Imposter Bride (13 page)

She dressed in a soft green woolen gown stitched
along the skirts with tiny violets and ivy. She pinned a gauzy
fichu around the square bodice to soften the line. Maggie rolled
her hair and left a queue in the back, which she tied with a green
ribbon.

“You look lovely, miss,” she said, beaming. “You’ll
make a lovely duchess!”

“You know of the upcoming wedding?”

“Oh, everyone knows, miss! It’s like a storybook.
And you’re so lucky. The earl is quite a catch, so young and
handsome!”

Young and handsome? Edward Metcalf was at least
thirty, as old as the captain. Yet as far as earls went, perhaps he
seemed young in comparison. Sophie thought back to the hours spent
with the Metcalfs and the languid behavior of her betrothed.

He had barely spoken to her, and seemed bored with
anything she said, or anything any of the females had said, as a
matter of fact. He’d spent most of the afternoon smoking and
playing billiards with a friend of his. She wondered if his ennui
masked a distinct lack of intelligence. The last thing she would
wish in a husband was a dull wit. Fortunately for her, she would
never actually have to marry the man.

After Sophie finished her tea, she flowed
downstairs, favoring her still-tender feet, anxious to discover the
state of the captain’s health. She hadn’t seen Ramsay much during
daylight hours and looked forward to talking with him for a few
minutes, even though he claimed he did not like to chat.

She heard voices in the parlor and pointed her steps
in that direction, wondering what visitor could have arrived in the
storm. Surely not her grandmother! She would have been notified of
that particular arrival.

Sophie stepped around the corner of the doorway and
spotted a small slight man dressed in a dark brown suit, talking to
the captain, who stood with his back to the fire. At the sound of
her footstep, Ramsay looked up, and she thought she saw his face
flush briefly, but he immediately masked his features and held out
his hand to her. She walked toward him.

“Miss Hinds,” he greeted.

“Good morning.” She smiled and nodded at the
gentlemen as Ramsay kissed her hand. The short man stared at her,
seemingly in awe.

“May I present my assistant, Mr. Puckett.”

“Miss Hinds!” He took her hand. “I am amazed!”

“Amazed?”

“I saw you that night when you jumped out the
window.”

“I’m afraid I wasn’t myself that evening.” She shot
a glance at the captain, who suddenly looked away.

“A marvelous transformation, miss!”

“Why thank you, Mr. Puckett.”

She glanced at the captain as she motioned toward
the settee. “May I join you for a moment?”

“Of course,” Ramsay replied.

“And are you feeling better?” she asked, boldly
holding his gaze. His stare took her in, as if he were consuming
something in her face. They fell into each other’s eyes. There was
no other way to describe the way the world dissolved around them
when they looked at each other.

“Never better,” he answered at last. “My thanks to
you.”

“That is why I called,” Puckett put in, nervously
glancing from one to the other. “To make sure you were still alive,
Captain.”

“Puckett, I may wish I were dead when I have one of
those cursed migraines, but I shall never succumb that easily.”

“You should eat more often, sir, keep a more
regimented schedule—”

“You know me better than that, Puckett.”

Puckett gave Sophie a glance that said, “It’s
hopeless,” and then turned to his master.

“What about the club, sir?”

“I doubt anyone will be out this evening, unless we
have a hard rain that clears the snow.”

“Then you wish to keep it closed?”

“Aye.”

“The first time since it’s grand opening,” Puckett
remarked.

“And how long has Maxwell’s been open?” Sophie
inquired.

“Five months.” Ramsay stared out the window,
scowling at a private thought. Did he not enjoy owning the club?
Did he regret his choice of business? She couldn’t tell.

After a moment, he said, as if to the window. “I
doubt the tutor will come this morning.”

“Tutor, sir?” Puckett repeated.

“A dancing instructor whom I engaged for Miss
Hinds.”

“I see.” Puckett gave her a fleeting shallow
smile.

He reminded Sophie of a bird, full of quick nervous
energy, as if always on guard for a predator. Was that predator his
master? Surely Ramsay wasn’t a cruel employer. Curt and demanding,
yes, but surely fair. Not like Katherine Hinds had been.

“Miss Hinds claims she doesn’t know how to dance,”
Ramsay explained, turning toward them.

