The Dark One (9 page)

That it was the Wulf family there could be no mistake. She recognized Armond immediately, a boy, fast approaching manhood. There were four boys, in fact, each more breathtakingly handsome than the last.

“Odd, how they all look perfectly normal.” Franklin had come to stand beside her.

“Maybe they
are
perfectly normal,” Rosalind said. “Just because the parents, I mean, perhaps the brothers will not be affected.”

“I seriously doubt that will be the case, and obviously they feel the same. You heard Penmore; they've all sworn off marriage. Why else would they unless they wanted to be certain the curse ended with them? Then again, who knows? Maybe it was those innocent-looking lads who drove their parents insane.”

It was hard to believe that the blond angels staring down at her could be guilty of anything. They looked perfect . . . maybe too perfect. “Where are the other brothers?” she found herself asking.

“Gone.”

She wheeled around to see Armond standing behind them, looking out of place holding a silver tea service.

“Lord Gabriel and Lord Jackson are both in residence at the country estate. Keeps them both out of trouble. Please, let me serve you.” He indicated a velvet settee. “Penmore is going over the papers. Hawkins isn't used to serving guests, so I took the matter upon myself.”

When Franklin kept his stance, snubbing Armond's offer of generosity, Rosalind seated herself. There was something particularly fetching about a man taking on the role of servant. Although Armond's hands were big, his fingers long and slender, he handled the dainty china cups with gentle ease.

“That is only two,” she said. “Don't you have three brothers?”

For a moment, pain flashed in his eyes. “Sterling, the youngest, left home years ago.”

“He's the sensible one, if you ask me,” Franklin said.
“With all that you have hanging over your heads, I don't know why the rest of you don't disappear from society as well. It's not as if you'll be missed.”

Armond glanced up from pouring a second cup of tea. “I didn't ask you.” He further insulted Franklin by taking a sip of the tea he'd just poured rather than offering it to his other guests.

Franklin sputtered, then marched toward the door leading from the parlor. “Come along, Rosalind. I won't stand here and be insulted by the likes of him. We'll wait for Penmore in the carriage as I originally suggested.”

Setting her cup aside, Rosalind rose. She knew better than to argue with Franklin. “Thank you for your hospitality,” she said to Armond.

He took her hand and bravely brought it to his lips, planting a warm kiss against her wrist.

“While your stepbrother is not welcome here, you are invited to visit any time you wish.”

His eyes scorched her. She realized that he wasn't being polite but reminding her of the kiss they had shared last night. The kiss neither of them was supposed to think about today. It angered her that he would remind her of their intimacy together, but earlier he would not rise to Penmore's bait about courting her seriously.

Rosalind jerked her hand from his grasp. “I wouldn't count on it,” she said stiffly, then moved past him.

“Oh, but I do,” she heard him say, so soft and low that she knew his words were meant only for her ears.

A shudder raced up her back, one that had nothing to do with the chill in the air. She hurried past Franklin into the hallway, where Hawkins, as if appearing out of thin air, held the door for them.

Franklin immediately began to interrogate her once
they'd climbed inside the carriage. “What happened when you were alone in the stable with Wulf?”

“Nothing,” she answered. “We were just looking at the horses.”

“You were talking about something when I arrived. The murder that took place there. What did he say about it?”

Rosalind shrugged. “Nothing much. He didn't know the woman. He had no idea how she came to be there. He did claim to be searching for the killer.”

Franklin scrubbed a hand across his face. “For all we know, he was the one who murdered her. In fact, I'm willing to wager that he is guilty. Either him or one of his wild brothers. Again, I must insist that you keep your distance from him, Rosalind. An affiliation with him of any kind could damage your reputation. Penmore may act as if he doesn't care what society thinks of him, but believe me, he does.”

Rosalind glanced outside the coach window at the drizzly day. She didn't see any sign of Penmore. “About Penmore,” she said. “I don't care for him, Franklin. I don't like the way he looks at me. As if I'm a fat pig up for sale at the butcher's market.”

