Major Wyclyff's Campaign (A Lady's Lessons, Book 2) (28 page)

"Never," responded Reginald with a shrug. "But lately I have heard certain rumors, and I have dawdled much too long on investigating. Indeed, that was why I came to this area in the first place." He leaned forward and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. "I would have gone much sooner, but I was waiting for Sophia to resolve her affairs. Truly, Sophia," he added with a wink, "did you not realize that there were people waiting on you?"

That was the final straw. "Waiting on me!" She drew herself away from Lord Kyle and planted her fists on her hips, then alternated between glaring at him and her aunt. "You both knew I was in love, and yet you... you deliberately said nothing! How could you?"

"My dear," drawled Reginald, "I do not interfere in the private lives of my friends."

"You merely arrange assignations at the homes of the mentally ill," she returned hotly.

"The perfect place for lovers," he quipped.

"Harumph!" Sophia turned toward her aunt. "But how could you know?"

"How could I not?" Aunt Agatha returned. "You two practically made love directly before my eyes!"

Sophia started. "I most certainly did not!"

"When you tried to get drunk, my dear. My, the two of you were dancing with such brooding intensity, I nearly had heart palpitations."

"We did not!" she exploded, though she knew her face was heating with a guilty flush. She and the major had indeed been dancing most scandalously.

Aunt Agatha threw up her hands in disgust. "Just because I snore does not mean I am asleep. Goodness, you would think I was blind, kissing that way right before my eyes."

"Your closed eyes," said Sophia sternly, trying her best not to remember the major's kisses. "I specifically saw that your eyes were closed."

Aunt Agatha pushed a trailing ribbon out of her eyes and gave an imperious sniff. "The sound is quite distinctive."

Sophia did not have an answer. Indeed, she was very sure she did not have a coherent thought in her head. All she could do was stare at her two friends in horror. "I came out to the garden for you both to tell me I am not in love, that I am merely confused. I wanted to hear that this is perhaps a temporary aberration in an otherwise sane world."

Reginald's grin grew even wider. "Well, that's exactly how I would describe love. Hence the trip to Uncle Latimer's."

"But—"

"Come, come, Sophia," said Aunt Agatha as she put away her gardening tools. "You must not upset yourself."

"Absolutely," agreed Reginald. "You do not wish to appear haggard during your seduction."

"Seduction!" gasped Sophia, spinning around to confront her friend. "Who said anything about a seduction?"

"Well, that is the point of this outing, is it not?" Aunt Agatha asked Reginald, calmly fitting her gardening basket onto her arm. "Although, personally, I would prefer a picnic."

Reg shook his head. "Not with that harridan around, Lydia's mother. She would see to it that everyone was miserable. No, this trip is much better, what with the beds and all."

"Beds!" squeaked Sophia.

Reg offered Aunt Agatha his arm, all the while speaking to Sophia. "Scores of beds at Uncle Latimer's. In that mausoleum, surely you can contrive to get into a compromising situation with the major somewhere along the way."

"But—"

"And then I shall arrive and shriek," put in Aunt Agatha. "He shall be forced to marry you!"

"An excellent notion," confirmed Reg. There were a few moments before they noticed that Sophia was standing stock-still, glaring at them as if they had both just suggested she kill Anthony. Then, as one, they both turned surprised expressions to her.

"Sophia?" they asked in unison.

"I do not want to marry him like that!"

Her aunt paused, disengaging from Reginald long enough to inspect a rose bush. "Like what, my dear?"

"I cannot force him. Besides," Sophia added with a sigh, "if he did not marry me after a night in gaol, I cannot see that a kiss in a bedroom will force his hand."

"Then take off your clothes," quipped Reginald.

"Or, you could take off his," returned Aunt Agatha from her position behind the roses.

Reginald frowned as he surveyed Sophia with a critical eye. "I am not quite sure she has the strength."

Sophia just stated, alarmed by the sudden mental illness of the two. Seduction? Kisses? Ripping off the major's clothes? She felt her face heat in memory. Well, perhaps... She ruthlessly cut off her thoughts. "I cannot seduce him. I simply cannot."

"Ah," sighed Reginald. "Pity. I would have liked to be the one to discover you." He waggled his eyebrows.

Aunt Agatha stood up, brandishing her shears. "Do not be such a lech!"

Lord Kyle merely shrugged.

"Be serious!" Sophia exclaimed, annoyed by her companions' good-natured bickering. "I am at my wits' end, and I have come to you both for help."

Her two companions frowned, each appearing to consider her options for this serious and weighty manner.

"Rip off your clothes," said Reginald.

"No, his," returned her aunt.

And with that, the helpful pair both wandered away.

Chapter 13

Anthony stormed into the Stag's Heart Inn in an extremely foul mood. Kirby took one look at his face and found something else to do. Meanwhile, Anthony flopped down on his bed and began cursing, taking singular delight in exercising his vocabulary.

God, she had looked lovely. Between the dress and her flawless complexion, not to mention her exquisite figure, it had been all he could do to keep from hauling Sophia into his arms. Yes, he had noticed the slight puffiness around her eyes, seen the telltale signs of her trying to mark it with her paint pot. He knew she had been crying, but that only made it harder to keep from comforting her. From touching her. From loving her.

But then
he
had walked in. Lord Kyle, the handsome, stylish, perfect gentleman, who apparently had been visiting with Sophia for the last two weeks.

