by Lee, Jade
And then his fever had climbed, and in a month, they'd told her he died.
"Well, well, look what I found," purred Mr. Sween from directly beside her.
Sophia was caught completely by surprise. One second she was moving away from the major, desperately trying to control her emotions, then a second later, she was trapped against Mr. Sween, his arm around her throat, his pistol pressed to her temple. She barely had time to gasp before the hideous man tightened his hold, constricting her throat so that it took all her energy just to breathe.
Choking, she looked at Anthony, seeking reassurance, strength, anything that would calm the panic clamoring within her, but he had turned away. His stance, normally so straight and correct, sagged as he leaned against a tree trunk.
And if the effect of their fight weren't terrible enough, on the opposite side of the tree, a huge bear of a man—Sween's henchman—eased forward, a heavy club poised in his thick hand. Clearly he was heading for Anthony, creeping along right where Anthony could not see him. And the brute would be upon him in seconds.
Sophia would have cried out. She did struggle, desperately clawing at the arm around her throat, doing her best to draw enough breath to scream in warning, but she couldn't. All she managed was a high wheeze—and the certain knowledge that her struggles were only making things worse. Mr. Sween tightened his hold enough to make dark spots appear in her vision, and she was becoming distinctly light-headed.
In the end, the powerful Sween won out. She ceased fighting, choosing to remain conscious rather than be suffocated because of her struggling. All the while, the other brute crept closer and closer to Anthony, his huge club poised to deliver a killing blow.
Tears burned in her eyes. Was she doomed to always watch helplessly while Anthony died?
Then the beastly man was beside Anthony, bringing down his club with enough force to shatter a skull. Except Anthony wasn't there. Swifter than she thought possible, he had dipped around the tree, coming up behind his assailant. And while the brute was off balance from his swing, Anthony delivered powerful blows to the man's torso.
At first, they didn't appear to have any effect. With an angry roar, the man straightened, brandishing his club once again, but before he could strike, Anthony landed two more blows, this time to the brute's face. A third sunk deep into the man's belly, and with a startled grunt, the ogre fell.
Anthony straightened, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. "It appears, Mr. Sween, your henchman isn't as well trained as you thought." His expression darkened. "Now, kindly release Lady Sophia and run as far from England as you can. I assure you, your employer will be doing the same very, very soon."
For a moment, Sophia thought they had won. Mr. Sween appeared stunned, worried enough that his hold on her throat had slackened, allowing her breath once more. But within moments of Anthony's statement, her captor suddenly redoubled his restraint, dragging her against him and pressing his pistol even harder against her forehead.
"Oh, I don't think all is lost yet," the man sneered. "After all, I have Lady Sophia at my mercy. Now, you shall tell me exactly where Melissa is or I shall be forced to do unimaginable harm to this delicate creature."
Sophia tensed, unsure what Anthony's reaction would be to such a threat. She imagined all sorts of terrible things, all of them ending with a bullet in her head. Anthony was fast, but even he could not bridge the distance to Mr. Sween before the hateful man pulled the trigger.
She closed her eyes, envisioning the worst, but then she heard the strangest sound—laughter. Her eyes flew open, only to see what her mind flatly refused to believe. Anthony was laughing—a full, derisive, belly-holding laugh.
Mr. Sween, it appeared, was as startled as she, his grip once again loosening on her, allowing her to take a few normal breaths. All the while, Anthony was holding his sides, laughing for all he was worth.
"Good God, Mr. Sween," Anthony chortled. "You are a fool. What do you suppose the lady and I were quarreling about?" When the villain had no answer, Anthony continued, his tone mocking. "She thought I cared for her." Again came the derisive laughter. "I ask you, Mr. Sween, what use have I for an aged, penniless spinster? Go ahead." He waved a mocking hand at them. "Use her. Kill her. Do whatever you will. I doubt anyone save her aunt will even notice." Then he straightened, a strange look on his face. "Except, of course, that whatever you do to her is yet one more nail in your coffin when you and Lord Blakesly are held up before a magistrate. For you only have that one pistol, and I shall kill you the moment you fire it."
