London Temptations: Historical Regency Romance Collection Page 38

  “There is no need for you to stay.”

  Lord Farrington’s voice was low and dark, sending a tremor through Josephine.

  “Just put the tray down and depart,” he told her, a hint of anger in his voice. “And tell your master that I have nothing to say.”

  “If—if you please,” Josephine replied in a meek voice. “My master—I mean, my uncle, will not permit such an answer.”

  This, it seemed, captured Lord Farrington’s attention for he lifted his head from the pillow at once to look at her, only to drop it back with a groan. His head must still be rather painful, Josephine realized, feeling a trifle guilty about just how hard he had been struck. Although she had not hurt him herself, Josephine knew that she was the one responsible for it.

  “Your uncle,” Lord Farrington murmured, still keeping his head back and remaining on the bed, entirely unmoving. “Your uncle is the one to keep me here?”

  “I do not know why,” Josephine replied quickly. “It is only that I have been given instructions as to what I must do. I have no notion as to why.”

  Nothing more was said for some minutes, save for the rustling of Josephine’s skirts as she sat down in a chair, intending to make it quite plain to Lord Farrington that she had no intention of departing, despite his request.

  “I have been captured and my jailer is the niece of the man who has done so,” she heard him mutter, half to himself. She remained where she was, saying nothing and praying that he would rouse himself and make his way toward her.

  Eventually, and to her very great relief, he soon did so. With a grimace on his lips and slow, careful steps, Lord Farrington eventually left the comfort of the bed and came toward her. Josephine lifted her eyes to his, knowing that he could not see her face yet fearing that he could, somehow, look directly past the veil and into her eyes.

  Thankfully, he stopped a short distance away from her, tilting his head to look at her for a few moments. There was no recognition in his expression, no awareness as to who she truly was and for that, Josephine was profoundly grateful. He had not recognized her voice then, which made her disguise quite perfect.

  “You are veiled.”

  It was not a question but rather a statement to which Josephine had no other choice but to agree. She nodded and tried to smile, knowing that he would be able to see her lips at the very least.

  “Why are you so?”

  “I am in mourning,” she replied quickly. “And besides which, my uncle does not want to see my face. Thus, you will find me so.”

  Lord Farrington harrumphed and sat down in a seat a short distance away from her. He eyed her speculatively, making Josephine worry that he was able to tell she had been lying to him from the very first moment she had stepped inside.

  “Is there something wrong with your face?” he asked, his words blunt and cruel. “Is there something that would frighten me terribly?”

  She shook her head, her veil lifting just a fraction and sending fear pouring into Josephine’s heart. With frantic fingers, she adjusted it carefully, seeing how Lord Farrington still watched her.

  “My uncle is waiting for me to return to him,” she said, gesturing to the door with one hand. “I must appear as I am at present when I go to him. And whilst I bear no injury, my features are very similar to those of my mother, and her death has torn a great chasm into both my life and that of my uncle. They were very close, you understand.”

  Lord Farrington let out a sigh and waved a hand, looking away from her with disinterest. “That is coffee, I hope?”

  Josephine leaned forward quickly and poured first a coffee for Lord Farrington and then tended to herself. She did not rise to hand the cup to him for fear of what he might do when she came near to him but rather pointed to it before sitting back in her seat, a cup of tea and saucer in her hand. Her anxiety had lessened significantly, to the point that she was able now to think clearly and without worry. Lord Farrington did not recognize her, and for the moment, that was all she needed to be certain of.

  With a grunt, Lord Farrington rose and picked up his cup of coffee before going to sit back down again. His eyes studied her, landing on the veil and looking at every corner of it as though he could find a small chink somewhere by which he might spy her features. Taking a sip of her tea, Josephine looked back at him directly, feeling her confidence growing with every moment that passed.

  “So,” Lord Farrington said, lifting one eyebrow, “what is it that you are to speak to me of?”

  Josephine pretended to be confused. “Speak to you about, my lord?”

  “Yes, yes,” Lord Farrington replied, waving a hand irritably. “You are, of course, to come and tell me what crime I have committed, what mistake I have made that is so dreadful as to be worthy of such a punishment as this.”

  Making sure not to immediately reply so as to give the impression of confusion, Josephine saw the worry enter into Lord Farrington’s expression and felt her satisfaction grow.

  “I am not certain that there is anything specific I am to mention to you, Lord Farrington,” she said slowly, making sure to take her time with what she said. “I believe that my uncle said that you would know very well what it was that you had done.”

  Lord Farrington’s eyes flared and he looked away, clearly a little troubled.

  “I—I am sorry if that displeases you,” Josephine continued hastily, “but that is all I have been told. Oh, and that it was not something that occurred recently but rather something that happened some time ago.” She wanted to give the specified time but chose not to do so, knowing that it would, most likely, alert him to the truth of her identity.

