Captured by a Gentleman (Regency Unlaced 6) (13 page)

“It is nothing,” he dismissed briskly. “But you may be assured, under no circumstances will I ever abandon you to Cecil Sugdon’s dubious care.”

She sincerely hoped Ranulf kept that promise.

Darcy had been away from London for only four days, and yet it seemed so much longer.

Perhaps because she and her circumstances had changed irrevocably in that same number of days.

She was no longer the innocent Miss Darcy Ambridge, fleeing London in fear of having her innocence taken away from her. Instead, she was now Darcy, a woman who would gladly have given that innocence to Ranulf, if he had asked for it.

She felt deep regret he had not.

Nor would he now. His behavior toward her had been impeccable on the rest of their journey back to Town. No more of their previous kisses, caresses, or pleasure. The two of them had once again occupied separate bedchambers at the inn in Bedfordshire. Nor had there been a repeat of Darcy ordering and delivering Ranulf’s bath the following morning. He had been up and bathed hours before she had even awoken.

But it had been a journey without further mishap, thank goodness, to either Ranulf or his property. For which Darcy was truly grateful.

Ranulf had dismissed the subject of the saboteur when she had attempted to discuss it with him this morning over breakfast, assuring her it was a problem for him to deal with and not one she need worry about.

How could she not worry when it seemed someone was deliberately trying to harm the man she loved?

“A Mr. Fletcher is asking to see you, Miss Ambridge.”

Darcy looked at the butler as she put aside the book she had been attempting to read. Attempting, because she could not concentrate on any of the words written on the pages, her thoughts entirely focused on where Ranulf had disappeared to after they had breakfasted together some hours ago.

They had arrived at Winterbourne House, the London home of Ranulf’s cousin, Sin, late yesterday afternoon. It was a very grand house, much more so than her parents’ homelier establishment had been. There were many more servants too, and no doubt all necessary to running such a large household, of which Johnson, the butler, a very thin man aged in his forties, was in charge.

“Are you sure it is me he is asking to see?” Darcy repeated doubtfully. As far as she was aware, no one knew of her presence at Winterbourne House.

“The gentleman asked for Miss Ambridge specifically.”

“But who is he?”

A flicker of surprise appeared and then as quickly disappeared from the butler’s pale blue eyes. “I had thought you would know that, Miss Ambridge.”

“I have absolutely no idea,” she assured him. “Did he give you his card?”

“No.” The butler looked slightly troubled by that omission. “I thought it was because he wished… I had assumed he was a friend of yours. Perhaps it would be best if I asked him to call again, when Mr. Montgomery is at home?”

“No.” Darcy stood up, curious about her mysterious visitor, and also a little relieved, to have her morning of solitude interrupted. It was the most time she had spent apart from Ranulf since being discovered hiding in his carriage. “You may show him in, Johnson.”

“Shall I bring tea, miss?”

Did she want to have tea with a complete stranger? “I think not,” she decided. “I will ring if I change my mind.”

She did not recognize the man Johnson showed into the gold salon just seconds later. A tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed, and handsome gentleman, possibly aged in his midthirties, and dressed in the height of fashion.

A friend of Ranulf’s, perhaps? Although Johnson certainly had not recognized him as such.

“Mr. Fletcher.” She made a curtsey.

He bowed. “It is good of you to see me, Miss Ambridge.”

She sat, indicating he should do likewise. “I do not believe we are acquainted…?” she prompted once they were seated in armchairs facing each other.

“No.”

“Then might I enquire as to the reason for your visit?”

“I have called out of concern for your health and future safety.”

Her eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”

He narrowed those shrewd blue eyes. “I felt it was my civic duty to make you aware that Mr. Ranulf Montgomery, the gentleman with whom you are staying, is a dangerous gentleman for you to be associated with. He was wholly responsible for his wife’s death. She was your cousin, was she not?”

Darcy stood abruptly. “I believe it is time you left, Mr. Fletcher—”

“Do not be too hasty to dismiss me, Miss Ambridge, or what I have to tell you.” Fletcher seemed totally unruffled by her reaction. In fact, he seemed to settle more comfortably into the armchair. “I am aware it must be a shock to you, but I assure you I am telling the truth.”

