The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London #4)(39)

“Then allow me to assist you. You want to know of my intentions towards Miss Brown.” Vane glanced at his conveyance to witness Estelle staring back at him.

“Well, I imagine my intentions are obvious, though yours are baffling. Miss Brown possesses too much integrity to be any man’s mistress.”

“You think I want her as my mistress?” It was a fair assumption given his position.

“Don’t you?” Hungerford raised a brow. “I have seen the intense longing in your eyes when you look at her.”

“Perhaps I want her for my wife.” Vane spoke merely for the thrill of annoying the gentleman. And yet he was surprised to find the idea had already taken root and the first buds were beginning to appear on this new tree of hope.

Hungerford scoffed. “A marquess does not marry a shopgirl.”

“Neither does a gentleman.”

“Miss Brown is unlike any woman I have ever met.”

“In that, we are agreed.”

Vane did not bother to offer a parting greeting but simply turned and strode back to his carriage. He informed Wickett of their direction and the message he was to pass to Mr Joseph when they arrived in Whitechapel. Once inside, Vane settled into the seat opposite Estelle, dragged his hand down his wet face and waited to hear the question ready to burst from her lips.

“What did you say to Mr Hungerford?”

“Nothing.” The sodden sleeves of his coat stuck to his shirt, the cold seeping into his skin. He sat forward and shrugged out of the garment. “You should remove your jacket before you catch a chill.”

“You clearly said something. I watched your lips move.”

“Hungerford wanted to know what my intentions are where you’re concerned.”

Vane tugged at his shirt sleeves as the material was plastered to his arms. He could feel the heat of her stare drifting over him, caught her ogling his biceps as they strained against the restrictions of the fabric.

“And what was your reply?” Lacking dexterity, which he attributed to cold fingers, she managed to unfasten the buttons on her jacket. She slipped it off her shoulders and placed it on the seat next to her.

Vane ignored the question. He wasn’t ready to address his feelings just yet, and fear of rejection forced him to remain silent.

He rubbed his hands together to banish the cold. “Had I known it would be this bitter, I’d have had Wickett heat the bricks. There’s a blanket in the box beneath the seat should you need it.”

“Did you threaten him?” She removed her bonnet and shook off the droplets of rain.

“Who?”

“Mr Hungerford.” Her tone carried more than a hint of frustration.

“Why would I do that?”

Estelle shrugged. “How should I know when I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re thinking? I haven’t the faintest idea where you’re taking me, either, though I know it is most definitely not Whitecombe Street.”

Vane liked that she found him unreadable, unpredictable. “I need to make a slight detour. Wickett has a message to deliver to my man in Whitechapel. But have no fear, we shall remain in the carriage.”

That meant he had her alone for at least thirty minutes, more if he instructed Wickett to take his time. And he would rather travel the foggy streets than return to the empty house in Hanover Square.

Silence ensued.

She did not press him on the subject of Mr Hungerford, nor did he ask if she would accept the man’s proposal. The answer was abundantly clear.

“Well,” she began, “if we’re here for a while it seems foolish to sit in silence. What would you like to discuss?”

Numerous questions flitted through his mind. None of them drew his thoughts away from the vibrant energy that thrummed in the air whenever they were alone. None of them captured his attention like the rise and fall of her breasts, like the full lips formed into a pout.

Hell, this woman had a power over him even he could not comprehend.

“So, you’re keen to satisfy my voracious appetite for conversation.” He imagined she could please him on many levels.

The corners of her mouth twitched. “I have the feeling nothing could satisfy you, my lord.”

You could. You’re the only woman who can tame me.

“Then ask me a question, Estelle. Allow me to put your oral skills to the test.”

She swallowed audibly as her breath came a little quicker.

Excellent.

“Very well.” She straightened as if preparing for battle. “Why have you never married?”

“Do you want the truth?”

“Of course.”

“Because after what happened eight years ago I could never trust another woman. And you know my feelings on marriage and fidelity.” He would have been faithful to her as long as he lived. And therein lay the irony of the man he’d become.

She placed a trembling hand on her collarbone. “But you have had relations with women?”

“I’m not a monk. I’ve not taken a vow of celibacy.” And I thought you were dead.

“No,” she whispered. “I didn’t expect you had.”

Vane leant back against the squab as one question suddenly burned within. “And what about you? You say you never married but have you ever had relations with a man?” It was an impertinent question, one a gentleman would never dare ask a lady. But he felt he’d earned the right to know.