A Rogue Meets a Scandalous Lady: Mackenzies, Book 11

by Ashley Jennifer

  David trudged along, burdened with Eleanor’s tripod, which he balanced over his shoulder, as well as two of her cases. Sophie carried a satchel with sandwiches Mrs. Corcoran had pressed on her, knowing Uncle often forgot to eat. She’d also brought pencil and paper—while Eleanor photographed, Sophie might do a sketch of the ruins. She didn’t consider her drawing skill up to much, but she enjoyed it.

  “May I carry that for you?” Dr. Gaspar, at her side, reached for the satchel.

  Sophie jumped. “No, no,” she said breathlessly. “You are kind, but it isn’t heavy.”

  Dr. Gaspar looked embarrassed. “Oh. I beg your pardon. I did not mean to insult …”

  Sophie smiled at him. “Never mind. You startled me, is all. I would be grateful for your help.”

  Dr. Gaspar eagerly closed his fingers around the handle. The satchel was indeed light, and he overbalanced, expecting a greater weight. He danced a few steps and then righted himself, laughing a little.

  Poor man. Like many of Uncle’s acquaintance, Dr. Gaspar wasn’t certain how to behave in company. She would have to put him at his ease.

  She caught David’s eye on her, the man scowling like a thunderstorm. Upset Dr. Gaspar hadn’t offered to help him? Or upset at Sophie for some reason? Drat the man—he confused her so.

  “Weston Abbey was founded in the eleventh century,” Uncle held forth as they walked. “The Augustinians built an enormous cloister and church, which was of course sacked by Henry the Eighth when he had his little disagreement with the Pope. It was one of the wealthiest, I have heard, and the king and his men took everything, leaving it to ruin. Wonderful place for a picnic.”

  The abbey, which decorated the distant views from the vicarage, grew more imposing as they approached it. The stark ribs of the fallen church on the hill never failed to move Sophie—forlorn, forgotten beauty, a once proud place now silent and deserted. The golden stone against blue sky held stark and yet warm beauty. She could imagine the monks of centuries past toiling in the fields before returning to the golden-bricked cloisters for prayer and rest.

  “They had a large scriptorium, Uncle tells me,” Sophie said to Dr. Gaspar as they trundled up the hill. “Records show they copied many books over the four hundred years they were here. All lost now.”

  Dr. Gaspar halted, aghast at her words. “Terrible. What a waste.”

  Sophie nodded. “Sad when people value books so little. They stripped the abbey of its riches and discarded what they considered useless.”

  “Men tend to be dazzled by a book’s gold bindings and not the words inside,” Eleanor agreed. “If those soldiers could even read them. Most were in Latin, I imagine. Or Greek.”

  “‘Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!’” David burst out.

  Dr. Gaspar, Uncle, and Eleanor stared at him as though he’d lost his mind. David, flushing, quieted. “It’s Shelley. Ozymandias. I thought it fitting.”

  Sophie wanted to laugh. His look was so contrite, Dr. Gaspar’s confused, that their present comedy outweighed the sad loss of the past.

  “We’re almost there,” Sophie declared. “Our favorite place is just around the corner.”

  They soon lowered their burdens, David making a show of rubbing his back. Sophie spread blankets they’d brought and retrieved the satchel from Dr. Gaspar, unpacking it. Mrs. Corcoran has insisted on flasks of tea and porcelain cups from which to sip it.

  Eleanor had the gentlemen setting up equipment for her, trying various angles to catch the best light. Sophie, once she’d finished laying out the food and drink left them to it and wandered away to the cloisters.

  She’d loved this place on her visits to Uncle as a child. He hadn’t objected to her exploring at will, asking him question after question. She’d learned so much more from Uncle Lucas about history and religion, the past and present, than from any book or lecture at her girls’ seminary.

  A large part of the cloister walls remained standing, arches that lined a courtyard rising gracefully. The abbey had been built in the Romanesque style, before the Gothic mania of the later medieval times, and had more rounded arches, plainer walls, a simplicity that touched her.