Sophia stared at Anthony, her blood running cold. At last it had happened. The man she loved was loudly disavowing any interest in her, abandoning her to her fate as she always knew he would. She stood stock still, waiting for the chilling ice to take hold of her soul, freezing out the pain of his betrayal along with every other emotion she could possibly feel.
She waited, and yet it did not come. Because she did not for one moment believe Anthony meant what he said. He would never betray her, she realized, and never abandon her. She knew it as deeply as she knew that she loved him, and together, they would certainly find a way out of this mess. This was simply a ruse.
Indeed, she now understood it was her turn to add to this little scene. Stiffening in mock outrage, she lunged, not at Mr. Sween as he no doubt expected, but at Anthony, screeching as if she were a betrayed lover. She didn't really know what she was saying, except that she called Anthony every foul name imaginable.
As soon as Mr. Sween recognized that he was restraining her from attacking Anthony, his hold slackened even further. And in that moment of confusion, Sophia turned. Twisting as best she could, she clenched her fist and swung, burying it deep into Mr. Sween's belly, just as she had seen Anthony do to the other brute.
His foul breath exploded out of him, and in that moment, Sophia dropped, well aware that the man's pistol was still aimed directly at her head. Fortunately, Anthony had seized the opportunity as well, rushing forward the moment she began her attack. As Sophia fell to the ground, Anthony grabbed her attacker's gun hand, twisting it in his powerful grip.
The gun went off, but the ball flew upwards, harmlessly crackling into the trees. Then Anthony fell on Sween, raining blows on him faster than Sophia could see. The hideous Sween could not muster a defense and soon lay unconscious, stretched out beside his fallen henchman.
A bare second later, Anthony was beside Sophia, pulling her into his arms, alternately clutching her and holding her away, scanning her for injuries. "Are you all right? Oh, Sophia, if he has hurt you—"
"I am fine," she cried, "but you... Are you hurt?"
"I have not a scratch on me." He pulled her into another fierce embrace. "Sweet heaven, when I saw him grab you—"
"I thought that man was going to club you—"
"I wanted to rip him apart—"
"I tried to scream, to warn you—"
"I didn't mean those things I said. You didn't believe them—"
"Not for a second, Anthony. Not even for a second." Then they were kissing, their mouths fused together as they expressed all the things that could not be said. The fear, the terror of the last few moments, drained away to be replaced by a fierce hunger, a need to touch and be touched.
She would have happily spent the rest of her life there, enmeshed in his arms in the middle of the woods, but Anthony had better sense. Breaking away, he closed his eyes, his breathing labored as he spoke.
"We cannot stay here. That shot will have attracted others." She looked down at the villains stretched out at their feet, then she watched in dazed awe as Anthony threw her an apologetic look. "I adore this gown, sweeting, but I am afraid I have need of the fabric." Then, before she could respond, he dropped to one knee, swiftly tearing strips off her skirt and using them to bind the unconscious men. "It will not hold long, but it will certainly be adequate for us to make our escape."
He finished his task, then quickly grasped her hand. Together, they dashed off into the woods, headi
ng for safety.
* * *
The next morning, when he appeared, Baron Riggs seemed a good deal more congenial to Sophia than the last time they'd met. His manners were impeccable as he set to business, taking notes as she gave him her version of events.
Almost everyone who'd taken part in the past day's adventure was present, including Melissa and Lord Blakesly the elder. Everyone had time to give their own story, detailing the rescue with excited voices. But it was Melissa and her uncle's accounts that held them all riveted. The horrible privations endured at Mr. Sween's hand gave Sophia chills, making her all the more pleased by the part she had played in their rescue. Indeed, Lord Blakesly the younger had a great deal to answer for—especially now that Mr. Sween was in custody, telling his own version of events and blaming it all on the young peer.
