Temptress in Training (10 page)

And he was staring. Indeed, why the devil did the black-guard feel the need to stare at her this way? It was positively uncalled for, blast him.

Lindley decided he'd best put a quick end to any of Rastmoor's idle fantasies.

“Why, Mr. and Mrs. Clemmons,” Lindley said, making it clear to whom he was speaking and moving toward them. “How odd to run into you here. I had no idea you were traveling this way else I would have invited you to share my carriage.”

Both women seemed at a loss. Miss Darshaw was first to find her voice. “We had a rather sudden change of plan. Didn't we, Mr. Clemmons?”

“Er, yes,” the actress said, careful to keep her wavering voice as low and masculine as possible. She was a fair actress, and Lindley could see Rastmoor had not the least suspicion. After all, he was too busy gazing at Miss Darshaw.
Damn his eyes.

“Forgive me,” Lindley said, determined to curb the staring. Besides, just in case Rastmoor hadn't noticed the striking resemblance between Miss Darshaw and Lady Dashford, Lindley needed to inform him. “Everyone has not been introduced. Lord Rastmoor, this is Mr. Alexander Clemmons and his lovely wife, Mrs. Sophie Clemmons. We met a few days ago in London.”

He took extra care to emphasize Mrs. Clemmons's first name. Rastmoor nodded. Yes, he understood. He smiled and gave the couple a polite bow.

They made small talk, asking the couple whether or not they planned to spend the night there. It appeared they were undecided. At least, the actress was undecided. Miss Darshaw seemed quite eager to stay. She also seemed unaccountably interested in Rastmoor. Whyever could that be? Surely she wasn't drawn in by his too obvious staring. Was she?

Hell, but she certainly did appear friendly, smiling for Rastmoor and chattering pleasantly. “The roads have been so very difficult,” she sighed and pouted. “I do truly dread getting back in that coach to be jostled along to the next posting house. Perhaps if Mr. Clemmons knew some of his gentlemen friends were to be staying here tonight I could stand a better chance of convincing him.”

Even “Mr. Clemmons” seemed appalled at her amiability. Whatever was the girl up to? Well, this would work to his advantage, whatever her game. Lindley certainly was happy enough to have all of his charges neatly under one convenient roof. Likely this meant Feasel was somewhere nearby, too. He'd been assigned to trail the women. This should make keeping everyone alive just that much simpler.

“Shame on you, Mr. Clemmons, forcing your young bride to travel under these conditions,” he said, content to play along for the moment. “Rest assured, Mrs. Clemmons, if it will gain you a few hours' respite from the torment of travel, Rastmoor and I will do our best to persuade your husband to obtain a room for the night. In fact, I'll go see to making arrangements with the proprietor.” He glanced at Rastmoor to see if the man was in agreement. “Don't worry, Clemmons, tonight will be at my expense.”

Rastmoor was only too happy to be left alone to speak with the nervous couple. Lindley found it perversely amusing. Curious about Lady Dashford's unexpected relationship to Miss Darshaw, Lindley had thought to gauge her reaction by telling her about Sophie's supposed marriage. It did seem to come as a complete—and welcome—shock to the lady, which led Lindley to believe she was no part of the intrigue. It did, however, cause Rastmoor some concern. During their ride from Warwick, Rastmoor had discussed his concerns about this Sophie Darshaw and her too-convenient new husband.

It seemed Rastmoor worried Mr. Clemmons was in some way plotting to take advantage of Sophie's connection to the Dashford name. He feared the man may have married Sophie simply to use blackmail or extortion to keep Lady Dashford's connection to them from coming to public light. Lindley did not know what to think of this development and was happy to let Rastmoor learn what he could about this so-called blackmail scheme.

He doubted, however, Rastmoor would learn much. If Sophie were using this false marriage to gain some profit from her newlywed cousin, she'd certainly gone about it all wrong. And if Lady Dashford were so dreadfully ashamed of Sophie, why commission Rastmoor to find her? Things did not add up. Besides, Rastmoor was basing his concerns on the mistaken belief that this actress was truly Miss Darshaw's husband. Lindley was more convinced than ever—given the way the actress could not seem to take her eyes off Rastmoor—she was completely female.

