The Lady Hellion (10 page)

The maid’s mouth tightened. “My hands are clean, my lord.”

“Not clean enough. Wash them. Soap and fresh water. Every time.”

“She will, Quint,” Sophie rasped. “Won’t you, Alice?”

“Yes, of course, my lady,” Alice said, still frowning at Quint.

“Alice, would you mind waiting in the corridor a moment? I’d like to speak to his lordship.”

Alice looked as if she wanted to argue, but, after a warning glare in Quint’s direction, she left the room.

“I don’t believe your maid likes me,” he remarked when they were alone and was pleased to see a small smile twist Sophie’s lips.

“Do not take it to heart. She is not accustomed to having anyone else fussing over me.”

He reached for the bedclothes and started to pull them over the injured side of her body. It was the first time he’d allowed himself to really look at her. All creamy, soft skin. Tight linen encircled her chest to flatten her breasts. A pity, that. But it was what she wore over her hips that did him in. A plain pair of men’s smalls—without doubt the most erotic sight he’d ever beheld. Her maid had pushed the thin fabric up Sophie’s leg to expose the injury and left the garment on for modesty. It had the opposite result on Quint, however; heat suffused his body, his shaft coming to life.

He’d never seen a woman dressed in men’s clothing before, and it was strangely arousing. And when had he lowered himself to lechery? For God’s sake, she was injured and all he could do was ogle her. He dropped the bed linens as if they were hot, covering her.

Her lids fluttered open. “Thank you for your assistance. But I cannot stay. As much as I dread the walk home, I must go.”

The idea of letting her out of his sight had him gritting his teeth. But he had no way to keep her here, short of tying her down. He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “What time do the servants rouse?”

Her eyes fell shut once more, as if the lids were too heavy to lift. “Shortly before five.”

He pulled out his pocket watch to check the time. “It’s half past twelve. Sleep for three hours. I’ll have my coachman take you home before four.”

She did not respond and he stood there, feeling ten thousand times a fool. How could he have allowed her to carry on in this ridiculous game, a lark that could very well get her killed? Whatever investigation she was pursuing was not worth her life.

“I can hear you frowning,” she said, her eyes still closed. “Come and sit with me. Stop thinking for five minutes, Quint.”

He brought a chair over and placed it at the side of the bed. He sat and focused on her beautiful face, the long, brown lashes fanning her cheeks. The luscious lips that had kissed him so passionately only a few nights ago. She was lovely, normally so full of vibrant energy and intelligence. He’d never seen her this quiet before. “You’ll have to tell me, you know.”

Her mouth hitched. “Only if you promise to help me—not try and stop me.”

“Sophie, you cannot think to continue. Not after tonight. Whatever you’ve stumbled upon is too dangerous.”

“I’ll do what I must. And if you are worried about my safety, then come with me.”

He stiffened, his muscles protesting at the mere suggestion of going outdoors. “You know I cannot.”

“I know no such thing.” She yawned. “I think nearly dying after the shooting affected you, but you can recover.” Her words were slurring together, a sign of her exhaustion.

But something she said caught his attention. “Wait—how did you know I almost died?”

She did not answer, however. Her breathing had evened out. She’d fallen asleep.

Chapter Ten

Last night could only be categorized as a disaster, Sophie thought the next morning. If she were making a list of things never to repeat, getting knifed—twice—in the streets of East London would be at the top. Who had attacked her? A random footpad?

And the journey had been for naught because Molly hadn’t wanted to help. Sophie would need to write Pearl, see if the courtesan knew of any other girls who might speak with Sir Stephen.

Alice entered just then. “Good morning, my lady. Would you care for breakfast?”

The thought of food turned Sophie’s stomach. “No, not yet. I would like your help getting up, however.”

Her maid nodded and helped Sophie get out of bed. Each step on her injured leg sent sharp pain throughout her lower body. By the time she relieved herself and returned to the mattress, she was gasping, wet with perspiration.

“You best stay in today, my lady. You’re not fit—”

A knock sounded before the Marchioness of Ardington, Sophie’s stepmama, peeked in. “Oh, good. You are awake.” She entered, closed the door behind her, and approached the bed. “You’ve had two deliveries this morning, Sophie. I knew last night’s ball would be a success.”

“Deliveries?”

“It’s exciting, isn’t it?” Her stepmama beamed, clearly hopeful this would be the year Sophie would find a husband. “A huge bouquet of flowers arrived. Here’s a card. Along with another note delivered for you this morning.” She held out two pieces of paper.

Sophie took them both, frowning. The only person who would send her anything would be Quint. But the idea of him sending flowers was laughable. Quint was not the hearts and romance type. She would sooner expect him to fly to the moon than ever write a sonnet to her eyes.

