Badcock (17 page)

Half-dazed, she let her gaze wander to where the men were already lifting Jack. A rider blazed down the drive.

“See, Martin is going for the physician,” Hobbes said. “Come inside where we can care for you.”

Fighting off the darkness threatening to render her unconscious, Sophia nodded and allowed Hobbes to escort her toward the door. It was only then that she noticed the coach and six in front of the house, a grand conveyance drawn by six magnificent white horses—a coach fit for a queen.

Or, rather, a countess.

Sophia faltered. “Is she—”

“Lady Hilda only just arrived,” Hobbes said.

Sophia stubbed her toe on the steps leading up to the entry. Hobbes righted her and she stumbled into the house alongside him. The last thing she saw before she mercifully lost consciousness was the most angelic, beautiful, blonde woman she’d ever seen in her life.

* * * * *

Slowly, Sophia became aware of silky smooth sheets and the soft, warm mattress. She felt as if she were awakening from a long, deep sleep and then suddenly, everything washed back over her in a heart wrenching torrent.

Gasping, she bolted upright in the bed. A young servant girl tried to entice her to lie back down on the pillows. “Be still, my lady.”

Sophia resisted. “Where am I?” she asked, blinking as she took in the lush bed chamber.

“
Amberley
.”

Sophia’s gaze collided with the girl’s. “Jack…”

The servant pursed her lips.

Sophia clutched her arms. “Tell me he lives,” she said desperately.

Something dark and bleak lurked in the girl’s eyes. “The fever is on him.”

“Fever…”

“Yes, ma’am. The doctor fears the worst.”

Sophia fell back on the pillows. “This is all my fault,” she muttered.

“Ma’am, you should rest. You’ve been through quite an ordeal yourself. Your feet were cut to shreds and your face…”

Instinctively, Sophia touched her jaw, recalling how
Wisbech
had sent her reeling. She winced at the shock of pain.

“It’s terribly bruised, ma’am,” the servant said.

Realizing she was clad in night clothes, Sophia looked about for a dressing gown. “I must go to him.”

The servant’s eyes widened. “I’m afraid you can’t do that, ma’am.”

“Can’t?” Sophia asked. “What do you mean, can’t?”

The girl cast her eyes down. “His betrothed is with him.”

Sick realization plummeted to Sophia’s stomach. The woman she had seen in the foyer had been Jack’s fiancée—the German countess. Tears filled Sophia’s eyes and she twisted away so the servant wouldn’t see her crying. “Would you please see how he is doing?” Sophia asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” the girl said and slipped out of the room.

Sophia buried her face in her pillow and shook with sobs.
Wisbech
had tried to murder her. He’d tried to kill Jack and might yet succeed in doing so. And poor Armageddon…

Aside from the thought of losing Jack, nothing had ever caused her so much heartache as the knowledge she had no right to be by his side when he might be dying. Why were women willing to give up so much for love while men lived their lives freely?

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair at all. Sophia heard herself say as much aloud. Her heart ached for Jack. He was somewhere in this house, languishing injured in a bed, hurting…wondering…

He was so close and still, so far from her reach.

“Sophia?” a strangely accented voice called.

Sophia lifted her head, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Mortified, she found herself eye to eye with the countess. Instinctively, Sophia drew the covers higher as if she could hide herself from Jack’s angelic bride to be. “Your Grace,” she greeted in a tremulous voice.

“You are feeling better?” the countess asked.

Sophia tried to push herself up to sit but lost her resolve. “A little.”

Every muscle and nerve in her body felt as if it would snap with tension. She had not expected to ever, ever be confronted by the countess. What was worse, Sophia could not tear her eyes from the woman. She’d never seen hair such a pale blonde before. And the countess’s eyes shone as deep blue as an October sky. Her lightly powdered skin was absolutely flawless. Every movement she made attested to her aristocratic blood and upbringing.

“How is…how is…
he
?” Sophia asked unable to utter Jack’s name to this woman. Somehow, it seemed far too intimate, too presumptuous.

The countess’s eyes darkened and her copious bosom rose and fell with a deep breath. “He is…delirious.”

Sophia’s lips parted. Despite her swimming head and feeble arms, she pushed herself up.

