Chapter Nineteen

Though he was fatigued to the point of misery, Richard made it home just as the sun rose over the townhouses across the street. He was aching for his bed…for the sleep that didn’t come no matter how hard he tried. He tossed and turned, twisting his sheets into a mess of silk and sweat, but he couldn’t get comfortable. Couldn’t get his mind to quiet. Couldn’t stop thinking about Victoria, dressed as darkness made flesh, moving as though she were a living weapon.

Her movements had been like a dance—a lethal dance that easily toppled his assailant and disarmed him. And thoughts of his near-death ate at him until he was so tense, his body vibrated from it.

Who was that man and why had he tried to kill him? If it were a simple robbery, why kill him first? No, it was more than that. Whoever that man was, he’d been waiting for Richard to leave.

The number of questions rose until he couldn’t close his eyes without seeing the list unfurl before him, like an endless parchment scroll, rolling off the edge of the earth.

As the clock on the mantel struck nine, he slid from the bed, ringing for his valet. Richard was washed, dressed, shaved, and fed by the time the clock in his study toned eleven times. He’d be early to the Darings’, but he couldn’t make himself care over it.

He was anxious, apprehensive, but mostly…angry. He wanted to sit down with Victoria Daring and finally ask the questions he’d been harboring since that night in the earl’s study. Since the night Victoria had crashed into his life holding a drinks tray, wearing a hideous red wig.

With his emotions forced back behind the facade of the carefree gentleman, he rode to St. George Street, his frustrations rising each second. Would she answer his questions? Would she tell him what she learned from the man she’d taken? When would his life return to what it was before, comfortable and predictable?

But was that what he really wanted?

No. Since meeting Victoria, he’d discovered a penchant for deceptively dangerous Darings. At first, his interest in her had been purely physical; she’d felled him with her eyes. But soon, the mystery of her had filled him to the point of obsession.

He had to know her.

But what of the danger?

Could he continue along this path, driven by curiosity and obsession, despite the obvious danger seemingly surrounding her? For God’s sake, she’d saved his life from a knife-wielding blackguard.

Drawing up before the house, he alighted and climbed the stairs he’d first seen little Miss Faith somersaulting down, before knocking on the door. Within a minute, the sour-faced butler opened the door.

“Lord Richard Downing, here to see Lady Victoria Daring,” he intoned, somewhat annoyed at the man’s unpleasant mien.

The man tipped back on his heels and stared down his nose at Richard. “You are early,” the man drawled flatly, making Richard fight a cringe. “I am to inform you that you are to round the house and enter through the back door. You will be directed to the lady from there.”

He closed the door in Richard’s face before he could open his mouth to ask what the hell the man meant. Even the servants in the Daring house were impertinent.

He strangled a laugh at that, wondering if he’d gone mad.

Turning around, he headed back down the stairs, then spun to look up at the house. There was a wrought iron fence around the perimeter, but just to the left was a small gate. He made his way there, opening the soundless gate to enter the side garden. There was little to recommend the space other than a few nooks where one could take a defiant miss to kiss the impudence from her luscious mouth.

His belly tightened at the thought of finally taking the deep, decadent kiss he’d been yearning for since the ball. She’d be fiery, taste of spice, and would consume him as nothing else could—he knew it. Could feel it in his bones.

But he couldn’t take a kiss from Victoria, not without taking the risk of giving her everything.

The back door was a short distance from the path through the side garden. Once on the narrow doorstep, he knocked. The door was opened immediately by the short woman Miss Faith had called Ping-Na. He could guess that she had come with them from their post in the Orient, but he wondered why she’d chosen to do so?

As if you wouldn’t follow Victoria across a continent… He cursed silently.

Opening his mouth, he repeated the announcement he’d offered the butler at the front door, and the woman pulled the door open wider, indicating he should step inside. It was rather circumspect, his sneaking in through the back door, but he knew Victoria wanted to keep what occurred last night secret. Which wasn’t a surprise: if her father discovered that his eldest child was skulking about, confronting peers of the realm and battling armed fiends, he would probably have an apoplectic fit.

“You early,” Ping-Na snapped before pursing her lips. Richard sighed. “She upstairs. Third floor,” Ping-Na said, pointing toward the back staircase just off the kitchen.

The kitchen was warm—filled with servants cooking, cleaning up after what looked like a morning of baking, and preparing for the evening meal, but that warmth had nothing on how hot it got the higher up he climbed. Once on the third floor, he was tempted to remove his coat and roll up his sleeves to ease some of his discomfort.

