Captured by a Gentleman (Regency Unlaced 6) (14 page)

Because he had spent the day securing Darcy’s future.

A future that might not have happened at all if that bastard had taken it into his head to harm Darcy while Ranulf was out.

His jaw tightened. “I believe your visitor’s real name to be Lord Adam Sterling. He was Millicent’s lover. Her coconspirator in plotting my cousin’s demise.”

Her eyes widened. “The lover who chose to go to the Continent…”

“Obviously, he has returned.”

And unless Ranulf was mistaken, the other man was also behind the “accidents” which had been plaguing him these past ten days or so.

Chapter 11

“You cannot make me go if I do not wish to do so.” Darcy glared her displeasure several hours later as she and Ranulf ate dinner together.

“Of course I can.”

Her eyes narrowed at Ranulf’s mocking tone. “I shall turn one and twenty tomorrow. That means I am quite old enough to make my own decisions.”

Ranulf sighed in the face of her stubbornness. “It is all settled.”

“Settled by whom?” she challenged. “I do not recall being present during any of the conversations when my future appears to have been decided. I am grateful, of course, for having my inheritance returned to me. But,” she continued as Ranulf would have spoken. “Less so that you have arranged for me to now reside with the Duke of Stowmont, as his ward.”

Ranulf had made her angry in the past with his high-handedness, but this, this was going too far.

He had waited until the two of them had almost finished eating before informing her he had spent most of the day organizing her future. Without so much as mentioning his intentions to her, let alone consulting her as to what
she
wanted.

Darcy was, quite rightly, she felt, furious.

Obviously not because Ranulf had forced her uncle into releasing her inheritance on her birthday tomorrow, with threats of exposing his suspicion Lord Sugdon had used some of those funds for his own purposes.

No, Darcy was not in the least angry about that, indeed she was grateful for his intervention. But the rest of Ranulf’s arrangements for her future? Oh yes, she was absolutely furious about those.

It had been the most dreadful day, between Ranulf’s long absence and the visit from a man whom it now appeared was Lord Adam Sterling, her cousin Millicent’s lover. The disturbing things he had said to her… Shocking accusations which Ranulf had still not fully addressed, having excused himself from her bedchamber earlier before attempting to do so.

Perhaps he never would address them…

Now he had the gall to inform her she was to be removed to Stowmont House first thing in the morning. Was to become the ward of her mother’s second cousin, Sebastian Falkner, the Duke of Stowmont. A gentleman she had never met and certainly did not know.

She stood abruptly. “I will not do it.”

“I do not believe you have a choice in the matter,” Ranulf ventured gently. “Stowmont is your closest male relative. He is willing to take you. The matter is settled.”

“Not by me!”

Ranulf stood. “You will lower your voice when talking to me.”

“Why will I?” she taunted.

“Because until tomorrow, you are still under my care and protection. And,” he continued silkily as Darcy would have spoken, “perhaps you should remember what happened the last time you challenged me and my authority.”

Darcy’s cheeks bloomed with color at the memory of being hauled over Ranulf’s knee, her skirts thrown up, and having her bare bottom spanked.

Her chin rose. “I did not then, nor do I now, recognize you as having any authority over me—Ranulf!” she let out a protesting scream as she once again found herself lying facedown across his thighs with her gown up to her waist, revealing her white drawers.

An item of clothing that was also quickly dispatched. Ranulf pulled the back of her drawers down far enough to reveal the globes of her bottom before delivering a smack to that bared flesh. The sound of flesh against flesh echoed around the empty room, and the stinging pain reverberated through Darcy’s body.

“Ranulf, no…” she groaned, having no idea if she was asking for him to stop or begging him to continue.

“You will cease this constant arguing with me,” he bit out between clenched teeth as he delivered another smack.

“I—”

“Do not answer me back, Darcy,” he growled. “I will not tolerate it. Not now. Can you not see I have no choice but to send you to Stowmont? That propriety says I must. But that does not mean the two of us will not…meet again.”

“You are going back to Scotland!” she wailed, the truth of that hurting much more than the stinging blows to her backside.

