It was the most adorable thing he had ever seen.
She swallowed, gasped, and reached for her mug of ale, downing half the contents before speaking. “That was horrible. Truly horrible,” she laughed. “I can’t imagine why Mr. Wang carried on so about them during the trip over.” Her brow furrowed a bit, and she twisted her lips. “I think he might have been having me on.”
“Perhaps,” Alex conceded, still chuckling. “Or perhaps he likes them. A great many people do, you know.”
She made a disgusted face. “Do you?” she asked with clear disbelief.
“Good Lord, no, they’re awful. I just thought you might like to try something new.”
“Oh,” she said, a little taken back at his thoughtfulness. “I did. I mean, I do. I never pass up the chance to try a new dish.” She reached for some bread. She couldn’t quite get the taste of eel out of her mouth. She had the bread halfway to her lips before she stopped and added, “Unless it’s made with brains. I realize calf brains are a delicacy, but I don’t much care for the idea of eating an animal’s head.”
“Perfectly understandable,” he assured her. “Would you care to try something else? Mrs. McLeod would be delighted to introduce you to a few Scottish dishes, I imagine. Ever had haggis?”
After several of said dishes, Sophie commented that such food might be the reason the Scottish were so renowned for their strong builds. Alex looked at the array of dishes still on the table with a dubious eye. “It’s sturdy fare, I’ll grant.”
“More to the point, a person would have to be sturdy to eat this sort of fare on a regular basis and survive.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. An unusual means of culling the herd, but effective, I warrant.”
“Hmm. Pass the bread, would you?”
Alex handed her his share. “You’d be one of the first to go.”
“I’m afraid so. I haven’t a drop of Scottish blood in me.”
“Pity,” Alex decided. “They say Scottish lasses are a delightfully fiery lot.”
He gave a meaningful glance toward the kitchen where the laughter of the McLeod daughters could be heard over the sound of clinking pots and pans.
Sophie rolled her eyes. She’d met the McLeod women earlier. They were friendly, congenial, and decidedly sturdy.
“Tell me more about your father,” she prompted.
Alex looked at her with surprise.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to upset you. If you prefer—”
“Not at all. I’m not upset in the least, and I don’t mind speaking of my father. I’ll never understand this odd habit people have of pretending the dead never existed.”
Sophie nodded in agreement. “It can be difficult, but in some ways it’s insulting to their memory not to at least try.”
“Your mother and sister were killed in a carriage accident before you left England, weren’t they? Is it difficult for you to speak of them?”
She looked up in surprise. “I hadn’t realized you knew about my sister.”
“I believe Lady Thurston told me,” Alex replied smoothly while calling himself a dozen kinds of cad for the lie. “She’s an old friend of your Mrs. Summers.”
Sophie nodded. “Yes, of course, Mrs. Summers mentioned that.”
“Will you tell me of her, and your mother?”
Sophie found that with Alex she could speak of her lost loved ones without feeling overwhelmed. She told him some of her and her twin sister Elizabeth’s more ridiculous antics and how they’d tried once, at age eight, to switch identities. They spent an entire day believing they had fooled everyone until one of the upstairs maids pointed out that they had two very different haircuts.
She spoke of the way her mother used to visit the nursery every day to take tea with them and how at night she would crawl into the giant bed Sophie and Elizabeth shared, sit between them, and read stories aloud. When they had outgrown children’s books, she brought novels instead, refusing to give up the tradition, and read a chapter each night.
“I miss her terribly,” Sophie mused quietly. “But I miss Lizzie more. Do you think that’s awful?”
She had never admitted that to anyone. It had always seemed so heartless to grieve for the loss of one family member more than another. But it didn’t feel heartless, sitting there with Alex. It felt like the truth.
“I don’t think it’s awful at all. I think it’s perfectly understandable. We expect our parents to pass on before we do, it’s the way of nature. But a sibling, and even more so a child, we expect to live as long or longer than ourselves. And then there is the fact that she was your twin….”
