by Sophia Nash
William turned to see Miss Somerset on the verge of bursting with laughter. Tears filled her eyes and a delicate napkin covered her mouth.
"You find this amusing, Miss Somerset."
"How could one not?" she said, not trying to hide her delight.
Well, at least Farquhar had accomplished what he had not. She was finally at ease and looking as if she was enjoying herself. And it was a sight to behold, merriment in her eyes and a charmingly pretty smile.
William turned to see the ever-present reverent expressions on Mornington's silly sisters. It was not every day he encountered a female unwilling to preen and flirt with him. Miss Somerset obviously mistook him for a harmless dandy.
It was insulting.
It was delightfully amusing.
It presented an irresistible challenge and sparked a devilish idea for bringing about an end to his fiscal woes, with the added benefit of providing amusement to his stay in this backwater village on the edge of nowhere.
The early morning of the following day, Sophie retraced the path of the evening before. There was certainly no harm in spending a half-hour's time in an upstairs chamber of Hinton Arms, accompanied by her maid, Mademoiselle Karine. The tailor would not dare ask her to undress. He would simply measure her waist and the length to the floor, and she would ask him to estimate the roundness of her lower limbs.
The imposing thirteenth century stone manor house, adorned with elegant chimneys and carved parapets, came into view. A newly constructed Palladian bridge with clusters of jonquils surrounding the bases provided an elegant passageway over a narrow section of lake, which fronted the house. Sophie smiled as she thought what Aunt Rutledge's opinion would be of the idea of Sophie having a pair of pantaloons made to go fishing. London felt wonderfully far away, indeed.
Of one thing she was certain. She had nothing to fear from Lord William, especially this early in the morning. He was a do-nothing bit of frippery who would surely have tonnish, slug-a-bed tendencies. Truly, the man cared for nothing more than lavish displays of colorful silks, rivaling the rainbow. And his curious man, Mr. Farquhar, was a strange popinjay of awe-inspiring proportions.
The Misses Mornington had claimed he was Lord William's valet, but certainly this could not be so. What man of the serving class would be allowed such freedom of dress and behavior? Lord William seemed to be on the most intimate of terms with his employee.
Yet there was something, that certain something, Sophie could not quite put her finger on that made her pause. Perhaps it was the something in Lord William's dark, flashing eyes that matched his longish dark brown hair. The intelligence she was sure she had glimpsed in his expression was at odds with the dimples she had caught sight of once. But they looked so seductive on his smooth, tanned cheeks that set off his white teeth when he chose to reveal them.
Sophie shook her head. This was ridiculous.
And then there was the matter of his hands. She had not failed to notice the calluses on his palms when he had removed his gloves prior to dinner. They were hands that did not match his aristocratic airs, mien and clothes.
They reminded Sophie of her father's hands— strong, purposeful and capable. She remembered her father's large palmed hand stroking her hair as she sat in his lap by the fire after they had spent a fruitful day on the sea, in the pastures or ministering to the needs of the parish.
She swallowed her sadness and mentally shook herself. At least she was not as homesick in Burnham-by-the-Sea as she had been in London. She could essentially live the same sort of life here as she had had in Wales albeit in more opulence.
Sophie negotiated the gray marble steps to the landing. There was no sign of activity. Perhaps she had come a mite early. Karine had appeared half-asleep, trudging silently one step behind her mistress the entire way. Her French maid seemed to have little interest in invigorating excursions of any type, seeming to prefer consuming the latest on-dits and a hot pot of chocolate before a fire more than anything else. Truth be told, Sophie was a bit intimidated with the petite, calculating woman.
"Do you think we are too early, then, Karine?" Sophie said, lifting the knocker and letting it fall.
"Yes," Karine said with her usual Gallic shrug. "But then, it would have been too early if you had waited two hours from now." The maid yawned.