  Beyond the walls, green hills stretched toward a river valley that marked the Welsh border.

  “Amazingly peaceful,” said a voice at her shoulder.

  Sophie somehow had known he’d come, that he’d been there, admiring the beauty of the landscape with her.

  “I loved it as a girl.” Sophie rested her hand on an arch. “I pretended it was my castle, put here for me and Uncle. No one else could come.”

  “Then I’m intruding.” David made no move to leave, relaxing against the bricks beside him.

  “Of course not. You’re a guest.”

  David frowned. “Don’t sound so damned formal. A princess condescending to allow a peasant to bask in her company for a few moments.”

  “At a monastery? I’d be a nun, not a princess.”

  “You wouldn’t be here at all. Except as a lady bountiful bestowing largess on the men who slaved away here day after day, copying books and brewing beer.” He trailed off to a mutter. “As you do with Gaspar.”

  Sophie stared at him. “I beg your pardon? I am being polite, hardly bestowing largess. You, on the other hand, are appallingly rude to him. What the devil is the matter with you?”

  “Rude?” David blinked. “When have I been rude? I thought I was being disgustingly unctuous.”

  “Rubbing his nose in the fact that you are a landed gentleman with a vast estate, when he can barely pay for a meal. Dr. Gaspar’s father and mother ailed for a long time, eating up any money they had, leaving him destitute when they finally passed on. Uncle had to help him find work with a professor leaving for Constantinople. Dr. Gaspar has a brilliant mind, but he’s paid only in room and board—a gentleman doesn’t work for wages, does he? The sponsors of the digs have no intention of keeping him in luxury.”

  David’s expression went stiff. “I hadn’t realized that.”

  “And calling archaeology a hobby. How could you?” Sophie warmed to the topic. “You know how Uncle feels about his digs. As though you are not a dilettante in your ridiculous suit …” She waved her hands at it.

  David glanced down in surprise. “What is wrong with my suit? Shall I scramble about looking for Roman villas in evening dress?”

  “Of course not. Don’t be silly.”

  “My usual clothes are meant for clubs and meetings with other indolent gentlemen. I thought I’d purchase things I could ruin.”

  A Bond Street tailor had made his suit and made it well, Sophie recognized. Even Laurie, who spent money in great spews, would have taken good care of clothes like that.

  “Whose approval do you seek?” Sophie asked, unable to halt her tongue. “Uncle’s? Or Lady Eleanor’s?”

  David gave her an odd look. He began to answer, then checked himself. “Why should I seek their approval?”

  Not what he’d meant to say. The question lacked conviction.

  Sophie cast about for biting answers, but all she could manage was a lofty, “I am certain I have no idea.”

  David turned and folded his arms as he gazed out over the fields below. After a time, his face smoothed, lines of anger vanishing.

  “I could stay here forever,” he said softly.

  “But we can’t.” Sophie heard the regret in her voice. “The world marches on, and we must march with it.”

  “Why should we? The world has done its best to hound us until we retreated from it.”

  “Because I must await my fate, and you, I believe, must attend a trial to clear yourself of attempted murder.”

  “Ah, yes, mustn’t forget Griffin.” David stared at the distant hills without changing expression.

  “You don’t seem worried.”

  “Griffin has been determined to pot me one for years. Ever since I destroyed one of his proposals to increase a man’s control over all monies his wife possesses, even those left to her
in carefully worded trusts for her lifetime. He wanted to get his hands on the part of his wife’s fortune he can’t touch, is all. I remember being quite blatant in my ridicule. He’s never forgiven me.”

  Sophie felt herself soften. “You spoke up for the ladies, did you?”

  “I always do. The laws that keep them bound to tyrannical men are ridiculous and should have been done away with long ago. You are in the delicate position you find yourself because of those stupid laws, created to make women property so they’d be easier to control.”

  His face had flushed, his anger high. Sophie softened even more.

  “I was also a giddy young woman who fell in love with a handsome man. What a fool I was to do that.”