Had Kyle been the cause of her tears? Or was it something else? Anthony did not dare hope she cried for the loss of their child, the child who had never been.

Anthony rubbed his hand over his face, groaning in true unhappiness. She had not chosen him. She preferred to remain in the company of that fop.

He knew what was happening. Lord Kyle was no doubt spending every moment poisoning Sophia's thoughts in an effort to win his thousand guineas. The man apparently did not know that he had already won.

Sophia would never be his.

Well, there was one thing that was absolutely certain. Anthony would not be accompanying her to any blasted house party. He had gone to her home to see that she was well. Her answer had been loud and clear. She was so well, she was entertaining handsome, rich young men. He would be damned if he ever visited her again.

Anthony was raised from his dark thoughts by a discreet tap on his door.

"Come in, Kirby," he barked. "I will not kill you."

"Does that restraint apply to other guests as well?" inquired a cultured voice.

Anthony sprung to his feet and hauled open die door. There, standing like his worst nightmare come to life, was Lord Kyle, his expression as urbane and annoying as ever.

"Come for your guineas, no doubt," Anthony snarled. "You shall have them as soon as I contact my banker." And his father, as he himself had nothing close to a thousand guineas in his account.

"Actually," drawled the man, "I had thought to speak with you on another matter entirely."

"Perhaps another time. At the moment, I am in no mood for polite company." Anthony's voice was unnecessarily surly, but he could not restrain himself.

"I shall endeavor not to be polite."

At another time, Anthony might have smiled at that sally, but not now. And not with this man. He merely folded his arms across his chest and glared across the threshold at the intruder.

Lord Kyle gave a put-upon sigh. "We can accomplish our business out here, but I would much prefer to be private," he said. His voice was calm, but there was an urgency beneath.

Anthony considered. He would like nothing more than to keep the hateful gentleman out in the hallway, cooling his heels. But he had no idea how much the fop knew. Despite Sophia's promise not to tell a soul what had occurred between them, he could not be sure that Lord Kyle had not somehow wormed the truth from her.

And that was something he had no wish to discuss in public; no matter her rejection of him, Sophia's reputation was still of utmost importance. With a grimace of distaste he stepped back, swinging the door wide. "By all means," he drawled. "Let us be private."

Lord Kyle bowed slightly and stepped in, waiting calmly for Anthony to swing the door shut. When he had, Kyle turned and addressed him with a civility that turned Anthony's stomach. He would like nothing better than an excuse to punch the man.

"I shall endeavor to be blunt," Kyle began. "Am I correct in assuming that you do not wish to accompany us on our outing?"

Anthony frowned. He had not expected a discussion of this ridiculous excursion to a madman's house. "I intend to return to London posthaste." After all, there was nothing for him here.

"I would like you to reconsider."

Anthony raised an eyebrow, this time pushing aside his dislike of the other man to look closer. Beneath Lord Kyle's polished appearance and studied elegance, there was an intelligence that could not be denied. He appeared to be no more than a Jack-a-dandy, but Anthony could see determination in his stance, purpose in his eyes.

"What do you intend?" Anthony asked, his suspicions well and truly roused.

Lord Kyle shrugged, but the casual gesture did not fool the major for one moment. "As to that," Kyle answered casually, "I am not entirely sure. I have been asked to speak with my friend's uncle. Perhaps to make some inquiries into the situation there. There have been disturbing rumors of locked doors, angry fits. Guards of amazing brutality. It does not sound at all the thing. Not at all."

"Then why do you go?"

Kyle sighed as he took a delicate pinch of snuff. "I have already answered that, Major. I wish to investigate. Uncle Latimer was once a dear friend of my mother. I would hate to see him in a poor state." He paused, raising his gaze to Anthony's. "Of his own making or someone else's."

Anthony shifted, wondering if he truly comprehended the undercurrents here. "Do you believe this Latimer is being unlawfully restrained?"

Kyle shrugged. "I cannot say. I am merely intent on investigating." Suddenly the man's gaze sharpened. "Though I anticipate nothing untoward, I cannot be sure of Sophia's safety in this matter."

Anthony stiffened. "Then don't take her!"

"Unfortunately"—Kyle shrugged—"she is absolutely determined."

Anthony felt his hands ball into fists. "You must dissuade her," he commanded. "Good God, what kind of man are you to endanger a lady?"

"Sophia is no shrinking violet. She can care for herself." There was admiration in Kyle's voice.

"Aye, she can," Anthony agreed reluctantly. "But she is also young, inexperienced, and has a fiery and impulsive temper. She is both a lure and a danger in ways she cannot even conceive." He shifted his weight to a more aggressive stance. "I will not allow you to hurt her in any way."

Lord Kyle was silent as he appeared to study Anthony. His gaze was keen and penetrating, and Anthony allowed him to see his own absolute determination to protect Sophia in every way.

Abruptly, Lord Kyle nodded. "Very good. I can see that Sophia will come to no harm in your care."

"She has never been in danger from me," he growled.

Kyle responded with a slow smile. "Yes, I can see that. Too bad I did not understand that before I wagered my thousand guineas. Ah, well, you will come, will you not? To protect her?"

Anthony frowned, wondering if the man were as insane as his strange uncle. "I will do what I must to ensure Sophia's safety," he finally said, amazed by his own dogged stupidity. He ought to be in London dangling after some heiress. How many times would he court rejection at Sophia's hand?