“Well, open the note from the flowers. Let’s see who they’re from,” her stepmama urged.

Sophie tore the seal and read the short note.
I very much enjoyed our dance last evening. Your servant, Lord MacLean.
Before she thought better of it, she smiled.

“You’re smiling. That must be a good sign. I’m dying to know who sent them.”

“Lord MacLean. We danced last evening.” The last dancing she’d do for a while, considering her leg.

Her stepmama’s face fell. “Oh, Sophie. I am not certain he’s the right man for you. I know he’s well titled and fairly handsome, but really, his reputation is less than desirable.”

“You needn’t worry. I have no intention of marrying Lord MacLean.” But that reminded her of something. “All anyone could talk about last night was how Papa has picked my husband. In fact, I hear the betting books are full of wagers as to who the unfortunate man might be.”

“He’s of the mind you do not believe him. He thinks by making it public, it’ll convince you.”

Well played, Papa
, Sophie thought. She hadn’t expected that. “Why is he so eager to get rid of me? Can I not just live here a few more years?” Like until death.

“Darling.” Her stepmama came forward and clasped Sophie’s hand. “Marriage is not so terrible, as you seem to think. Your father and I have great affection for one another. We both want you to have it as well, but you cannot wait forever. And do you not want children of your own?”

A flash of rumpled, brown-haired boys with telescopes and test tubes went through her mind. Sophie was surprised by how much the image appealed to her. But then she thought of explaining her stupidity to the one man who valued intelligence above all else . . . and the pleasant warmth in her veins turned to a chill. He deserved better than a woman so cork-brained as she.

“Now, shall we do some shopping today? I was thinking we could go to the milliner first and then—”

“I cannot,” Sophie blurted. “I am unwell.”

“Oh, dear.” Her stepmama’s forehead lowered in concern. “You do appear flushed. Have you a fever?”

“No, nothing so serious. It’s my monthly courses.” She felt bad for the lie, but she
had
been bleeding after all. From her leg, of course, but still. And this way, no one would question her staying in bed all day.

Understanding lit her stepmama’s face. “Of course. I’ll have Alice prepare a posset for you. You rest and feel better.” She smoothed a hand over Sophie’s brow and stepped back. “I’ll check on you later.”

Now alone, Sophie started to roll over and then realized she still held the unopened note. Pulling it apart, she saw neat lines of random letters in rows down the page. It was . . . a code. She huffed a laugh. No doubt who had sent it. Only Quint would fashion her a note in the form of a cipher.

Smiling, she reached to ring for Alice, who had discreetly retreated earlier. When the maid arrived, Sophie requested her writing supplies. Quint hadn’t provided any sort of key or clue to the puzzle, so an answer might take some time. Soon, she was propped up in bed with her traveling desk, studying the patterns of letters to arrive at a solution.

It took a quarter of an hour. When she finally decoded the message, it said:

She read it again, then sighed. No question what “the usual time and setting” meant. He wanted her to come to his terrace after dark. But what sort of consequences? He had threatened to tell her father once. Would he dare?

Sitting through a lecture outlining her idiocy and recklessness, which Quint would surely relay post-haste, held little appeal. And Quint would most definitely try to prevent any more excursions by Sir Stephen. Sophie had no intention of giving up, however. She’d found something worthwhile, something she was
good
at doing. And if she could help people, was that not worth a few bumps and bruises?

And there was little Quint or anyone else could do to stop her.

She made him wait two days.

Quint nearly peeled the paper from the walls in his impatience and frustration. He had no recourse other than to send her another note—and she knew it. In those interminable hours, he imagined her dressed in man’s clothing and carousing in every gaming hell, opium den, and brothel in London. It nearly drove him mad.

Correction,
madder
.

His mood was decidedly dark by the time she appeared in his gardens shortly before midnight on the second day. He stood at the threshold, waiting for Canis to finish digging in the dirt, when a cloaked figure with a slight limp emerged from the gloom. The dog bounced happily around her feet, his tail wagging furiously, and she awkwardly bent to scratch behind the dog’s ears.

Quint’s own reception would not be as friendly. He was still furious with her. Furious for the stupid risks and idiotic chances she took with her person. He wished he didn’t care, that he could leave her to her own devices. Wash his hands of her, like any rational man would have done long ago. But he was incapable of letting her go.

She straightened and lowered the hood of her cloak. Moonlight illuminated the fine arches of her cheekbones, the curve of her upper lip, the gentle slope of her nose—and Quint momentarily forgot his anger. Tenderness and longing filled him, along with a heat more elemental in nature.

He thought of their kiss, the one from the other night in this very spot. How she’d clung to him and whimpered in his mouth. Would she claim it a momentary fancy this time as well?

