by Laurel McKee
As ever, I so much look forward to seeing your beautiful face. I can be a good friend, my dear. Lord Hammond.
A calling card fell out of the letter’s folds. Room 414 was neatly printed on the back.
Sophia violently crumpled the letter in her hand and tossed it into the nearest fireplace. But she kept the card.
After the last of the customers left, Sophia made sure the night’s meager earnings were accounted for, and she locked up the club to leave for their lodgings. It would surely be a while yet before Dominic left the theater, and she needed the time to be alone and think.
She had brought Lord Hammond into the St. Claires’ lives. She had to root him out again.
On the way home, she watched out the carriage window as the other vehicles clattered past on the street outside. She remembered how hopeful she had felt only a few days before, at the theater. She had dared to hope that things were going well for them. That they could truly be married.
Then her mother appeared, and Sophia was shown very clearly that the past could not be escaped so easily. The barriers between her and Dominic were still there, so high she could hardly see over them. Her family, the reckless mistakes of her past that had brought Hammond into their lives—it was all there. It wasn’t going away.
Sophia closed her eyes tightly. Dominic had tried to be kind after they left her mother, had tried to be understanding. She saw the pity in his eyes, and that only seemed to make things harder. She could feel all her armor, her defenses, crumbling in the face of his passion. But now she could tell he was preoccupied with something he kept hidden inside, just as she did. Ever since Hammond appeared at the theater.
And the terrible thing was, she knew now that she loved Dominic. It had crept up on her and wouldn’t be banished. So it was better to have that distance between them now, so she could make things right for him however she could.
Sophia turned away from the window and dug through her reticule. In the bottom, she found what she was looking for. The small pistol Camille had given her lay there, deceptively pretty.
She put Lord Hammond’s card next to the gun. Yes—she would do whatever she had to now to repay Dominic’s kindnesses to her. Surely she had nothing now to lose?
Dominic was already back at their lodgings when she returned. He lay sprawled across their bed dressed only in his trousers and his unfastened, rumpled linen shirt. The lamplight gilded his bared skin and turned his tousled hair to pure molten gold. Her handsome husband. Her heart ached as she studied him.
He looked up from the script he was reading and smiled at her. “How was the club tonight?”
Sophia returned his smile, but it felt brittle and strained, as if her face would crack with the strain of it. How very tired she was. How very much she wished everything could be different. That she could go back and be with Dominic after that first night she met him and start all over again.
“Slow,” she said. She sat down at her dressing table and stripped off her gloves and earrings. She slowly started to pull the pins from her hair as her headache grew stronger. “How was the theater?”
“Issy was in good form, though moving a bit slower than usual. Father kept hinting to know when you might take another role. Everyone was asking about you.”
“Was your father really? How kind of him.” Sophia remembered the magic of their nights onstage, how rare and wonderful it was. She only hoped Dominic would remember, too.
As she reached for her hairbrush, she saw the worn leather cover of Mary’s diary sitting on the edge of the table. She had finished the last page only that morning. Mary’s tale had ended with shocking suddenness, trailing off in smudged ink and tear stains as her husband sent her away. All her hopes had crumbled to nothing.
What had been the end of her story? Perhaps it was better Sophia would never know.
She heard a rustle as Dominic left the bed. He crossed the room on his bare feet, and as she watched in the mirror he came up behind her and started to unfasten her gown.
“Is that Mary Huntington’s diary?” he asked quietly.
“Yes. I just read the last entry this morning.” As Sophia studied her husband’s half-shadowed reflection, she came to a decision. She reached for the book and took his hand to press it against his palm. “You should read it, too, Dominic.”
He looked back at her, his expression unreadable. “Should I look at it now?”
“If you like. I think I’ll try to sleep.” Sophia rose from the chair and let her loosened gown fall away. She kissed Dominic softly on his cheek as he stared down at the book in his hand.
She went to their bed and slipped between the covers. She wasn’t sure she really could sleep, but she was so very tired she could feel darkness stealing over her even as she closed her eyes.
She fell asleep to the soft sound of old pages slowly turning.
The sun was beginning to peek through the window when Dominic finished Mary’s diary. As he set the book down carefully on Sophia’s dressing table, he was astonished to find the night was gone and he was still in his own room.
Mary’s sadness, even as long ago as it had been, seemed to pervade everything. He could hardly fathom her tale. It was as if the hardened walls of bitterness that had always encased his life, the old hatred of the Huntingtons, had dissipated around him. He hated the raw vulnerability of their loss, but surely to know the truth was always better.
He had always been told that John Huntington ruined the St. Claire family after he coldly cast Mary aside when she couldn’t give him an heir. That he had used his Court connections to destroy his wife’s family. But now it seemed they had both been destroyed, Mary’s husband and brother, through a royal duke’s ill-fated financial scheme. It was neither family’s fault—and yet it was both.
And innocent Mary, who only wanted to love her husband, was the one truly destroyed. By that very love.
Dominic went and knelt by the bed where his wife slept. The pale pink sunrise light fell over her face, and he saw she was shockingly pale. Dark purple shadows lurked under her eyes, and her brow was furrowed as if she had disturbing dreams.
