All I Ever Needed (15 page)

What she did was show him her right hook. It caught the hard edge of Eastlyn's jaw before he could dodge it, and the contact of knuckle and bone made a surprisingly solid sound in the quiet room. East managed to hold onto the lamp long enough to set it down on the writing desk. In almost the same motion he clamped his hand hard over Sophie's open mouth.

"You said you wouldn't scream," he whispered against her ear. Her reply was muffled by his palm, and East carefully lifted his hand a fraction. It was just enough for her to gasp, and Eastlyn could not properly temper his smile when he saw the tears in her eyes. "Hurt your hand, did it?"

She nodded.

"If it's a consolation to you, it was not without discomfort for me."

Discomfort? Sophie wanted to
howl
with the pain of it. She tried to shake out her hand, but the movement brought her fingers in contact with Eastlyn's hard thigh. The pain became a tingling that she felt all the way to her toes. The sensation was worse than her jammed knuckles, and she was suddenly completely still and thoroughly mortified.

"Here. Permit me to see." East turned her in his arms and lifted her hand for his inspection. He simultaneously worked his jaw from side to side.

In spite of his words, Sophie saw that he was indifferent to both her assaults. The solid punch and the accidental touch, neither were of import to him, and except for the slight flexing of his jaw, he appeared immune. Distracted by this realization, and not a little in awe of it, Sophie lent herself to his examination. By the time she realized it was more than her hand he was in want of seeing, it was too late. Her arm, below and above her elbow, was being scrutinized. The bruises were not so faint in better light, and with their telltale shape and the distance separating them, there was but one conclusion.

"Tremont?" Eastlyn asked.

"No."

"Dunsmore." He did not make it a question this time. East continued to study her arm and saw evidence that the most recent bruises were not the only ones. He doubted that any he could see were even the first. "The viscount has a penchant for treating you roughly."

Sophie shrugged lightly, not because it was of no consequence to her but because it was.

Eastlyn frowned. "Why, Sophie?"

"Because I am unreasonable, I suppose." She did not look at East now, but kept her eyes averted. "And disagreeable."

"You are both those things," he said, matter-of-fact.

Sophie's face lifted sharply, and her mouth parted, though speech deserted her.

She really had a very lovely mouth, Eastlyn thought, and there would be precious few opportunities to kiss it. He bent his head quickly and touched his lips to hers. She stared at him, perfectly wide-eyed as he did so. It made him smile, this look of naked astonishment, and the tip of his tongue tickled the underside of her lip as he straightened. He thought she might have leaned into him as they separated, mayhap reluctant to end the kiss. "You are shockingly impractical," he whispered, cupping her chin. "And of such a singular intelligence that you are bound to be made irritable by the impoverished minds around you. Even so, it is insufficient reason for you to be mauled."

Sophie could still sense the shape of his mouth on hers, and the urge was upon her to raise one hand to her lips to keep it there. He should not have done that, she thought, and then to follow it up, not with endearments or an apology, but with an accounting of her shortcomings (though an incomplete list), well, it was truly the outside of enough. The full effect was to render her speechless.

"I will speak to Dunsmore," East said. "It can—"

"No!"

"No?"

She supposed Eastlyn was unused to being opposed. "No. You mustn't." Lest there was any misunderstanding, Sophie shook her head for emphasis. "It cannot help but make things worse. You would not approve of interference in your affairs; it is the same for Harold."

"I am not in the practice of abusing women. Protection is one's duty to them, not rough treatment. If I were engaged in the latter, I hope someone would feel compelled to set me on a better course."

"You are muddled in the upperworks, though I don't suppose you can help it. It seems to be part and parcel of a chivalrous code. Like any knight, you are bent on making the noble rescue and have not asked if the right thing will be the most helpful thing. Oh, pray do not cock that eyebrow at me in just that superior manner. I am giving you the benefit of my singular intelligence, and your impoverished mind would be improved by listening." Having said this, she raised one honey-colored eyebrow and mirrored his rather lofty expression of moments ago. Eastlyn was no longer arrogant, but something approaching amused.

"If you were to speak to Harold," Sophie went on, "how would you explain coming by your knowledge? If you merely reported to him that you have my word of what was done to me, he would counter that I was given to exaggeration, or more likely, that it was an outright falsehood. If you give him the evidence of your own eyes, he will naturally want to discover how such a thing was possible. He believes that we last spoke a month ago. I think you will agree that it is better he remains under that misapprehension."

Eastlyn might have rocked back on his heels if he were given to such overt expressions of surprise. Years of negotiations and diplomacy had taught him that little was gained by putting his every emotion on display. "But I don't agree," he said calmly. His words had the effect of moving Sophie a fraction off her toes. She had not his years of experience to fall back on. "From my perspective it seems the surest way to offer the full measure of my protection would be through marriage, and the most certain method of bringing that end about would be to let your cousin know I was here this evening."

Sophie paled as all the blood in her body seemed to pool in her feet, rooting her where she stood. "You would not..." But her features showed the full measure of her uncertainty. "Pray, do not..." Her voice trailed away when she saw he was unmoved by her distress.

"It begs the question of why you allowed me to come here in the first place."

She frowned, not comprehending his point. "I could not have kept you out, it seems to me. You all but walk through walls."

In other circumstances, Eastlyn would have smiled at this ghostlike description of his skills. Diplomatic missions being what they sometimes were, he had indeed acquired a happy talent for unconventional entry that had served him well. "I asked permission to come inside," he reminded her, "and you gave it."

"You were standing below my window, conducting yourself in a manner that was certain to draw attention to the both of us." Her tone was pitched with exasperation now. "You cannot put me between Scylla and Charybdis and pretend I could have made a better choice."