“I see you solved the puzzle I sent. Did it take you two days?”

Her mouth hitched as she drew closer. “Indeed not. It took less than an hour. You must be slipping, Quint.”

“Of course I am slipping. I am mostly mad. Have you not figured that out yet?”

“You are no madder than I.”

He snorted. “Oh, that is reassuring. The woman skipping about town in men’s clothing.” And smalls. Damn it.

“I hardly skip. Though I have been told I need to improve my walk.”

“What?”

She waved her hand. “Never mind. Well, I am here for the lecture. You may commence at any time.”

Of course he wanted to lecture her. To rail and argue with her until she saw reason. But Sophie would only bristle, and the exercise would accomplish nothing. He had to understand why first, and then he could wage logical arguments to convince her of dropping the matter. “Why do you want to do this?”

“I must. Why should I not try and help others when I can?”

“Not good enough, Sophie. If it were benevolence, you would find another way to be charitable. Countless ladies perform altruistic deeds, but none put their lives at risk. Why have you chosen to dress as a man and mix with the lowest scum London has to offer?”

“Because these women have no one else. They cannot afford a Runner and the magistrates rarely bother. Should they not have someone to turn to with their problems?”

“Of course they should. I am uncertain why that person has to be
you
. Why not give them the funds to hire a Runner, if that is your concern?”

She crossed her arms and pressed her lips together, remaining coolly silent.

“It’s obvious to me that you enjoy the danger and duplicity. The risk is the reward, isn’t it?”

“No, the solution is the reward. As fond as you are of puzzles, certainly you can understand.”

“Yes, but my life is hardly in jeopardy when I am working on puzzles in my home, at my desk.”

She sighed, her eyes sliding away. “Then you obviously do not truly understand.”

“And just what would I not understand? How it feels to be trapped? How it feels to be unhappy with your prescribed lot in life?”

Her gaze snapped back to his. “How did you . . . ?”

“Because I know you. And a person who readily pretends over and over to be someone else, who eagerly courts danger without thought to the consequences, is unhappy with her present circumstances.” She blinked rapidly, and he knew he’d hit the mark. “So tell me, why are you so unhappy, Sophie?”

She took her time in answering. “I merely need something of my own. Something worthwhile that I can be proud of. And I am good at it. Maggie has her art and her efforts to better the lives of these women, should they choose to pursue another livelihood. And Julia has her children to care for—”

“Including Colton, who is every bit a child himself.”

Sophie flashed a brief smile. “But I have nothing. I cannot draw to save myself and I will never have children or a husband. So why not this?”

“What do you mean, you will never have children or a husband? You could’ve married ten times over. In fact, Lord Yardley offered for you only two Seasons ago. Someday, you’ll choose a suitor—”

“Or my father will choose one for me.”

The resentment in her voice set him back on his heels. That did not sound hypothetical. “Has he settled on someone, then?”

“Yes, he has a man in mind. He said if I do not choose a husband myself by the end of the Season, he will approve a marriage without my consent.”

Quint hadn’t expected it. Hadn’t thought the marquess would finally draw a line in the marital sand. He swallowed. This . . . this feeling in his chest—a sharp, crushing pain, as if he would crack apart at any second—was nothing he’d experienced before. Not with the fits. Not when his betrothal ended. Not even when Sophie’d broken his heart.

He struggled to draw in a breath. “Who?” he rasped. Who would be the man so fortunate as to spend each night wrapped around her long, willowy frame?

“He will not tell me. He fears I will scare the man off if I learn his identity.”

“Your father is a wise man,” Quint noted.

“Perhaps, but I still believe I can change his mind.”

“Why?” He honestly did not know why she avoided marriage more earnestly than a well-seasoned libertine. What was she so afraid of? The propagation of the human race was instinctual in both males and females: men to spread their seed as far and wide as possible, and women to nurture and protect the young. It was elemental and necessary. So what did Sophie hope to gain by resisting?

“I have always convinced him in the past. Though he did go one step further this time by making the edict public knowledge. That was new.”

The marquess would only announce it if he was serious. Sophie had to know that. “No, I mean why do you want to change his mind? Why not just marry and be done with it?”

She grimaced. “Because I would rather not. And my reasons are my own.”

 

 

Sophie’s leg screamed in protest as she bent to pet Canis, yet she welcomed the pain as a distraction. Quint’s perceptiveness was, at times, especially grating. Such as now, for example. It should come as no surprise that he would uncover what she was about. He’d always understood her as no one else did.

“Let us get back to the matter of these investigations.”

She straightened, fighting a grimace at the pinch in her thigh. “We’ve been round and round on this, Quint. You cannot force me to give up.”