The Saint Who Stole My Heart: A Regency Rogues Novel (38 page)

Now that she was nearer, she could see that deep crease marks from the crude Primrose Inn bedding ran the length of the left side of his face. He’d been abed for some time. But the dark crescents beneath his eyes intimated exhaustion.

An air of dissipation and soul-deep weariness shrouded his handsome countenance. She wanted badly to know
why he felt driven to drink when it only led to this: a dank room in an unremarkable inn, surrounded by nothing that could hope to bring him any peace. But despite their long-held friendship, she felt a reluctance to question him. It wasn’t her place to ask.

He scrubbed at his jaw for the second time in as many minutes, the muscles beneath the unshaven skin rigid. “Shouldn’t you be asking my brother for help?”

He was clearly exhausted, but there was more. There always was with Nicholas. Her presence at the Primrose wasn’t merely an inconvenience: Was he angry? Or perhaps embarrassed?

“Langdon would refuse me aid. And as much as I chafe at the very idea, I cannot do this alone,” Sophia replied honestly.

Nicholas captured her with a look of abject disbelief. “I’m sorry, Sophia. I don’t believe that I heard you correctly. Did you just say that you could not accomplish something on your own?”

His eyes glinted with sudden amusement. There he was, the Nicholas she knew best. Flirtatious. Irreverent. Fun. He was the only man who could always make her laugh, no matter the circumstances. “I missed you terribly while you were away in India. Do you know, I believe I didn’t laugh once while you were gone,” Sophia countered, an affectionate smile curving her mouth.

His brow, cocked jauntily for effect only a moment earlier, lowered, his expression smoothing into indifference. “And I missed you as well, you—all of you,” he answered, the light-hearted sarcasm gone from his voice. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Now, tell me what you’ve come for.”

And just that quickly, the brief glimpse of the Nicholas she’d once known was gone. She should have known better than to attempt such easy conversation with him. When they were children, it had all been so simple. But
the death of her mother had changed everything; how could it not? Once a dear and trusted friend, Nicholas was not someone whom Sophia desperately cared for, yet couldn’t get near. Not in any real sense. Not anymore.

Sophia peered down at the planked floor. She missed her friend. But she couldn’t ask Nicholas to come back to her—no more than she could move the sturdy, strong wood beneath her feet. “Very well,” she began, looking up and fixing him with a somber stare. “Dash told me what you’ve been up to. And now that he’s married, someone will need to continue the search for my mother’s killer. I want in.”

Nicholas uncrossed his arms and propped his elbows on his knees, frowning at her. “You want in?”

“That is correct,” Sophia confirmed earnestly. He hadn’t refused immediately, causing the slimmest twinge of hope to take root in her heart.

“You want to traipse about London looking for a man who thought nothing of murdering innocent people—and would do so again given the chance?” Nicholas continued, raking both hands through his hair until the rumpled black locks stood up on end.

Sophia fought hard to hold onto the fledgling hope, fortifying it with the constancy born of every day leading up to this point. “I understand the danger, Nicholas. It’s precisely why I did not ask for Langdon’s help. He never would have agreed to—”

“But you think I will? Am I that careless, then?” Nicholas interrupted bitterly. “So careless as to risk my brother’s bride for revenge?”

Sophia instinctively reached out for him, her breath catching involuntarily when Nicholas jerked away to avoid her touch. “No, you’ve misunderstood me,” she assured him, needing to make him understand. “This revenge you speak of, it’s mine as well, you know. My
entire life has been spent waiting for this very moment. You can understand that, can’t you?”

“She was your mother, Sophia. Of course I understand,” Nicholas curtly replied, balling his left hand into a fist, then releasing his fingers slowly.

“It’s more than that—and you know it,” Sophia said with quiet conviction. “We’re alike, you and I. Somehow Dash managed to escape. And Langdon can see a future—in the distance, true. But it’s there. And the two of us? We can’t let go of the past. And we’ll never be able to until my mother’s killer is captured.”

Nicholas continued to flex his fingers as he contemplated the floor. “Don’t do this, Sophia. You know I cannot agree to such a thing. Even if what you say is true. I will not be responsible for endangering you.”

He would not meet her gaze. His discomfort was palpable. But Sophia could not surrender. “I am afraid you’ve very little choice in the matter.”

Nicholas slowly raised his head, bringing his deep umber gaze level with hers. “This is not a game.”

Sophia flinched at the mix of anguish and hard conviction in his eyes but continued to hold tight to her hope. “No one knows that better than me, Nicholas. No one.”