The only one missing was Anthony, as he was the only one not residing with Aunt Agatha. Sophia tried not to fret. It was too early for morning callers, she told herself, and the major preferred to follow the niceties of society. But as the day wore on, Sophia's confidence began to flag. Surely, she told herself, after all they had endured, he would not disappear now.
Well after luncheon, the baron finally stood, putting away his notes. "This has been a most productive day," he boomed, smiling at the company at large. Then he began the necessities of taking his leave. It was not until he was bowing over her hand that Sophia noted his keen gaze on hers. Then, he spoke in an undertone.
"The Major has already explained to me that your previous escapade was a ruse, deliberately established to distract young Blakesly. I trust there are no hard feelings."
"Of course not," Sophia responded, doing her best to cover her surprise.
"Excellent. I cannot tell you how happy I was to hear that the two of you were already married. It put me entirely off my port, thinking I had ruined a woman such as yourself." Then he frowned. "Though how your secret nuptials distracted Blakesly, I cannot begin to imagine. But, then, Major Wyclyff is a seasoned campaigner. Knows a good deal more about these things than I do, I imagine."
"Thank you for understanding," Sophia responded, her smile growing brighter by the moment. She should have known Anthony would find a way to save her reputation. Despite the baron's purported discretion, she had no doubt that the news of her "secret" nuptials would be spread far and wide by now. Now if only Anthony would appear so that she could set about thanking him properly.
She had descended into another stewing silence when Reg startled her, bowing over her hand and taking his leave as well. "Must be off to get my own special license," he said as he turned his fond gaze to Melissa. "You don't mind hosting my fiancee and her uncle, do you?"
"Of course not," Sophia exclaimed as she bestowed a kiss on his cheek.
"Won't be long," he continued. "I'll be back in a trifle, and then we'll be married and they will both come live with me. Would invite you for Christmas, but I understand you may be in India." Then, before she could answer, he dropped his voice, giving her a scandalous wink as he spoke. "Still, I do wish I had been able to interrupt a seduction."
Then he was gone, and Sophia was left staring at her aunt's full parlor, wondering if indeed things were going to turn out as Reg expected. Despite all evidence to the contrary, Sophia knew that she had left things with Anthony in a highly unsettled state. They had been arguing when Mr. Sween captured her. Maybe he had thought back to that. Certainly he was nowhere to be seen this morning.
Still, if it meant waiting a day or a decade, she would remain steadfast to Anthony. He was her love, and she would wait for him, knowing he would some day return to her. It surprised her how easy it was to make that vow, now. She loved him. Naturally, she would wait for him.
If only he would appear so she could tell him.
By nightfall, her spirits had sunk very low. The rambunctious party had quieted, the distractions ended, and everyone had gone to bed, exhausted by the excitement. Everyone, that is, except Sophia. She sat at her window, staring out into the starlit sky, silently asking the moon what had happened to Anthony.
There was no sound to alert her. No whisper, even, that she was no longer alone. But she turned nevertheless and saw him standing, dusty, tired, and yet still gloriously handsome, in her door. "Thank goodness I can pick your front door lock," he said with a grin. "I wouldn't have wanted to wake the house."
She was up and in his arms as fast as her feet could carry her. He barely had time to shut her door before she flung herself at him, arid then they were kissing, their touch as passionate, as gloriously all-consuming as ever.
"Sophia," he murmured against her lips.
She pulled back, needing the time to draw breath. He apparently did not. He began raining kisses upon her neck while she sighed in delight "But where have you been?" she asked.
"London. Bribing yet another magistrate to say he married us three months ago in the hospital. Our Baron Riggs is not so easily cowed, you know. He wanted to see the papers straightaway. He said if he did not have proof I'd done right by you, he would clap me in irons right next to young Blakesly."
"Oh, Anthony, he didn't."