Sophie wondered if she would ever be able to control her maid's outlandish tongue. If it wasn't that her aunt had insisted the maid had more talent than…
The heavy oak door swung open and within moments she was being ushered to the tailor's apartment by a young footman. Karine disappeared in the direction of the servants' back stairs, chattering with another maid who appeared. Sophie passed a breathtaking picture gallery containing floor-toceiling portraits of Mornington ancestors. She and the footman padded along several corridors and more stairs until he stopped in front of an ornate door at the end of a long hallway.
He knocked and turned to Sophie. "This be where the tailor has set out his things, miss. I'll leave you here, then." He bowed and quickly walked away.
Sophie heard a distinctly masculine voice from within, which seemed to suggest that she should enter. She pushed down the brass handle and opened the door.
Good Lord. She inhaled sharply.
Sophie snapped out of shock, closed the door abruptly and looked around to see if anyone had observed the spectacle.
She licked her lips and tried to still her quaking limbs. Heart pounding, she turned and fled down the endless passageway.
Lord William had been standing before her in the altogether, just come from his bath. He had been toweling his dark hair, leaving all the world to see his towering, muscled magnificence in the golden sunlight streaming in through the window beyond.
She had never seen anything like him. Indeed, the fishermen and townspeople of Porthcall did not seem to be of the same species!
Sophie stopped at the end of the corridor and gripped the corner, the directions back to the front hall completely forgotten. She closed her eyes but could not escape her mind's vision of the man who so perfectly matched her idea of Adonis.
Sophie's gaze had been instantly drawn to his, his… well, to the very part of him that indicated his sex. That part of his anatomy had looked nothing like the Greek marble statue she had seen in the foyer at one of the grander London townhouse balls she had attended. A fig leaf, no, two fig leaves would not have been large enough to cover… Her breath finally seemed to desert her in one long exhale.
He had turned to notice her and a slow smile had spread across his face, revealing the wicked dimples. He had thrown back his head and laughed.
Sophie was about to flee, despite her uncertainty of the correct path back to the main hall, when she heard from behind her a deep baritone voice laced with the slightest hint of a French accent.
"Chérie, this is delightful. Do come back. I was just thinking about you," Lord William called out, chuckling. "Although I did not think my wishes would be granted so quickly."
Sophie turned to see Lord William standing in the hallway only slightly more decent. He had donned a white lawn shirt, which just covered his obvious masculinity. Sophie found she could not draw her eyes away from his chest, as the fabric was rendered invisible in some places from his still wet body.
She swallowed. "Excuse me. I—I'm sorry to have intruded," Sophie said, averting her eyes finally. "I was told your tailor was here. I must leave."
She turned and began to retrace her steps toward the main stair but his words stilled her steps.
"Chérie, come back or I'll be forced to come after you in this, ah, state of undress."
He wouldn't dare. She lifted her chin in defiance.
His eyes twinkled and he walked toward her. "My tailor is waiting for you. He just stepped away for a moment while I finished my bath," he replied, making a motion with his arms to urge her to precede him back to the room. "You may come in now."
"I think not. I'll return to the lower salon until your tailor wil
l see to my needs." Her gaze remained glued to the carpet.
"Are you afraid?" he asked, tugging on a blue dressing gown she just now noticed he had carried over his arm. His dark eyes dipped to her line of vision. "I promise you I'm modest now, even by England's more repressive standards."
Sophie sighed. She was not at all sure she would be able to find her way back without getting lost. "And where is Mr. Farquhar?"
"Gone to prepare the rest of my morning toilette," Lord William said, releasing her hand to rub his fingers over his morning shadow of whiskers.
"I'm sure he has," Sophie said under her breath.
"What did you say, chérie?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all. Oh, this is very awkward."
"It doesn't have to be," he said, winking. "Come now, we can't have you standing about in the hallway. Do come in. I promise not to bite." Lord William took her hand gently and encouraged her back down the hallway and over the threshold, keeping the glimmer in his dark eyes.
"I'm not intimidated by you, Lord William. I assure you I am not."
