The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London #4)(15)

“There is no point talking to you when you’re like this.” Farleigh turned away abruptly and stared out of the window.

A tense silence ensued.

Vane tried to sit back, tried to close his eyes and pretend he didn’t give a damn. But a restlessness consumed him, one he’d gone to great lengths to suppress with loose women, brandy, and fistfights in the narrow lanes of St Giles.

Farleigh glanced at him numerous times before eventually saying, “Will you see her again?”

“Who?” Vane knew to whom Farleigh referred and was merely stalling.

“Miss Darcy. What did you say to her when you left?”

Damn right he’d see her again. While the voice in his head screamed never, his heart demanded an explanation, craved justice.

“I paid her the same courtesy she did me and left without a word. Once assured of her identity what more was there to say?”

“I see.” The corners of Farleigh’s mouth twitched. “Do you think you might still be in love with her?”

Panic shot through him.

Having spent years battling to exorcise the memory of Estelle Darcy, no other woman had ever made him feel the way she did. Oh, he’d sated his lust, but the tremors were superficial, failed to ease the clawing hunger within.

“Haven’t you heard?” Vane’s tone brimmed with mockery. “The only person I am in love with is myself.”

Farleigh laughed. “According to the law of the land the majority rule, so it must be true.” He paused. “What will you do now? Will you go home and drain the decanter? Will you wander the alleys hoping a rogue might beat every ounce of emotion from your chest?”

Vane thought for a moment. To go home would mean a sleepless night pacing the floor, replaying every pathetic moment of the young fool who’d chased Estelle to Dover only to discover she’d boarded the boat with another gentleman.

“Why go home when I am in the mood for mischief?”

Farleigh groaned. “Why do I get the feeling the evening is about to take a turn for the worse?”

Nothing could be worse than discovering the dead walked. “Perhaps I need to broaden my horizons. Colonel Preston has returned from his expedition to the Antarctic Peninsula. Preston’s benefactor is holding a ball this evening to celebrate the explorer’s findings. We shall go there.”

“We?”

“If I go alone, there is every chance the night will end with a dawn appointment. Besides, don’t you want to hear of Preston’s whale sightings? They say it’s fascinating.”

Farleigh narrowed his gaze, but then recognition dawned. “For a second, I thought seeing Miss Darcy had softened your brain. But clearly I’m mistaken. Lord Cornell sponsored Preston’s trip did he not? We are going so you may taunt the gentleman.”

Vane could not prevent a grin from forming. “So you will come?”

“If only to ensure you don’t end up in Newgate.”



Lord Cornell’s townhouse in Bedford Square was a two-minute walk from the British Museum. The peer liked to think of himself as an intellectual. A man whose mental faculties compensated for his saggy jawline and portly stomach. If Vane’s sources were to be believed, the lord spent many an afternoon debating the form of classical sculptures and examining Egyptian antiquities.

“You didn’t tell me the ball was at Cornell’s house.” Farleigh grabbed Vane’s arm and brought him to an abrupt halt at the bottom of the steps.

“Cornell is Preston’s patron. Where else would it be?”

“Then I doubt you have an invitation,” Farleigh whispered.

“Why would I need an invitation?”

Farleigh shook his head. “Is it not advisable to return to Berkeley Square and change our clothes?”

Vane glanced down at his boots and grinned. “So we’re not wearing stockings and shoes. There’s not a gentleman here brave enough to throw us out, not a servant foolish enough to refuse us entrance. And I do so enjoy causing a stir.”

They stepped aside to allow two ladies to pass. Both women tittered and nudged each other. From the blush touching their cheeks, their interest in him had nothing to do with his unconventional attire. One almost tripped over the hem of her gown as she craned her neck to lock eyes with him.

“Come. We shall follow those ladies inside. By now, everyone will be too busy drinking and dancing to bother with latecomers.”

“Tell me you’re joking. Every woman in there will sense your presence.” Farleigh sighed. “Oh, life is so much simpler in the country.”

“If not a little dull.”

“Trust me there is nothing dull about spending the day conversing with one’s wife, the nights nestled—”

“Spare me the details. Unless you want to dig your blade a little further into my wounded heart.”

“Is it wounded? Most people say you have no heart.”

Vane shrugged. This was not the conversation he wanted to have while preparing to confront Lord Cornell.

“What is it you want me to say, that I’m envious of what you have with Rose?”

“Are you?”

Damn right he was.

With his skill in the bedchamber, something he’d mastered in the hope he might feel something more meaningful, he’d earned a reputation as a scoundrel. A label far removed from the real man buried beneath the facade.