But he kept the thought to himself. She was in business and he respected that, as long as it didn’t interfere with his mission. This cat and mouse game was a challenge—getting the other party to talk without revealing too much of what he knew was never easy or straightforward.
“Your assistance is appreciated. I thank you on behalf of Her Majesty.” It never hurt to name drop and remind her of whom they served.
The woman’s eyes widened at the mention of the Queen. “My pleasure.”
Elliott gave her a charming smile. He’d learned from the start that flattery and flirting were a requirement in these situations. “Rumors have surfaced that certain Russian factions intend to send a brash message to the Queen.”
“The Russians are always so...passionate. I believe they often mistake the British reserve for indifference.” She set her glass on a side table and trailed her fingers along his arm. “But that couldn’t be further from the truth, could it?”
“Has the Russian diplomat who frequents your establishment mentioned anything?” He did his best to ignore the hand moving slowly along his chest.
“He was here a few days ago. He mentioned that many activists would like to see Britain slow their empire building and concentrate on the problems within their own borders rather than continuously expanding.”
It took far longer than he’d hoped but Josephine at last revealed that she expected the Russian to visit again on the morrow. Now that she understood where to lead the conversation, she might have more luck in gathering details.
When it became clear she knew nothing else, at least nothing she was willing to share, he eased into his goodbye.
“I do wish you would stay for a time now that we have concluded business.” She looked at him from under her lashes, sliding her hand along his shoulders. “Though I see only a few clients myself these days, I would make an exception for you.”
“I’m afraid I must respectfully decline.”
Her lower lip protruded in a pout. “Are you certain? We could spend an enjoyable few hours together.”
No doubt her skills in the boudoir surpassed the majority of his previous companions, but he wasn’t tempted. Thoughts of Sophia and worry over his grandmother held all his attention.
“It would certainly be a memorable evening but duty calls.”
“Duty? Or a woman?” She studied him as she asked.
Sophia’s image immediately filled his mind.
“Ah. I see the answer. A woman has caught your eye.” As he shook his head, she placed her hand along his cheek to still him. “No need to hide your interest. Pretending it doesn’t exist doesn’t make it go away.”
Was that what he’d been doing? Masking his attraction to Sophia with his attempts to chase her away? He’d excused his behavior by telling himself he was trying to convince her to leave. Somewhere along the way, that had no longer become true.
“Is this a surprise to you?” She smiled, as though delighted she’d helped him.
“Perhaps.” That was as much as he was willing to admit.
Josephine had obviously become adept at reading others. In truth, that was how she made her living—anticipating men’s needs and wants before they admitted them.
And Josephine was very good at her business.
“May I offer you some advice, my lord?” At his reluctant nod, she added, “Do not wait. Life is short and so often unexpected events occur.” A shadow passed over her features, leaving him to wonder what had happened in her past. “Grab any chance of happiness with both hands and do not let go. Not even for Her Majesty.”
To his surprise, her words echoed in his mind as he rode home in a hansom cab. Was that what was at stake with Sophia? Happiness? Something in his chest twisted at the thought.
The word had become foreign in his life. He couldn’t deny the feeling that washed through him each time he came upon Sophia, as if his heart leapt at the sight of her. He’d thought it simple anticipation of their battle of wills.
How ironic that a conversation with a brothel madam had caused such a deep revelation in his life.
Yet the question remained—-what should he do about it?
Chapter Seven
Sophia remained at the countess’s bedside, waiting for the doctor, her stomach knotted with worry. Hours had passed—the clock in the hall had struck midnight—but the elderly woman had yet to regain consciousness, and the doctor had not yet arrived.
Sophia had no idea what to do. She feared the countess’s illness had not only worsened, but that she’d injured herself when she fell. Her odd position on the floor suggested she might’ve twisted her hip or leg, and a red bump marked her hairline. Sophia surmised she’d hit her head on the small bench at the foot of her bed.
Codwell and two of the footmen had gently returned her to the bed, but still she hadn’t woken. Sophia berated herself for leaving the countess’s side. She should’ve insisted on remaining in the room while she rested.
How she wished Elliott would return. Codwell had sent for the doctor and was kind enough to offer reassuring comments to Sophia, but she wanted Elliott.
The idea of losing the countess when she’d grown to care so much for her was devastating. The older woman filled a void in Sophia’s life she hadn’t realized existed until these past few weeks. The countess was like the grandmother she’d never known. They shared a love of books, of knowledge, of life.
The countess made Sophia feel like an intelligent, clever individual. No lectures, no heartbreak, only a joy for life. There was no drama as there had been at home with her mother, father and aunt. Not that she didn’t love and miss her family. This was just...different.
She shifted as the door opened, disappointed to see it was only Codwell once again.
Elliott, where are you?
Her silent question went unanswered. Of all nights that he stayed out late... What was she thinking? He stayed out late nearly every night.
“The doctor should arrive any moment. No doubt she’ll be most displeased with us for sending for him.” Codwell stood near the end of the bed, his watchful gaze on the countess.
