Secrets to a Gentleman's Heart (Uncle Charlie's Angels Book 1) Page 9

  He could make out Miss Darlington in her light colored gown and the darker shadow of the man. They were facing one another as if in conversation, but Xavier was too far away to hear their exchange. The man lunged and she squealed in surprise. His huge arms circled her waist, dragging her against him.

  A guttural growl rose in Xavier’s throat, but before he could charge the portico, small hands closed around his wrist. The shock of someone jumping from the bushes brought him to a full stop and saved him from creating an embarrassing scene. The woman beneath the portico laughed and threw her arms around the man’s neck to draw him to her for a kiss.

  “Mr. Vistoire,” a voice hissed. “Come.”

  It took a moment for him to realize it was Miss Darlington tugging his arm. He stopped resisting and followed her into the heavy vegetation. “What are you—?”

  She shushed him. “Come.”

  He glowered in return. Did she think he was her pooch to order about? “No, you come with me,” he whispered and changed their course just to prove he had a mind of his own.

  She allowed him to lead the way while still holding onto his wrist. When they were a safe distance from the portico, she asked, “Do you know where you are going?”

  “Not really.”

  She planted her feet. He stopped and turned toward her. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough to see her pretty face. She notched her chin. “If you don’t know where you’re going, why are you leading?”

  Her defiant stance fanned his smoldering temper to flames. “The better question is why are you sneaking around the gardens alone? Have you no sense?”

  He was truly beginning to believe that was the case. First, she’d kept him secreted away at Wedmore House instead of summoning a runner, and now she was risking body and reputation for what? If he’d interrupted her own tryst, he might be unable to refrain from taking her over his knee.

  “I’m not alone,” she said in a reasonable tone that did nothing to dispel his temper. “I wanted to speak with you in private.”

  “And how did you know I would follow you?”

  She gestured toward him with a flourish of her hand.

  He gritted his teeth. She did believe he was no better than a pooch content to run after her. The worst of it was he had chased after her, and he would do it again. Not because he needed to charm his way back into Wedmore House, but because he couldn’t stand the thought of another man laying hands on her.

  “You are fortunate it was me following you and not some rake meaning to do you harm.”

  She scoffed. “That is hypocritical considering you are as rakish as any man I know.”

  “What have I done to earn such a reputation? Aside from becoming foxed and wandering into Wedmore House, I mean.”

  “You did not wander, sir. You broke the lock on the backdoor.”

  “Yes, well. Other than those unfortunate actions... Did I not behave like a gentleman while you played nursemaid to me? I admitted I made a mistake. I wasn’t myself that evening. And you are deflecting, Miss Darlington. What if you had been set upon by a true scoundrel?”

  “I’m capable of defending myself, and I didn’t lure you outside to lecture me. Please, come with me.” Taking his hand, she urged him deeper into the garden, away from the house and other guests. Curiosity overrode his pride, and he didn’t resist.

  Neither of them spoke as they weaved through several mulberry bushes, passed a small pond covered in lily pads, and walked beneath a rose-laden trellis. When they reached what Miss Darlington apparently felt was a comfortable distance from the house, she dropped his hand and spun on her heel. Her fists landed on her hips.

  “Imagine my surprise at finding you here. Aren’t you supposed to be on a ship, sir?”

  She was no more surprised than he was.

  “Change of plans,” he said.

  “Change of plans?” She bristled. “You promised no one would learn about the incident at Wedmore House. You swore your servant wouldn’t say a word, because you were leaving immediately. You said your sister was in New Orleans and needed you. Serafine Tucker moved to London my first Season.”

  Merde. Why must she recall every detail of what he’d said? He had enough trouble without adding a too-clever woman to the mix. “I had only arrived in London that evening, and I’d had no contact with my sister for a long time. I didn’t know she was in England until the night I left Wedmore House. An old friend told me.”

  Old friend. The lie was bitter on his tongue. With friends like Farrin, he’d rather become a hermit.

