by Katy Madison
Keene spun back around.
Sophie wasn't sure what he wanted. His brow lowered over narrowed eyes. She wanted to plunge through to the end of this discussion and let it die. The underlying tension ate at her. She pleated the skirt of her gown in her hand. "Well, I have been ill often of late, but I'm sure it is nothing."
"Nothing that another seven to eight months won't cure."
Why should seven to eight months make a difference? Perhaps he had experience with concussions and knew that was how long it took one to be over it. "Do you think so?"
He silently watched her. What did he expect of her?
"Perhaps it is because of the fall, too."
An ugly look crossed his face. Sophie blinked. It was almost as if he hated her. A helpless confusion wafted through her. She wanted so badly to please him, even though Victor had just told her—well, almost told her—that George's wife had borne Keene's child. Or at least, Sophie thought that was what Victor had implied.
It was all so unsettling. He'd also told her to be honest with Keene and tell him why she had fainted.
She had, and Keene looked at her as if she were an unsavory offering left by a cat. But then, Keene was never fond of her impulsive behavior. Had Victor misled her? Perhaps Keene wanted to lay the past to rest. Outside he had said it was over and done. He'd also held her tight and led her to the door, enfolded her in his embrace as if he could hardly stand to let her go.
Sophie realized she had underestimated the complications of marriage. But then, she had always been a fool rushing into situations where angels feared to tread. Why should her marriage be any different?
"I am sorry," she said.
"Whatever for, Sophie? You have not told me anything you should be sorry for."
"For being ill?" she offered tentatively.
"Illness is hardly something for which an apology is required."
His tone was so crisp she suspected his words conveyed more than one meaning. She smoothed out the pleats she'd mangled into her skirt. "You seem angry."
Angry enough that she had flinched earlier. Partly that was because Victor had put the idea in her head that Keene might actually strike her, not that she believed that he would. "Did you really shoot Lord Wedmont?" she blurted out.
She regretted the question as soon as it left her lips.
"Do you mean to distract me?"
She shook her head.
"I'll send your maid in to attend you. If you feel well enough, you should join the company in the drawing room."
"Shall you be there?"
He flicked a glance at the window. "I daresay."
There was a hint of bitter resignation in his voice. She wanted to chase after him and pound on his back. Why had he married her? Or was his attitude only frustration at needing to politely wait until bedtime to bed her? As much as she wanted to think that, it didn't feel like a complete answer, but then, he had seemed angry outside before he kissed her.
Were these yearnings as unsettling to him as they were to her? If so, surely all would be well in a few hours.
After he shut the door, Keene leaned against it. How had his marriage to a girl he disliked descended into this viper pit of deception? Why did he care? If the choice had been his alone, Sophie wouldn't have entered his head as a possible wife.
He realized he had forgotten to get the jacket he promised Victor.
A motion down the hallway caught his eye. Letty, the maid, hovered near the servants' stairs. "Come here, miss. Please take my bag to Lord Wedmont's room."
Letty bobbed a curtsy.
Keene felt his stomach clench. A fall from a horse. He had seen Sophie ride. She was perhaps the best horsewoman he knew. He doubted she had taken a spill from a horse in the last ten years.
Keene put his face in his hands. What had he been thinking when he subjected her to conditions such as ice and snow? He hadn't behaved so badly with any woman ever before. Especially not with a woman in a delicate state; but with Sophie, all constraints were off. The stars only knew why.
Keene knew he had let loose the reins on his desire. A protest, a push, or anything less than her welcome participation would have stopped him cold, but she had been with him every step of the way. She'd even moved his hand to her breast. Now that he thought about it, not the likely move of a virgin bride. What had he happened to his normal world when he married her?
* * *
Supper was a tedious affair. Sophie preferred to eat and be done, but an elaborate meal complete with course upon course had been prepared. Keene said little, but watched her in a way that made her want to squirm in her seat.
She only understood half of the jokes. She would have asked Keene to explain, but he projected an air of impenetrability. His cool demeanor after the episode outside unsettled her. She half wondered if she had dreamed those hot kisses in the cold. She shivered and flushed all in the same motion, as if the heat and chill had left an odd mixed reaction to the extremes.
The ladies withdrew after supper and the gentlemen were slow to follow. Keene came in, only to depart with his friend Victor.
When Keene reentered the room, she felt his presence with every fiber in her being. She looked up to meet his dark gaze. As if drawn to him by a will more powerful than her own, she moved across the room. He stepped to the side of the doorway. "Going to bed, Sophie?"
Was he suggesting she should? She stammered a response. "W-why yes. I suppose I should retire." Would he follow her?
He watched her silently, his eyes slightly narrowed.
"It has been a most exhausting day." Then, concerned she had given the wrong impression, she added, "I am looking forward to bed." Which seemed like an even worse admission and had done everything or nothing to counteract the notion that she might be too tired for him to exercise his husbandly rights; neither meaning was at all what she meant to imply. "Shall you come with me?" she whispered.
He was silent so long, Sophie thought she must scream in vexation. She had no patience. Only the way his eyes had taken on a strange glint held her still. He belatedly raised his fingers to her cheek. His stroke was feather soft, and her breath came spilling out in a shuddering rush.