“We shall tell her she left us no choice.” Sophia was aware her words lacked conviction, but until she knew the countess would make a full recovery, worry held her tight in its grasp. “I should have remained with her, in case she needed something.”
“Nonsense, Miss Markham. The countess has a strong will and does not take kindly to anyone opposing her.”
Sophia appreciated his attempt to make her feel better, even if it failed.
A footman opened the door. “Doctor Brown has arrived.”
Sophia rose from her chair by the bed as a grey-haired man with spectacles and carrying a black leather satchel entered.
He glanced briefly at her before looking at Codwell. “It must be serious if she requested me to visit.”
“She is unaware of the request as of yet,” Codwell advised. “Miss Markham, her new companion, found the countess unconscious on the floor a short time ago.”
The doctor nodded at her then stepped closer to the bed, setting his case on Sophia’s vacant chair. “Fell? That’s not like her.”
“She’s been feeling poorly for the past two days,” Sophia added. “A bit of a cough and quite weary.”
As the doctor examined her, Sophia and Codwell eased back to allow some privacy.
Before the doctor finished, Elliott strode into the room. “What happened?” His accusing glare landed squarely on Sophia.
Guilt flooded her as she stepped forward to explain. “She fell—”
Before she could offer anything further, he brushed past her to his grandmother.
“My lord.” The doctor bowed to Elliott then continued his examination, easing aside the countess’s hair for a closer look at the bump. “I understand she’s been under the weather of late.”
“She insisted it wasn’t anything a few days’ rest wouldn’t cure.”
“Stubborn,” Doctor Brown muttered.
“There’s a bit of a congestion in her lungs. We’ll need to keep a close eye on that.”
Sophia debated stepping out of the room, wondering if now that Elliott was here she should leave. But she couldn’t bear to until she knew the countess was going to be all right.
“I’ll leave something for her cough in case she needs it.” He looked at Sophia. “Can you describe her position when you found her?”
Sophia closed her eyes for a moment as the shock of that moment filled her before advising how the countess had been lying.
The doctor gently lifted each of her feet, bed covers and all, checking to make certain everything moved properly. “I don’t believe she’s broken anything, but we won’t know for certain until she wakes.”
“Why hasn’t she?” Sophia asked, unable to keep from wringing her hands.
“Difficult to say.” The doctor shook his head. “Might be from striking her head.”
Elliott winced at his words.
“Or her illness may be worse. Perhaps a combination of the two. She has a fever, but it isn’t high enough to be of grave concern. Can someone sit with her? I would like to return when she wakes and do a more thorough examination, though it might not be until the morrow. She might sleep through the rest of the night.”
Elliott escorted the doctor from the room, Codwell behind them.
Sophia settled into her chair beside the countess, determined to remain there until she woke. While she felt better now that the doctor had seen her, her worry wouldn’t ease until the countess opened her eyes.
Within a few minutes, Elliott returned. Sophia braced herself for a reprimand, but he had eyes only for his grandmother.
His hair was disheveled, a sign he’d run his hand through it. “How long?”
“I’m sorry?”
“How long was she on the floor?”
“I don’t know.” Sophia’s stomach clenched. That very question had circled her thoughts more times than she could count. “As long as an hour. We were visiting and her restlessness seemed to have eased at last when she spoke of your grandfather. Then she asked me to leave her so she might rest. I don’t know why she would’ve risen from the bed after I left.”
With a sigh, he walked over to the dressing table. “She must’ve wanted this.” He lifted a gold locket by its chain from the table. “My grandfather gave this to her on their first anniversary. When she misses him, she holds it. She says it brings him closer.”
“I’ve seen her with it before, but I didn’t realize its significance or I would’ve gotten it for her before I left.” She shook her head. “I should’ve insisted on staying.”
Elliott placed the locket on the bedside table before turning to Sophia. “You and I know there is no point in arguing with her. She is a woman who knows her own mind.”
Sophia looked up at him in surprise. He didn’t blame her?
“What?” He cocked a brow at her.
“I thought you were angry that I hadn’t prevented her fall.”
He drew near and took her hand to help her rise. “Prevented? Are we speaking of my grandmother?”
“She does have strong opinions.” Her aunt would’ve berated her to no end for an event like this, regardless of whether it was truly her fault or not. The idea that Elliott didn’t was both a relief and a puzzle.
“If the two of you are going to speak ill of me, the least you could do is go into the other room.” The roughness of the countess’s tone spoke of the congestion the doctor mentioned.
Sophia thought nothing sounded sweeter.
“Grandmother.” Elliott released Sophia and hurried to the bed to take her hand. “You gave us a scare.”
“Me as well.” She touched her head, wincing.
He retrieved the locket from the table. “Were you wanting this?”
She smiled wanly as she reached out a trembling hand to take it. “Yes. I must’ve lost my balance.”
“Are you in pain?” he asked.
“My hip aches nearly as much as my head, but not compared to my pride.” She coughed, the nasty rattle causing Sophia to meet Elliott’s worried gaze.
“The doctor left something for your cough.” Sophia pointed toward the brown bottle on the nightstand.
