The Dark One (8 page)

This morning, she'd begged Franklin to allow her to stay home, but he had refused. Now here she was, on Armond's property. Forced into the company of two men whom she despised with close to equal fervor, and in Lord Wulf's stable no less. A place where a woman had died.

Rosalind wasn't certain if it was those dark thoughts that made her uneasy or if it was simply being forced to share Lord Penmore's company that set her nerves on edge. The viscount wasn't any less subtle in his ogling of her today than he'd been on the previous two occasions she'd been in his company. Franklin was acting even stranger than usual this morning. Her stepbrother had scratches on his face. Rosalind hadn't seen Lydia that morning. She had a bad feeling about that . . . a very bad feeling.

“Ah, there you are, Lord Wulf.”

Rosalind glanced away from the horse she'd been admiring. Armond stood facing the two men. He had his back to her. His coat hugged his broad shoulders, tailored to display his impressive frame to its best advantage. He wore snug trousers tucked into tall black boots, both calling attention to the length of his muscular legs. Armond Wulf was a man who looked impressive, either coming or going.

A spark of heat flared up in her belly and spread to her lower regions. Curse the man, how could he affect her when he wasn't even looking at her? And how should she act with him, considering that he'd slipped into her bedroom and kissed her last night?

“What are you doing here, Chapman?”

Hardly the way a businessman greeted potential clients, Rosalind thought. It didn't take a great deal of intellect to understand that Armond didn't care for her stepbrother, and vice versa.

“I came as Penmore's guest,” Franklin answered. “Me and my sister.”

Since Franklin nodded in her direction, Rosalind fully expected Armond to glance at her. What she did not anticipate was the sudden heat that flared in his eyes when their gazes met and locked. They stood staring at each other for an uncomfortably long time.

“I've had the grays hitched to my carriage, Penmore,” Armond said, finally glancing away from her. “I'm assuming you want to try them out before making a final decision.”

The disgusting man nodded, his jowls flapping with the motion. “Jolly good idea, Wulf. Maybe the young lady and I can jostle about together.” He grinned lewdly at Rosalind.

“I don't allow women to ride along when testing out the horses,” Armond intervened, casting the viscount a
dark look. “Too dangerous. I'm assuming you want them full-out, to see what they can do?”

Penmore formed his fish lips into an obvious pout; then he nodded. He turned to Franklin. “But you'll come along, won't you, Chapman? I did want another opinion and see no point in having you accompany me if you're not inclined to provide one.”

“It wouldn't be proper to leave Rosalind alone,” Franklin said. “I'll wait here for your return.”

“I don't mind staying here alone,” Rosalind spoke up. She longed for even a few minutes without Franklin breathing down her neck. And despite grisly thoughts of murder that kept entering her mind, she loved the smell of the stable and rubbing the horses' velvet noses. It reminded her of the country and brought pangs of homesickness.

“I'm sure Lady Rosalind will be fine,” Armond said to the men. “But if you'd rather come another day, Penmore, I understand. Perhaps the animals will still be available.”

Penmore pouted his lips again. He turned to Franklin. “Come on, Chapman. She'll be fine here while the rest of us have a short jaunt. I'll tear up your markers from last eve if you'll do me this favor.”

The viscount had obviously made the offer too sweet for Franklin to refuse. He nodded. “Very well then. Let's be off so we can get back.”

When the men left the stable, Rosalind wanted to shout with joy. Finally, time alone when she wasn't shut up in her room. She could breathe again; she could twirl in wild abandonment. Perhaps she could steal one of Armond's fine horses and escape. She entertained the idea for only a moment. She had nowhere to run. She had no money with her, no food, no extra clothing. If she truly meant to escape, she would have to plan better.

She returned to the horse she'd been petting, drawn to the Arabian's sleek lines, her silky mane and soulful brown eyes. Rosalind wished she had her horse with her in London. She'd loved to ride when she lived in the country and missed her daily outings.

“You have good taste in horses.”

Startled, she wheeled around. Armond stood watching her. “I thought you were driving the carriage,” she said. “I mean, I assumed . . .”