Sophie nodded thoughtfully. “With my mother, I lost her laughter and her love. With Lizzie, I feel I lost half of myself.”
“I cannot imagine what that must be like,” Alex said softly.
Sophie gave him a wry smile. “I think this is why people avoid speaking of the dead. We’re becoming maudlin.”
“And on such a lovely afternoon too. Did you notice that the sun has come out?”
She had. A beam of light was coming through a nearby window, occasionally catching him in the eye and bringing out shards of gold in the green she hadn’t noticed were there before.
“Tell me more about your childhood,” Alex prompted.
They spent the remainder of the afternoon speaking of their families, their friends. They spoke of their past and shared their dreams of the future. They drifted idly from topic to topic, by no means consigning themselves to the distressing themes of death and loss. They laughed a great deal and argued good-naturedly a little, and when Sophie took the time to stop and think about it, she realized she was, in that particular moment, truly happy.
The sun was beginning to set by the time one of the McLeod women cleared away the last of their plates. Sophie would have liked to remain there well into the night, sipping her ale and enjoying Alex’s company, but she knew she could not. Mrs. Summers was sure to be near to the vapors by now, and Sophie had no idea how well lit the streets in that part of London might be or if the moon would be out. She wanted to be home before the city became well and truly dark.
Alex sent someone round for their carriage, paid for their meal, and escorted her to the door.
“Your Grace!”
They turned to find Mr. McLeod calling to Alex from the kitchen door. “Your Grace, a moment. If you don’t mind overmuch, Molly’s made a fresh batch of biscuits for you and the lass to be taking with you.”
“Molly is his wife,” Alex explained with a barely concealed smile. He’d felt Sophie tense at his side at the woman’s name. He was a small man for it, but that sign of jealousy made him feel like crowing. He liked that she felt territorial.
“I’ll wait in the carriage,” Sophie said, clearly relieved. “Go say your good-byes, and do give the McLeods my thanks and compliments. Everything was wonderful.”
Alex took a quick look out the front door to assure himself the carriage was already across the street, then followed Mr. McLeod into the kitchens.
Sophie made it halfway across the street before she felt the hand come down on her shoulder. Whirling around, she found herself facing a thickset man with a barrel chest and squashed face, and a considerably weedier man with black hair that fell in greasy lengths around his pinched face. Both looked strong, smelled foul, and were obviously drunk. The larger man’s hand slid from her shoulder to grip her upper arm.
“Ey now, li’l bird. Where you flyin’ off to so fast?”
His accomplice tottered out from behind him to loom over her like a vulture. Sophie had to keep from screwing up her face at the overpowering odor of unwashed body and cheap gin. She’d come across men like this before in her travels. Any reaction beyond cool disdain was an open invitation for trouble.
She looked dispassionately at the foreign hand on her arm, then let her eyes travel up to fix the man with a cool stare.
“Release me.”
The men both guffawed with such simila
rity one could only assume they were related.
“Unhand her!”
All three turned to see her driver hop down from his box with whip in hand.
Her assailants were surprisingly agile for drunk men. Before Sophie could react, the larger man pulled her arm behind her back and covered her mouth with his free hand. The thinner man raised his arm to ward off the whiplash. After the first strike he caught the weapon in his hand and wrenched it free from the driver, then reared back and plowed his fist into the man’s face.
Sophie could only assume her driver had gone down. Her attacker was forcibly dragging her into a deserted alleyway, and as he pulled her into a shadowed recess, she lost sight of her would-be rescuer.
The big man released her arm and spun her around to pin her back against the wall. Sophie immediately used the opening to lash out with her fists, catching him in the nose. He emitted a staccato yelp of pain, but didn’t let her go, just shoved her harder against the brick and began pawing at her skirts. She struck out again and again, using every trick she knew, pummeling him with her fists and feet. For a moment she thought she might gain her freedom, or at least enough of it to retrieve the knife strapped to her leg, but then a second pair of hands was there, holding her arms at her sides.