And Dominic felt a pang of something he seldom experienced—remorse. Remorse for not being what she needed, what she deserved. For assuming the worst, just as John had with Mary.
He didn’t know the ending of Mary’s tale, but he did know he could make Sophia’s story a happier one. If she would just give him the chance. He just had to figure out how.
He gently drew the blankets closer around her and kissed her forehead. “Sleep well now, Sophia,” he whispered. “I’m sorry for not intending to be the husband you need. I’m here now.”
He could only hope that somehow she heard him.
Chapter Twenty-six
Sophia hurried down the street, not looking to either side of her, not paying attention to any of the noise and jostle. It was almost as if London, the real, working life of the city, no longer existed. She could only think of one thing.
Finding Lord Hammond.
She wasn’t sure what she would do when she found him. She only knew she had to put a stop to his threats, to the danger he posed to Dominic and his family.
She had never felt so deeply, achingly angry before in her life. Yet she also felt freezing cold, frighteningly calm, and rational. How dare this man, a man she barely knew, think he had any right to her? That he owned her just because he wanted her, that he could ruin her life because she didn’t want him in return?
She wasn’t going to take it any longer. Now she had more than herself to protect. She had Dominic, her husband.
The husband she loved. She wasn’t going to let her own problems ruin his life. She could never live with that if he suffered from being allied with her. So she would take care of this now. However she had to. She had left Dominic a note explaining what she was doing, a note he would find only after he got back from the theater and this was all long over. It was the least she could do for him now.
Sophia turned a corne
r and found herself facing the hotel where Lord Hammond said he was staying. She tugged her hooded cloak closer around her and stared up at the grand building. It looked quiet and genteel, with its heavily-draped windows and liveried doormen. Not a place for dramatic confrontations. But she had no choice.
She drew a deep breath and pasted on the haughtiest smile she had learned from her mother. If she looked as if she belonged there, no one would stop her. She swept past the doorman and into the marble-and-velvet hush of the foyer.
She pulled his card out of her reticule and checked the room—414. As she tucked it back amid the satin folds, she felt the reassuring weight of her small pistol at the bottom. It looked deceptively dainty, all ivory scrolls and curves inlaid in the smooth wood, but she knew it could get the job done if needed.
As she climbed the carpeted staircase, cold distance heightened her perceptions. The dark, rich colors of the hotel seemed to sharpen. She could smell the heavy earthiness of the lilies in the tall Chinese vases blended with the scent of beeswax polish and expensive perfumes. And suddenly she felt strong and resolute. This was ending now. Dominic would be free.
On the fourth floor, the stairs opened onto a grand landing, an octagonal space carpeted in plush red and blue and hung with lavish tapestries that muffled the loud laughter of the well-dressed crowd gathered there. A table was laid out with champagne and hors d’oeuvres, and a footman passed out glasses to the people lounging on the satin sofas and along the gilded railings that looked down to the lobby so far below.
And in their midst was Lord Hammond. He sat on a settee beside one of the expensive courtesans he had been with at the Devil’s Fancy. She leaned against his arm, laughing tipsily, while Lord Hammond watched the gathering with a small smile.
Sophia hadn’t expected a party, but she had as good a sense of drama as anyone. Perhaps it would be better to have witnesses. Then Dominic could be done with an obviously mad wife.
Sophia swept back the hood of her cloak and stepped forward with a smile.
Sophia was gone.
Dominic stared down at the scrawled note in his hand, still not quite believing what he had read. He had hurried back from rehearsal, eager to take her to dinner and start to rebuild something between them. Tell her what he was feeling. But she had gone to find Lord Hammond, had vowed that he and his family would be safe now because she was going to make it so.
He wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but he remembered her pale, strained face from last night. He only knew he had to find her now, before it was too late.
Chapter Twenty-seven
My dear Mrs. St. Claire! I am so happy you could join my little party today. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again.” Lord Hammond rose from his settee and came toward Sophia with a smile. He ignored the pouts of the woman he left behind, and the curious stares everyone else turned toward her. He only watched her.
He took her arm and bent his head to brush his cool lips over her cheek. Sophia felt a shudder move up her spine, but she forced herself to remain still. This was for all the mistakes she had made in her life; she had to make them right now.
“I knew you would come to me eventually,” he said.
“Yes,” Sophia murmured. “I see where my advantages in life lie now.”
“You are a very smart girl, Sophia. It’s just too bad we’ve wasted so much time.”
Sophia smiled up at him. “Shall we make up for it now?”
“Of course.” Lord Hammond took her arm and turned her toward the corridor that led away from the party. “We should go someplace quieter to talk.”
Sophia glanced over at the gathering. They had all gone back to their conversations, but she could see their sidelong looks at her and Lord Hammond. “I don’t want to keep you from your guests. I had no idea you were entertaining today or I would have waited to come here.”
“You are the most important guest of all, my dear,” he said, running his fingers lightly over the back of her hand. “And soon everyone will know that.”
Sophia looked down at the floor in what she hoped seemed a demure, shy fashion. In reality, she was trying to gauge how long it would take to open her reticule. “I—I’m still a married woman, Lord Hammond. Even if it was a mistake.”