“No, I am not.” Ranulf’s hand was now gentle, caressing, against the burning curves of her bottom. “Sterling has to be dealt with before I do anything else,” he continued grimly. “And I want you safe under Stowmont’s guardianship when that happens.”

“And I want to remain with you!”

It took every effort of will on Ranulf’s part not to echo that sentiment.

He wanted Darcy to remain with him too.

But not when there was the shadow of Sterling looming over his life, bent on vengeance. Not because the other man had been in love with Millicent, because Ranulf knew he had not. No, he was convinced the only reason Sterling had returned to England after suffering eight months of exile on the Continent was to make Ranulf pay for instigating that exile.

He had no intention of allowing the other man to use Darcy as a means to that vengeance.

He straightened her clothing before turning and lifting her so that she now straddled his thighs and faced him. His hands moved to frame the pale beauty of her face. “You have to go to Stowmont, Darcy.”

Tears balanced on her lashes, ready to spill down her cheeks. “Why?”

This was not the time for Ranulf to consider his own feelings in the matter of Darcy leaving. His priority now was to see that she was kept safe, and the only way he could guarantee that was for her to be as far away from him as possible. Sterling had already found the means of being alone with her once. It could not be allowed to happen again.

Ranulf lifted her off his thighs, ensuring she was steady on her feet before standing himself, his expression one of deliberate coldness and arrogance. “Sterling told you the truth when he said Millicent’s death was not an accident.”

Darcy stared at him with wide and startled eyes. “You killed her?”

Ranulf had not wielded a gun or a sword and struck his wife down. But he had to take some of the responsibility for her death. Millicent had been anxious to avoid being sent back to her father when she had stolen his cousin’s horse, which, upon having this unfamiliar rider on its back, had reared up and dislodged her from the saddle. Millicent had been thrown to the ground and broken her neck.

Damn it, I should have guessed before today the saboteur was Sterling. The burr, deliberately placed under my own saddle a week ago, was no doubt a mocking hint on Sterling’s part as to who was responsible for the accidents befalling me.

Ranulf had not given the other man so much as a thought, because he had foolishly believed Sterling to still be on the Continent.

“Ranulf…?”

He focused his attention back on Darcy, noting the uncertainty—and hope of his denial—in her eyes. “Yes,” he answered flatly, adding nothing further. He had no need to do so as he saw the hope fade from Darcy’s eyes, to be replaced by the pain of disappointment. In him.

Ranulf clenched his hands at his sides as he fought the inner battle not to refute his answer. To take Darcy in his arms and kiss her deeply before making love to her.

If he were to keep Darcy safe, then he had to alienate her. Push her away from him. Far away.

She blinked back her tears, although she could not prevent the low and emotional tone of her voice when she spoke. “Is that the truth?”

He could feel a nerve pulsing in his jaw, it was tensed so tightly. “Yes.”

She continued to look at him searchingly for several minutes before nodding. “I will be packed and ready to leave for Stowmont House first thing in the morning.”

Ranulf gave an abrupt nod, ensuring none of his inner feelings were apparent as he watched Darcy leave the room, her head held high.

His shoulders slumped the moment the door closed behind her.

He had achieved his purpose.

Darcy no longer trusted him.

No longer wanted to have anything to do with him.

Believed, because Ranulf had said it was so, that he had murdered his wife.

Sterling would pay, and pay dearly, for what Ranulf had been forced to do this evening.

“I really must insist that you stop moping about the house in this way and accompany me to the Wetherbys’ ball this evening.”

Darcy gazed dully across the private parlor at the gentleman who had been her guardian for the past week.

Sebastian Falkner, the Duke of Stowmont.

He was an exceedingly tall and muscular gentleman, his hair raven black, handsome features starkly aristocratic and dominated by eyes as black as coal. Or the devil.

Not that Stowmont had been unkind to her since she’d come to live here with him. He had not. As far as he was able, Darcy believed the duke had done all that he could to ensure her comfort. She was already familiar with the house, of course, having often visited here when her grandparents were alive.