“I’d much prefer the remedy the housekeeper makes. It doesn’t make my mind as foggy.”
“I’ll ask her to make more,” Sophia offered. “Then I will sit with you for the remainder of the night.”
“No, no, my dear. Have Sally sit with me tonight so you can stay with me tomorrow.”
Sophia glanced at Elliott. The countess agreeing to have someone stay with her all night proved how poorly she felt. “As you wish, my lady.”
“Sally doesn’t read as well as you do.” The countess gave her a weak smile. “I am most anxious to continue reading The Seven Curses of London to see what else Mister Greenwood discusses. I don’t believe Sally will appreciate his observations.”
“I look forward to it.” Sophia gave the countess’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m so pleased you’ve woken. I’ll return shortly with your drink.”
With a quick nod at Elliott, she closed the door then leaned against it for a moment, saying a prayer of gratitude.
~*~
Elliott closed his grandmother’s bedroom door, pleased she was resting comfortably after drinking the warm brandy with honey and lemon the housekeeper had prepared. How he hated seeing her looking so fragile, a shadow of her normal self.
If only he’d returned home sooner, circumstances might be different. Guilt was a constant companion of late. Aware he was too restless to sleep, he went down the stairs to his library, only to encounter Sophia in the hall.
“I just spoke with the housekeeper to see if she had any other remedies that might aid the countess.”
He gestured toward the library door. “Why don’t you have a nightcap with me and tell me about it. You look as though you could use something to calm your nerves.” As she opened her mouth to protest, he added, “I insist.”
“But your grandmother—”
“Is asleep with Sally at her side.” He held open the door, pleased when Sophia acquiesced and preceded him into the library.
The fire still burned, as if the footman had anticipated Elliott would use this room before retiring.
He poured her a small glass of sherry and a brandy for himself, thinking how different this was from his previous drink with a woman. Josephine and Sophia couldn’t be more opposite. Being with Sophia was like drawing a deep breath of fresh air, and he appreciated it more than he could say.
Sophia sighed as she took the sherry. “I’m relieved to hear that. The housekeeper had one or two other possible remedies she promised to make on the morrow. She’s determined to assist in the countess’s recovery but is unwilling to share the ingredients. All she would tell me is that the recipes were handed down from her grandmother.”
“I hope she’s sharing them with someone. Whatever will we do once that generation and their wisdom passes away?” The idea of that happening to his grandmother caused a catch in his throat.
It had been terribly difficult when his parents were killed and again when his grandfather died. But losing his grandmother might be the worst of all.
Sophia moved toward the fire, the glass cupped in her hands. “My mother knew little of such things. My aunt had no knowledge either, though her cook made us a terrible drink when we had an upset stomach.” She shuddered. “Thick, nasty green-colored stuff that smelled as if she’d mixed peppermint leaves in pond scum.”
Elliott drew nearer, feeling his tension ease. “Did it work?”
“In all honesty, I was never brave enough to drink it. I tossed it when she wasn’t looking.” Her gaze swung to the withered palm.
“It’s recovering already.” The words slipped out before he could think better of it.
“Why?” Her focus shifted to the glass in his hand.
“Why what?” he asked to give himself time to think of an answe
r.
“Why pour a drink if you don’t want one?”
“I want this one.” As though to prove it, he took a small sip.
She raised a brow, clearly dissatisfied with his response.
“There are times when drinking is expected of me, but I’d prefer to have my thoughts clear.” He cursed himself. Why did he feel compelled to tell her the truth?
“I see.”
That was the problem. She saw and understood far more than he wanted her to. As he’d known from the start, having her here was dangerous.
From her curls that were always trying to escape her chignon to her hazel eyes that reminded him of the sea glass he’d found on a distant shore, to her intelligence combined with an education that surpassed many men in his acquaintance, Sophia was a force.
A very attractive force.
She enticed him more than any woman he’d met throughout his travels. He simply couldn’t help himself.
Now that he’d given up trying to gain a reaction from her, he was thinking of other things. Things like the curve of her upper lip, the pert tip of her nose, the length of her dark lashes, and the smoothness of her skin.
“Do you?” he whispered as he stepped closer, hoping she wouldn’t retreat.
Did she truly see what she did to him?
Her watchful gaze met his. The scent of her, a mixture of lilacs and the sea, filled his senses. Her freshness was like a heady wine, something to be savored and enjoyed.
The fire cast shadows and light alternately over her face. He had no idea what she was thinking.
Her gaze dropped as if she realized he spoke of something different. Then just as quickly, she straightened, her eyes catching his as her chin lifted. “I do. I’ve learned that things are not always as they seem. Appearances can be deceiving. Don’t you agree?”
Did he dare say yes or would that reveal too much? He couldn’t risk her guessing his secrets. Could he?
His focus dropped to her lips and all questions fell away. All thought fell away. Except for one—the taste of her. He lifted a finger to touch her lower lip, but her quiet gasp only increased his need to kiss her.
Tempting the Scoundrel (The Seven Curses of London Book 5) Page 7
