Captured by a Gentleman (Regency Unlaced 6) (3 page)

Darcy eyed Ranulf warily as she heard the anger in his tone, unsure if that anger was directed toward her or her uncle.

Nor did she particularly care. She had managed to safely depart London without detection, taking with her only those personal items, and clothing she had deemed absolutely necessary. No matter what Ranulf Montgomery believed or did not believe, what he said or did, she had no intention of ever returning to her uncle’s house in London.

“You are unwilling?”

“Of course I am unwilling!” Darcy gasped. “He is an old man. An ugly, disgusting old man who does not care for me either. I am only ‘a convenient quim living in his house, young and ripe for him to stick his cock into.’” A sob caught in her throat as she quoted that man’s words to her. “Even the thought of him touching me…in such an intimate manner causes the nausea to rise in my throat.”

Ranulf was surprised to hear such crude terms as “quim” and “cock” coming out of this young woman’s mouth. Words more suited to a common tavern or a brothel.

Or the words of a lecherous old man when he was explaining their future relationship to a much younger woman.

Proof that Darcy spoke the truth?

The genuine anguish of her expression and the trembling of her body seemed to indicate that might indeed be the case.

Not only was Sugdon this girl’s uncle by marriage, but Darcy did bear that resemblance in looks to the man’s own daughter. And Millicent had feared being returned to her father’s house so much, she had risked her life by trying to ride a stallion totally unfamiliar to her, and been thrown to her death by doing so. Was it possible Sugdon had ever…?

Ranulf’s thoughts veered sharply away from answering that question. Until a few months ago, Sugdon’s long-suffering wife had still been alive to share the old bastard’s bed. And satisfy his physical lusts.

If
Darcy was telling the truth, Ranulf could well understand why she had felt the need to flee London so urgently.

He understood, but still had no intention of taking her the rest of the way to Scotland with him. He had lived completely alone for the past eight months, occasionally calling on his cousin and his wife at nearby Castle Montgomery when he was at home in Cairn House. But for the most part, he had kept his own company.

Licking your wounds,
his cousin Sin had called it, along with the advice:
the best way to forget one woman is to bed another
. Easy for Sin to say, when he was so happily married to the lovely and fiercely loyal Fliss. Besides, Millicent had not been merely a woman but Ranulf’s wife, and no matter how many women he had bedded since, he had never once forgotten his wife’s duplicity or the cynicism he now felt toward all women.

He had made this recent visit to London only because he had several business matters to attend to. As soon as that was done to his satisfaction, including returning Millicent’s dowry to her father, he had departed immediately for Scotland.

Only to now discover he had not departed alone.

How could he possibly, in all conscience, send Darcy Ambridge back to her uncle’s house after the things she had just told him?

Even taking into account her young age, and perhaps a too-vivid imagination, it was surely not possible for her to have imagined Sugdon touching her or stating he intended to start visiting her in her bedchamber at night. The crudeness of the language she had used to describe Sugdon’s intentions certainly sounded more like the arrogant lord than this young lady of Society.

So what was Ranulf to do with her, if he could not, in all conscience, send her back to London and her guardian?

The immediate answer to that was to feed her. She had been stuck in that stuffy carriage all day, possibly without food and water. The time it took them to eat dinner would give Ranulf more time to consider how much of Darcy’s story he believed and how best to deal with it.

He sighed. “Firstly, I believe, having been confined to the carriage all day, you must now have need of the ladies’ retiring room?”

“I do, yes.” The color once again blazed in her cheeks. “And secondly?”

“You may join me for dinner— Only if you agree to keep your distance,” he said firmly and holding up a stilling hand as Darcy would have launched herself into his arms in gratitude. “This habit you have of throwing yourself at a gentleman is perhaps responsible for Sugdon having thought you were open to the idea of his bedding you.” Ranulf immediately felt guilty for his cruelty, as Darcy drew her breath in sharply and the color drained from her face.

Nevertheless, she kept her chin proudly raised. “I assure you, I have never willingly touched my uncle. Nor will I. I would rather enter a convent.” This statement was joined by a telling shudder of revulsion.