  “How am I to believe anything you say when I’ve already caught you in a lie?" she asked. “I maintain you are just another scoundrel dogging my heels this summer. Perhaps you believe without Uncle Charles around to discourage you that I am helpless. I assure you, I am not, as one lord who shall remain nameless learned when he tried to force himself on me.”

  The fire inside him blazed hotter, and a rolling whoosh filled his head. He would kill the man. “Give me the blackguard’s name. I will rip him limb from limb. I’ll challenge every bloody rogue who has been bothering you until they’ve all been put in the ground. I want names. Now.”

  “Goodness,” she said on a wisp of breath and held a hand to her head. “I have no idea what you just said, but it sounded serious.”

  He blinked. Her unexpected response caused him to forget his righteous anger for a moment. “Pardon?”

  She bit her bottom lip. “I never learned to speak French fluently.”

  He hadn’t realized he’d stopped speaking English.

  “I’m afraid I spent more time avoiding my lessons than it would have taken me to complete them,” she said. “I was too young to recognize the value, and my governess was not insistent.”

  “I see.”

  “I learned a few words, but not enough to read or speak your language with any proficiency. I know petit bâtard.”

  Little bastard. “You learned profanity. From your governess.”

  “Of course not! I learned it from the milkman. He shouts at Cupid every time the petit bâtard rushes the door.”

  Xavier lifted a brow. Was she trying to distract him? If so, her tactic wasn’t working. “I want the scoundrels’ names.”

  “Whatever for? Do you fancy you will challenge them?” She shook her head and released a humorless laugh. “The gossips would love such fodder. It would keep them busy for days speculating on the nature of our association.”

  “If you truly believed I would take advantage of you or worried about rumors, you wouldn’t have brought me to the gardens.”

  “I would if I wanted to confront you without an audience. Besides, no one knows we are here.”

  He shook his head and allowed a sinuous smile to ease across his face. She stiffened as he took a step forward.

  “I can defend myself, sir.”

  “Even against seduction?” He slowly closed the distance between them.

  The sharp intake of her breath and her hand on his chest gave him pause. A good fright might set her straight so she wouldn’t act rashly again, but he didn’t want her to fear him. He held still, waiting for the slightest pressure from her to demand his retreat.

  Her fingers curled to lightly grip his jacket. She lifted her gaze and licked her lips. His heart slammed beneath her palm. The warmth of her touch spread to his blood. It ran fast and hot through his veins, rushing to his cock.

  Merde. Who was seducing whom? The temptation to touch her, to feel her lush mouth beneath his, strummed inside him. His body trembled with fading restraint. He stroked his thumb along the curve of her cheek and her lips parted. She desired his kiss as much as he hungered for hers, but surrendering would not prove he was different from the men who wanted to conquer her.

  Nevertheless, her allure was powerful. He placed a kiss at her temple, lingering and savoring her sweet scent. “I think we are fortunate I don’t want to seduce you, Miss Darlington.”

  She frowned when he drew back to look into he
r eyes. “Why not?”

  Her affronted tone made him smile. “Because I want to court you.”

  “I don’t welcome your courtship, Mr. Vistoire.”

  “Perhaps not.” He slid his thumb over her protruding lower lip and a puff of warm breath fluttered over his skin. “But I think we both know you want to be in my bed as much as I want you there, and I will only take you as my wife.”

  The strength of his conviction shook him. Yes, he wanted to protect her and marriage was the most effective means, but he wanted much more from her. He hadn’t realized what had been missing in his life until they had sparred that night at Wedmore House. He needed someone who understood him—someone who recognized when he was on the verge of taking the wrong path and challenged him to make the correct choice. And he was determined to be a better man, because he didn’t deserve Regina otherwise.

  “I don’t want to marry you,” she whispered as her eyes closed. She lifted her face as if seeking his kiss.

  God, he wanted what she was offering in the worst way, but he would fail her if he surrendered to the temptation.