Sophie felt a rush of anxiety. “It’s true. We didn’t
have much opportunity to enjoy music on the plantation.”

“There is only one recourse then,” Puckett declared,
wiping his hands on the skirts of his frock coat. He broke for the
harpsichord sitting against the wall.

“What are you doing?” Ramsay demanded.

“I can play a passing fair minuet, Captain, if you
take the lady in hand.”

“Wonderful!” Sophie rose to her feet, enjoying the
look of horror on Ramsay’s face, and ignoring the slight pain in
her soles.

He stared down at her. “I am not a dancing
master.”

“I will not know the difference.”

“But the burns on your feet—”

“They hardly hurt at all this morning.”

When he didn’t make a move toward her, she tilted
her head and smiled, teasing him. “You want me to be a success, do
you not?”

“Yes of course.”

“Then show me.” She held her hands in the air,
waiting for him to reach out to her, fairly sure that she could
goad him into service, if only out of a sense of duty. Just as she
expected, Ramsay slowly took her in hand. Puckett fluffed out the
full tails of his coat and sat upon the narrow bench, positioning
his hands above the layers of the wooden keys of the instrument. He
struck a chord that began the measured strains of a minuet.

Ramsay scowled. “I repeat, Miss Hinds, I am not a
dancer.”

“Neither am I.” She clasped his right hand, which
was very warm. “Show me what to do as much as you can, and it shall
be a start to my education at least.”

“Very well.” He sighed and seemed to shift out of
his initial reluctance. “The minuet,” he began, turning his hand so
that only her fingertips touched his palm, “is a dance of lad
meeting lass.”

She laughed. “I beg your pardon?”

“Boy meets girl. Boy and girl bow and approach. Like
so.” He showed her. “And then they back away, only to venture
closer the next round. Getting to know one another, you see.”

She grinned, doubting most dancing masters would
explain the intricacies of the minuet in quite this way. Most of
them probably reduced the dance to numbers of steps and types of
gyrations. She much preferred Ramsay’s social commentary.

“Then,” he said, and a smile warmed his eyes as they
approached each other. “Just as the boy thinks he’s found his own
true love, she coyly walks around him, to see what he’s all about,
like so.” He guided her around his wide shoulders, their gazes
never breaking. “Good, Miss Hinds,” he murmured, and she could tell
he had to struggle to maintain his usual staid composure.”

She inclined her head and gave him a devilish smile,
trying to break that composure. His controlled expression never
wavered.

“Then the chit changes her mind, curtsies and cycles
to another partner.” Ramsay released her to allow her to back away.
“Typical female.”

“As the boy immediately looks for her replacement,”
she retorted. “Typical male!”

Though his mouth remained a straight line, the light
in his eyes danced at her words. Sophie knew the captain was amused
by her remark, and it pleased her to lighten his usual somber
expression. Even though her head reminded her of her dishonest
behavior in regard to Ramsay, her heart rose in his company as if
of its own accord, and she realized she hadn’t had as much fun in
her entire life. Becoming Katherine Hinds had begun a blossoming of
joy inside her that she could barely contain.

“I believe she’s got it,” Puckett announced.

Ramsay surveyed her, his eyes warming her with every
passing second. “One more time for good measure, Mr. Puckett.”

As the music began anew, Sophie curtsied in front of
Ramsay, and he bowed over her hand. When she rose, she could see
Mrs. Betrus in the doorway, watching the lesson, her arms crossed
over her ample bosom, a look of wonder upon her face.

Next, Ramsay taught her the quadrille, which took
more time to learn. Surprisingly, Ramsay was a patient teacher and
Sophie worked hard so as not to waste his time. She hoped she would
remember the complicated steps when dancing in a crowded ballroom
with practiced partners. Then again, perhaps she would be lucky
enough to be gone from London before put to such a test.

As the minutes flew by, Sophie became more
accustomed to the warmth of Ramsay’s palms, the momentary brush of
his chest as they briefly drew together during the dance, and the
strength of his forearm as guided her around the room. The more she
grew accustomed to him, the more contact she wanted. She longed to
be pulled against his chest, to be held firmly and tenderly in his
arms—perhaps not so tenderly, if she were honest with herself. She
wanted him to bend to her lips and brand her with that wide
masculine mouth of his, to open up to her, to let go with her. But
most of all, she wanted to know if Ramsay felt the same growing
flame of desire that had begun to burn inside her.

