All I Ever Needed (26 page)

Tremont could not be certain, but he thought Sophia flinched. He definitely saw it in her eyes. "We were handed a spiteful mistress's poor trick on a platter and could not make use of it. That is no one's failure but your own. Whatever has been done has been done since you made your adamant refusal to have Eastlyn as your husband. That you come here and suggest I am engaged in any enterprise that might bring ruin to this family shows a particular hypocrisy, Sophia, that is wholly unattractive." He picked up his fork, jabbed hard at several golden medallions of squash, and thrust them into his mouth. "You may leave," he said, gesturing toward the door when she didn't move.

"There is only one reason I can imagine that you have insisted you are opposed to the opium trade," Sophie said. "And that is to promote yourself as a man of high morals who rests his judgment on matters of principle. I am given to understand that by pretending to take a strong position in this matter, it is possible for you to negotiate certain concessions from the minister."

Tremont pushed the table away. It was a more decisive movement than simply sliding back in his chair. Silver covers rattled in their dishes, and a serving spoon clattered to the floor. He finally had the response from Sophie that he was in want of: she ducked her head and shoulder in anticipation of a blow. What Tremont did was pull her out of her seat and bring her to stand squarely in front of him. "Have no doubt that I should strike you," he said tightly. "Your father left you undisciplined and wild, and if I were in need of further proof of what you try to conceal from others, you obliged to provide it this afternoon. Ah, I see you know very well to what I am referring. You were seen lying with the marquess at the lake, more indecently attired than you were yesterday when you greeted him. At least on that occasion you were fully clothed. Today, I understand, you removed several articles."

Sophie did not defend herself. She was careful not to provoke Tremont further by staring up at him. She kept her face and eyes averted and all but held her breath until he was finished.

"You do not deny it, Sophia." Tremont gave her a small shake. "You kissed him also. Piggins was particular about that. You kissed the marquess. It was not something done to you." He took note of her flush but misunderstood its cause. Tremont could not know that Sophie was less embarrassed by the kiss than she was by allowing herself to be so simply caught at it. "At least you have the grace to be ashamed," he said. "That is something."

Sophie did not correct his misapprehension. She deserved censure from Tremont because she had forgotten her own warnings to Eastlyn. As for the kiss, he could scarcely say worse things to her than she had already said to herself.

"You will attend me in the chapel, Sophia. I believe that it is fitting that you pray with me."

She sagged a little in his hold just then, hating it that she should have to depend upon his strength to keep her upright. There was nothing to be lost by speaking now. Tremont had named his punishment, and she would be obliged to accept it on her own or be forced to do so. "You think you can coerce Eastlyn into making a second proposal," she said, "by withholding your sanction of the Singapore settlement. It won't work, my lord, because I intend to tell him the truth about your own dealings with the
Aragon.
You will not be able to ask any boon of the minister's office. You will be exposed as a man of no principle at all."

Sophie lost her footing as she was pushed backward into her chair. Her hip caught the wooden arm before she grabbed it to right herself. "I would sooner be his mistress than have him for my husband," she said.

"How fortunate for you that he has one of those, then. A man may have a wife and a mistress, but not two of either." He bent low over Sophie's chair, bracing his palms on the curved arms. "You have taken rather too much upon yourself, Sophia, and your judgments of me are suspect. You have not mentioned once how your own father used the drug and would have killed you rather than let you interfere with his source of it. Do you think the marquess knows about that? Have a care what secrets you think to tell, for you may find your own are not so secure as you believe."

Sophie closed her eyes as Tremont's hot breath bathed her face and did not open them again until she felt him draw away. "It is because of my father that I must do something," she said quietly. The words were the right ones, she knew, but there was little fight left in her. She sat very still, waiting.

Tremont returned to his chair and sat heavily, ignoring Sophie for several long minutes while he served himself from the warm plates. "Wait for me in the chapel, Sophia," he said at last.

It was a dismissal, and this time Sophie chose to obey. She managed to keep her legs from folding under her as she left the room. There would be time enough for bended knees later.

Sophie was alone in the chapel when Eastlyn came upon her. He stood in the narthex by the marble font, watching her pray at the altar rail. Her slim back was ramrod straight, and her head was bowed. A square of linen covered the crown of her splendid hair, and she wore a tightly fitted, serviceable black gown better suited to Pilgrims or mourners. He could not see her face or judge her profile, but he suspected that he would find her features fixed in severe contemplation. Was she asking forgiveness? he wondered. Or praying for the fulfillment of something much desired? Eastlyn thought it was likely that if Sophie's prayers were answered, he might very well be struck down where he stood. As a precaution, he quietly moved into the nave and sat in a pew near the front. God would have to take careful aim, he thought with some irreverence, if He were not to catch Sophie as well.

East estimated that more than ten minutes had gone by without Sophie shifting from her position. Occasionally she swayed in place, leading him to believe she would rise, but she never made any real attempt to do so. He could not imagine that she had so many sins to confess. It occurred to him that she had heard him enter and was waiting for him to leave before she took her own. To make it easier for her, Eastlyn stood and stepped into the aisle. Candles at the altar flickered and drew his attention. He paused, glancing at the sweep of light across the polished walnut rail and then the floor. His eyes were caught by several small, smoothly rounded stones near the hem of Sophie's gown. They were clearly out of place on the granite floor of the chapel, but for the trick of the light and the contrast of their milky coloring to Sophie's severely black attire, East knew he would not have seen them at all.

He counted six before he spied another just peeping out from under a fold in her gown. Curious now, he approached the altar rather than turn away from it. He saw more stones scattered around her kneeling form, and his suspicions about the nature of her penance grew stronger. East placed the fingertips of one hand lightly on her shoulder.