  He released her and stumbled back a step. “If you don’t want to be caught in the parson’s noose, then you’d best return to the house before someone discovers us and forces your hand. I’d prefer to do this properly, but I suppose I would have you either way.”

  She dropped her hands to her sides and scowled. “I’ll not welcome you at Wedmore House, so do not waste your time calling.” Spinning on her heel, she stormed back toward the house.

  “If you are half as welcoming as you were a moment ago, I’ll have no cause for complaint.”

  “Petit bâtard,” she tossed over her shoulder before disappearing from sight.

  Xavier chuckled under his breath. Regina Darlington had fire in her. He could understand why the rakes were drawn to her like moths to a flame, but he’d be damned if they got within ten feet of her again.

  Eleven

  Regina rubbed the grittiness from her eyes the next morning as she descended the oak stairs at Wedmore House. She’d suffered another sleepless night, thanks to Xavier Vistoire and his preposterous claim that he wanted to marry her. Did he fancy himself in love after only a week?

  “Ha,” she scoffed, but an infinitesimal trill originated beneath her breastbone. She hugged herself to contain the exhilaration building inside her. Decisions shouldn’t be based on the whims of one’s body. She never ate a whole apple pie when her sweet tooth demanded satisfaction, and she wouldn’t marry a blasted scoundrel just because her blood ran hotter when he was near. Besides, he’d probably want to take her back to America, and that would never do.

  “Enough of Mr. Vistoire,” she muttered and forced her thoughts to more pressing concerns. She had a household to run. Wedmore House was without a butler, which meant she had no one to turn away Mr. Vistoire if he called this afternoon. Much to her displeasure, she must face him again, for no matter how mortifying a future encounter might be, she wouldn’t ask her sisters for help. Evangeline and Sophia would demand an explanation, and she’d rather cut out her tongue than admit to leading Mr. Vistoire into Lady Norwick’s gardens only to accuse him of trying to seduce her.

  She’d behaved like a lunatic last night, and Mr. Vistoire had responded with threats to make her his wife. She shook her head in bewilderment. He was battier than she if he showed up today.

  Upon reaching the ground floor, she headed toward the library in search of her sister. Evangeline was helping her draft an advertisement for the vacant butler position this morning, and Regina hoped to drop it by the printer’s shop in time for the advertisement to be included in tomorrow’s newssheet. She found Evangeline exactly where she was most mornings—bent over papers fanned across the colossal mahogany table in the center of the library.

  “What are you studying?” Regina asked.

  Her sister’s head shot up with a soft gasp. Her auburn hair was fashioned into a knot on top of her head, but several riotous ringlet curls had escaped to frame her face. “Nothing.” She raked the papers into a pile with both hands, her gaze darting guiltily to the stack in front of her. “I mean, the same notes I’ve been studying. Nothing new.”

  Regina sauntered toward her. “Uncle Charles’s notes on his Egyptian excavation?”

  “Of course.” Evangeline folded her hands on top of the stack as if trying to block Regina’s view.

  Before Sophia and Evangeline were born and Regina was still in nappies, Uncle Charles spent a year in Egypt racing against Napoleon’s band of antiquarians to uncover Egyptian artifacts to claim for the British Museum. In the end, Uncle Charles didn’t have much to show for the time he’d spent searching for tombs to raid, but he’d returned with a treasure trove of stories.

  “You’ve read his pages a thousand times.”

  “I have,” Evangeline said with a challenging tilt of her head, “and I remain fascinated by his records. They contain valuable information about the fine details of orchestrating a dig. If I want to go on my own expeditions some day, I must be prepared.”

  Even as young as four, Evangeline had perched on the edge of her seat with wide-eyed wonder, listening to Mama read from Uncle Charles’s letters about his many adventures. Evangeline would come into her majority at the end of the summer and gain access to her inheritance just as Regina had a year and a half ago. Evangeline was already forming plans to travel with Uncle Charles, although Regina wasn’t certain Aunt Beatrice would approve.