Understandably so, considering Sugdon was at least thirty years this girl’s senior, and rotund and tending to baldness besides. All of which could have been excused if the woman Sugdon had set his amorous sights on had returned that interest. Darcy most assuredly did not.

“Your predilection for drama seems to match your penchant for physically expressing overenthusiastic…affections,” Ranulf drawled dismissively. “I suggest you curb doing both those things whilst you are in my company.”

Darcy would cease talking and moving altogether if only Ranulf would agree to take her farther away from London. It need not be all the way to Scotland. Another hundred, even two hundred miles, might suffice. She could make her own arrangements for the future once she was a safe distance from London.

Her main emotion yesterday evening had been shock at being spoken to so crudely and with such lewd intentions, quickly followed by panic as she realized she must escape London, and her uncle, as soon as possible.

Knowing of Ranulf Montgomery’s departure for Scotland this morning had seemed like a godsend. A sign telling her what she needed to do.

Darcy had taken that action without hesitation, stealing away from her uncle’s home early this morning before making her way to Winterbourne House. There were two carriages being prepared for Ranulf’s journey in the cobbled courtyard at the back of the house, and it did not take long for Darcy to learn which one was to carry the luggage.

She had waited until the carriage was fully loaded, the grooms having gone back inside the house for their breakfast, before she hurried to secrete herself amid that luggage, to avoid detection. She had breathed a sigh of relief when the two carriages left Winterbourne House within the hour, Ranulf in the more luxurious landau in front, Darcy safely hidden in the more practical town carriage.

Except that gentleman was now obviously angry with her having taken such action.

Well, she could not help that. Desperate needs called for desperate measures, and Darcy’s need to leave London had been very desperate indeed.

Besides, Ranulf was at least offering to feed her—and listen further to her plea?—rather than continuing to dismiss her out of hand.

“Are there no other relatives you might go to for sanctuary?” Ranulf prompted once they had eaten in silence for several minutes.

Darcy had not given food or water a second thought when she carried out her plan to hide in this man’s carriage, and she was now both ravenously hungry and thirsty. The meat pie, with gravy oozing from within the depths of the delicate pastry, tasted delicious. Likewise, the wine which accompanied the simple meal.

Her initial ravenous hunger having been satisfied, Darcy now dabbed her lips lightly with her napkin before answering him. “One.”

“Then why did you not go to them for help?”

Darcy’s gaze remained fixed on him. “I did.”

“But— You are referring to me?” Ranulf looked astounded.

She gave a tight smile at his obvious horror. “You were married to my cousin. That means the two of us are now related by marriage.”

“I— But— This is preposterous!” Ranulf pushed his chair noisily back from the table before standing to commence pacing the confines of the parlor.

He realized as he did so that he had allowed himself to be lulled into a false sense of good will and well-being these past few minutes, no doubt from the effects of the ale earlier, good food, and a not too-disgusting flagon of wine.

The thought had even occurred to him of how pleasant it was to sit at the dinner table with a beautiful young woman rather than eating alone. Darcy Ambridge’s thick and glossy red-gold hair was a perfect foil for her black mourning gown, both revealed when she took off her bonnet and cloak. The dark color gave a glow to the delicate ivory of her skin.

She was a beautiful young woman who now claimed a familial relationship with him.

Darcy shrugged narrow shoulders. “Preposterous or not, it is the truth.”

And she was now attempting to claim
him
as the one relative who could save her from the lecherous attentions of her uncle.

Ranulf glared down at her, his appetite having completely deserted him. “I recognize no such relationship.”

“Whether you choose to recognize it or not, I assure you, it exists.” She gave a decisive nod. “Indeed, the relationship between the two of us is as strong as that which exists between Lord Sugdon and myself. Which means you are equally as qualified to become my guardian.”

Ranulf continued to pace, and the more he thought of the situation, the more he realized, whether he wished it or not, within the eyes of Society, at least, that would indeed be the case. He knew of guardianships which existed with far less tenuous family ties than the one Darcy Ambridge was now claiming to have with him.