Her stepbrother sighed. “I've told you, your opinion of him is of no concern to me. Penmore is interested, and as long as he's interested, you will pretend to be interested in him. He may seem like a jolly fellow, but he is not. He's a man used to getting whatever he wants, and uncaring of who he must destroy in the bargain. I am indebted heavily to him. As much as it sickens me, I must dance to his tune.”

If it wasn't Penmore who had Franklin under his thumb, Rosalind could enjoy the irony. Now her stepbrother knew haw it felt to be at someone else's mercy. But she could not be happy about the situation. Although
she didn't know Penmore that well, she already despised what she did know of him.

The object of their discussion suddenly wrenched the coach door open. “Arrogant bastard,” Penmore grumbled, settling his ample girth beside Rosalind. “I have my horses, but at a much higher price than I had hoped to pay for them. Wulf just laughed at my offer and rose and left the room. I had to chase him down the hall to conclude our business.”

“The man should be run out of London,” Franklin concurred. “He has no business here among the ton, rubbing elbows with everyone as if he had no black marks against his name. They've certainly ousted men of more importance for less than the dark stories floating around about the Wulf brothers.”

“Knows horses, though,” the viscount grudgingly admitted. “Not a better breeder in the country. Hell to finagle a sale with. Do you know he said if he ever heard of my driver abusing those horses, he'd come and take them back? The nerve of the man.”

As much as she supposed she shouldn't, Rosalind admired Armond Wulf in that instant. Defender of the poor beasts left at the mercy of perhaps the cruelest of predators . . . man.

“Will I see you at Lady LeGrande's soiree in two nights' time, my sweet?”

It took her a moment to realize that Penmore had addressed her and that he was drooling down his chin as he eyed her up and down.

“You shall,” her stepbrother answered for her. “In fact, you may have the honor of escorting Rosalind, with me along as a chaperone of course.”

Rosalind bit her tongue to keep from objecting.

Penmore pulled his usual pout. “I had hoped to spend some private time with Lady Rosalind,” he said. “I'd like to get to know her much better.”

“You know as well as I do, a young unmarried woman is not seen in public without some type of chaperone,” Franklin said. “You'll have her to yourself in due time. First, you must court her. No sampling the pie before you pay your coin to the vendor.”

“Must you speak of me as if I am not sitting here?” Rosalind couldn't remain silent any longer. “And must you speak in a manner that insults me? I—”

That was all she managed before Franklin reached across the coach and slapped her. Rosalind gasped and brought a hand to her stinging cheek. She immediately looked at Penmore, embarrassed, humiliated, and wondering if he'd come to her defense.

The man frowned. “If you must discipline your stepsister, Chapman, do not hit her in the face. She's much too pretty to go around with bruises, at least bruises that show. Control yourself, although I know it is not your strong suit.”

Both men exchanged a glance. Rosalind was too horrified that Penmore seemed accepting of Franklin's abuse to decipher any hidden meaning there. Was this the kind of husband she wanted? One who would sit by and watch another man humiliate her? One who indicated that hitting a woman was all right, as long as the bruises didn't show? She glanced away from both men.

Her eyes stung and her heart ached. Whatever Armond Wulf was, he was not a man who would stand for that. She knew because he'd questioned her
about the bruise she'd tried to pass off as a result of her own clumsiness.

What if he'd been the man sitting beside her when Franklin struck her? She couldn't see Armond remaining indifferent, as Penmore had done. Perhaps she should have told Armond the truth when he'd questioned her about the bruise on her cheek. But what could he have done? He was not a relative, not even a proper suitor. Still, she wasn't certain if given a second chance, she wouldn't tell him, just to see what he was really made of.

Lydia had not come to help Rosalind prepare for the LeGrandes' soiree earlier. Mary had told her that Franklin had dismissed the maid. Rosalind felt horrible. She knew confronting her stepbrother about his treatment of the maid had led to his decision. She hoped Lydia would find a position elsewhere, one where her employer would be kind to her.

Rosalind also wished she'd at least been given the opportunity to tell the young woman good-bye before she'd left. If Rosalind had any funds of her own, she would have given Lydia what she had until the woman could secure herself another position. Rosalind had stewed about it all evening up until Penmore had arrived to escort her to the LeGrandes' affair.

