Darke London Page 8

  He was working himself into a proper fury when the carriage abruptly lurched to a halt. Sir Thaddeus took a peek under the blind and nodded.

  “Well, this is where you get off.” He swung open the door and nodded towards the night outside.

  “You’re letting me go?” Nellie peered out the carriage. Outside it was pitch black. The faint smell of the river drifted on the night air. “Where—”

  Before she could say another word, he shoved her out the carriage. She had no sooner fallen to the ground than a strong pair of hands grabbed her and hauled her upright. The door slammed shut, and the carriage rattled away.

  Nellie stared up at the stranger holding her prisoner. He was almost as broad as he was tall, and his hands were like iron manacles. He smelled of animal fat, and the skin around his eyes was pitted with pockmarks.

  He grinned at her. “Evenin’, love.”

  “The rest, you know.” Nellie pressed her hands to her cheeks. The cool mesh of her glove gave her an odd comfort against the lurid recollections of her attack.

  A hand descended on her shoulder. She turned to find Julian mere inches away, his countenance a warring mixture of compassion and chagrin. “So Sir Thaddeus delivered you into the clutches of a hired murderer. But why did the brute sever your fingers? Was that barbarity ordered by Sir Thaddeus?”

  “I don’t think so. The man wanted my rings, my wedding ring and my mother’s betrothal ring, but I refused. Stupid, I know, but I—I was so furious.”

  “Not stupid. Your struggles gave me time to come to your rescue, or he would surely have killed you and thrown your body in the river.”

  She shivered. Julian’s hand on her shoulder emanated warmth through her chilled body. The urge to press her scarred cheek against his hand gripped her so hard she almost moaned with the effort of resisting.

  “And now, Nellie? Do you still believe Phillip is the innocent dupe of his father? Or do you think he connived with Sir Thaddeus to get rid of you?”

  The black depths of his eyes mesmerised her. Dark stubble peppered his jaw, spots of ash clung to his sideburns, the tang of honest labour perfumed his rumpled clothes. His muscular body, mere inches from hers, pulsed with power and purpose. He was so vividly alive, so dangerously attractive, and his robust masculinity threatened to obliterate all reason.

  She sensed herself teetering on a knife-edge. Just a few minutes ago, his kiss had shattered through her defences and ignited desires she never knew she possessed. Yet she had made her vows to her husband. She should not be tempted by Julian, no matter how seductive she found him.

  “I want to believe Pip is innocent,” she murmured. “I have to believe it, until I know otherwise.”

  Julian let out a small sigh, and his hand fell away from her shoulder as he stepped back a few paces. “What will you do? Will you talk to him?”

  Instinctively her fingers shielded her damaged cheeks. “I can’t…”

  His eyes hardened. “You think he’ll recoil when he sees you?”

  She wanted to think the best of Pip, but he wasn’t used to the uglier side of life. “No, I don’t, but…” But could she take that risk?

  “A husband who’d blench at a few scars is not a husband worth keeping.”

  “It’s more complex than that. I—I’m leery of showing my face to anyone, not just my husband.”

  Julian folded his arms across his chest, his stance belligerent. “So you’re going to hide yourself from the world for the rest of your life? Is that it?”

  She pushed up her chin to glare at him. “It’s my decision to make. I won’t be bullied by you.”

  “And I had no idea Sir Thaddeus was your father-in-law! So you’ll forgive me if I’m a little testy.” A muscle twitched in his clenched jaw as he scowled at her.

  Her chest constricted. Was Julian riled because she was connected to his nemesis? Did the fact that she was Pip’s wife offend his sensibilities?

  “I should have told you sooner,” she said. “I had no reason to hide it except reluctance. I’m sorry. I abused your hospitality, and…and I should probably make other arrangements.”

  Julian snorted. “You’ll do no such thing or you’ll have Elijah haranguing me. You must stay for as long as you wish. I insist.”