The countess averted her eyes momentarily before their gazes connected once more. “He calls for you…incessantly.”

Sophia didn’t dare to hope. Her breathing quickened.

“I fear he will die,” the countess said. “Will you go to him?”

Without hesitation, Sophia threw back the covers. “I need a robe,” she said.

She could scarcely believe a countess was acting as her handmaiden as the beautiful blonde retrieved a dressing gown and rushed to Sophia’s side to help her don it. Her knees shook as she tried to stand. Blackness threatened her vision but Sophia refused to give in.

“I will help you,” the countess said, hooking an arm around Sophia’s waist.

Sophia was too stunned, sore and shaky to take in the easy opulence that was
Amberley
as she leaned heavily on the countess. Luckily, it wasn’t far to Jack’s bed chamber. She feared she would collapse if she had to walk much farther.

She was hardly prepared for the sight of Jack lying motionless in the center of his monstrous bed. A tired-looking physician passed his bloodletting tools to a waiting servant. He eyed Sophia before going back to the task of binding Jack’s wrist. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

“Lord Stafford asks for her,” the countess said adamantly.

Hobbes stood near the wall, his face wan and drawn.

Sophia shook as she neared the bed.

“Send for the vicar,” the physician told Hobbes.

Jack was dying? Sophia refused to believe it. She climbed onto the side of the bed and clasped his cold hand in hers. “Jack?”

She swallowed thickly. “Jack?”

“He’s been unresponsive for two days,” the doctor said blandly. “I suggest you make your peace with him.”

Sophia tenderly brushed Jack’s dark hair back from his forehead. “Darling, I’m here,” she whispered, shutting everything and everyone else out of her thoughts. “I’m with you. I won’t leave you.”

His hand tightened on hers but she didn’t want to hope. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him—not because of her own selfishness. If only she’d been strong enough to forego love and marry Lord
Wisbech
…

“Sophia…” he breathed her name.

Tears poured down her cheeks. “Don’t leave me, love. Stay here with me. I…I love you, Jack. Please be strong.”

He heaved a deep breath and a cough rattled in his chest—but his hand still clutched hers with an iron grip.

* * * * *

Jack opened his eyes. The room was dark except for a single beeswax candle on the bedside table. The wick had grown long and was in need of trimming. The last few days were a blur. All he could recall was terrible pain in his chest, an excruciating cough, shivering with fevered chills and a soft voice urging him to be strong.

Vaguely he recalled that a blonde goddess had been in the room—his fiancée, Lady Hilda. There had been talk of her arrival but he had not expected her this soon. Although she had been attentive, he had wanted Sophia.

As awareness seeped back, he realized warm fingers were entwined with his. He shifted and noticed the dark head on the bed beside him. Sophia? He brushed his palm over her hair and immediately, she lifted her head.

Her eyes widened dramatically and a slow smile claimed her lips. “Jack,” she whispered, pressing her palm to his forehead. “Your fever has broken.”

Even in the dim light, he could see the awful bruise on her cheek. “What did he do to you?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

She cast her gaze down. “It doesn’t matter. He’s dead now.”

Jack’s heart lurched. “I wasn’t there for you. I’m so, so sorry, Sophia.”

She shook her head. “What happened was my fault. If only you hadn’t left your pistol. If only I’d…If only I’d married him…”

“Don’t you ever say that again,” he warned. “Do you hear me, Sophia? Don’t you ever utter those words again.”

“But you nearly died…because…because of me.” A tear coursed down her face, eerily highlighting the purplish bruise. Jack resisted the compulsion to brush it away, fearing touching her would hurt her.

“I would die for you,” he said, feeling a surge of something unexplainable cresting inside him.

She moved over him and softly pressed her lips to his. When her hand cupped his jaw so she could deepen the kiss ever so slightly, he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close.

Ignoring the dull aching in his chest, he held her as tightly as he could to kiss her thoroughly. Her tongue teased his lips tentatively and when he opened his mouth to her, she moaned and took her sweet fill of him. At that moment, he realized he could never marry Lady Hilda—not when he was hopelessly in love with Sophia.

His responsibility to his father’s wishes and title no longer mattered. If Lady Hilda brought a breach of promise suit against him, he would gladly hand over everything he owned.

