Darcy Darlington and the Diamond of Desire by Maya Rodale

Darcy darlington and the diamond of desire

Chapter Four ~ In which our heroine goes undercover.

After she and Tristan managed a lucky escape from The Evil Lord Hartshorne’s house, Darcy knew she needed more than another midnight jaunt. More time was essential; unfettered access to the entire mansion would be perfect. The position of housemaid was the perfect ruse.

It had been surprisingly easy to gain employ as a housemaid in the service of the Evil Lord Hartshorne. One quick interview with the housekeeper, Mrs. Betts, along with forged letters of reference, was all it took.

She told her parents that she was going to visit her best friend, Hester Banbury. Hester always covered for her. Darcy’s mother did not mind in the slightest, so long as her daughter returned in time to help decorate for the charity ball she hosted to raise funds for the recently founded Society for the Prevention of Cruelty for Animals. With a promise that she would be back in a week, Darcy donned her worst dress and went to the residence of the Evil Lord Hartshorne.

The house was exactly what one would expect of a recluse. She hadn’t seen much at her last visit. Apparently, there wasn’t much more to see. Almost all of the curtains were kept shut, shrouding the house in a perpetual darkness, only occasionally broken by sconces or candles. Rooms were shut off, and the furniture was hidden under the protective covering of large sheets—like large, disfigured ghosts, huddling on the floor.

It was the silence, though, that unnerved Darcy the most. Her home was never quiet—not with six dogs, countless cats, a cage full of canaries, and a parrot. It was boisterous and lively, whereas this place was like a tomb.

After three days of dusting, polishing, sweeping, and scrubbing, Darcy was weary in both body and spirit. She had not found even one tiny clue about the location of the necklace, or even its existence. She wondered, more than once, if Felicia Weatherby had lied to her.

But Darcy was not a quitter. She had made it three days in the house of the Evil Lord Hartshorne, and she was not going to leave before she at least did a thorough search of his personal apartments.

Midnight, naturally, was the perfect time to do so. She wore her charcoal grey maids’ uniform, minus the white apron usually pinned to the front. Just in case, she carried an unlit candle, firmly wedged in a very heavy silver candlestick. Darcy had long ago learned it was better to be safe than sorry.

Her chamber, along with those of the other servants, was on the fourth floor. Taking care with every step, Darcy made her way along the darkened hall by instinct. She grabbed onto the banister to guide her as she went down the stairs. Twenty-seven of them. She had counted earlier.

On the third floor, all was utterly silent and completely dark. She took small steps, with her fingers tracing along the wall, allowing them to be her eyes for her. First door on the left—she knew that led to a guest chamber. Second door—ditto. Third—the Evil Lord’s bedchamber. Fourth—the Evil Lord’s personal sitting room.

Darcy could hear the crackle of a roaring fire, which explained the light seeping from the bottom of the door. Setting down the candlestick by her side, she bent over and peeked through the keyhole. A very disappointing view.

She could, and probably should, return to her bed. Or…

Darcy took a deep breath and turned the doorknob so very slowly, and gently. Nary a creak, thank goodness, as she pushed the door open just a crack. She peered through the slight opening and saw the Evil Lord himself. She had only caught a glimpse of him once or twice since she had arrived.

The Evil Lord Hartshorne was sprawled in a large wing chair placed adjacent to the fire and mostly facing the doorway. If he were to lift his head and stare straight ahead he would see her. She prayed he wouldn’t.

It was very obvious the man consumed little other than alcohol. Though he had the frame and posture of a tall, proud man, he was just too skinny to be truly imposing. Pale papery skin was stretched taut over the bones of his face, accentuating the hollows of his cheekbones and his dominating nose. His eyes were dark, dull, and lifeless. His hair was black, streaked with grey, and it was a mess.

Pity, really, Darcy thought. He could be a fine looking gentleman, if only he ate a few proper meals and took in some sunlight. He could only be forty or so, but he looked like death.

His attention focused upon a flat wooden box resting on his lap. His large hands curled around the sides of it. Oh, God, was the necklace in that box? It was the perfect size for it. She could just imagine the velvet lining softly cradling the hard rocks.

The Evil Lord Hartshorne reached for a crystal decanter, resting at his feet. He took a sip of the dark amber liquid straight from the bottle. He winced slightly.

A log turned and fell in the fire, and Darcy nearly shrieked from the surprise of it.

Darcy watched as he lifted his hands to his neck and began to unwind his cravat. Round and round he untwisted the snowy linen, ducking his head to facilitate its removal. Once removed, he tugged it taut in his hands a few times, looking up in her general direction, and Darcy assumed the worst. One could be strangled with it, gagged, hands bound—all manners of torture that she, as a young lady, should not know about. But she was not any young miss, and even though her heart felt as if it were beating in her throat, so great was her fear at the moment, she stayed.

The Evil Lord dropped the length of fabric on the floor, next to the decanter.

His large hands reached up, to the back of his neck. Darcy was confused until she saw that he removed a cord with a key on it.

She had a sinking feeling she would need to obtain that key.

The Evil Lord slid the key into the lock, twisted it once to the left and pushed back the lid. Darcy could not see the contents of the box. But Hartshorne’s looked stonily upon it. His mouth curved into a reluctant smile, which didn’t last long. He caressed whatever was in the box.

Put it back, Darcy thought, so I can see where you keep it.

Or had she spoken aloud?

Hartshorne looked up and straight in her direction. She didn’t think that he could see her, for she had only opened the door the slightest crack, and she was covered by the darkness.

Hartshorne set the box on the floor and stood. It was time to go. Now. Darcy pulled the door shut and turned to flee only to discover the hem of her dress caught in the closed door.

She gave it a good yank and nearly fell on her bottom when the fabric ripped and set her free. But would she escape in time? Or would the Evil Lord Hartshorne catch her?

To Be Continued…

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