  A voice from within warned her to leave this house. She was too caught up with Julian Darke. He was clouding her judgement, stirring up wanton desires, threatening her emotions. She had been at Monksbane nine days. Her wounds were sufficiently healed, but she’d made no plans for the future. She’d been focusing only on taking one step at a time, but it was time to lift her head and decide which path to take into the future. She ought to leave and make contact with Pip, try to sort out this awful mess. But as she stared at Julian, she knew she couldn’t leave this house, this man. At least, not yet. Something was brewing between her and Julian, a storm of cyclonic proportions, and the vortex was drawing her in inexorably.

  “Very well,” she murmured. “I shall stay. For a while longer.”

  Chapter Seven

  A rare camellia plant, the likes of which Nellie had never seen before, stood lost in the wilderness of the garden. Its soft pink flowers glowed like jewels against the wintery surrounds, destined to be appreciated only by a very few. Once upon a time, someone had lovingly tended this garden, filling it with rare species, but now it had been left to be reclaimed by nature.

  The untamed confusion suited Nellie. Protected within the old stone walls, the garden was a tranquil oasis from the clamour outside. As she neared the far boundary of the south wall, her steps slowed. From here she could see the sludge-coloured fog hovering on the horizon which marked the city. Quiet fields and pockets of woodland kept the metropolis at bay, but for how much longer?

  Turning west, she passed the path which led down to the old icehouse, its semi-submerged roof just visible through the thick shrubbery. Elijah Darke used the ancient structure to store his many specimens. She’d been curious to see them, but Elijah did not invite visitors down there, and the icehouse was out of bounds.

  Elijah Darke was unfailingly courteous towards her, but she could not say his company was completely relaxing. Beneath his politeness he was a man of mystery, she’d decided. At his urging, she had appropriated more of his late wife’s wardrobe, altering them to better suit her figure. Though the dresses were decades old, they’d been lovingly cared for by Mrs. Tibbet and were made of expensive materials—wool, velvet, lawn, silk. Most of them were far too good to be worn for her day-to-day tasks, including the rich red frock she wore today, but she had little alternative. Elijah didn’t seem to mind, though his was a difficult expression to read. Indeed, at more than one occasion she’d sensed him studying her closely, weighing her up, as if he hadn’t yet finalised his opinion of her. Perhaps because he was chary of her impact on his son.

  Sighing, she plucked a sprig off a nearby lavender bush. If only she could clear her muddled thoughts about Julian. Ever since she’d told him about Pip two days ago, he had treated her with cautious civility, and she was growing heartily sick of it. Yet she understood the root of his coolness. She was still married to Pip—regardless of his previous betrothal—and his involvement in his father’s diabolical plans remained in question. She wanted nothing more than to resolve the matter one way or another, but as yet she was too afraid to act. Time was not on her side, though; sooner rather than later she would have to decide a course of action.

  Moving away from the icehouse, she headed for the rear of the house. As she neared the corner of the building, she heard scuffling noises and the sound of male voices jesting each other.

  “Ha, is that the best you can deliver?” Julian’s voice sounded. “I’ve had a buss on the cheek harder than that fisticuff.”

  “Well, you just ain’t courting the right sort of woman,” the other man drawled.

  “And you’ve been courting too long, judging by your soft, pudgy body.”

  “Soft, eh? We’ll see ’bout that.”

&nb
sp; Nellie hesitated as she recognised the voice of Gareth Derringer, the family friend from whom she’d run away because of his startled reaction to her scars. Since then, he’d visited once more, and she’d been properly introduced to him. She’d been embarrassed by her earlier behaviour, and he’d been excessively polite, something not natural for him, she’d sensed. All in all, it had been an awkward encounter, and she had no wish to repeat it. But the sound of Julian’s voice drew her closer, and she couldn’t resist peering around the corner. An overgrown juniper bush shielded her from view as she edged forward to peek through the shrubbery.

  Not far away Julian and Gareth circled each other, their bodies crouched in sparring positions. Both men had stripped off jackets, neckties, shirts and boots, and were clad in nothing more than their trousers which were rolled up to the knees. The sight of two seminaked men had Nellie riveted, but it was Julian who absorbed all her attention. Perspiration gleamed on his chest, highlighting the fine curvature of his muscles and the solidness of his shoulders. Dusky hairs tracked over chest and stomach before arrowing down past the waistband of his trousers. His calves were powerfully sinewed, his bare feet solid and strong. Wisps of ebony hair clung to his temples, and his face was flushed with his exertions.