Perhaps this dancing was exactly what her some
religious folk claimed it was—blatant sexual posturing better left
alone.

Far too aroused for her own comfort, Sophie broke
away, using the need for refreshments as an excuse. She met Mrs.
Betrus in the hall, dusting the single side table, and hoped the
housekeeper wouldn’t notice the high color she felt burning in her
cheeks. Luckily, Mrs. Betrus’ attentions were upon the captain. She
shook her head. “I’ve never seen him like this,” she commented,
staring back at the parlor at her master.

“What do you mean?”

“Happy.” She shook her head again. “Smiling.”

“Really?”

“I think it’s you, Miss Hinds.” Mrs. Betrus patted
Sophie’s forearm. “You brighten this house. You’ve brought life
into it.”

“Surely it is not my doing!”

“Aye, but it is.”

Sophie paused for a moment, knowing how dark the
mood would turn if Ramsay ever found out she was duping him and his
entire household. Still, she was curious about the man. “The
captain—” She chose her words carefully.”—He—he has no family?”

“He’s never spoken of a family. He doesn’t like to
talk about such things.”

“He has no wife in Boston? No children?”

Mrs. Betrus shot her a penetrating glance. Had she
gone too far again?

“He’s a bachelor,” the housekeeper replied. “A
confirmed one.”

“Such a shame.” She watched the captain put more
coal on the fire.

“He’s a man of mystery, the captain,” Mrs. Betrus
added, clucking her tongue. “And an unhappy man if you ask me.”

“Not so much unhappy,” Sophie observed, looking over
her shoulder at him, her eyes softening as her gaze traveled over
his craggy face. “Solitary, I would say.”

In the early afternoon, Mrs. Betrus made an
appallingly bland dinner of roast beef and peas and carrots, which
the men dispatched without comment while Sophie secretly marveled
at the housekeeper’s singular talent for sapping the flavor out of
perfectly good meat and vegetables. During the meal, Ramsay
appeared preoccupied and said little, and seemed as if he chafed at
being a prisoner in his own home. Did he have somewhere else he
wished to be? Perhaps someone else with whom he’d like to spend
this quiet day? A lover? Sophie glanced at him, wondering if he had
a woman tucked away somewhere. A virile and successful man such as
Ramsay would likely have more than one mistress and a gaggle of
bastard children about which Mrs. Betrus knew nothing.

The thought of Ramsay with another woman made her
throat tighten. She reached for her watered wine.

She much preferred their previous meals together,
those short but intimate repasts during which Ramsay had afforded
only tidbits of verbal information about himself, while at the same
time revealing much more with his quick but telltale glances.

Puckett, however, seemed to enjoy the meal and
chattered on about England, providing so many facts about the city
and surrounding countryside that Sophie barely had to do more than
shake her head or raise an eyebrow.

For the rest of the day, Sophie didn’t see much of
Captain Ramsay. He and Mr. Puckett sequestered themselves in the
study to do business, which they conducted until darkness fell over
the house. They even took tea in the study, eschewing feminine
company, probably out of habit and unaware of their oversight.

Slightly disappointed at being left on her own for
tea, Sophie passed the time looking through the books Mrs. Betrus
had taken from the wardrobe to make room for Sophie’s newly
purchased apparel. The books had been temporarily stacked alongside
the wardrobe, awaiting the purchase of a shelf.

In the stack, Sophie found an ample supply of
reading material to occupy her solitary hours, including a book
about London in which she’d discovered a useful map of the city.
She located what seemed to be the shortest route to the wharf,
should she be forced to flee.

Just before supper, sleet began to fall, tapping at
the windows and dampening the snow. Sophie ventured downstairs to
stretch her muscles and to get a cup of tea, when she heard a
commotion at the back of the house, down in the kitchen.

She quickened her steps and caught sight of a
bedraggled woman, her head covered with a drenched woolen shawl,
holding a bundle in her arms and standing in the rear entry behind
Mrs. Betrus.