"He did, and rightly so, if I let a prize such as you escape my grasp." He returned to her lips, kissing her with a thoroughness that set her bare toes curling. When he had finished, he looked into her eyes. "Sophia, I have waited longer for you than any other woman. I have bribed two magistrates, become a butler, spent a night in gaol, even braved a madman's lair to win you. If you say you still fear marriage to me, I believe I shall kill you."
She smiled at his long suffering expression. "That would be like fearing to draw breath. Anthony, I am only alive when I am with you." She snuggled deeper into his arms. "I never even knew what it was like to enjoy the company of a man until you made me laugh. That first time I appeared in the hospital—I do not even remember what you said—only that I laughed freely for the first time."
"I said that for an angel of mercy, you were too damned tall."
She chuckled, his words still able to affect her. "Yes, and you added that I made a bedridden man crick his neck too far."
He lifted her fingers, stretching them out one by one on his palm. "That is how I got you on my bed. You sat right down and held my hand."
"And once you touched me—"
"You touched me," he corrected.
She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Once we touched, there was nothing we could not speak of—"
"Or argue about," he said. He seemed somewhat amused by that.
"Nothing we could not share," she amended.
His smile faded as he spoke. "But then came the fever. And it was painful for you to watch, painful to feel?" he asked.
She gripped his hand in memory, her sight blurred. "It was more than the fever. I had been groomed for a rich, tided husband."
His expression seemed to freeze. "And I am neither."
She released a bitter laugh. "But the others were nothing compared to you. It became torture just to be around any of them."
"So you gave away your dowry and came to live in Staffordshire with your aunt." It was not a question, but she answered it anyway.
"Yes." Her gaze dropped to the floor, but he lifted her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes.
"What was all that about you seducing me?" His voice sounded thick, almost husky, but his words were clear enough to make her cheeks flame.
"I..." She bit her lip. "It was Reginald's idea."
"Why?" he repeated, his tone leaving no room for escape.
She tried to squirm away, but as usual, he would not release her. "I had come to realize something."
His smile was slow in coming, but no less brilliant. Or smug. "And what did you realize?"
Sophia watched the easy spread of his grin and felt a little indignation pull at her. She straightened her shoulders and pulled backward, but he held her fast, his lips drawing close enough for him to whisper into her ear, "What did you realize?" His voice was almost triumphant.
<
br /> "You think you know what it is." she challenged.
"I do. I think it is what I realized in gaol. The morning after I first made you mine."
Sophia pulled back, raising an eyebrow, trying to make her expression haughty. "Major Wyclyff, you presume too much!"
He would have none of her indignation. Instead, he grinned. "Kiss me and tell me you love me."
"I will not!"
"You will."
"Never!" She said the word—meant it even—but his eyes were seductive, his presence clouded her mind, and worse, his touch sent shivers of delight all through her body.
"Do you love me?"
She could not stop herself. "Of course!"
"Then say it!"
"I will not be commanded by you!"
His grin was almost blindingly bright. "Then perhaps we should say it together, my stubborn dear. I love you. I love you with all my heart, and I have loved you since you first held my hand in the hospital. I have loved you when you buried corsets and inoffensive furniture, and when you decided in your tenderhearted wisdom to release three wagons of dangerous fighting birds. I love you. Lady Sophia."
Her knees were melting with his every word, her heart bursting with joy. She had not believed she would ever hear those words, not from him. And yet, despite all the exultation singing through her veins, she said something entirely different.
"We were supposed to say it together."
He rose up from where he had been nuzzling her neck. "I know, but I could not wait for you. I have been wanting to tell you since I first kissed you."
She arched into his caress, her eyes shutting in delight. "Why did you wait?" she asked. "I vow it would have saved us a great deal of trouble."
He pulled away slightly, moving so his hands could have better access to her body. He stroked her sides in long movements. "I was not fully aware of my feelings until much later. I'd told myself all sorts of reasons for wanting you as my bride. By the time I realized, you had become too difficult to contemplate spending a lifetime with."