  Gareth shot out a punch towards Julian’s head. He ducked and counterpunched, chuckling beneath his breath. “Nice try, laddie.”

  “We’ll see who’s the laddie.”

  With a sudden lunge, Gareth grabbed him in a bear hug. Julian groaned as his friend squeezed him like a nut before he raised both arms and chopped down hard on Gareth’s neck with his hands. Gareth collapsed to the ground, dragging Julian with him.

  Nellie watched on, spellbound, as the two men wrestled in the dirt. Any genteel woman would have been appalled at such barbarity, but she wasn’t appalled, far from it. The sight of Julian’s naked sweaty chest incited a hornets’ nest of illicit desire in her. Heat flared low and heavy in her abdomen. Dampness sprang out on the back of her neck, between her breasts, and even—heaven help her—beneath her drawers. As Julian wrestled with his friend, his trousers stretched tight around his thighs, drawing her attention to his flagrantly virile thews. Nellie swallowed hard as erotic sensations surged over her, followed quickly by hot, hedonistic and deeply disturbing imaginings of Julian gloriously naked and rampant, bending over an equally naked and impassioned woman—herself.

  Dear heaven, how could she lust after a man with such a powerful and primitive hunger? What kind of wanton was she turning into? She stepped backwards, her hand to her throat, conscious of the rapid thumping of her heart and the heat writhing in her loins. The injuries she’d sustained must have affected her, she desperately reasoned. This voluptuous sensuality throbbing through her was not her, was someone else.

  She’d been an innocent maiden on her wedding night. Being a doctor’s daughter, she was aware of the rudimentary facts of life, but she’d no inkling of what to expect in her marital bed. Pip had been tentative, apologetic, and after it was swiftly over, she concluded that she had conducted herself properly, and that to lie supine and not complain or whimper was how a good wife was supposed to behave. And so she’d done her duty the few times Pip had reached for her.

  But now she’d transformed into something else, some shameless creature with primitive, insistent urges. Or perhaps it was Julian who was the cause. Perhaps she’d always carried these latent feelings buried deep within, and it was only Julian who could bring them to the surface.

  The idea perturbed her. She screwed her eyes shut, but still Julian’s image floated in her mind. His bronzed body was a thing of beauty, the sculpted lines of muscle, bone and sinew a hymn of virility. And of course it was Julian’s personality who powered this physical charm. It was his strength of character, his passion and his vulnerabilities that made her heart tumble over.

  She could not lose her head over Julian. Her father had relinquished all ties with her, her husband had at best abandoned her, at worst connived to do away with her. Had she not learned her lesson? Tenderness was a trap, and she could not allow herself to be snared by Julian’s appeal. She must get away from him. She must make her escape before her desires pulled her into the seductive vortex.

  The juniper bush rustled as she spun round and hurried away.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Julian glimpsed a flurry of red skirts disappearing around the corner of the house. Nellie. He barely had time to register before a heavy mass struck him in the midriff and tumbled him backwards to the ground.

  “Oof,” he grunted as Gareth’s considerable weight landed on top of him.

  “Ha!” Gareth wrestled him into a headlock. “Do you concede?”

  Julian grimaced as the ex-soldier began to crush his neck. “Never,” he gasped out.

  His opponent was bigger and stronger and knew every dirty trick, but he was also overconfident. Julian made himself go limp, and as Gareth started to chuckle, he jerked his knee up and drove it into Gareth’s flank. The headlock loosened just a fraction, but it was enough for Julian to twist free and roll to his feet.

  “A neat recovery, boyo.” Heaving for breath, Gareth raised his hand in acknowledgement. “We’ll call it a draw, shall we, even though I almost had you then.”

  “Almost, but not quite.” Julian squinted past the juniper bush, but there was no sign of Nellie. How long had she been standing there?

