Chapter One
“What do you mean the actress is unsuitable?” Hudson Lockhart lounged back in his fireside chair and studied his friend seated opposite. While he wanted to spring to his feet in a state of panic, years of good breeding forced him to arch a brow, nothing more.
“It is as I suspected,” Dariell began, the soft burr of his French accent doing little to settle the turmoil whirling in Lockhart’s chest. “The woman’s greed will be your downfall. While she has the skill necessary to play the role of your wife, she will betray you the moment someone presents a more lucrative offer.”
Lockhart gritted his teeth. His pulse rose more than a notch. To combat his growing anxiety, he stared into the fire’s flames. On this cold November night, a man daren’t drag his horse from the stables and ride as if wolves were nipping at his heels. A distraction might clear his head, but it would not solve his problem.
“And you are certain of this?”
Dariell nodded. “Would I have cautioned you otherwise?”
An oppressive silence descended.
Lockhart closed his eyes briefly. The walls of the small gatekeeper’s cottage seemed to close in around him—crushing his spirit. Were his efforts for naught? Years of waiting, months of planning, long hours spent dreaming of the moment he discovered the truth.
The truth?
A contemptuous snigger filled his head. Only two men knew what had happened on that fateful midsummer’s eve five years ago. One was dead. A corpse long since buried beneath the ground. The other had no conscience. The other slithered in the shadows—a snake in the grass.
“I understand your urgency, my friend,” Dariell continued. “The need for vengeance, it infects the body like a pus-filled wound that will not heal. But there is much at stake. The woman you choose must be a convincing liar, but she must be honest, steadfast in her loyalty, reliable.”
Lockhart sighed. Dariell often spoke in riddles, and tonight was no exception.
“I doubt there is a lady in the land whose character boasts of such a contradiction.”
A knowing smile played at the corners of Dariell’s mouth. Clearly, the Frenchman had a plan but enjoyed making a man wait for the grand revelation. “Perhaps there is one.”
Hope sprung to life in Lockhart’s chest. “You have someone in mind? Another actress?”
Dariell peered at the window as if watching, waiting for the answer to present itself. “Not an actress, no.”
“Who, then?”
The woman needed enough grace and poise to pass as the wife of a nobleman. She needed eyes brimming with passion, and a magnetic sensuality if people were to believe Lockhart had succumbed to marriage. She needed to embrace the role, feel comfortable with a level of intimacy expected when two people were in love.
In short, she needed skill in the art of deception.
Dariell rose to his feet. “Miss Darling strikes me as someone eager to fight for justice. A woman who tends to the needs of her family with such devotion is a woman worthy of your consideration. Do you not agree?”
Miss Darling?
A vision of the blonde-haired lady of the manor who provided food and lodgings entered Lockhart’s head. Amongst the ton, her plain features would mark her as a wallflower, and yet there was nothing fragile about her countenance. Her heart-shaped face and large blue eyes spoke of timidity, yet she was not afraid to express her opinion.
“The lady cannot look me in the eye,” Lockhart said, recalling the numerous times she had blushed in his presence. “She will probably have a fit of the vapours when I draw her into an embrace.”
Miss Darling was hardly a beguiling temptress. In bed, she was probably one of those frigid sorts who turned her back and hugged the edge of the mattress.
Dariell ambled over to the window and glanced out into the night. “Passion, it brims beneath her composed facade. It would take the right man to bring such powerful emotions to the fore.”
“And you think I possess the skill?”
Dariell glanced back over his shoulder. “You have a charm most women find irresistible. Miss Darling is no different.”
Suspicion flared. Dariell’s plan stretched to more than a desire to clear Lockhart’s name.
Lockhart narrowed his gaze. “I am looking for a temporary wife, not someone to fill the role permanently. So you can stop meddling. Miss Darling is unsuitable.”
“She is honest,” Dariell persisted.
“Yes, and too pure to play the wife of a scandalous rogue.”
Dariell stepped away from the window but hovered near the wooden door that let in too many draughts. “You have no other choice.”
The weight of the comment hung heavily in Lockhart’s chest. He could not hide away in a ramshackle cottage forever. Soon, his family would learn of his return to England. Soon, they would come to know that he had not perished from a tropical fever but was very much alive and well and out for retribution.
“Surely you can persuade the ton you’re in love with her,” Dariell said, hanging on to the prospect of Miss Darling becoming Lockhart’s wife like a dog did a juicy bone.
“Danger lurks in the darkness.” The villain thought nothing of committing murder and blaming an innocent man. “I could not ask the lady to risk her life for me, regardless of how much I am willing to pay.”
Lockhart’s gaze swept to the metal bucket sitting ready to catch raindrops from the leaking roof. The Darlings lacked funds. Judging by the simple meals prepared each evening, things were bleak. Why else would an unmarried woman rent a cottage to a stranger?
“Would you rather see two ladies struggle than offer a solution?” Dariell mocked.
“It is unlike you to play the guilt card.”
Why would Dariell not leave it alone? Playing Lockhart’s wife might bring Miss Darlin
g financial reward, but the experience would forever taint the lady’s spirit. She would have knowledge of a world run by the greedy, the corrupt, the lords and ladies who would do anything to advance their positions. She would know what it meant to be the subject of malicious gossip.
“Regardless,” Lockhart continued, “your efforts to persuade me are in vain. Miss Darling would never leave her sister.”
Dariell’s hand settled on the doorknob. “Not unless someone else took on the role of caring for Miss Emily.”
Before Lockhart could form a response, Dariell opened the cottage door. From the feminine shriek outside, it was clear supper had arrived.
“Ah, Miss Darling,” the Frenchman said, gesturing for the lady to enter. “Forgive me. I did not mean to startle you.”
“Startle me? I almost dropped the pot on my toes.” As always, the lady’s tone carried a hint of humour that lessened the blow. “Would you mind offering Emily your arm, monsieur?”
“Mind? It would be a pleasure.”
Dariell stepped back as Claudia Darling entered the room. As had been the case for most nights this last month, Lockhart stood and moved to offer assistance.