“Bitch is feisty, eh?”
“Shu’up and ’old ’erthen.”
Sophie filled her lungs with air, intending to let out an ear-piercing scream, but the sound of a furious bellow from behind the men cut her off. In a heartbeat both men were gone from her, leaving her to lean breathless and shaking against the wall.
Alex felled the thinner man with a single blow to the head. The second man circled him warily. Having sized up his opponent and finding himself lacking, the drunk tried soothing Alex with an explanation. “Just a bit o’ fun, what guv? Didn’t know the bird was spoke for, out all alone as she were.”
Alex didn’t look ready to be soothed. He looked ready to kill. In one quick lunge he brought the man to the ground and straddled him, savagely driving his fists into his face and chest.
Sophie wasn’t a forgiving enough soul to feel the least bit sorry that Alex had hurt the two men. She’d have done the same, if she’d been able. But she couldn’t let him beat the man to death. If for no other reason than she didn’t want to be responsible for the taking of a life.
“Alex! Alex, stop! You’ll kill him!”
He paused midpunch to look at her. Had she not already been standing against a wall, she would have taken a step back. He looked half wild. His breath was coming in pants, his mouth set in a snarl, and his eyes had narrowed to angry green slits. Sophie looked to the opening of the alleyway and noticed a small group of people had gathered there.
“Fetch McLeod,” she instructed before turning her attention back to Alex. “Alex—”
“He shouldn’t have touched you!” he roared, and she pressed her back tighter against the wall.
“No, he shouldn’t have,” she said in her most placating voice, “but—”
He punched the man again.
“Alex! Please, you’re frightening me.”
“Get in the carriage!”
“No.”
“Now!”
“No!” she yelled, amazed at her own courage. “Not without you.”
He glared at her but didn’t loosen his hold on the man’s collar. She tried a different tactic. “Alex, please. I want to go home.”
He looked down at the prostrate man and then back to her again, uncertain. Sophie opened her mouth to speak, but stopped when Mrs. McLeod stepped forward and rested her hand lightly on Alex’s shoulder. “You’ve done well, Your Grace. It’s time to see to the lass.”
Alex stared at the hand on his shoulder, then followed the arm with his gaze until it reached the woman’s face. Sophie didn’t know what he saw there, but what ever it was, she would be eternally grateful for it. Alex seemed to come back to himself. He stood, dropping the man’s head to the pavement with a gruesome thud.
“McLeod!”
“Right here, Your Grace.”
“See to this trash.”
“Aye. Move aside now, Molly, and let His Grace stand up. You there…!”
As quickly as the crowd had formed, it dispersed. Someone grabbed the unconscious men and began to drag them off. To where, Sophie didn’t care. Her attention was riveted on Alex.
Sixteen
Alex didn’t say a word, just took Sophie’s elbow in a firm grip and led her toward the waiting carriage. She sneaked a sideways glance at his profile. He looked furious.
He assisted her in, then exchanged a few curt words with the bruised, but otherwise uninjured, driver before climbing in after her.
Did he blame her for what happened? The thought felt like a knife to her chest.
Alex raised one fist to pound sharply on the ceiling to start the carriage rolling. The sound made her flinch. And then snap.
“I didn’t do anything wrong!” she exclaimed in shaky voice. And then, to her shock, and absolute mortification, she began to cry. She wasn’t a weeper, as a general rule. And she’d certainly been through more traumatic experiences in the past than what had just occurred. Nonetheless, she could feel the tears begin to leak from the corner of her eyes and couldn’t hide the catch in her breath.
Alex reached for her at the sound. Before she knew it, she was settled on his lap, her head tucked neatly against his shoulder and his arms wound tightly around her.