But so far Rastmoor was still seething with the wrong sorts of suspicion. “See about getting us a private dining room,” he instructed Lindley. “I'm sure the Clemmonses will wish to join us in a quiet supper.”

Lindley agreed and headed off to find the proprietor. He doubted the Clemmonses wished to join them, nor did he expect the supper to be quiet. It would, however, promise to be interesting.

 

S
HE'D GUESSED RIGHT—THE HANDSOME, RUDDY-HAIRED
man with Lord Lindley
was
Miss St. Clement's friend, Rastmoor. Sophie had known it the minute she saw the actress's face when the man walked into the room. And she'd been right about her other suspicions, as well. There clearly
was
something unfinished between Miss St. Clement and her ill-fated Rastmoor. No wonder the woman had been so determined not to let Fitzgelder's plan succeed.

Despite what she may have said, Sophie had no doubt Miss St. Clement still harbored special feelings for the man. It was written plainly in her pained expression, though of course the actress tried to hide it. She cared very much for this unobservant gentleman.

Therefore, Sophie felt it was her duty as a friend to keep the pair together as long as possible. Surely at some point clarity would strike inside Rastmoor's ginger head and he'd recognize Miss St. Clement. Then perhaps they would put their differences—whatever they were—behind them and acknowledge their true feelings. It was a beautiful sentiment.

Although in vain, Sophie soon realized once they'd been ushered into a private dining room with the two dashing gentlemen. Lord Rastmoor had hardly spared a glance at Miss St. Clement. She, for her part, was doing nothing to draw attention or give away her deception. It appeared the couple were never to be reunited, if Sophie were to judge by the way Rastmoor continued to stare at her and ignore Miss St. Clement. Perhaps at first it had been just the tiniest bit flattering, but now, as they all sat down together and waited for the innkeeper's wife to bring the promised stew, Sophie could safely say she was not at all flattered by the gentleman's attention. Unnerved, but most certainly not flattered.

It appeared Miss St. Clement did not much appreciate it, either. Her eyes flashed, and Sophie wondered if perhaps there'd be no need for Fitzgelder's men to follow through on their plan. Miss St. Clement would do it for them.

Lord Lindley, however, seemed blindly unaware of the emotional undercurrents swirling around him.

“So, Clemmons, what brings you out here to Warwick-shire?” he asked cheerfully.

It was uncanny how Miss St. Clement had managed to fool these gentlemen. Not that Sophie didn't think her a fine enough actress, but still—one would think men might be more observant about their own kind. How could they not recognize the way Miss St. Clement's mustache kept sagging at one side or the way she periodically batted her very feminine eyelashes in an attempt to keep her emotions from showing on her face? But apparently these men were easily misled.

“Nothing, really, sir,” Miss St. Clement replied to the question. “We're simply passing through.”

“Oh? You're not on your way to pay a call on Mrs. Clemmons's family?” Rastmoor asked.

What was that?
Sophie wasn't altogether certain she'd heard him correctly. Had he asked about her
family
? Good heavens, what did Lord Rastmoor know of her family? Surely this man had no reason to know anything about Grandmamma or any of Sophie's unmentionable connections. He couldn't, could he?

“I wasn't aware Mrs. Clemmons had family in Warwick-shire,” Miss St. Clement said quickly.

“I don't,” Sophie replied. “My grandmother used to live not a great distance from here, but she passed away. I've no more family anywhere.”

“Your grandmother?” Miss St. Clement asked. “I'm sorry. I didn't realize that.”

“It's all right,” Sophie replied. “You couldn't have known.”

Rastmoor bullied on, not seeming to care that the passing of one's dear grandmother might be a sensitive subject for most people. “And just where have you been living, Mrs. Clemmons, in the years since your grandmother passed away?”

Sophie wasn't certain what he meant by that. Was he truly just making idle chatter or did he know? She took a deep breath and tried to decide how to answer. Just what had Lord Lindley told his friend about her and her previous living arrangements?

Rastmoor didn't wait for her to respond. He went on as if this were the most ordinary conversation. “Were you at Madame Eudora's brothel for the entire past four years, or did you find work elsewhere, too?”

