Sex and the Single Earl (25 page)

“There wasn’t time. I had no choice.” She caught her breath at the wave of pain squeezing her heart.

“I’m dismayed you believe that. It’s now painfully clear to me you are lacking in judgment and, if allowed to, you’ll go through life causing nothing but gossip and scandal. I’ve already had to deflect the rumors about your foolish interlude with Watley last night.”

“What?” she gasped.

“And now this.” He stalked up to her, his eyes narrowed into furious slits. She took a hasty step back to the wall.

“Hear me well, Sophie. From now on, unless you are accompanied by me or one of your relations, you will only leave the house when attended by a footman of my choosing. He will report to me, and I will know what you are doing every minute of every day. And if you don’t learn to behave yourself, I swear I’ll move you to Kendlerood Manor, and there you’ll remain until you acquire some common sense.”

His words tore into her with blistering force. She wanted to run, to be anywhere but here, but she commanded herself to meet his relentless gaze.

“Simon, I won’t let you tell me how to lead my life. You don’t have the right.”

His eyes flashed. “I do, and I will. I swear, Sophie, you will obey me, or I’ll lock you up and throw away the key.”

Her mind seized, and she jerked back, banging her head smartly against the wall. But the pain of that small blow paled against the anguish invading her heart. Her spirit sank under a chilling weight. How could Simon treat her with such contempt, especially after what she and the children had suffered tonight?

“Jesus, Sophie!” He pulled her away from the wall and into his arms.

She struggled fruitlessly in his grip before letting herself go limp.

“Let me go,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes for a moment as a look of self-disgust twisted his features. “God, Sophie. I didn’t mean that. You know I would never do anything to hurt you.” He reluctantly released her before shoving a hand through his dark, tumbled hair.

“Never mind, Simon.” She pulled the wool cloak around her body, shivering with a cold that cut into her bones. “I’m very tired. Please take me home.”

“I’m sorry, Puck. It’s just that I have to…I need to keep you safe. I’m afraid you’ll be harmed if you don’t let me take care of you.”

She couldn’t stand to listen anymore, or look at the harsh regret stamped on his features. Turning away, she flipped the hood of her cloak over her ragged topknot and slipped out the door. He sighed as he followed her down the passageway.

Simon reached past her to open the door to the alley. She hurried out, rushing to stay ahead of him. He stalked close on her heels as they turned into Avon Street toward the hackney that waited a few steps away. The street was busy with late-night revellers. Sophie ducked her head to avoid the stares of men on their way to one of the many taverns or gaming hells in Lower Town.

As she waited for Simon to open the door of the carriage, a gust of wind snatched away the hood of her cloak, exposing her face. Simon gave a smothered curse and yanked the rough material back into place. A moment later he bundled her into the hackney, vaulting in after her.

He banged on the roof, and they jolted to a start over the rough cobblestones. The silence between them throbbed in her ears, echoing the painful thudding of her heart. Sophie stared into the darkness, and into the empty future that stretched before her.

How could she do it? How could she marry a man who valued his reputation above all else, including her love?

“Sophie, dear, are you sure you don’t want me to stay home?” Lady Jane stood in the doorway of the back parlor, a frown of gentle concern on her face.

After choking down a piece of dry toast at breakfast, Sophie had retreated there, seeking refuge in the cheerful clutter of her godmother’s light-filled retreat. A cozy fire crackled in the Rumford grate, but even the warmth of its flames failed to penetrate the chill that had taken hold of her body. She resisted the urge to huddle deeper into the overstuffed armchair she had dragged up to the fire, instead wrapping her wool shawl tightly around her shoulders.

“No thank you, my lady. I’m fine.” She conjured up a smile, hoping to assuage Lady Jane’s anxiety.

Her godmother’s frown deepened. Apparently her smile looked as unconvincing as it felt.

“My love, I think it best I send a note around to Dr. Miller. You look most unwell.”