"Should you wish that?"
Her response was all air. "Y-yes."
"You are feeling well now?"
She swallowed hard, trying to regain her composure. "I am sure I am fine." A little weak in the knees, but not dizzy.
He leaned forward and brushed his lips across hers. "Go on to bed, my pet. I must needs see to George and Victor."
She nodded and tore out of the room. Not bothering with a candle, she raced toward the stairs, her skirts hitched to her knees. She plowed straight into his friend George who rounded the corner just as she reached bottom of the staircase.
"Excuse me. I'm so sorry." She didn't stop to see how her apology went over.
Her running wasn't entirely due to eagerness. Nervous anticipation curled through her in ribbons of energy that required action.
Sitting still as Letty brushed out her hair was trying, but she managed because she wanted it to look good for Keene. Her nightgown on, she climbed into bed and waited.
She tossed and turned and waited some more.
The candle burning on her dressing table became a stub, then a pool of melted wax and finally flickered out. The fire of anticipation in her faltered and ebbed until it became a chunk of ice sliding down her spine.
Where was he? Her eager admission that she wanted him to join her burned as the ultimate humiliation. Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away.
Didn't he want her? Or only when she was handy?
The memory of Letty retrieving Keene's bag popped into her head, making her quake and stew in anger. Why would he demean her by making her state she was looking forward to his presence if he had no intention of joining her? Was he being deliberately cruel? Was he installed in another room even now?
She turned over his words, his actions, and could find no promise that he would
join her. Perhaps she should climb out the window or run out and dive into the river. If she needed rescue, he would remember he had a wife.
She searched her impressions of the day and kept coming back to the conclusion that he wanted something from her, but she had no idea what. Perhaps if she had been more worldly she would have known. She turned her face into her pillow and willed herself into a fitful sleep.
The first light of dawn peeped over the horizon when Keene silently slid into the room. He slipped off his shoes and stood waiting to see if the form in the bed moved.
She remained still. A sliver of disappointment lodged under his skin. He tiptoed across the room until he could see her face under the tangled strands of blonde curls. Sleeping with the covers pulled up to her chin, she looked angelic and sweet.
He sank into the chair wanting her, yet knowing he couldn't have her. Rubbing his hand across his face he willed down the ache in his body. In a few months, perhaps after the season, when her pregnancy couldn't be concealed, he could make her his wife. Until then, he wouldn't give her the ammunition to foster a pretense that the child was his.
He'd stayed away from the bedroom, knowing from that little tête-à-tête at the door of the drawing room, he wanted to throw caution and self-preservation to the wind. He didn't care that he wouldn't be the first. Her enchanting eagerness more than made up for any virtue he cared little about. But he would be her last. Any other children she bore would be his. As it was, he didn't trust himself to crawl under the sheets next to her and keep his hands to himself.
Part of him yearned to slip in with her, wrap himself around her sleeping body and hold her as he drifted to sleep. Yet, he knew that once his body felt the soft curves of hers, his nose filled with her fragrance, he would have no more chance of falling asleep than a dray horse had of running at Newcastle.
He leaned forward and deposited his shoes on the floor. He stripped off his jacket and cravat, and draped them over her dressing table chair. The armchair would make for cold and awkward sleeping, but he would manage.
He woke to find Sophie staring at him. He blinked groggily. She pulled the dressing table chair near his armchair and sat in it.
"Are you awake?"
"No."
She tugged on her lower lip. He wanted to push her hand away and give her mouth a different sort of attention. He didn't want to wake up, but part of him was springing to rigid attention.
"Then you should come to bed."
He groaned.
"It is still warm where I slept. I promise I shall leave you to your rest."
Keene opened his eyes fully, studying his wife. Delicate, violet half moons shadowed the brilliant blue of her eyes. Her concern for his welfare made him feel like a heel. She was the one who needed extra concern about her well-being. "You have not slept enough. You should return to bed."
"I cannot sleep. Really, Keene, there is no need for you to stay in the chair."
He sat up and floundered for an explanation. He hadn't thought what reason he could give for failing to join her in bed. He wouldn't be party to a pretense that her pregnancy was the result of his bedding her, but he didn't want to tell her that. "You were asleep. I didn't wish to disturb you."
"You must have been very late."
"I had trouble with George." His explanation felt weak and transparent.
Sophie sat rigid in the chair, her hair all a tangle and her prudish nightgown concealing nearly every inch of her flesh. He wanted her.
A part of him said just confront her with the knowledge of her pregnancy. What could she do, then? If she confessed, he could have her this morning. But a sick dread kept his tongue still. What if she still denied it? He would want to believe her. He would make love to her anyway. He would become a willing dupe.
She pinched her bottom lip between her thumb and forefinger.
He reached out and pulled her hand away.
She looked at her hand, then up at him. He leaned forward and brushed his lips lightly across hers. She closed her eyes, and then pressed them tightly shut. She drew back before opening her eyes. Her withdrawal wasn't what he expected. He studied her silently. If she was eager to foist another man's child on him, then she should be pursuing any chance of getting him to act accordingly.