  “Well, that is of very little help,” Lord Farrington retorted, slamming down his coffee cup so that the coffee spilled over the side and onto the saucer below. “In case you are entirely unaware, I am not the sort of gentleman who has only had one example of a mistake in judgment.” He threw up his hands and then, clearly in a state of distress, threw himself out of the chair. “I have made many a mistake, many an error—although I shall not say that I regret or am sorry for them all.”

  Josephine’s anger burned hot, but she contained it easily enough.

  “And you say you have nothing else to tell me?” Lord Farrington demanded, swinging around on his heel and striding toward her, making Josephine cling to the arms of her chair as a sudden fright took a hold of her. What if he ripped her veil from her face? What if he acted in a way that she had not expected? Then what would she do? Instinctively, she raised her arms, her hands in front of her face as she turned her head to the side, only for silence to fall all around her.

  She turned her face back to him slowly and was astonished to see the shock that captured his expression. His eyes were wide, his jaw a little slack, and his face rather pale. Slowly, Josephine dropped her hands back to the arms of the chair, surprised at Lord Farrington’s reaction.

  “I should never strike you, my lady,” she heard him say, his voice rasping. “Even though I am in great distress, I should never raise a finger to you. You need not have any fear of me.”

  Letting out a slow breath, Josephine nodded, feeling the tension between them begin to fade away. “I am glad, Lord Farrington.”

  He looked at her, his expression twisted, before he turned away to make his way toward the window. Once there, he leaned on the windowsill with both hands, his shoulders hunched as his head lowered. He was, Josephine considered, something of a pitied figure at this juncture, even though she herself was quite determined not to allow any such emotion to take over her heart.

  “I do not even know your name,” she heard him say, “and yet you know mine.”

  “But that is all I know,” Josephine lied, rising to her feet. “And you shall not know my name, Lord Farrington, for it is not permitted.”

  Lord Farrington turned around to face her, his eyes searching her veil again as though he were desperate to see her as she truly was. A long, heavy breath left his body, pulled from him as he shook his h
ead and ran one hand through his hair.

  “I am to be left here, then.”

  “Only until…” Josephine hesitated, as though she were struggling to recall the precise words that had been given to her. “You are to remain here until you have admitted to the wrong you have done,” she said without any flicker of emotion in her voice. “Once you have done so, you will be permitted to leave this house.”

  “And what if I am not certain as to what supposed wrongdoing is being spoken of?” Lord Farrington asked, his shoulders bunching as his hands tightened into fists. “What then?”

  Josephine could not help but smile, tilting her head just a little as she looked at him. “Then I fear, Lord Farrington, that you will be here for a very long time indeed.”

  8

  The days passed slowly, and Thomas found himself growing weary of his situation. Every morning he awoke to the smell of his breakfast tray already waiting for him and, try as he might, he could not seem to waken before it appeared so never once had the opportunity to speak to whoever it was that brought it. He had thought he might garner some sort of acquaintance with that particular person, be it maid or butler, but thus far, he had been foiled in his attempts to do so.

  The only other person to come in to see him every day was the veiled lady, who appeared both at luncheon and at dinner with a tray for him. They had spoken at length every day but, thus far, he had found himself unable to decipher anything more about her. The fact that he was, supposedly, to declare himself guilty of some crime to satisfy this uncle was not something he had any intention of doing; it was nearly impossible for him to confess to the exact sin he had committed since there had been so many.

  Sighing, Thomas ran one hand through his hair, rising to his feet to look out of the window, aware that his shirt was a trifle too small for him. He had awoken the previous day to find none of his clothes remained where he had left them, having been given night things only a few days ago. Thus, he had wandered around the room in vain, wondering where his clothes might now be, only to find fresh, clean clothes in a wardrobe to the side of the room. With no other option but to put them on, he had done so at once and had then waited furiously for the veiled lady to return so that he might demand to know where his clothes had gone.

  She had not seemed to be particularly concerned with his anger, however, stating that his clothes had been taken to be laundered and that she was glad that he had found the other clothes for him to wear.

  Leaning his head against the windowpane, Thomas let out a long sigh. No matter how hard he tried to throw his thoughts of his past behavior aside, being alone with his thoughts for much of the day was, unfortunately, bringing them all to his mind one after the other. It was not something that he was at all enjoying, for it was both painful and rather shameful to be reminded of such things. And yet, he had no intention of sharing any of them with the veiled lady, for to declare all of his poor choices would be to make something of a confession of them and that was not something he wanted to do.

  Hearing a few muffled voices from behind the closed door, Thomas chose to remain where he was. He had already attempted to escape but had been foiled almost at once. The lady had been knocked out of the way, but had been held safe by a butler, whilst two strong footmen had grabbed Thomas and returned him to his room again without hesitation.

  There had been no dinner that night and the veiled lady had not returned until late afternoon the following day. Thomas had been surprised that he had not struggled with hunger but rather with loneliness, realizing that his conversations with the lady were, in fact, the only things that he had to take a little happiness in. The rest was nothing but coldness and pain.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Farrington.”