But he would do anything, say anything—give up everything—to spend the rest of his life with Sophia by his side.

“Lord Stafford!”

Sophia quickly drew away at the sound of the physician’s voice. Her heart skittered with joy and love. Still dazed from his kiss, she stumbled when hands gripped her shoulders and swept her away so the physician could examine Jack.

“Someone awaken the countess,” another voice said.

And then Hobbes’ sleepy face loomed into Sophia’s view. “My Lady, you should step out.”

She stared, trying to tell herself it was all right, that Hobbes was correct. Obviously, Jack still intended to keep her as his mistress. He wouldn’t have kissed her so sweetly if he hadn’t. And yet…

The thought of having to leave his side because the woman who would be his wife
had to
be awakened
and brought here broke Sophia’s heart. After all, she was the one for whom he had asked. She was the one who had kept vigil for a day and a night.

Hurt and dejected, she reluctantly allowed Hobbes to walk her back to her room.

“I’ll have some food brought up,” Hobbes said.

“No, thank you,” Sophia said, hugging her arms to herself. She couldn’t possibly eat now, not when her heart had been ripped out and dashed to the floor to be trampled.

Instead, she shucked her dressing gown and crawled into her cold bed, staring at the window as the light of dawn grew brighter and brighter. Knowing Jack had emerged from the claws of death filled her with tremendous joy but her happiness was bittersweet because right now, the woman who would bear his children—his legitimate children—a woman he didn’t even know, was by his side.

Long, torturous hours passed as Sophia lay, staring, refusing to think, refusing to feel. What on earth had she agreed to?

But inwardly, she knew the moment she got word that Jack wanted to see to her, she would fly to him with open arms. It wasn’t because she accepted second place in his life, she would go because she loved him that much.

The sounds of horses, carriage wheels and men barking orders drifted through the thick leaded glass window panes. Had someone arrived?

Sophia pushed back the covers and padded barefoot across the room. Drawing back the lace panel, she peered out the window, watching, stunned, as the countess stepped into her grand coach. As soon as she was inside, the coachman kissed to the horses and the royal procession of horses, carriages and footman were off.

“Why would she leave?” Sophia muttered out loud. And then realization struck. Her blood drained, pooling in her shaking legs. Her fingers flew involuntarily to her lips. Her breath froze.

Jack was dead.

There was no other explanation.

She whirled, searching frantically for her dressing gown. No. No! This couldn’t be. She hadn’t got the chance to tell him goodbye. She hadn’t got to tell him that she loved him.

Hands shaking violently, she shrugged on the thick garment. Just then, a tap came on her door and it opened. The servant girl who’d been with her when she’d awakened the previous day stood there. She bobbed a curtsy. “Come with me, please, My Lady. Your presence is needed in his lordship’s chamber.”

Immobilized, Sophia gaped. “Is he—” She stopped short, unable to utter the word that hung on her lips.

“I’m only told to bring you to his chamber, ma’am.”

Biting her bottom lip to keep from sobbing, Sophia followed the maid down the hallway. Her heart felt like a stone in her chest. Heavy. Hard. Jack was dead. She knew it. Why else would the countess and her entire entourage have gone away?

The servant stopped at the door. “You may go in.”

Sophia searched the girl’s eyes for some inkling of grief but there was none. She gulped as the girl opened the door to admit her. Forcing herself to take a deep breath, she stepped inside fully expecting to find Jack lying in state.

Instead, he sat in the bed, resting against a thick bank of pillows. A wide smile claimed his lips when he saw her. Sophia squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them again to be certain she wasn’t imagining it all. “Jack? I thought—”

“Darling,” he called, waving her to come to him.

Thankfully, no one else was in the room. “I thought you were—”

“Come here!” he called, laughing.

He was alive! And he was smiling and laughing. After the fact saturated her, she darted across the vast chamber and climbed onto the edge of the bed. “I thought you had died,” she said, tears pouring unchecked down her cheeks.

“Died? Heavens, no,” he said. “I’m much better. In fact, I’m very well now that you are here.”

He cupped her face and lightly brushed the pad of his thumb over the bruise.