Now Rosalind fidgeted with the skirt of her silk gown and tried to pretend an interest in the conversations taking place around her. The LeGrandes' soiree seemed to be a success and most seemed to be enjoying the festivities, but she was not one of them. It was odd to her that her arrival upon Penmore's arm had garnered her acceptance among the tonnish set when the foul man wasn't by half as acceptable to her as the man they all shunned, Armond Wulf.

“What was it like?” Lady Amelia Sinclair, a young
socialite Rosalind had been introduced to earlier, whispered the question to her.

“Beg your pardon?” Rosalind wondered if she'd somehow lost the boring thread of conversation.

“Dancing with Lord Wulf,” the young lady clarified, her voice so low Rosalind could barely hear her. “Leaving with him.”

Society had obviously not forgotten her faux pas the first night she was introduced to the tonnish set. “A mistake,” she muttered, and then tried to pretend interest in another conversation taking place.

“You didn't do anything most of us haven't dreamed of doing before,” the young lady admitted. She surprised Rosalind by taking her arm and steering her away from the small cluster of people conversing. “Once you were alone together, what happened?”

Rosalind felt nervous given the line of questioning. She had to answer correctly or give the young lady further gossip to spread about her. “Nothing. He was a perfect gentleman,” she lied.

Lady Amelia frowned. Her eyes sparkled mischievously when she said, “How disappointing. Don't you think it's tragic? That the most handsome man in London is forbidden to us?”

Stunned by the young lady's forwardness, Rosalind could only nod. She recovered a moment later, worried that the young lady was attempting to trick information from her. Damning information. “I think his reputation for being dangerous is highly exaggerated. I certainly don't believe the notice I sought to gain by dancing with him was worth the bother.”

Glancing around, the young woman argued, “But that is where you're wrong. Everyone noticed you. I for one was simpering with jealousy over your bravery. Imagine, having the courage to dance with the devil himself? No
one will forget you, Lady Rosalind, of that you can be certain.”

Rosalind suspected the young lady's assurances should not be counted as a compliment. It didn't matter much anyway what society thought of her. If Franklin had his way, she would soon be engaged to Penmore. Her reputation would no longer be an issue.

“I found your daring admirable,” Lady Amelia continued. “And refreshing. At least you're not like the other pasty-faced debutantes whose circles I am forced to run in, never daring to do anything that would raise a brow or cause gossip. I find them terribly boring.”

Rosalind laughed. “You are quite shocking yourself to have that view.”

Lady Amelia shrugged. “I suppose I am. My mother says often enough that a young woman with my improper attitude can only come to ruin. I hope she's right.”

Again Rosalind laughed. She found to her utter surprise she was actually enjoying herself in Lady Amelia's company. Rosalind had few friends. She'd grown up in the country beneath her father's sometimes overprotective attention. Franklin had forbidden her to have interaction with young ladies her own age. She supposed he was worried she might somehow enlist aid in helping her to escape from him. And if Rosalind thought she could, she certainly would.

“Your stepbrother seems to keep a tight rein on you,” Lady Amelia commented. “I see him heading this way, and he doesn't look pleased that we have become fast friends.”

Rosalind glanced in the direction in which she'd last seen Franklin and Penmore engaged in conversation. Neither man, it was obvious, was popular, even if Penmore seemed to be accepted. No doubt because of his title and his wealth.

“Are we friends?” she asked the pretty blonde. It embarrassed Rosalind to realize how hopeful she sounded. She needed a friend now that even Lydia was lost to her. She needed one badly.

The young woman clasped Rosalind's hand and squeezed. “Only if you promise not to become boring like the others. Who knows, if the handsome Lord Wulf shows his face at another social function this season, perhaps I will ask him to dance.”

When Lady Amelia glanced over her shoulder toward a rather stern-faced woman standing a few feet away and received a frown indicating displeasure over her choice of current companion, Lady Amelia squeezed Rosalind's hand again. “My mother doesn't approve of you,” she said candidly. “But you're not to take it personally. My mother doesn't approve of anything or hardly anyone. She says I'm to marry Lord Collingsworth. She says he's appropriate for me.”