“So did Penmore and your stepbrother,” he countered with a half smile. “My driver is well equipped to show off my animals to their best advantage. I saw no reason to accompany two men whose company fast frays upon my nerves.”

“Oh,” she said. Oh, like an idiot who couldn't string an intelligent sentence together. But what could she say? Nothing about last night. And now that the fog that seemed to cloud her brain when Lord Wulf was in smelling distance had cleared, at least somewhat, Rosalind realized she shouldn't be caught alone in his company. Franklin would be angry.

“Don't let me keep you from your duties,” she said. “I'll be fine here alone.”

“Are you afraid?”

“Afraid?”

He sauntered toward her and leaned against the stall next to the mare. A fine chestnut stallion arched his head over the gate and nuzzled Armond's neck. Rosalind had the strangest urge to do the same.

“To be alone with me?” he specified.

“Should I be?” she challenged.

His smile was devilish. He sobered a moment later. “I mean here. Where a woman died.”

A sudden chill seemed to penetrate the air. Rosalind shivered. “Where did you find her?”

Armond nodded toward the end of the stable where it was darker. “Down there. I can't stall the horses on that end now. They seem to smell the blood.”

She shivered again. “Did you know her?”

Turning to face the stall he leaned against, Lord Wulf stroked the chestnut's muzzle. “Her name was Bess O'Conner, and no, I didn't know her. She was a prostitute, no one of consequence, or I'm sure more would have been done in the search to find her killer.”

“How did she get here?” Rosalind walked to the center of the stable and stared down the long row of stalls.

“I don't know. I came home from an evening out. I had dismissed the stable hands for a wedding. One of the grooms got married that night. I went to put my horse up and I heard a moan. That's when I found her.”

Rosalind rubbed her arms. “Did she say anything to you?”

When he didn't respond, she glanced at him. He seemed lost in thought. As if he felt her regard, he straightened and turned away from the chestnut.

“No. The woman had been beaten. I tried to learn more about her shortly after it happened. I wanted very much to find the man responsible for her suffering. I wanted very much to make him suffer in turn.”

The passion in his voice made Rosalind believe him. She thought at that moment it was very fortunate for the man responsible for Bess O'Conner's death that Armond Wulf hadn't found him.

“Rosalind!”

She jumped and then wheeled around to see Franklin and Penmore standing inside the stable door. Her heart slammed against her chest, and she imagined the color drained from her face. Her stepbrother looked livid.

“Back already?” Armond asked. He walked to the middle of the stable, placing himself directly between
Rosalind and the two men. “I was just showing Lady Rosalind the horses. She has taken a liking to the Arabian filly. Perhaps you'd like me to have her saddled for your stepsister to try?”

Marcus's face turned a darker shade of purple. “You purposely misled us,” he accused. “We thought you were driving the carriage. Had I known you wouldn't be going along, I would have never allowed Rosalind to stay behind, and you know it.”

Armond didn't flinch at Franklin's angry tone, not the way Rosalind did. But then, Armond had never been on the back side of his hand.

“Lady Rosalind is no worse for wear for a few moments spent alone in my company, as you can plainly see.”

“That isn't the point,” Franklin bit out.

Armond lifted a brow. “Isn't it? Then what is, Chapman?”

Her stepbrother took a menacing step toward Armond. “Had anyone seen the two of you here alone together, it would have caused gossip. Penmore plans to offer for her. He won't want a woman whose name has been dragged through the mud.”

Obviously not in the least intimidated by Franklin, Armond glanced toward the viscount. “Is that right, Penmore? Do you plan to make an offer for Lady Rosalind? The same as you'll make an offer for the horses?”

Penmore had worn a rather amused expression during the confrontation. Now he sobered. “Watch your step, Wulf. What I plan to do as far as Lady Rosalind is concerned is between me and her stepbrother.” The man lifted a bushy brow. “You don't plan to offer for the lady, do you?”