  He did not turn around, waiting to hear the click of the door as it closed, the turning of the key in the lock. Both came as he had expected and his heart sank low. It was not as though he expected to be able to escape from this room at any time, given that he had already tried and failed, but he had hoped, in a strange way, that there was a little more trust between himself and the veiled lady now, to the point that perhaps she would have been willing to leave the door unlocked.

  “Your uncle,” he said, turning around suddenly to face her. “You have never once given me his name. And it has been almost a sennight now.”

  The veiled lady sat down and gestured to the tray that now sat waiting for him. “No, I have not,” she replied honestly. “But you have never asked. You have asked me for my name, certainly, but never for his.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Thomas remained precisely where he was, hoping that he projected a picture of strength. “I am not too certain that this uncle of yours has any true intention of allowing me to go, and I am a little surprised that he should send a woman to do what he himself ought to be doing instead.”

  The veiled lady laughed softly and Thomas stiffened. “I believe my uncle knows you very well,” she said with a small shrug. “He knows that you are best suited to conversing with ladies, are you not? And that you might, therefore, be more willing to speak to me about your evident failings.”

  This, Thomas could not deny but the words from her mouth made him shift uncomfortably, for he was rather discomfited to know that this gentleman, whoever he was, knew him as well as all that. Frowning, he looked back at the lady steadily, finding himself wondering what she looked like underneath her veil. He would never lift it from her face, of course, for he had seen how she had reacted when he had drawn near to her in anger. It was not his right to reveal her face, no matter how much he might wish to do so.

  “Tell me about your uncle,” he said slowly, coming to sit down near to her and trying to ignore the fact that his stomach was growling rather loudly. “Why does he wish to have me confess so?”

  The lady lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “My uncle is a hard man,” she replied with a small sadness to her voice that reached out toward Thomas’ heart. “I do as he bids me without question. I am sure that you have either grievously injured someone of his acquaintance or you have done something to deeply upset him instead. He is not a gentleman who will simply call you out for such a thing but rather one who will bide his time and wait for the correct opportunity for you to confess the truth.”

  Thomas grimaced. “And no doubt if I speak to you of it, the ton will know in an instant,” he muttered, unable to prevent himself from reaching out for the tray of soup and thickly buttered bread. “That is to be my punishment, no?”

  There came silence for a moment. “I could not say,” the lady replied eventually. “All I can tell you for certain is that the incident, whatever its nature, took place some time ago and that ever since, my uncle has been watching and waiting for you to either say or do something to admit to your part in it. That is all.” She spread her hands, which, Thomas noticed, were very delicate ones indeed. “I myself have very little status in my uncle’s household, Lord Farrington, and can only do as he asks.”

  “Might I ask,” he said, lifting another spoonful of soup to his mouth, “why it is that you wear black? Is it that you are in mourning?”

  The lady did not respond immediately but rather kept silent for some moments. Thomas did not say another word but instead chose to keep eating, wondering what she would say. There was no other explanation, surely, and a lady who was in her year of mourning would have very little freedoms to move about within society, which was, mayhap, another reason why she had been sent here as his jailer.

  “I lost someone close to me,” she said, her words clipped and her voice a little higher than before. “That is all. But it is not of importance.”

  Thomas chose to reserve judgment on the last part of her statement, wondering whether or not he would be able to find out more about this loss that she spoke of. It might be a way to draw closer to her in some way, perhaps a way to encourage her to speak to him, to confide in him—to get her to trust him.

  “You will not succeed.”

  The lady’s quiet voice sla
mmed hard into his thoughts, making him stop eating as he looked at her.

  “I can see what you are thinking, Lord Farrington,” she said, a coldness in her words that had not been present before. “You think of ways to try and manipulate me, to make certain that I will give you a way to escape from this room. But I can assure you that I am not so easily fooled or convinced. I have been given a task and it is one that I fully intend to undertake without delay or deviation.”

  Thomas chewed his bread slowly, looking at the veiled lady and wondering just how she had been able to see so much in his expression. Was it that she knew of his reputation, knew that she would be the one he would turn to? Or was it that she could simply see from the look in his eyes that he was intending not to do as he had been asked?

  “I shall leave you now.”

  She rose to her feet, her skirts swishing about her and her back straight and shoulders down. “Until this evening, Lord Farrington.”

  There was a clear anger in her manner, an irritation mayhap, that he had thought to treat her as he had done. Thomas felt desperation rise up within him, getting to his feet as the lady made her way to the door. “Wait, please!”

  She whirled around, her hands tight by her sides. “I do not think there is any need for me to remain, Lord Farrington,” she said icily. “You say nothing of importance every time I step into the room, you think that you can convince me to talk to my uncle, to remove you from this room by my own means simply because you will charm me enough to make me doubt my loyalty, but I can assure you that I will do no such thing.”

  Panic began to flood him as Thomas fought to keep his composure. “I have friends who will be wondering where I am. I am sure that they—”

  “Yes, Lord Warwick?” the lady replied, interrupting him. “I believe he is currently comforting Lady Fortescue.”