Lady Eleanor pushed her sister aside and stumped into the room, garbed in a sturdy pelisse and prepared for an expedition to the baths. “Oh, do leave the girl alone, Jane. The last thing she needs is a pair of old women fussing about. Peace and quiet, and a snuggle with Simon. That’ll set her to rights.”

Sophie allowed her latest needlework disaster to drop into her lap, unable to speak past the sudden constriction in her throat. Lady Jane’s kindness and Lady Eleanor’s remarkable forbearance had been her only comfort since Simon had brought her home from The Silver Oak last night. She had expected to be pelted with questions and reprimands when she ventured down to breakfast, but the opposite had occurred. Lady Jane had quietly brought her a cup of strong tea, and Lady Eleanor had only made one grumbling remark about the cut on her cheek. True, the old woman had glared at James when he came in with a plate of kippers—he had insisted on serving, despite a truly impressive black eye—but Lady Eleanor had only snapped at him twice, which was nothing short of a miracle.

Sophie cleared her throat and tried again. “Lady Eleanor—”

“Never mind, child,” she interrupted. “You don’t have to say a word. Best you stay at home for a few days until those bruises fade. We’ll say you’ve caught a cold. There have been a shocking number of chest ailments this Season, so no one will be surprised. In fact, I can’t believe I haven’t been brought to bed with one myself.”

Sophie smiled gratefully at her older godmother, whose gaunt features were shadowed by a concern her gruff manner failed to conceal.

Lady Eleanor took Sophie’s chin in a soft grasp and turned her face toward the clear morning light streaming through the window. She tsked as she studied the marks on her cheek.

“Crushed strawberries—that’s what you need for these bruises. I’ll have James fetch some from the market. Of course, he needs them more than you do, given the beating he took. But he should count himself fortunate I haven’t thrown him out into the street. The very sight of him is enough to give me a spasm.”

Lady Jane huffed out a quiet breath of laughter. “Oh, Eleanor, you would do no such thing. And where in heaven’s name is he to find strawberries at this time of year? A cool compress and Denmark lotion is the best thing for Sophie’s complexion. I’ll have Sally bring them up right away.”

“I’m sure if James looked hard enough he could find strawberries. That’s the least he can do to make up for his bad behaviour,” retorted Lady Eleanor as she pulled on her gloves. “Sophie, you tell that nevvie of mine that I expect to see him at dinner tonight. I have quite a deal I wish to say to him, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

The old woman swept from the room. Lady Jane gave Sophie a swift, lavender-scented kiss before hurrying out after her sister.

Sophie settled back into her chair, grateful to be alone. As much as she loved her godmothers and cherished their kindness, she needed time to ponder her situation. Her thoughts had been spinning in a maddening whirl ever since she awoke from a troubled sleep early this morning. Simon would arrive soon, and she still hadn’t any idea how to respond to the bewildering accusations he had thrown at her last night.

The muscles of her chest constricted as she recalled with painful clarity his bitter words. They had torn like birdshot through her heart, and she had been tempted to end their betrothal on the spot. If not for the fact that he had seemed to instantly regret his behaviour, she would have done so.

Once Simon had bundled her safely into the hack, Sophie found herself finally responding to the full horrors of the evening. She had started to tremble with a violence that shook her limbs. Simon had pulled her into his arms, murmuring soft endearments until she gave up her resistance and collapsed against his brawny chest. The whole ride home she had silently berated herself for her being so weak, but she couldn’t find the strength to reject the security of his powerful embrace.

They had reached St. James’s Square to find the entire house lit to the attic and in an uproar. Lady Jane had arrived home only a few minutes earlier, just as Mr. Russell was hauling James out of the other hack. Lady Eleanor, awakened by the commotion, stood at the first floor landing and demanded in a booming voice to know what was happening. Ignoring all of them, Simon had picked Sophie up and carried her to bed.