Oh, but the way he said it made it sound so foul, so dirty! Indeed, she supposed it was, but then she'd rather gotten used to her life there. She had friends and Madame cared for her. True, Madame had made it no secret she'd love to see Sophie take a more active role in the business, but she knew that was not meant as insult. Madame thought Sophie could do quite well for herself, and there was something heartwarming in that.

But what must this Rastmoor think of her if Lindley had been so quick to tell him of her past? Worse, what might he expect of her? And Lindley, too; did he have expectations? After all, he could have told Fitzgelder they'd been hiding and overheard his scheme. What if he intended to exact some form of payment for his benevolent silence?

And of course anyone could guess what payment would be expected from a woman who'd spent several years living in a brothel.

“A
brothel
?” Miss St. Clement sputtered.

The gleam in Lord Rastmoor's eye was positively malicious. Sophie glanced from him to Lindley. Had she been hoping to find something of comfort in Lindley's face? Well, she did not find it. He seemed little more than amused—entertained, perhaps—by his friend's most inappropriate conversation. Almost imperceptibly, he raised one eyebrow and smiled at her. Good heavens, these men were very nearly propositioning her right here, under the very nose of the person they believed to be her husband!

Furious, she jumped to her feet. By God, she was not about to become their little plaything.

“That's none of your business!” she announced. “I'm not there anymore, and I won't go with you…either of you!”

Miss St. Clement seemed every bit as offended by all of this as Sophie felt. She leapt to her feet and stormed at them. “Leave her alone! Hasn't she been through enough with the likes of you? Take your filthy minds and your petty accusations out of here this instant!”

Lord Rastmoor seemed to have been about to speak, but Miss St. Clement did not allow him. She lunged and swung her fist at him. Sophie was every bit as surprised by this sudden violence as their companions. Lord Rastmoor staggered back, plowing into Lord Lindley and throwing him off balance, too. Both gentlemen toppled over, crashing into chairs, and boots thudded loudly on the wooden floor. Sophie cringed back into the corner, just hoping to stay out of the mess.

What on earth would possess Miss St. Clement to do such a thing? Heavens, did she forget she was hopelessly out-matched by these two strapping men? Yet, it seemed that her action had accomplished what she intended. The men were temporarily distracted and the way to the door was now free.

“Come, Sophie,” the actress said, grabbing up Sophie's hand. “The mail coach is still in the yard. Let's get out of here.”

But before anyone could make any further move, a loud crack split the air and glass from the window shattered around them. Sophie let out a shriek, and she was fairly certain Miss St. Clement did, too. The chair between Rastmoor and Lindley sent a shower of oak splinters flying everywhere.

Good Lord, had that been gunfire? Someone was shooting at them!

“Get down!” Lindley yelled, shoving the table over on its side to provide some measure of protection should more bullets come hailing through the only window in the small room.

Sophie was more than happy to make use of his quickly constructed barricade and dropped down to cower behind it, instinctively pulling a chair over her, as well. Miss St. Clement was beside her, but she could not catch her friend's eye. The actress seemed to be far more concerned for Lord Rastmoor's well-being than her own.

The gentlemen did not waste time. When no immediate repeat of the gunfire hailed through the shattered window, they were swiftly on their feet. Ordering the women to stay down, Lindley directed Rastmoor to rush to the back of the inn while he himself would go check the front. Sophie grimaced at the thought. What if the shooter expected such? What if someone waited out there, biding his time for their target to poke his head out? Heavens, surely anyone who would be willing to murder Lord Rastmoor would never hesitate to provide the same fate for Lord Lindley!

Or a couple of incognito females, for that matter.

The men raced out of the room. Sophie held her breath, wondering if more gunshots would be the next sound she heard.

Oddly enough, it was not. It was Miss St. Clement clambering to her feet.

“Wait here,” she called to Sophie as she dashed out after the men, her footsteps indicating she was trailing Rastmoor.

Well, if that wasn't the most idiotic thing! What on earth did Miss St. Clement think she might do to rescue her Rastmoor in the face of an unknown assailant with a gun? No, indeed, Sophie could not imagine how the actress could possibly be a help in this situation. By God, Sophie was going to stay right here, safely behind this table. She grabbed the leg of yet another chair and pulled it over to hide under it, as well.