He reached the third-floor landing and paused. He didn’t know what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t the sounds of grunts, flesh slapping against flesh, and sharp shouts.

Was Victoria in trouble? Heart pounding, he rushed toward the open door at the end of the corridor, skidding to a halt at the threshold.

No, he certainly wasn’t expecting what he found.

Victoria, dressed the same as the night before, was standing before Verity, who was dressed similarly, and they were circling one another, their faces drenched in sweat, their expressions hard, their gazes locked on their opponents: each other.

In a blink, Verity struck out with her hand, catching Victoria in the chest, but Victoria grabbed Verity’s extended arm and held fast, landing her own blow to Verity’s exposed belly.

Verity grunted, trying to loose her arm from Victoria’s hold. But Victoria wasn’t done—she swept out her right leg, catching Verity at the ankles, which made Verity fall backward, her eyes wide. She landed on her hind end with an oompf.

Victoria placed a knee on Verity’s chest and pressed her palm into her sister’s throat.

“Yield,” Victoria demanded, her muscles straining against a struggling Verity. “Yield!” she demanded again. And with a strangled yell, Verity went limp, allowing her arms to fall to her sides.

Richard stood there, awestruck by what he’d just witnessed.

Victoria moved with such deadly grace, such speed, and she struck with strength. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he never would have known Victoria Daring—and her sister—were thus skilled.

“Where did you learn to do that?” he found himself asking.

Victoria startled, snapping her head around to face him. Her eyes flashing, her chest rising and falling from her exertion, she looked magnificent.

“Let me up, Vic,” Verity ordered, and Victoria turned back to her sister, gazed down at her, and laughed. She lifted her hand from Verity’s neck and pushed herself up to a crouch—she looked like a predator, watching, ready to pounce.

Verity scrambled to her feet, huffing out a breath, and Victoria rose to standing, elegant, graceful, stunning. They both laughed this time, grinning at one another in a moment of camaraderie.

Verity grabbed a small towel from a rack and wiped at her face. “Lord Richard,” she said. “Glad you could come.” Her gaze landed on her sister, and an unspoken conversation flicked between them. Victoria grimaced, but Verity grinned, turning back to Richard. “I will leave you two to it. Victoria, I will see you at dinner.”

She dipped a quick curtsey and parted, leaving Richard and Victoria standing in the middle of a sweltering room, staring at one another silently.

A slight grin playing at her beautiful lips, Victoria pulled back her shoulders and began, “I suppose you have even more questions now…”

He pulled at his cravat, which seemed to be wilting in the heat, and answered, “The list continues to grow, yes—starting with, is it always so hot up here?”

She nodded. “You are early,” she remarked, and he had to grunt at yet another reminder of his unnecessary urgency. “If you’d arrived at the appointed time, we’d be in the much cooler parlor. Feel free to remove your coat and cravat; they cannot be comfortable. And I do not care so much about formalities like appropriate dress and undress.”

Looking at her, taking in what she was wearing, he smiled. “I can see that.”

He tugged on his cravat again, this time loosing it completely. Unbuttoning his coat, he began to peel the thick material from his shoulders but stopped; Victoria was watching his every movement, a crackling fire in her eyes. It was a look he was accustomed to: desire.

Swallowing, he wondered if it were possible for him to get any hotter as he divested himself of his coat and tossed it onto the floor by the door. His cravat quickly followed. And now he was standing there in his waistcoat and shirt, his body tense, his heart thudding…

He needed to distract himself, for his thoughts about Victoria would get him nowhere, and right now he wanted answers. His gaze flicked to her lips, which were pursed. Was she thinking the same things he was? Was she wondering what it would feel like to press her lips against his, to taste him, to fill her body with the scent and heat of him?

Likely not…

Victoria cleared her throat. “I would offer you a seat, but”—she raised her arms—“as you can see, there is nowhere to sit.”

He finally let his gaze wander around the room. It was a large space with a strange-looking mat in the center, three full-body targets, and a wall displaying row upon row of swords, daggers, and wicked-looking metal stars. He recognized two of the blades, one of which was the same sword she’d worn the night before. In the glaring sunlight, the sharpened blade reflected the sunshine. Beside it a set of rapiers hung.

“You admire my collection?” she asked, coming to stand beside him. He didn’t have to look at her to know she was staring at him; he could feel her gaze like a blaze along his skin.

He swallowed. “I do.”

The weight of the silence following could sink a ship.

“Victoria, you promised to answer every one of my questions,” he intoned, desperate to lift the weight.

He turned, surprised to see a stunning smile on her face.

“I will, but first…spar with me.”