The sound that came from Eastlyn's throat was something between strangled laughter and a suppressed cough. Between Scylla and Charybdis was precisely how Northam and South had described his predicament when they first learned of the engagement. The allusion still held, East thought, because his former mistress was much in the way Southerton saw her:
a seething whirlpool, the kind of female monster that could suck a man into her vortex and—"

"Are you all right?" Sophie asked. "Shall I fetch you a glass of water?"

East raised his hand, indicating that such was not necessary, though he could not quite gather words. He was recalling how Southerton had expanded his point, as he often did, in spite of East's protests that he was familiar with Homer.
"And Scylla... Wasn't she a nymph or something equally naughty before her appearance was changed?"
North, naturally enough, had been moved to offer his opinion:
"It does seem more fitting that Lady Sophia should be Scylla."
They had stopped their ribbing only when he removed the pistol from behind his back and threatened to shoot them both.

A pity he could not make the same threat now. "I will take that glass of water, if you please," he said instead.

Sophie removed herself to her dressing room where she poured fresh water from the porcelain pitcher on the washstand. Thinking the marquess did not know his own mind, Sophie nevertheless did not give him a piece of hers. She handed over the glass and watched him carefully as he drank, afraid he might come to choke again. When he had downed the last of it, she removed the glass from his hand and set it on her writing desk. "Better?" she asked.

"Infinitely. Thank you." He could not explain where his thoughts had taken flight. Lady Sophia did not strike him as one who would appreciate South's depiction of her as a nymph turned monster. In point of fact, he knew of no woman who would. It was the sort of observation best kept between men, he decided. There were so few secrets left to safeguard from women, it seemed prudent that this should be one of them.

"You will say nothing to Harold?" Sophie asked. "It shall be our secret?"

For a moment Eastlyn believed Sophie had plumbed his mind and plucked his last thought. "Secret?" he repeated in want of a moment to tidy his thinking. "Oh, yes. Yes, of course, I will say nothing to Dunsmore now, though you cannot depend upon my discretion always."

Afraid he would renege immediately, Sophie did not press for a more thorough promise than the one he gave her. She nodded faintly in acceptance.

Eastlyn knew she was in expectation of him leaving, but he was not done. "I would have the truth, Sophie, from your own lips. You are being confined here, are you not? A punishment, perhaps, for refusing my proposal?"

She hesitated, uncertain what she wanted to tell him that he had not already concluded on his own. "It is a confinement," she said, "but not precisely a punishment. More an attempt at coercion. My cousins think that you will still be amenable to marriage if I can be made to change my opinion of it."

"I see. And your opinion now is...?"

Sophie knew she could not afford to show the slightest indecision. No matter that this last month spent almost entirely alone had weakened her resolve, if she communicated this to Eastlyn, he would bring his own pressure to bear. Her defenses were not impregnable against so many assaults. "I am unchanged," she said. "A marriage between us would not suit. Any pretense of an engagement to satisfy the wags is unnecessary. I hope you will not concern yourself with my confinement. It is soon to be at an end. The earl is returning to Tremont Park, and I am to go with him. It will be a good change for me to rusticate in the country. If I am confined there, at least it will be on hundreds of acres."

Eastlyn had heard nothing about Tremont's plans to return to his country home and wondered if he could believe Sophie's assertion. Because of North's wedding and the necessity of returning to Battenburn, East had not yet taken Colonel Blackwood's assignment fully in hand. While he had studied the East India Company's proposal of a Singapore settlement, and spoken to several representatives from the Company, he had not arranged to meet with either Helmsley or Barlough. He had put off speaking to Tremont because of the man's desire to see Sophia married for financial gain; it was certain to be a factor in negotiations. The meeting, however, with the prime minister had proceeded well enough, with Liverpool reiterating to Eastlyn what the colonel had said: the settlement was a most desired outcome for the Crown.

But Sophie in the country? East thought. He was not as reassured by this turn of events as he considered he should be. It had been rather foolish of him, he supposed, but his imagination had been wandering in Sophie's direction upon seeing North and Elizabeth exchange vows. He had not been made so feeble-minded by the ceremony that he shared his thinking with anyone. There would have been wagers made immediately, and Eastlyn decided he should spare Sophie becoming the subject of one. Although the amounts the Compass Club risked were always absurdly small, they took the ventures if not quite seriously, then with humor that had a competitive edge.

"You will be gone long?" East asked for want of something better to say.

"I don't know. I expect Tremont will cast his net for other suitors."

"A landed gentleman, mayhap," East said, careful to keep sarcasm out of his tone. "No title, but income from rents to spare."

Sophie's eyes darted away. She nodded briefly and found that she was suddenly hugging herself as though cold. "You have always known, then, that it was about finances."

"It came to my attention, yes."

Sophie imagined the queue to inform Eastlyn had organized itself quickly. She wondered who had been at the forefront. Tremont had done a credible job of keeping the state of the family finances a private matter, but there were always people who knew the truth, and people who took particular relish in repeating what they thought they knew. "You can comprehend that from Tremont's perspective it is a desirable match."

"You have said as much before," East reminded her. "And you offer it as if it excuses his behavior. It does not. Your confinement here is every bit his doing. Dunsmore is nothing if not a dutiful son."

Sophie had no reply to that. She was not in disagreement with his assertion.

"Will you be safe there?"

"I am safe here," Sophie said softly.

Eastlyn looked pointedly at her left arm, which was once again covered by the silken sleeve of her robe. "Your definition of what is safe is in want of revision."

Sophie glanced at the mantel clock. "Even by the most generous interpretation of taking but a few minutes of my time, you have overstayed your welcome."