Darcy deeply regretted being alone with this gentleman, and the bellpull, which would bring Johnson back to the salon, was situated beside Mr. Fletcher. Had he sat in that chair deliberately? Possibly. There was an air about Mr. Fletcher, something lurking in the depths of those pale blue eyes, which she did not altogether trust.

She gripped her hands tightly together in front of her. “You are mistaken, Mr. Fletcher. My cousin Millicent died in a riding accident.”

Fletcher nodded. “That is what everyone, including Mrs. Montgomery’s family, was told. Unfortunately, it is not the whole truth.”

“You really cannot come here and make such scandalous accusations against an innocent man—”

“I was in Scotland when Mrs. Montgomery died. Was, in fact, a guest in Montgomery’s home the evening she was killed.”

“Evening?” Darcy repeated uncertainly.

“It was most certainly evening, Miss Ambridge.” Fletcher stood, his height and breadth instantly dominating the room. “Being a guest at Cairn House, I also know how and why that ‘accident’ occurred. And who was responsible,” he added harshly.

“Ranulf?”

“Most definitely.”

She raised her chin. “I do not believe you.” Ranulf made no secret of his complete contempt for his dead wife. Justifiably so after what he had revealed of Millicent’s behavior. But Darcy refused to believe he was capable of actually murdering Millicent.

Fletcher gave a pitying shake of his head. “Of course you do not. Why should you, when you and Montgomery are currently lovers?”

“How dare you!” More to the point, how did this man know of her intimate relationship with Ranulf? No one knew. How could they. How could
this
man? And yet he seemed to know far more about her friendship with Ranulf than he should.

“What will happen to you when he no longer desires you, or your relationship no longer amuses him?” Fletcher taunted. “Another ‘accident,’ perhaps?”

“You are being absurd—”

“Am I?” he challenged. “He is ungovernable. A savage. A man who, when thwarted, does not hesitate to eliminate any obstacle, including a wife who has outlived her purpose. Why bother keeping the unfaithful wife when her dowry remains his whether she lives or dies? Make no mistake, Miss Ambridge, your own wealth is nowhere near to ever satisfying Montgomery’s greed.”

Darcy swayed slightly on her feet as she recalled her conversation with Ranulf yesterday, when he had enquired as to what had happened to her fortune—

No!

This man Fletcher had come here to deliberately cause trouble. To put doubts in her mind as to whether or not she should trust in her belief that Ranulf was an honorable man.

And has he succeeded?

No, of course he has not. Ranulf was and is an honorable man.
Admittedly his behavior toward her had not always been gentlemanly, but then her own behavior with him had not always been ladylike. That did not make Ranulf the murderer Mr. Fletcher was now stating he was.

Then why did Ranulf ask as to the whereabouts of my fortune yesterday?

Darcy closed her eyes briefly before stepping forward to tug on the bellpull and ring for Johnson. “I am afraid you really will have to leave, Mr. Fletcher. I have a headache.”

“Of course.” He bowed politely, as if he had not minutes ago made an outrageous statement regarding Millicent’s death and stated the name of her murderer. “But I hope you will take my warning to heart. I should hate to read of your own demise in the obituaries in the newspaper one morning as I sit eating my breakfast.”

Her chin rose in challenge. “Are you threatening me, Mr. Fletcher?”

“I believe I said I was trying to protect you.”

She snorted her disgust with that claim. “By telling me Ranulf Montgomery murdered his wife!”

“Yes.”

“You will please leave.”

“And you, I hope, will take heed of my warning.”

Darcy remained standing for as long as it took Johnson to arrive and then show the other man out, after which she sank back down into the armchair, burying her face in her trembling hands as she began to sob.

Ranulf was not in the best of moods when he returned to Winterbourne House late that afternoon. He had not expected to be out as long as he had. Truth be told, his meetings today had gone well, better than he could have hoped for, in fact. The reason for his ill-temper was that he had missed Darcy. He had become accustomed to spending time with her. Verbally sparring with her. Making love to and with her…

His mood was not improved by Johnson informing him Miss Ambridge had retired to her bedchamber some hours previously, suffering from a headache.

“I… Miss Ambridge had a gentleman caller this morning, Mr. Montgomery,” Johnson added tentatively.

Ranulf tensed. “Oh?” Darcy had led him to believe she did not have any gentlemen friends in London. Certainly none that would have known she was currently residing at Winterbourne House.