"All the better. I've never been able to tolerate shrinking violets."
"There's no reason for me to fear you, given your inclinations."
He looked as if he would burst out laughing. Instead he smothered a smile and attempted a poor imitation of contriteness. "Then we understand each other, chérie. It will make it so much less tiresome if I do not have to explain everything to you."
He raked his longish wet hair back from his face, oozing charm from every pore. "We are agreed then that I'm a perfectly harmless gentleman. I'm also a generous man, and as such, I invite you to go first. The tailor is just through the passage in the adjoining chamber." He cupped her chin in his hand. "I may be depraved, chérie, but I will not let it be said that I'm not considerate of a lady's sensibilities."
"Please stop calling me that. I'm not your chérie."
He took one step closer to her. "Non?"
"Non!" And before she could stop herself, she blurted out, "I know your game."
"Really? Pray tell, what is it?"
She did not have the nerve to tell him her thoughts concerning Mr. Farquhar, especially when his handsome frame towered over her and his eyes glowed with mischief.
"But I must be allowed to call someone ‘chérie.' Life will be unimaginably dull if I cannot have a female friend who understands me." Lord William bowed and looked up with a devastating smile. "You slay my heart, Miss Somerset. I suppose I'll be forced to turn my attentions to the Mornington sisters for feminine camaraderie. Do you think they'll agree to endure the alarming designation?"
She felt unaccountably irritated by the idea. And annoyed more so with herself and the way her stomach churned every time she looked into his dark eyes. She hated being such a fool.
A knock sounded on the half-closed door separating the two chambers. The shiny pate of a small man peered around the doorframe. "Excuse me, my lord. Shall I await— Oh, I do beg your pardon, miss," he said, seeing Sophie and bobbing quickly.
"That's quite all right," Lord William said. "Miss Somerset was just on her way in." He looked down at her as the little man disappeared. "I've something I'd like to discuss further with you, chér-Miss Somerset. Would you allow me to escort you to Villa Belza after your fitting?"
"I'm shocked, sir," she replied, trying to appear lighthearted. "I had rather thought your appointment with the tailor would take precedence over taking the air with a female. But, yes, you may escort me."
He laughed and brought her hand to his beautiful, full lips. "I shall await you with impatience then, Miss Somerset."
Sophie could not control the slight frisson of excitement that flowed from her hand to her heart. He looked up at her, his lips now an inch from her glove, and gently turned her hand in his own to press a kiss on the sensitive flesh of her wrist.
Oh, he was wicked, indeed. It was all so confusing, she thought as she walked into the fitting room.
As the tailor went about his work, Sophie smiled. She forced herself to acknowledge that she rather liked the idea of continuing their conversation despite the guilt she felt, knowing her father would never have approved of deepening an acquaintance with a man of such dubious character. But, she really had nothing to fear from him, considering his preferences. She had more to fear, if she was honest, with her own reactions toward him. He was the handsomest man she had ever seen. She would have to take care not to make a cake of herself.
At least, he had not shown any indications of being a fortune hunter like Lord Coddington. His array of clothes alone had most likely cost a small fortune. And she hazarded that gentlemen such as he never married.
Lord William had only ever exhibited an inclination toward one particular transgression. And given that Sophie was a vicar's daughter, and had witnessed some of the basest aspects of human nature while attending to her deceased father's parishioners, she did not fear vice as she had learned everyone was a sinner in the eyes of the Lord. And it seemed that this particular gentleman's failing didn't hurt anyone except himself, which was a lesser offense according to her father.
Miss Somerset's delightful maid had provided William the ideal opportunity for a delicate conversation. During the long walk back to the lady's villa, the maid's fragile slippers had given way to the abuses of a dirty, pebble-strewn country lane.
