The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London #4)(14)

“Discovering the truth for myself. You may hide behind a false name, but you cannot hide the mark of your birth.”

She knew what he spoke of. “You distrust what your eyes tell you is true?”

“I did not say that.” Skilled fingers followed the edge of her neckline, skin-to-skin, stroking her flesh, the soothing, caressing motion teasing her nipples to peak.

Estelle stood frozen to the spot as his fingers dipped between her breast and bodice. Her breath came in ragged pants. She wanted him to fondle her, to claim her mouth, to hike up her skirts and give life to this empty shell of a body.

“Well?” The word left her lips on a sigh. It took every effort not to arch her back and push against him.

Estelle gasped when he tugged the material to reveal the upper curve of her breast. When his gaze settled on the small brown birthmark, he inhaled sharply through his nose.

She waited for him to say something, but he whipped his hand away and stepped back. Lust and love flowed through her veins. Disdain and abhorrence radiated from him.

“How could you?” His clipped tone sliced through the air and yet for a moment she saw something other than controlled anger. She saw pain flash in those fierce blue eyes.

I never meant to hurt you.

Estelle opened her mouth to speak, but he raised a hand to stop her.

“Do not waste your breath. I am in no mood for explanations. Nothing you could say would ever tempt me to forgive you.”

Without another word, Ross turned on his heels and marched towards the door, kicking away the broken bottle in his path. The sound of the overhead bell preceded his departure.

Tears swam in her eyes. Her heart ached with regret, with the throbbing pain of an old wound never healed.

Estelle hurried to the window. She wiped away the mist caused by her heavy breathing, pressed her face to the glass and watched Ross stride towards his black carriage. Without warning, he came to an abrupt halt. Fog swirled around his legs, clawed at his body. He looked up to the heavens, cursed the Lord and punched the air.

And then he gathered himself, shook his head and squared his shoulders, climbed into his conveyance and slammed the door.

The vehicle jerked forward, quickly gathered momentum and disappeared into the blanket of fog.





Chapter Five





“Do not say a word.”

“I’m not a fool.” Lord Farleigh sat back in the dark confines of Vane’s coach. “You look ready to unleash the Devil’s wrath upon anyone who glances your way.”

Vane gritted his teeth. An intense rage burned in his chest, heating to a roaring inferno. Hot pulses of energy throbbed in his fingers. He needed to punch someone, needed to release the pent-up emotion.

After all these years, Estelle was alive.

It meant only one thing. She cared nothing for him when she ran away, cared nothing for him now. He was an easy man to find. So why had she not come knocking? Why had she chosen to work for an apothecary rather than ask for his help?

Disappointment filled his chest as did a crippling sense of inadequacy he rarely encountered. Damnation. Rage he could deal with, but this nauseating feeling of failure he could not.

Memories of his sister’s ruination entered his head. He’d been helpless then too, had sworn no one would ever hurt him in the same way again.

Anger resurfaced at the thought.

For eight blasted years, he believed he was somehow responsible for Estelle leaving, responsible for her death. Not once had she come to ease his misery. God damn, the woman hadn’t even bothered to send a note.

Unable to control himself, he punched the roof, the pain bringing temporary relief. Any other coachman would have slowed the horses believing the sound a signal to stop. Wickett knew better.

Farleigh sighed. “Rather the roof than you pounce across the carriage and take your frustration out on me.”

“From my reaction, I’m sure you can guess the outcome of my visit.”

“Then it is as her brother suspected.” Farleigh paused. “Miss Darcy is alive.”

“Oh, she’s alive.” Vane had felt the rapid beat of her heart as he caressed the soft mounds of flesh, had heard the hitch in her breath when he exposed the damning mark. “Estelle Darcy is working as an apothecary’s assistant no less.”

Farleigh knew him well enough to know what this sudden revelation meant. The belief that Estelle was dead had shaped Vane’s life, his attitude, all relationships, his reputation.

“She’s working for a living?” Farleigh seemed more shocked by that fact. “Then she never married?”

The comment sent Vane’s stomach shooting up to his throat. “How the hell should I know? I’m just the fool she abandoned. I’m the fool she cared nothing for, the one she left and never thought of again.”

“Clearly the lady has fallen on hard times. Perhaps there’s more to the story than that. After all that happened at Everleigh, I know only too well things are often not what they seem.”

“Good God, do not defend her actions.”

“I’m not. I am simply saying that until you’re in possession of the facts, you cannot make a qualified judgement.”

“Let me understand you.” Vane gave a snort of contempt. “You suspect a terrible event kept her away from her friends and family. One so terrible she let everyone believe she’d died on The Torrens. Why did I not think of it before? Poor Miss bloody Darcy.”