Rosalind's gaze traveled back and forth from one man to the other during the exchange. Now her gaze landed on
Armond, and for a brief moment she willed him to say, “Yes.” Why she would was not anything immediately clear to her. Well, besides the obvious. A tall, blond god of a man pitted against a short, plump, balding viscount. But Rosalind knew in her heart more than desperation must drive her to make such a decision. Respect? Armond glanced away from the viscount, and even that option was taken from her.

“That is what I thought,” Penmore snorted. “You know better than to go sniffing around a lady of quality's skirts. No woman wants a madman for a husband, or to pass on his bad traits to her children. Shall we see to the sale of the horses, then?”

It nearly broke her heart to see that Penmore's words had taken some of the arrogance from Armond's stance. He looked as if he was ashamed for a moment. He quickly covered any weakness he might have displayed by schooling his handsome features into a mask of indifference.

“If you'll all come to the house, I'll have tea served for Chapman and Lady Rosalind while we tend to the bill of sale,” Armond said.

Franklin stepped forward. “I hardly think your home would be a fitting place for my stepsister. We'll wait in the carriage for you, Penmore. We could walk the short distance home if not for Rosalind. The heavy dew would ruin her slippers.”

Armond turned to look at Rosalind. “And is that a suitable arrangement, Lady Rosalind? The air has gone damp. I assume you'd be more comfortable inside my parlor, sipping a cup of hot tea.”

Damn him. Rosalind had the distinct feeling he had purposely pitted her against Franklin. Perhaps in retaliation for having her witness his weakness. Now she was forced to display her own.

“I'll be fine in the carriage,” she said, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Nonsense,” Penmore finally said. “Chapman, sheathe your dislike of Wulf for the time being, and the both of you come into the house. I don't want to feel rushed in my offer because I'm worried your sister will catch her death waiting for me. I had hoped to speak with her about a matter after I've finished here and have another engagement that I must attend to shortly.”

Rosalind glanced up at Franklin. Her stepbrother frowned at the viscount but after a moment nodded his permission. Rosalind thought that was odd. She knew Franklin owed the man a great deal of money, but even so, she didn't believe her stepbrother could be bullied by anyone. He was the bully. And she suddenly felt as if she was the thorn they all used to prick at one another's male egos.

She would have flat out refused Armond's offer of tea, simply because she refused to become a further source of friction between the men present, but she was curious about his home. She was far too curious about everything to do with Armond Wulf, she realized. Penmore approached her and offered his pudgy arm.

“Shall we?”

Although she'd rather not touch the man, Rosalind was too schooled in manners to refuse. She didn't miss Armond's look of disgust when she took Penmore's arm. She also didn't miss the fact that Armond hadn't been the one to come forward and offer her escort to his home.

“The path to the house is rocky.” Armond suddenly stood before them. “I should escort Lady Rosalind, since I am familiar with the terrain. I would see her secure in her footing.”

He left no time for arguments but took her hand from
Penmore's arm, placed it on his, and started from the stable. “This way.”

Rosalind felt Franklin's fuming gaze cutting into her back as they all moved toward the house. She was surprised she could feel anything except Armond's muscled arm beneath her hand. Surprised she could even think clearly with his scent stroking her awareness of him. Sandalwood. She deciphered that much, but that was all she could identify that wasn't Armond's own scent.

When they reached the front of the house, a manservant immediately opened the door, as if he'd been poised there simply waiting on Armond to return. He showed no surprise upon seeing that Armond had guests. He showed no emotion whatsoever. Armond led them all into the house.

The decor wasn't what Rosalind expected. For a man whispered about and steeped in mystery, there were no black cats roaming the hallways, no cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, no skeletons waiting to pop from the closets, at least none that she could see.

“Hawkins, settle my guests in the front parlor,” Armond said to his steward. “I'll take Penmore ahead to the study.”

Hawkins answered with a nod. Armond moved down the hallway with Penmore, and Rosalind and Franklin were ushered into a front parlor. A cheery fire blazed in the hearth. The parlor was decorated tastefully. The couches were plush and comfortable, the carpets immaculate, and the artwork stunning. Particularly one portrait that hung above the large fireplace. Rosalind was drawn to the painting.