William had hailed a passing neighbor's dogcart and enlisted the man's aid in transporting the female back to her mistress's residence. He had ignored the maid's schemes to trap him into carrying her back to the villa. If Miss Somerset had understood the sexual nature of her saucy servant's flirtatious suggestions in French, the maid would have been sacked in a thrice. As it was, William was hard put not to take the girl up on her offer. She was a petite, fetching Frenchwoman despite her overpowering perfume and bold suggestions.
But Mr. Derby's demands took precedence. If William did not secure the necessary funds soon, all would be lost.
Now he was left with a brief half hour to ensnare his prey with his sinful proposal. It could work. It was the only plan he had, given Miss Somerset's apparent dislike of fortune hunters and her confusion over his character. Yes, it might well work after all was said and done.
"Miss Somerset, I'm hoping you will allow me the freedom of speaking plainly."
"I daresay I've little say in the matter, sir."
"Well, since you've already seen me without a stitch"—he stopped upon seeing her shocked expression. "Ahem, I thought you wouldn't mind if we dispense with trivial talk such as the weather?"
"The weather can provide for stimulating conversation at times, my lord. This might just be the exact topic we should choose."
"My dear Miss Somerset, I'm here to offer you my help. I've heard of your misfortunes in London—of not being able to attract an eligible parti—but let's speak no more of the pack of fools inhabiting London these days." He dared not look at her face lest he lose his nerve. He rushed on. "I would like to propose to teach you the art of finding and attracting a husband."
She had stopped walking He retraced two steps to rejoin her.
"Well, I suppose I should be surprised and insulted by your unusual proposal. But I find I cannot be either." She glanced the length of his physique. "I'm very sure you could teach me to attract a gentleman—an art you have evidently honed to perfection. Attracting gentlemen, I mean."
She was steadier than he would have guessed.
"However, there's a flaw in your plan," she continued.
"A flaw?"
"Yes," she said, pulling a pale blue shawl more tightly about her shoulders. "I've no interest in securing a titled fortune hunter for a husband. I'm returning to Wales."
"Ah, I see. You have a love match all pat and secure, waiting for you in your quaint little village in Wales?"
"Porthcall."
"Ah, in Porthcall, then?"
"No, I do not."
He dipped his head to get a better view of her expression. Her eyes were curiously
composed. At least she wasn't blushing and turning missish on him. "Then you've convinced the relative who shall parcel out the inheritance that you're worthy without benefit of a husband?"
"You know a lot about my affairs, Lord William."
"As do you about my own, Miss Somerset."
"Touché, sir. We are both of us in uncomfortable situations."
"Yes, my dear—uh, Miss Somerset. But you're in a position to acquire what you ought to have, and I can help you."
"I thank you, but it is unnecessary. I have taken my decision and it shall stand."
"You're actually going to allow ten thousand pounds a year to slip from your grasp?" He tried to make his tone sound neutral.
"No. It is actually more like fifteen thousand a year."
William closed his eyes in shock. Good God.
"But my Aunt Rutledge thought it would be better if we didn't reveal that high a sum straightaway. She thought I'd be able to attract the right sort dangling just ten." She looked away. "However, my awkward and vulgar behavior, I am told, took care of squelching any possible hope of connections to the ton."
"You are wrong, my dear." He took hold of her chin gently and drew her gaze back to his. "I'm certain, no matter how great your transgressions, you could secure a comfortable marriage easily, with a bit of help from me, behind the scenes, so to speak."
"I told you, I have decided to return to Wales. I have no need of a husband."
"Well, perhaps you are right. You probably couldn't attract a flea for a spouse given your reputation at this moment in time."
She puffed up in indignation. "I could say the same to you, sir."
Ah, she was falling right into his plan. "Perhaps. Yet, perhaps not. Care to wager on it?"
"What? On your ability to be attracted to a proper lady and actually wed her versus my ability to attract and wed a lord?" She began to laugh in earnest.
Well. It was insulting. Did she really think he wouldn't have his pick of a thousand ladies? It was a first.
"Yes, that is precisely what I had in mind, Miss Somerset. In shall we say, three months' time? And by the by, I accept your challenge."