Damn it to hell, was he never to be free of the Sugdon family? Never to be allowed to put that disastrous marriage behind him and allowed to live his life in peace?

Darcy is not a Sugdon
.

No, she was not. And through no fault of her own—except her unquestionable beauty—it seemed she had been given no choice but to flee her uncle’s home or fall prey to Sugdon’s lust-filled advances.

Damn the man.

Damn Cecil Sugdon to the hell he belonged.

Ranulf released a heavy sigh. He may have become hardened, cynical, these past eight months, but his ingrained principles of right and wrong gave him no choice but to become involved in this situation after all. “In the morning, I will accompany you back to London. Once there, I will talk to Sugdon myself—”

“When my uncle will deny all knowledge of your accusations,” she scoffed.

“I said I will talk to him, not make accusations.” Ranulf eyed her impatiently. “One cannot simply enter another man’s home and accuse him of…of…”

“His intention to rape me on a nightly basis?” Darcy finished challengingly. “Because that is what it would be. I will not go back there for any reason.” She stood, her expression one of stubborn determination as she faced Ranulf. “He would punish me and then bed me as soon as you were out the door.”

He stilled. “He beats you?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. But he will most certainly find some way in which to punish me for having run away from him,” she stated with certainty. “And for having now involved you.”

Ranulf had no doubt she was right. As far as Society was concerned, Sugdon was a respectable and respected member of the government. As such, the other man could not have wayward nieces-by-marriage roaming about the countryside, making accusations he intended to rape her. The fact Darcy had made those accusations to Ranulf, a man Sugdon knew had every reason to despise him, would place Darcy in a very precarious position if Ranulf returned her to the Sugdon household.

He frowned. “He will have realized you are missing by now. Probably has people out looking for you.”

“I would rather throw myself under the wheels of your carriage in the hope of killing myself than ever return to that man’s home.”

Ranulf raised his eyes heavenward, as if seeking guidance from above at this further melodrama. But all that was revealed to him was the stained ceiling of the inn’s rustic parlor. “I believe I requested that you desist acting out your penchant for melodrama in my presence,” he snapped.

“It cannot be called melodrama if it is the truth.”

He gave a pained frown as he recognized, from the calm dignity of Darcy’s expression, that she meant every word she said. She would rather kill herself than risk being subjected to Sugdon’s unwanted nightly passions.

“
Fuck!
” The expletive left Ranulf’s lips before he had a chance to stop it.

Darcy smiled ruefully. “I believe that was the word Lord Sugdon used to describe what he wished to do to me.”

Oh good Lord…

Ranulf resumed his agitated pacing. “Qualified to be your guardian or not, I cannot carry you off without informing Sugdon of what I am doing!”

“I do not see why not. Unless you do not believe me?” She sighed heavily. “If you do not believe me, when you obviously do not like my uncle, how can I expect anyone else to do so?”

Ranulf was aware his thoughts were vacillating as to whether or not he should believe this young woman. After months of making decisive, even ruthless decisions, he did not like the feeling any more than Darcy did. “I did not say I do not believe you.”

“Your desire to send me back to my uncle implies it.” She looked at him with unblinking brown eyes. “Tell me, how will you be able to sleep in your bed at night, once you are back in Scotland, knowing that hundreds of miles away, I am being subjected to unspeakable intimacies I have neither encouraged nor want?”

Ranulf had been asking himself the same question…

“Unspeakable intimacies?” he repeated dryly. “I do not believe you had any problem speaking of them a few minutes ago. Quite graphically, as I recall.”

A blush colored her cheeks. “I have to admit, I did not understand all the words my uncle spoke to me yesterday, but I believe I caught his meaning well enough.”

Oh, more than well enough, if Sugdon had used such crude terms to describe his lascivious intentions. And had obviously been physically excited by doing so.

Ranulf huffed out a breath. “I am a widower. My household is that of a single gentleman. There is no other woman in my life to act as chaperone, nor will there ever be.”