"Did you wait up long, love?"
She turned her head and stared out the window. "I fear I have disappointed you in some manner."
Keene didn't know how to answer. She looked miserable and confused. His heart softened. He could give her time to realize her plans wouldn't bear fruit. "No, I had thought I should go gently with you."
She turned to him again and studied him a moment before her eyes dropped down. In a soft voice she said, "I assure you there is no need to delay. I do not require gentleness."
He stood and moved toward her. She recoiled.
"See, you do need time to know me. Don't be scared of me, Sophie. I should never hurt you no matter the provocation."
"I'm sorry. I just cannot fathom that you could have shot your friend."
"It was a duel."
"Oh!" Her eyes rounded, and she seemed so very innocent.
No, not innocent. Countrified, he reminded himself. Even those down on the farm were inclined to that universal sin, fornication. He took her hands in his and pulled her to her feet. "You see, I had thought that when I asked for your hand in marriage, we should have some time, an engagement of some months, to become better acquainted with each other."
"I have known you all my life."
"Yes, but you were little more than a child the last time I spent any length of time here."
Her expression was earnest. "So you did not expect to find yourself married this soon?"
"No, I did not. And I should not like to go overfast. I do not like that you sometimes flinch when I come near."
"I shall endeavor to stop."
"I should imagine that in time you will come to trust me better."
She frowned and looked torn. "I do trust you. I simply am on edge, for I should not wish to displease you."
He took a deep breath, knowing he would test his control to the limit, and led her toward her bed. "Go back to sleep, you need your rest."
She cast a nervous glance over her shoulder. "Is that what you wish?"
"Yes. For I am tired, and you are tired."
She slid under the sheets at his urging. He closed his eyes at the sight of her bare ankle. Wondering if he was making the biggest mistake of his life, he pulled the covers over her. He sat on the bedspread next to her and leaned back against the headboard.
Keene stroked Sophie's blonde curls and inhaled the light fragrance of her hair. She smelled clean and soft and . . . pure. The image of the frightfully honest girl he'd known growing up was at odds with the deception she would have to perpetuate. She tended to be trusting. She had always trusted him, even when she shouldn't. She never even suspected that he had forced her fall into the river.
She seemed frightfully naive at times. He would bet she never guessed that he was in truth not a blood relative of hers, since his father had not sired him.
Perhaps he should just ask her if she was breeding. Would she be able to lie directly to his face?
He bit back the agony of desire and concentrated on the warm comfort of touching her. She felt so right, yet he had to remind himself he shouldn't have to wait long. A few months. May or June—an eternity.
When they woke in the midmorning, Keene didn't feel at all rested. He knew he could not again hold her through the night, or half of a night, without succumbing to the need to make her his.
* * *
Later that morning all the baggage was stowed on top of the carriage, and Sophie's horse tied to the back. Keene's and George's were saddled and ready to ride. Victor had been notified of their pending departure.
After he handed Sophie and her maid into the carriage, Keene turned to find his new mother-in-law waiting for him.
"I did wish to warn you to take a care of he
r." Jane grabbed his arm and leaned close. "I suspect she is in a delicate way. I know it is unseemly of me to speak of it, but as you are her husband now, I felt I must caution you. She is a lively girl and I fear she will not go gently with herself and will take on too much. Do be sure she gets plenty of rest."
Keene felt cold wash from his heart to his stomach. "Yes, of course."
"I know that you had to know it could be possible. I for one am glad that she will not have the difficulty that I had conceiving. Of course, although I shall hate to leave Mr. Farthing, you must summon me when Sophie's time is near."
Keene fought the chill inside him. The hope that her father had mistaken her condition curled up in a corner of his heart and died, leaving a black hole. The idea that she wouldn't be capable of deception had to be cast aside, too. Apparently, she had given her mother the impression that he had fathered the brat she bore.
Jane gave him an odd look. "Oh dear, perhaps I should not have told you as Sophie would want to bring you the news herself; but as a mother I cannot help but be concerned about the journey. I shall miss her dearly."
"I shall encourage her to write often, and of course we shall send for you. Be assured I shall take good care of Sophie and her child."
Jane cast a doubtful look in his direction. Had his anger radiated into his voice? He leaned over and brushed a kiss on his mother-in-law's cheek. She had, at least, made his course clear.
She stepped back and Keene looked up to see Victor, his eyes a compassionate shade of brown. He wanted to punch him for his pity. "Are you quite ready, sir?"
"Quite at the ready, sir."
"Don't even think about it, sir."
"Of course not. I should not wish to have George feel it necessary to defend your honor."
Jane looked back and forth between them. There was no way Keene would explain Victor's sick sense of humor.
NINE
Sophie crumpled the paper and threw it on the floor. She knew she was behaving tempestuously, but she couldn't think what to write. The only thing that kept coming to her was to ask, Why have you left me behind? She had already scratched those words from the paper twice.
Even if she asked the question, she would only get some watered-down response from Keene. He had said she wasn't ready for London, all the while his eyes searching hers for something more. Then there had been that kiss and hug following a night where she'd slept alone in the four-poster bed that had once been her husband's. He slept in a connecting room, the door shut between them.