  “You could recite his paper word for word. How could you be any more prepared?” Regina claimed the chair across from Evangeline and folded her hands on the table in front of her, mirroring her sister. “Do you remember how annoyed Papa would become when Mama spoke of Uncle Charles’s bravery?”

  Evangeline puffed out her chest and sputtered in a perfect imitation of their father. “Damned foolish, I’d say. It is a wonder your brother wasn’t captured and killed. Papa never liked Uncle Charles, did he?”

  Regina shrugged. “I think he disliked sharing Mama’s admiration. Papa couldn’t have been too conflicted about Uncle Charles, since he named him our guardian.”

  Evangeline grinned. “Perhaps because he disliked his own brother more.”

  Regina conceded the point. It didn’t matter why their father had chosen Uncle Charles. He’d arranged for her and her sisters to have a home, and it was a happy one.

  She glanced at the stack in front of Evangeline; her sister snatched up the papers and hugged them to her chest.

  “Keep your secrets. If they make you happy, then I am happy.”

  Evangeline’s mouth puckered. “You’re just trying to make me feel guilty.”

  “I am not.”

  “You are. You trick me into telling you everything by making me feel bad for having secrets. You’ve been that way since we were girls.”

  Regina laughed at her sister’s accusation. Perhaps it was partly true, but only because it was the easiest way to rattle Evangeline and uncover whatever mischief she was up to. Regina barely needed to say a word for her sister to tattle on herself.

  “Oh, very well,” Evangeline said with a huff. “I’m not studying his notes on Egypt again. I found these in Uncle Charles’s top desk drawer.”

  “I thought he kept it locked.”

  Her sister’s cheeks bloomed with color. “He does, but the letter opener was simply lying there, and I couldn’t help myself.”

  “Evangeline!”

  “I know. I’ve done a horrible thing.”

  Regina laughed. “Uncle Charles is more likely to be impressed by your nefarious activities than angry with you for picking the lock.”

  “Perhaps. I suppose if he didn’t want me to use the skill, he wouldn’t have taught me it.”

  “I doubt he ever thought you would use it against him.” Regina leaned forward onto her elbows, curious about what her sister found. “What is it?”

  “Something more exciting than mummies.” Evangeline’s blue eyes sparkled. “He i
s searching for an ancient band of mercenaries rumored to have lived at least 800 years ago. Crusaders first encountered the group in Dyrrchion, but there are tales from Rome to Antioch of violent altercations with the Black Death.”

  “The Black Death. Like the plague?” Regina wrinkled her nose. “Why on earth would any group choose such a horrid name?”

  “It was given to them. According to Uncle Charles’s research, the warriors were like ghosts slipping into a camp unseen and unheard then leaving death and devastation in their wake. But there was one account of a warrior entering a camp in the middle of the day to assassinate a rival tribe’s chief. Needless to say, the warrior met his end as soon as he committed the deed.”

  Regina shivered in revulsion. “I will never understand your passion for warfare.”

  “I am not interested in war per se, but I cannot deny some ancient methods of warding off attacks were ingenious. For instance, did you know sand was often used to defend medieval castles? Not only could it stop invaders from climbing the walls, it made the enemy’s armor itchy.”

  “That is rather brilliant,” Regina admitted. “And less gruesome than your usual stories, which I don’t care to hear, so let’s change the subject.”

  “You asked what I was studying.”

  “My mistake.” Regina was interested in one part, however. “Why would Uncle Charles search for a group of warrior assassins? Doesn’t he realize he is no match?”

  Evangeline flopped against the seatback and laughed. “The Black Death is extinct, silly, if they were ever real. Uncle Charles’s notes say the group is likely a myth. He is looking for proof of their existence.”

  “Oh!” Regina brightened. “That is a relief. For a moment, I feared perhaps he hadn’t returned yet, because he’d found them.”