  David took a minute step closer to her. “I don’t think you fell in love, not really. You were charmed, is all. Lackwit Laurie is, I suppose, good-looking and can make himself agreeable.” He gave her a wavering smile. “As I am not handsome and never agreeable, you have no need to worry about that in my case.”

  Sophie’s heart beat faster. “You do yourself a wrong. I find you quite handsome.”

  His gray-blue eyes flicked to her, something in them she couldn’t read. “I noticed you left off agreeable.”

  “I did.”

  “I love when you smile.” David reached for her, cupping her face. “It’s like the warmest sunshine.”

  Sophie strove for another quip, but thoughts deserted her as he touched her cheek, soft glove over a strong hand.

  The memory of his kiss before he’d stormed away to London hadn’t left her. It still seared on her lips, the tingle as fresh as though he’d kissed her a moment ago.

  Sophie’s body felt like water, her need to flow to him strong. As much as she’d been beguiled by her husband, she’d never felt for Laurie this attraction, the desire to touch and be touched by him.

  The difference between a naive girl and a wiser woman, perhaps.

  Or perhaps it was simply David—his haunted eyes, the lines around his mouth that deepened with his smile. His amazing strength, apparent in every move, the athletic hardness of a body he hid under well-made suits.

  The way he looked at Sophie, truly looked at her, as though she was a person, not a female in attractive clothes meant to impress her husband’s cronies. David listened to her when she spoke, argued with her or agreed with her, as though her opinion on a subject mattered.

  Wind blew through the broken arches of the cloister, stirring Sophie’s hair. It strengthened, taking David’s cap. The tweed hat sailed down the hill and through the grass like a strange, flat bird.

  “Damn and blast,” David growled, and Sophie laughed.

  He was off, chasing it. Sophie caught up her skirts and ran after him, David trying to pounce on the wayward headgear. The wind caught it again, snatching it from David’s hands.

  Sophie hurried down the hill, picking her way through the slippery grass, warmed by the sun. David missed again, but Sophie managed to stop the hat as it tumbled away by stepping on it.

  She reached down and lifted the cap, gazing ruefully at her muddy boot print in the middle of the fabric. “Oh dear. I will order another one for you. Or you can wear one of Uncle’s, though they are rather battered—”

  David snatched the cap from her and threw it to the ground. “I don’t care about the be-damned hat.”

  They stood on the steep side of the hill, the ruins looming above them. Easy to fall the short way to the grass touched with spring green, David’s arms cushioning her.

  They landed together, sprawled against the hill, David turning Sophie to him to cover her mouth in a burning kiss.

  Chapter 11

  Time slowed to a trickle as David kissed Sophie, an amazing, beautiful woman. Her mouth softened to his, she kissing him in return as she brushed his hair back with shaking fingers.

  Grass tickled his leg, and the wind was sharp, but David ignored all but Sophie beneath him. Her breath touched his cheek, mouth caressing, teeth gently scraping his lip.

  David eased the kiss to a close and took in her green eyes shining in the gray light, her face that haunted his dreams.

  He touched her mouth, red and warm. “The beauty of you,” he whispered. “It tore at me the moment I saw you.”

  “That sounds frightening.” Sophie’s smile was faint. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Too late for that. Being with you hurts me, and being without you is even worse.”

  The smile vanished. “I don’t like being without you, either.”

  David stopped, his body going cold then hot. “Dear God, don’t give me hope. Don’t let me.”

  “I can’t help it.” Sophie’s eyes were sad. “It is the truth.”

  David’s breath choked him. He longed to push her back into the hill and let them seek peace in each other, no matter that her uncle and Eleanor and the irritating Gaspar lurked above, probably looking for them by now.

  He wanted Sophie with intensity, wanted to peel her sensible clothes from her and lick her body, to gaze at every astonishing inch of her, to touch her. He pictured her ripping the suit she so disliked from him, and then exploring, stroking, the two of them bringing each other to life.

  A sparkle in her eyes told him she wanted it too.

  David slid on top of her, and she wrapped him in eager arms. They met in another kiss, this one frenzied, their veneer of politeness falling away. They were man and woman, needing, yearning, and on David’s part, loving.