"Come away, Sophie. You can have done nothing so grievous that you must needs do this to yourself."

"Go away."

Eastlyn had to strain to hear her words. She had not spoken them above a whisper. "Sophie. Please." He leaned forward a fraction so he might see her profile. Her lips moved around the words of a silent prayer, but nothing she said was meant for him. Without removing his hand from her shoulder, East hunkered down beside Sophie, careful not to drop his own knees on the pebble-strewn floor. He could see her face more clearly now, and the wash of candlelight outlined every one of the tears she had shed. The dark fan of her lashes was damp, and the sweep of them made violet shadows beneath her eyes. "Come," he said, more firmly this time. "Enough."

Sophie shook her head and repeated her soft plea for him to leave.

"Not without you."

"I cannot rise."

Eastlyn let his hand fall and slipped his fingers under the stiff material of Sophie's gown. He scooped out better than a dozen small stones. They were everywhere under her, he realized, and there could be little protection afforded her by the dress. "I will carry you if I have to," he said.

"No!" She turned to him then. "You must go before my cousin returns for me."

East frowned. "Returns for you?" he asked softly. "Do you mean he accompanied you here?"

Sophie turned her face away again and continued her prayers.

It went against Eastlyn's better judgment to leave Sophie as she was, but he remembered that she was privy to things he did not know, and if known, then things he did not understand. He stood slowly, letting the milky pebbles clatter to the floor. The sound of them rolling, he noticed, made Sophie start. He saw her face contort in pain as the movement caused the stones to dig into her tender skin in places they had not before. He tried again. "Let me take you from here."

Sophie had no chance to refuse him a third time because approaching footsteps cut off her reply. She glanced quickly at Eastlyn, her eyes pleading, and saw that he had also heard and was already moving away. Sophie faced the altar again, wiped the tears from her face, and forced composure into her features. It was difficult to draw a breath as she waited for the inevitable confrontation between Eastlyn and Tremont. They could not fail to pass each other in the narthex. She wondered at the sacrilege of offering up a score of selfish prayers that would keep it from happening.

Tremont's footfalls echoed loudly in the stillness of the chapel. He walked briskly to the altar rail and stood beside Sophie. "It has been two hours," he said. "I told you I would come in just that time." He had also observed her at odd moments to assure himself that she was obedient of his instructions. He would have allowed her to remain in the chapel much longer if she had been less tractable. She expected his attention, he knew, and that was acceptable to him. That she depended upon him to make his observations also kept her compliant.

"I cannot rise," Sophie said. Except where the stones dug into her knees she could feel almost nothing. She wanted to turn around and see for herself that Eastlyn was gone from the chapel. He could not be, of course, unless he had been spirited away by Divine Intervention. "I require your help."

"How those words must stick in your throat," Tremont said. He extended his large hand and waited for Sophia to take it. Her hesitation in doing so galled him, but he did not withdraw.

Sophie placed her palm in his and tried to pull herself up. "I cannot," she whispered, hating her weakness, the pleading in her voice. The stones made new impressions in her flesh as Sophie sank to her knees again, and this time she could not help but whimper at this fresh pain.

Tremont's features showed no trace of sympathy. He bent and placed an arm under each of Sophie's and pulled her to her feet. She could not stand without his support and would have collapsed to the floor if not for the arm he hooked tightly about her waist. His strength was hardly tested when he hefted her against his side and carried her, shoes dragging, to the first pew. He set her down and allowed her to gingerly stretch her cramped muscles. An array of pebbles was embedded in the fabric of her gown. He leaned forward and plucked one out and examined it in his open palm.

"It is like a pearl," he said. "Should you like it better, Sophia, if you were to make your repentance on a bed of pearls?"

Needles of sensation pricked her calves and the soles of her feet. She pointed her toes, flexed her ankles, and began to remove the stones clinging to her gown. She laid them on the bench beside her, casting them before the swine, she thought, though they were nothing at all like pearls.

"You are very quiet," Tremont said. "It becomes you." When he deemed he had given her sufficient time to recover, he pointed to the stones still littering the floor. "You will gather those as well."

Nodding, Sophie came to her feet carefully. She used the arm of the pew for support until she was certain she was steady enough to stand, then walk. It took her several minutes to collect the stones. She gave them to Tremont. He slipped them into a leather pouch along with the ones on the bench and pulled the rawhide string closed.

"Take my arm," he said, holding out his elbow to her. "You are like a foal with your wobbly gait. Perhaps you will want to stay abed tomorrow. I will make your excuses to Eastlyn. You may be sure of it."

"Yes," Sophie said softly. "That is what I will do. Thank you."

Praying, it seemed to Tremont, had served to quiet his cousin's combative spirit this time. He marveled at the change in her, the submission, and was satisfied by what he observed. He would insist that she apply herself to prayer more often, for it appeared to him that her soul had at last been touched.

From his hiding place beneath the pew where Sophie had been seated and had protected him with the spread of her skirts, Eastlyn listened to the sound of the footsteps recede. When the sanctuary was quiet again, he rolled out from under the bench and sat for a time. When he finally rose, at first it was only as far as his knees. Head bowed, Eastlyn prayed, and found he could live with what was in his heart.

* * *

Sophie dismissed her maid before she was finished with her bath. Putney left reluctantly and only after Sophie was forced to have a harsh word with her. The servants all knew about her punishment in the chapel, Sophie was certain of it. She imagined it was how Eastlyn had found her, though she doubted she would find one of them willing to admit it. Whoever had informed the marquess of her whereabouts had done so with the best of intentions. They were helpless to assist her when Tremont meted out his discipline, but she understood why one of them would put so much faith in Eastlyn.