“Sleep, love,” he had murmured, dropping a gentle kiss on her brow. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

He drove everyone from the room but Sally. The maid had silently helped Sophie wash and undress before she crawled like a shivering animal into bed, the thick velvet coverlet a welcome weight on her exhausted limbs.

She had slept—albeit uneasily—but now she had to face the day and all that lay before her. The hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach was a sign she could no longer ignore. As horrific as Taylor’s assault had been, her fiancé’s words were truly devastating. Simon didn’t trust her. He didn’t understand her. And, in spite of his affectionate behaviour in the carriage on the way home, he obviously didn’t love her.

With a sigh, she stopped pretending to work and threw her embroidery into the basket by the armchair. She got up and moved to the window overlooking the garden, resting her sore cheek against the soothing chill of the glass pane.

The question that had plagued her for hours returned with a vengeance. How could she marry Simon? She would have to give up her freedom, even her will, forever placing herself in thrall to his commands. The worst, of course, was that she still loved him so desperately. She couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t mean the world to her, when he wasn’t woven into the fabric of her days, her very life.

But the way he had treated her last night made her stomach churn with something close to fury. Did he really think so little of her? And if he did, how could they have any chance of happiness together? At the first sign of trouble, Simon would roll her up and ship her north to his estates, while he remained in the city to pursue his business and whatever other pleasures he might seek, including…

Her mind rejected the image of Simon and Lady Randolph together. Even in her anger she believed him when he said their affair was finished. And she knew in her heart Simon would be faithful to her once…
if
they were married. But it would be a marriage to crush the heart and deaden the spirit, since it would be founded only on a sense of obligation to her and loyalty to their families. Love would not enter into Simon’s cold calculation of how their lives would unfold.

Or would it?

Sophie let out a little growl and began to pace the room, more frustrated than she could ever remember. Simon
had
to feel more for her than just a sense of obligation. After all, he had always been there when she needed him. Always. At every crisis in her life—whether pulling her from a lake, or driving her about for hours to stop her from weeping for her father—he had been there by her side. Never abandoning her. Never failing to rescue her, just as he had done last night. Didn’t she at least owe him the chance to explain himself?

She paced from wall to wall, trying to understand Simon, trying to find a way to forgive him. A hopeful voice in her head, the one that always refused to give up on him, insisted he had flown into a rage because he loved her and wanted to keep her safe.

To be fair, Sophie acknowledged with a grimace, she had been rash last night. She probably should have fetched Simon from The Pelican first, instead of rushing to The Silver Oak. His masculine logic would see that as the appropriate course of action. Truth be told, if she had done so, the situation might have been resolved much less dramatically.

That didn’t excuse his outrageous behaviour, of course, and God knew she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life at daggers drawn every time they disagreed. Or exiled to Kendlerood Manor whenever he lost his temper with her—especially since that seemed to be a daily occurrence.

She sighed, still no closer to an answer. The only thing to do was have it out with him and hope he hadn’t meant those awful threats. If he had, then no matter how much it would rip her heart to shreds, no matter how much it distressed her family, there would be no marriage.

Nodding with satisfaction, she headed for the door. It might be a good idea, after all, to apply a cold compress to her cheek and dust some rice powder over the bruise. No point in looking like a battered pugilist when Simon came to call.

A distant knock sounded on the front door.
Blast.
Simon already. She hurried over to her godmother’s writing table with its inset pier glass and tucked in a few errant locks that had spiralled down from her topknot. Sadly, nothing could be done to improve her complexion.

There was a light tap on the door.

“Enter.” Sophie plastered a bright smile on her face.

James stepped in, alone. The grim expression on his puffy face startled her.

“What’s wrong, James?”

“You have a visitor, miss. I told the lady you weren’t taking callers, but she insisted I announce her.” His scowl deepened. “She’s refusing to leave until I do.”

“Who is it?”

“Lady Randolph, miss.”