  Sophie was a part of him he hadn’t realized wasn’t there. Her simply being in the world completed him.

  She sought his mouth, and David let her in, needing her heady taste, the spice that was Sophie. Her lips were softness itself, her tongue brushing against his as the kiss turned harder.

  David slid his hand between them, wishing they weren’t wearing so many damned clothes. He cupped her breast, moving his thumb across her nipple, which tightened even through her corset.

  Sophie made a noise of desire. She slid her firm hand to the back of his neck, tugging him closer.

  Her kisses, full of passion, weren’t practiced. Her stupid husband hadn’t taught her, David realized, had ignored her needs. Sophie would never say so, but her inexperienced caresses told David more than words. She was a woman of fire, but that fire had never been allowed to flare.

  David caressed her breast, slowly, not wanting to scare her away. She looked up at him in languor, no fear at all. She wanted, she needed. She welcomed.

  Their mouths met again, softly at first, then with more fervor. David nibbled her lip, his body on fire.

  He rapidly considered places they could go, out of the wind and damp, to be alone, finish this. His mind fixed on nothing, wanting to be in the here and now, with Sophie.

  Her mouth tasted like the finest wine and the deepest need. When she twined her foot around his leg, the warmth of her skirts enveloping him, he thought he’d die.

  Shouts sounded above them, and David heard his name. Sophie gasped, their mouths clashing as she fought to sit up.

  David quickly rolled from her and to his feet, reaching for Sophie to help her stand. He brushed at her clothes covered with grass, and felt her hands on him doing the same. They started to laugh, stifling it as they frantically batted away grass and mud.

  Eleanor appeared over the crest of the hill. “Ah, there you are, my dears.”

  Sophie bent and retrieved David’s now ruined and flattened cap. “David’s hat blew away,” she said quickly. “We were chasing it.”

  Eleanor only gazed at them, knowing damn well what they’d been doing hidden away from the others.

  “I agree,” she said in a loud voice. “The view is especially fetching. But now it’s time for luncheon.”

  David held out a hand to assist Sophie up the hill. She touched his fingers as she ran lightly past him, Eleanor watching them come, wisdom in her eyes.

  * * *

  Sophie was never sure how she managed the next days. David was always near
, and she could barely breathe around him.

  He’d touched something in her, sparking it to life. She’d never felt anything like it before, and realized now that she’d never loved Laurie. As David had so perceptively observed, she’d been only attracted to Laurie, as he could make himself agreeable when he wished.

  She understood that Laurie had flattered her and been at his most gentlemanly around her so she’d marry him. Once he’d run through her money and it was clear she hadn’t conceived his child, he’d been finished with her. Sophie might have been any woman, of any name, and it wouldn’t have mattered. Laurie had no interest in her for herself.

  David did. Sophie told herself to be careful, that she’d been cruelly deceived by Laurie, but this didn’t feel the same.

  David had no reason to woo her. She was legally still married, and she had no more dowry, no family connections, and no popularity that would help him. He had an estate, wealth, many friends, and seemed unconcerned about his bachelor state. He could have any mistress he wanted, and had apparently taken famous ones in the past.

  What he saw in Sophie Tierney, a nonentity with a scandal in her life, she had no idea. But when David smiled at her, his eyes held need and warmth, caring.

  Being with you hurts me, and being without you is even worse.

  Sophie knew exactly what he meant. She held the words to her heart, and tried not to give herself away every time the two of them passed each other in the vicarage’s narrow corridors.

  On Sunday, they attended the village church. Uncle had convinced Sophie to play the organ, Mrs. Plimpton happy to stay at home and nurse her aching bones. The church, built in an age where even the smallest parishes sported grandiose Gothic structures, had an organ loft, so Sophie could perch there and not have to enter with the congregation.

  Uncle spoke about Moses today, focusing on the story of the baby Moses being rescued from the reeds. He then compared Moses being chosen to lead the Isrealites to freedom to Jesus being born to redeem sinners, one foreshadowing the other. Two helpless children had become saviors.