, for the words that conveyed disdain for liars and deceivers.

The oppressive silence proved suffocating. Feeling compelled to speak, she said, “You look well, Ross. Considerably better than you did earlier this evening.”

“And you survived the shipwreck.” The stone planes of his face showed not the slightest sign of emotion. Clearly, he no longer cared.

So why had he come?

“Fate intervened, though I’ve come to learn it can be cruel as well as kind.”

“Personally, I have yet to witness evidence of the latter.” Ice-blue eyes settled on the neckline of her simple forest-green dress.

Why did he speak so calmly? Why did he not rip her to shreds and leave her in a tattered heap? At the very least she deserved a scathing reprimand, a dozen lashes of his tongue.

“Why did you come?” She had to say something to move the conversation towards the real crux of the matter.

“For proof you exist, nothing more.”

“And are you satisfied?” She waved her hand down the front of her dress. Disappointment flared. Though her mind knew better, in her heart she’d often imagined him pulling her into an embrace, telling her nothing mattered other than the fact she was alive and well.

What a fanciful fool!

“Not nearly satisfied yet.” He closed the gap between them. His large hand settled on her waist, searing her skin even through the layers of fabric. “There is something I must see.”

He reached out and traced a finger from her chin down the column of her throat, leaving a burning trail in its wake.

“Wh-what are you doing?”