“Hush, sweetheart. Hush. This wasn’t your fault.” “You’re angry,” she accused between sniffles. He tightened his arms around her. “Not at you, Sophie.” “You’re mad at something,” she pointed out. “I’m furious with those men.” “Yes, but they’re not in this carriage and—” “And I’m mad at myself,” he finally acknowledged. Sophie tried to sit up to see his face, but he gently pressed her head back. “Just relax now. You’ve had a scare.”
“I’m much better, really,” she insisted but leaned against him all the same. “Why are you mad at yourself?”
Alex hesitated before he answered, and when he finally spoke his voice was rough with emotion. “I should never have let this happen.”
“It wasn’t your fault either, Alex.”
“I should have walked you safely to the carriage.”
“That’s absurd,” she declared. “It was only across the street.”
She felt him shake his head, his chin rubbing a scratchy trail across her forehead. “It doesn’t matter how close it was, it was my duty to see you safely there. I failed in that.”
A long silence followed in which Sophie gave thought to what he had said and what she might say to make things right again. Finally, she decided on, “Hmm.”
Alex pulled her up by the shoulders to look at her. “What does that mean, ‘hmm’?”
“Oh, nothing,” she responded offhandedly. “I just realized this is one of those silly masculine things.”
Alex rewarded her impertinence with a small smile. “I don’t think you’re allowed to use the words ‘silly’ and ‘masculine’ in the same sentence.”
“Really? How odd I’ve only just now heard of this rule.”
“Well, you have been out of the country for a while.”
“Hmm.”
Alex moved to settle her back against him.
“Alex, I’m much recovered, please let me go.”
“Not quite yet.”
“Now,” she insisted.
He only partially relented, allowing her to remain sitting upright but refusing to let her off his lap. “I can’t understand this sudden aversion you have—”
“It’s not an aversion,” she interrupted. “It’s a matter of employing a little common sense and good judgment.”
“Fine, stop wiggling, sweetheart. I can’t understand this sudden interest in proper decorum. You were perfectly willing to forgo such nuances last night.”
“That was last night.”
“I am trying to understand what has changed between la
st night and this evening. Have I done something to upset you?”
“No! No, it isn’t that. Truly, I just…We can’t…” She heaved a frustrated sigh and gave up. “We just can’t.”
“Again, I don’t understand.”
“And I can’t explain it to you. I just need you to respect my wishes in this.”
Alex picked her up and reluctantly placed her on the seat across from him. “If this is a game you’re playing, Sophie,” he whispered, “I’m warning you now, you won’t like it when I win.”
Sophie scowled at him. “I’m not playing a game with you. You needn’t become insulting.”
“Isn’t that what you’re doing with all your suitors—Sir Frederick, Lord Verant, and their ilk—playing them for fools?” he asked with a trace of venom.
“I most certainly am not!” She knew he was annoyed by her rejection and was lashing out in reaction, but that didn’t make his remarks any less cutting.
She wasn’t playing with those gentlemen; she had very specific plans where they were concerned. Perhaps plotting and scheming were no more honorable than indulging in a game, but the final results were certainly different. She wasn’t trying to break their hearts or bilk them out of a fortune. She intended to make one of them into a respectable husband. It was a time-honored pursuit amongst unmarried women, and she refused to feel guilty about it. Or, at least, she refused to let Alex make her feel worse about it than she already did. He was wealthy, titled, and a man. The entire world was at his fingertips. He was in no position to judge what she did to survive.
She crossed her arms and stared out the window, pointedly ignoring him.
She heard him grumble to himself. Then shift in his seat. Then grumble some more. “I apologize if you felt insulted.”
“But you’re not sorry for the actual insulting,” she scoffed, turning her head to glare at him.
His forehead furrowed in a combination of frustration and confusion. “I fail to see the difference.”
“You just apologized to me for the way I felt, not for what you said. There is a world of difference, I assure you. Your version of an apology implies that you are in no way responsible for my feelings.”
As Luck Would Have It Page 16