Unless Darcy herself had been the one to inform this other man of her return to London, and where she was staying…

And there was only one way to find out if that was the case.

“I see you did not waste any time in contacting your lover.” Ranulf snarled minutes later as he pushed past Darcy and into her bedchamber.

Having just been woken from a fitful slumber, and then quickly pulling on a robe over her night rail before answering the knock on her bedchamber door, Darcy was not quite awake yet. “I— What?” she prompted sharply as Ranulf’s accusation penetrated her befuddled brain.

He eyed her contemptuously. “I was barely out of the house before your lover came to call.”

Darcy closed the bedchamber door with a decisive click before turning. “If you are referring to Mr. Fletcher, then I had never met him before today.”

“I do not believe you,” Ranulf sneered.

She faced him unflinchingly. “Which is exactly what I told Mr. Fletcher when he warned me you would arrange for me to have an ‘accident’, in the same way Millicent had a fatal accident, when you are tired of our affair.”

“
What?
”

Darcy gave a humorless smile at Ranulf’s incredulous expression. “Not so pleasant when the accusation is directed toward you, is it?”

Ranulf had never been struck dumb in his life. Until today. Some man, a complete stranger, if Darcy was to be believed, had told her that he… That Millicent’s death… “Who the hell is this man Fletcher?” he was finally able to demand.

Darcy sighed shakily. “I was hoping you would be able to tell me that. He said he was…he was a guest in your home the evening Millicent died.”

Ranulf stilled, his gaze becoming guarded. “You will describe this man to me.” He remembered clearly every person who had been present in his home when Millicent died. And none of the gentlemen had been named Fletcher.

She shrugged. “He was tall. With blond hair and piercing blue eyes. Quite handsome, if a trifle…worldly, for my taste. He was aged in his midthirties and fashionably dressed.”

“And he claimed his name was Fletcher?”

Darcy frowned. “What do you mean, claimed? Is that not his name?”

If Darcy’s gentleman caller was who Ranulf was beginning to suspect he was, then no, his name was most certainly not Fletcher.

Nor should he be anywhere near London.

Or Ranulf.

Most especially nowhere near
Darcy
.

“You obviously know who this man is.”

Ranulf raised his head, easily able to discern the uncertainty in her expression.

She also looked very beautiful, and very young. Her face was pale, her hair loose about her slender shoulders, and she wore only a robe over her night rail.

Very beautiful.

Very young.

And so very vulnerable.

No doubt it was the latter the other man had meant to convey to him by calling on Darcy when he knew Ranulf was not at home.

Which meant he had been watching Winterbourne House.

That he must have witnessed their arrival back in London yesterday, and waited until he knew Ranulf had gone out this morning, before presenting himself to Darcy and issuing those dire warnings as to Ranulf’s intentions toward her.

No doubt he knew Darcy would report the details of that conversation back to him.

Or not.

In which case, Darcy would have continued to harbor those doubts about him inside her, like a festering wound.

Either way, the bastard knew he had won.

Ranulf’s jaw tensed. “Did you believe him? That I killed Millicent? That I will do the same to you when I am tired of you?”

“No, of course not,” she answered exasperatedly. “You did not kill Millicent, and you can hardly go around killing all the women with whom you have had an affair since.”

“You did not believe him for even a moment? Of course you did,” Ranulf scoffed as a pained frown creased her brow. “It is the reason you retired to bed with a headache.” He breathed in deeply. “There have been no other women with whom I have had an affair. Before or after Millicent’s death.”

“But you said—”

“I said that I had not been without the physical comfort of a woman since Millicent’s death. Those liaisons were only ever of one night’s duration, never affairs.”

“So I am your first…”

Ranulf laughed bitterly. “Not an enviable distinction, if your gentleman caller is to be believed!”

“I told you, I did not believe a word he said.” Darcy eyed him impatiently. “His visit upset me, yes. And I will not deny some of the things he said gave me reason to pause for a second or two. But that is all it was, a second or two. I know you, Ranulf, and I do not believe for a moment you had a hand in Millicent’s death. My headache was not caused by a lack of faith in you. He was… There was something… He frightened me, Ranulf.” Her eyes filled with tears. “And you were not here to reassure me.”