Her bedchamber was beautifully appointed and looked out over the park next door. The duke had allocated this private parlor for her personal use. Commissioned a dozen new gowns to be made for her. Given her permission to make use of the extensive library. All that Darcy needed for her day-to-day comfort, he had granted.

He was, however, as aloof and cold in his dealings with her as he was with everything and everyone else. Darcy knew no more about her guardian now than she had a week ago.

Partly, she accepted, because she had not tried to know him better. As he had just accused, she had made no effort to do anything since coming to live in Stowmont House.

She gave a cool smile. “It is not acceptable for me to attend a ball when I am still in mourning.”

Black eyes narrowed. “As your guardian, I give permission for you to attend. Damn it, Darcy, I only accepted the invitation in the first place because I thought you would enjoy it,” he snapped. “I detest attending balls.”

From what Darcy had observed, the duke detested all social events. Instead, he preferred to spend his time dealing with estate business or dining at his club.

“The Prince Regent will be there,” he added by way of incentive.

“I have met him many times.”

“But those meetings are always amusing.”

“Yes,” she conceded ruefully.

The duke nodded. “This ball is the ideal opportunity for you to leave the house. To possibly meet up with some of the friends who have been calling all week and whom you have refused to see.”

Ah. “Perhaps you should have asked me if I wished to attend before accepting…” Darcy had no interest in meeting her friends. No interest in doing anything, truth be told.

She missed Ranulf.

Missed him so much, she ached inside.

One thing she
had
done this past week, constantly, was think of Ranulf. What else could she do but think of him when he had not called to see her, even once.

That hurt most of all.

But her constant thoughts of him had led her to realize Ranulf had been lying to her when he told her he had killed Millicent. The Ranulf she loved was not capable of murdering any woman, even an adulterous and treacherous wife.

The question was, had Ranulf lied to Darcy because he was already tired of her and wished to be rid of her? Or had he lied to her for another reason altogether?

That reason being to keep her safe at Stowmont House, where Lord Adam Sterling could not reach her.

Darcy had a feeling it was the latter.

And she had no idea, no idea at all, what to do about it. If she presented herself at Winterbourne House, she knew Ranulf would be furious with her, possibly for calling at all. Most certainly for bringing attention to herself and so putting herself in danger. Which might lead to another spanking, maybe even lovemaking, but would ultimately result in his returning her to the home of her guardian.

The alternative, sitting here, waiting and hoping Ranulf would eventually come to her, was becoming untenable—

“I am assured Montgomery will be there.”

Darcy’s head snapped up, and she stared at her guardian, noting the mocking humor in those black eyes as he returned her gaze, the derisive smile curving his lips. She moistened her lips before speaking. “How long have you known?”

“You are in love with him?” The duke shrugged. “I should have thought it was obvious.”

Darcy felt her heart plummet. “To him?”

“To me. You have done nothing but gaze out the window since your arrival here. Watching each carriage as it enters the avenue and then letting out loud sighs when it passes by. I have no idea what is going on between you and Montgomery,” the duke snapped irritably. “But I wish the two of you would do something about it so that everyone else does not have to share in your misery.”

She blinked. “Ranulf is miserable?”

“I am assuming so, if he feels about you as you feel about him. I really do not understand this love business,” Stowmont continued dismissively, seeming not to have noticed Darcy’s expression of disappointment at his only having
assumed
Ranulf was as miserable as she was. Because she had hoped, however briefly, Ranulf was in love with her too. “If a man and woman physically want each other, then they take each other. There is no reason to complicate physical desire with emotion.”

Darcy could see that the duke really did not understand. Possibly because he had never been in love. It would be a brave woman indeed who fell in love with the cold and aloof Sebastian Falkner, and an even braver one to expect him to return that emotion.

As futile as her own love was for Ranulf.

“Very well,” she decided firmly. “I will accompany you to the Wetherbys’ ball.”

“And you will wear one of your new ball gowns. The cream lace, I think.” Stowmont nodded his satisfaction with the arrangement.