The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London #4)(23)
“Some men will assist a lady without demanding certain rewards in return. Three drunken bucks made a wager — which one of them would have me first. Mr Peterson punched the tallest one. He told them I was his sister and would shoot anyone who so much as looked at me in the wrong way.”
Anger burst to the fore — hot fury for the bastards who thought to take advantage of an innocent woman. Shame quickly followed, for presuming to think he had all the answers.
“Forgive me. Under the circumstances, I could not help but think the worst.”
If she’d not left him for another man, then what had he done to lose her favour?
He thrust his hand through his hair. The flurry of mixed emotions unsettled him. He preferred to feel empty, to feel nothing. The devil on his shoulder forced him to look at the bed, and whispered, “Take her and have done with it.”
“To assume such a thing means you think I’m a liar. That when I told you how much I—” She stopped abruptly and sighed. “It doesn’t matter now.”
Vane came to his feet. He turned to the window and watched people climb in and out of the coaches. Part of him did not want to hear any more. But knowing the truth was the only hope he had of putting the past behind him.
“And so how did you manage to reach the shore?”
A tense silence ensued.
“French smugglers found me one night while they were rummaging through the wreckage looking for anything of value.”
Smugglers!
A host of unwanted images flooded his mind. “Did … did they hurt you?” He closed his eyes while he waited for her answer, but lacked the strength to turn around and face her.
“Monsieur Bonnay led the men. He lived in a cottage in Wissant and took me in. His wife treated me like a daughter, and so no man dared lay a hand on me.”
Relief flowed through his veins to calm his racing heart. “How long did you stay with them?”
“Four years.”
Vane swung around unable to contain his shock. “Four years! Why the hell didn’t you leave sooner?”
Why did you not come home?
Estelle sat with her head bowed, her hands clasped in her lap. “I tried, many times, spent sleepless nights planning my escape. But I knew too much. Though Madame Bonnay became my protector, the men would have killed me rather than take the risk I might pass information to the authorities.”
All the time he’d been carousing the ballrooms, bedding women who took his fancy in the hope of banishing this woman from his mind, she was living in squalor, doing heaven knows what to stay alive.
The thought roused a crippling sense of inadequacy.
“Did you commit any criminal acts?” Vane almost scoffed at his own question. No smuggler would give her board and lodgings without asking for something in return.
“I acted as a lookout, distributed contraband. Once, I dressed as a laundress and took receipt of a couple of kegs of spirits hidden beneath newly washed linen while the revenue officers sat a few feet away supping ale.” She looked up at him, sadness brimming in her eyes. “And so the answer is yes, Ross. I have lied, cheated and stolen. I have bribed men to turn a blind eye to my crimes.”
Vane dragged a hand down his face. “You did what you had to do to survive.”
Damn, he wished she’d not told him.
Now the small part of him that so desperately needed to despise her swelled with admiration for her strength and courage.
A sudden noise from the room next door captured their attention. The loud groan could well have been the sound of a weary passenger relieved to have reached his destination. The creak of the bed may well have conjured an image of the poor fellow collapsing with exhaustion, but the groans became grunts. The banging grew louder, more insistent.
Vane met Estelle’s gaze, the flush of her cheeks reminding him of the innocent young woman who’d captured his heart. She had been so full of life, so vibrant and vivacious. Now a deep sadness lingered behind those wide eyes. She may not have lost her life on The Torrens, but she had lost something of herself that day.
“May I ask if you’ve seen my brother?” she suddenly said over the amorous din. “Is he well? Is he happy?”
“Fabian lives on an island off the Devonshire coast,” Vane said, as eager as she to mask the intimate sounds coming from the room next door. “He commands a fleet of merchant ships and has made quite a name for himself.”
A woman’s cries of pleasure rent the air though they were fake. He could tell.
Vane swallowed deeply. “Fabian and Lillian married recently. He kidnapped her in the hope it would persuade me to search for you. As it turns out, they’re in love.”
Estelle blinked. “Good heavens, I don’t know which piece of information to address first.” She fell silent, lost in her own thoughts. “I’m glad he’s happy.”
“Oh, he is happy beyond words.” Vane could hear the thread of jealousy in his tone. “But since his man Mackenzie spotted you in Paris, Fabian has not stopped looking for you. He will be relieved to know you’re safe and well.”
She clutched her hands to her chest and closed her eyes briefly, looked every bit the serene angel who’d come to save him in the dank alley.
“You cannot tell him I’m alive. Fabian must forget about me.” The words as must you echoed in his head though they never left her lips. “I’m not the same person. Too much has happened. Society would never accept me.”