“A mistake that will soon be rectified.” He leaned close to whisper in her ear, his breath warm on her skin. “I can give you so much more than a man like St. Claire could. And now that you have seen that and come to me, the Devil’s Fancy can remain open and he and his family can go about their disreputable business without you. My friends will be pleased not to lose one of their favorite places to gamble.”
“I hope so,” Sophia said. “He can’t give me the place in Society I need, but I wouldn’t want to lose such an amusing establishment.”
“Whatever you want, my dear, it’s yours.” He turned down the corridor and led her toward the looming doorway of room 414. “Now, let me get you a glass of champagne and we will have a nice, quiet talk about the future.”
Sophia clutched her reticule tighter in her hand and followed him. Her heart was pounding, and her whole body felt as cold as ice. But her mind was strangely sharp and clear.
“Perhaps you would like to go abroad again?” he said as he pushed open the door and ushered her inside with a possessive hand on her back. “You seemed in your element in Baden-Baden and Paris. London is entirely unworthy of you.”
Sophia looked around her. To her relief, they were in a sitting room and not a bedchamber, a small, opulent space that echoed the luxury of the hotel’s foyer. The air felt heavy and hot, oppressively scented with large arrangements of full-blown roses.
“Perhaps,” she said, watching him as he crossed the room to a table laid out with an array of wine bottles. Now that he had her, Sophia was sure he wouldn’t stay interested long enough to take her abroad. She had met men like him many times. He would be on to the next challenge, leaving her life, and those of her husband and his family, in ruins. Another Huntington destroying a St. Claire.
Hammond poured out two glasses of champagne. She opened her reticule and drew out the pistol. When he turned back around, she held it leveled on him.
And his smile grew even more delighted. “Now, my dear, you had just come to your senses. Don’t ruin it now with sad melodrama. As amusing as it all is.”
Sophia shook her head. “Yes, I did come to my senses. I love my husband, and I won’t let anyone hurt him.” Including herself.
“I mean him absolutely no harm,” Hammond said. He slowly put the glasses down on the table. “I have nothing against him, except that you were momentarily foolish enough to marry him. But that is over now that you have come to me.”
“I haven’t come to you,” she said, still feeling that strange, cold curtain of calm that held her apart from the whole terrible scene. “I know men like you. I have been subject to them my whole life. You want to own people, control them. I won’t be controlled any longer.”
That infuriating smile of his flickered a bit, and she saw a shadow of doubt in his eyes.
“Perhaps you see now that you are dealing with a madwoman,” she said.
Suddenly he lunged toward her. His fist closed on the edge of her cloak. She kicked out at him and raised her pistol. In the sudden, panicked violence of the moment, she had no time to aim. She fired blindly.
She heard Hammond’s shouted curse, and the shattering of glass. He grabbed her hard around the waist and shoved her to the floor. The gun was knocked out of her hand and went skittering across the floor. She tried to scramble after it, but Hammond slammed her back down. Her head hit the floor, and for an instant, the room whirled around her in a painful, nauseous haze.
“You insane bitch,” he said hoarsely, and she felt him ripping open her cloak, tearing at her bodice. “I offer you everything, and this is what you do? Try to kill me?”
Sophia opened her mouth to scream, and his hand came down to smother the noise. She couldn’t breathe. She tried to free h
er hand and hit him, to kick out at him from the imprisoning tangle of her skirts, but she was trapped beneath him.
The room was turning dark at the edges. Just as she was sure she would faint, she heard the crash of the door flying open. One of Hammond’s hands fell away from her as she sat up, and she rolled onto her side beneath him.
It was Dominic at the door, Dominic with his eyes blazing with a raw, primitive fury.
“Get off her, you filthy piece of shit,” he roared, and he threw himself forward to toss Hammond off her.
Sophia barely managed to pull herself out of the way before Dominic landed a blow to Hammond’s face and sent him reeling back. Dominic followed in relentless pursuit.
Sophia climbed to her feet and scooped her lost pistol off the floor. She stayed close to the wall, out of their way, and tried to get a straight shot at Hammond. But it was impossible. They were flying around the room in a blur of fists, a mist of sweat and blood.
She remembered the night in Paris when Dominic was dumped on her doorstep, covered in cuts and bruises. She had known even then that all the wounds were not from his street attackers, that he was a dangerous man. She could see that now in the methodical, precise way he went after Hammond, landing blow after blow for the maximum effect. Despite the fury on his face, he never fought wild.
Hammond was no match for Dominic. He obviously had never been forced to resort to physically going after what he wanted. Not when blackmail and powerful relatives did the trick. But he was no weakling either. A right uppercut sent Dominic reeling back, and Sophia screamed. But he leaped back up, as lithe and powerful as before.
Suddenly, Hammond swung around and grabbed Sophia by the arm in a bruising, iron grip. She screamed as he pulled her closer, and one hand came up in a choking hold around her neck. The room started to swim around her again as her air was cut off.
“Let her go,” Dominic demanded. “This fight is between you and me now, not her.”