  Gareth plucked his grubby shirt off the grass and mopped his streaming brow with it. “You want to watch out getting the wibble wobbles over a woman. It could be fatal.”

  “Wibble wobbles? I’ve no idea what you mean,” Julian scoffed.

  “Oh, come off it, man. It’s as plain as the nose on my face you have a yen for Nellie. You were gawking after her so badly just then I coulda slung you a haymaker and you wouldn’t have seen it coming.”

  With a scowl Julian grabbed his shirt from the ground and slung it over his shoulder. “Leave it, will you?”

  The levity faded from his companion’s face. “My apologies. You’re deadly serious about this one, aren’t you?”

  “It matters naught what I feel.” Julian thrust one arm into the sleeve of his shirt and then the other. “She is a married woman.”

  “Perhaps, but she married a man who promised himself to another.”

  “Regardless of that, in Nellie’s mind she is married to Ormond’s son.” Even though he’d repeated that fact to himself several times, still it came as a shock to Julian. Nellie was not a free agent; she had promised herself to another man, and he had no right to lust after her.

  Gareth shrugged. “There is married, and then there is married. She’s not hotfooted it back to her spouse, and the dear Pip has made no apparent attempts to find her. Those facts are more important than any mumbo jumbo some priest might have muttered over them.”

  Julian worked the dirt beneath his feet, scuffing the muddy earth between his bare toes. “I must disagree. It would not be honourable to pursue her in such circumstances.”

  “Honourable!” His friend snorted. “Julian, that is why you are the gentleman, while I am the buccaneer. I have a suggestion. Why don’t you let me track down the truth about this so-called prior engagement? If you give me the name of the alleged fiancée, I will go and shake the truth out of a clerk or two.”

  Julian eyed his friend warily. Gareth’s chequered past had included working as a military spy, and doubtless his methods of interrogation were as unorthodox as the man himself. “What do you mean by ‘shake the truth out’?”

  “Oh, I meant that only in a manner of speaking.” The big man grinned. “Come, let me do this for Miss Barchester, at least. I feel terrible for acting the way I did the first time I met her and would like to make amends. I promise to treat the clerks like newborn babes.” Still grinning, he cracked his knuckles.

  “In all fairness you should ask Miss Barchester’s permission first. She might not like you interfering in her personal affairs.”

  “You’ll vouch for my d
iscretion. ’Tis my profession to investigate matters like this.”

  “True enough,” Julian conceded. It would be something at least to have the question of Pip’s betrothal cleared up one way or the other. In the interim, he was still pursuing the matter of Mr. Cazalet’s deadly house fire. He’d managed to question the brigade captain, whose opinion it was that the conflagration had been caused by Mr. Cazalet not positioning the fire screen correctly before going to bed. According to a neighbour, the old man had done that once before and almost burned his house down but for the vigilant neighbour. There was no suspicion of any foul play, and though Julian was outwardly relieved by this, he wanted to question all the neighbours until he was satisfied. “I’ll broach the subject with Nellie,” he said finally.

  “It’s Nellie now, is it?” Gareth jested.

  Stung, Julian retorted, “It’s Miss Barchester to you.”

  “Damnation! Another good man lost from the cause of glorious and perpetual bachelorhood.” Gareth slapped his thigh. “By that mournful look of yours, Miss Barchester has you well and truly by the nutmegs.”

  Julian shot his friend a scathing glare. “Mind your tongue, Derringer.”

  “I always do.” Unrepentant, the other man clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s forget those vexing females for the moment and go inside. I could murder a jug of ale right now.”

  Inside the house Nellie sought the sanctuary of the library. Of all the rooms this was her favourite, as the walls of books formed a cosy cocoon against the outside world. She shut the door softly behind her and moved towards the window seat with some vague hope of stealing a further glimpse of Julian, even though she knew it would do her no good.

  From behind a wingback armchair, a newspaper rustled before Elijah Darke stood up. “Good afternoon, Miss Barchester.”

  She turned, surprised to see him. At this hour he was usually out seeing to his hospital or visiting patients; rarely did he use the library during the day. “Good day, Dr. Darke.”