The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London #4)(28)

Lord help her, did he think her so cold? She knew what it was like to lose the love of her life.

“All I ask,” he continued, “is that you spare me the discomfort of calling at the shop to find you have upped and left suddenly during the night.”

Discomfort?

Of course, that was all this was to him now. A mild annoyance. A slight inconvenience. Her throat grew tight at the thought. She wasn’t sure she could answer without him hearing the hitch in her voice.

“Come.” She cleared her throat. “Mr Erstwhile will wonder where I’ve got to, and he has enough worries at the moment.”

Ross inclined his head. Although she sensed he had more to say, he pursed his lips and remained silent. Unspoken words were often the hardest to bear.

Despite returning from France, there would always be a vast sea between them. She would always be the selfish one who ran away from her problems. He would always be the strong, intrepid hero who deserved better.



While Ross tried to maintain an indifferent air as he escorted Estelle back to the apothecary shop, his heart pounded so hard in his chest it robbed him of breath.

When will you go?

Soon.

Those words replayed over and over in his mind. God damn. He wished she’d never stumbled upon him in the alley. He wished he’d never pursued her. Time was a great healer, so the philosophers said. Ballocks. The same excruciating pain pierced his soul. And still, he could not bring himself to swallow his pride and demand to know why she had left.

Hell, he needed a distraction.

He needed a fight.

As they drew nearer to their destination, Ross noted Wickett sitting dutifully atop his box seat, his head bowed. The poor man had sat there for hours and had no doubt taken the opportunity to catch much-needed sleep. Only when Wickett turned the page, did Vane realise the coachman held a book. Ross snorted. Nothing Wickett said or did surprised him anymore.

What did knock the wind out of Vane’s sails, and almost forced him to make an abrupt detour, was the sight of Lady Cornell and her maid standing outside the apothecary shop.

Ross gritted his teeth. “I swear that damn woman makes it her business to know where I am at all times of the day.”

“Do you refer to the lady in the garish pink bonnet lingering outside Mr Erstwhile’s shop?” Estelle spoke calmly.

“Indeed.”

“Oh, they followed us to the coaching inn. Numerous times they pretended to look in shop windows in the hope we wouldn’t notice them.”

Ross raised a brow, impressed at her observation skills. “You saw them?”

Estelle cast him a confident grin. “When one has spent years acting as a smuggler’s eyes and ears one notices such things.”

“And you did not think to mention it?”

“But then you would have looked over your shoulder. The lady would have abandoned her spying, and you would never know the full extent of her intentions.”

Intrigued by Estelle’s insight, he asked, “And what are her intentions?” Lady Cornell made no secret about what she wanted, but Estelle did not know that.

“If I were you, I would be cautious. The lady walked the length of three streets, lingered near the entrance of a coaching inn full of unsavoury characters. The fact she is standing outside the shop tells me she followed you here. Desperate doesn’t begin to describe her actions.”

They were but a few feet away now, too close to tell her about his dealings with Lord Cornell.

“I think the woman wants to antagonise her husband in the hope I’m forced to kill him. There’s no time to explain the details. But if what you say is true, she witnessed us spending an hour alone in a coaching inn. It would serve me greatly if she continues to believe we’re lovers.”

Estelle glanced up at him and frowned. “You want me to pretend I’m in love with you?”

“Indeed. She must think there is more to this relationship than an hour spent romping beneath the bedsheets.”

“We were not romping beneath the bedsheets.”

“On top of the bedsheets then. Both of us lost our heads for a moment.”

“Indeed.” Estelle stared at his mouth. “You cannot tell her who I am.”

Vane had no time to answer. Lady Cornell locked eyes with him. She batted her lashes in a look of utter shock.

“Lord Trevane, good day to you.” Lady Cornell offered a hand encased in a pink kidskin glove. “What brings you to Whitecombe Street?” The impertinence of the question conveyed more than a need to pry.

“Lady Cornell.” Vane held the parcel by its string and with his free hand gripped her fingers and bowed. “In answer to your question I find that it’s the perfect place to spend a pleasurable afternoon.”

As if on cue, a flush crept up Estelle’s neck to bring a rosy glow to her cheeks. She looked up at him as she had done many times in the past when they’d stolen away to the orchard for a secret rendezvous. It was a look that said he was her world, one that made him feel like a god amongst mortal men. It was a look that cradled his soul, that sang a sweet and soothing melody to chase ways eight years’ worth of hurt and misery. Transfixed by the beauty of the moment he could not tear his gaze away.

“Lady Cornell,” he eventually said, “may I present my dear friend Miss Brown.”

Estelle turned to the woman and inclined her head. “My lady.”