She sank down into a hard Windsor chair by the door.
As if this morning weren’t bad enough
.

James looked grim as death. “Miss, she said it was about last night. What happened at…she said you would want to know.”

The brittle cold in her bones suddenly turned icy. What should she do? If Simon arrived and discovered her with Lady Randolph, he would be furious. This was what he had feared—that someone would find out about the incident at The Oak and spread it all over Bath. And from Bath to London, and throughout the rest of their acquaintance. The ton was little better than a country village when it came to gossip, and it would take only a few days before the rumors—greatly exaggerated, no doubt—reached the ears of her mother and grandparents.

Her mind skating on the verge of panic, Sophie fought back the urge to order James to evict the woman from the house. No doubt Simon would wish her to do so, and then turn the problem over to him to solve. But he was such a bull in a china shop she felt certain he would only make things worse.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. The countess had not gone looking for Simon. She had come to see her. The consequences of ignoring her could be disastrous. Sophie had to find out what the blasted woman wanted and do whatever she could to appease her. And she had to do it fast, before her fiancé appeared on the doorstep.

She rose to her feet. Smoothing down the crumpled skirts of her plain round gown, she inwardly cursed the fact that she had paid so little attention to her toilet this morning. The thought of confronting her sworn enemy while looking like a common drab made her stomach hurt. “Show her in.”

“Miss…”

“Now.”

He bowed and left the room. A few seconds later, she heard the light step of dainty heels tapping on the floorboards.

“Miss Stanton, here is Lady Randolph.”

Sophie dropped a curtsy, swallowing a desperate need to cough. Between the heaviness of Lady Randolph’s jasmine-scented fragrance and her own sense of rising anxiety, she could swear her throat was starting to close.

The countess gazed at her, a secret smile playing around the corners of her tinted mouth. She stared thoughtfully at Sophie for a few moments longer, then one of her delicate eyebrows arched up, as if to ask a question.

“You and your footman appear to have been in a brawl, Miss Stanton. I vow. You seem to lead the most interesting life.”

Sophie led her to one of the old-fashioned Sheraton chairs so beloved by her godmothers, feeling as stiff and awkward as a schoolgirl. The countess floated over and perched gracefully on the edge of her seat, her draperies pooling in a saffron wave of silk and sarcenet around her tiny feet. Even in this raw, damp climate, she wore only the lightest and most fashionable of designs.

“My goodness,” said the countess, casting an amused glance around the cluttered parlor. “What a quaint little room. So perfect for a household of spinsters.”

Sophie felt her face harden. “What do you want, my lady?”

“Ah, straight to the point. Very good. No wonder Simon likes you—you have something of his bluntness about you.” She smiled. “Not a very attractive quality in a wife, however.”

Something nasty crawled up Sophie’s spine. When most women smiled, their faces tended to soften. Not Lady Randolph’s. Her smiles were so chilling, so devoid of emotion, they could have turned Medusa into a statue.

“I have no wish to play games with you, Lady Randolph. My fiancé will be arriving shortly, and he will be most displeased to find you are here.”

The woman’s smoky green eyes darted about the room before coming to rest on Sophie.
Now, that’s odd.
For a moment she could have sworn the countess looked vulnerable, perhaps even frightened.

Sophie peered at her, wishing she could clean her glasses, but the moment had passed. That cold, killing smile was firmly back in place.

“Very well, Miss Stanton. I will cut bait. You were seen last night exiting The Silver Oak, a well-known flash house and purveyor of unmentionable activities. A friend of mine happened to be passing in Avon Street and noticed quite a commotion. Imagine his surprise to see you dragged out of a dark alley by your fiancé, looking for all the world as if you had just been tumbled in a hayloft. My friend saw your footman, as well. James, isn’t it? He appeared to be tumbling about in the same hayloft. Or rather, to have been thrown out—perhaps by an irate lover.” Her throaty voice was laced with malicious amusement.