“I am sorry to hear that. Didn’t you say you were only six years when he died?”
“Yes. I don’t remember him well.” She shook her head as though to clear her thoughts. Or was it to deny what she did remember?
“What of your mother? What advice did she give you?”
Sophia met his gaze at last. “To never marry a scoundrel.”
Before he could think of a response, she turned and hurried up the stairs toward her room, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
~*~
Sophia had suggested, cajoled, and argued, all to no avail. The countess would not be dissuaded from her plan to host a party. She had gone so far as to request a modiste to call upon them so they could order new gowns. The woman was to arrive that very afternoon with samples to show them.
Sophia had no choice but to enlist Elliott’s aid. He didn’t seem to be in favor of the party either. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been vocal enough about his displeasure. If only to keep the countess from overextending herself, the party was a poor idea.
The thought of helping to host such a gathering made Sophia ill with nerves. She didn’t know how to do it or how to act during it or...well, anything. Attending a function as a companion would be far different than as a—
Sophia stopped short in the middle of the hall. What would she be?
A few of the countess’s comments made her feel as if she was holding the party in large part for Sophia’s benefit.
No matter how many times Sophia had told her she didn’t wish to find a nice young man with whom to raise a family, the countess countered with a reason why she should.
The older woman insisted Sophia’s aunt had the wrong notions about life, most especially about men and marriage. “No doubt somewhere along the way, a man broke her heart.”
Perhaps that was true, but it didn’t change Sophia’s mind. She wanted to secure her own future and not be dependent on anyone to put a roof over her head and food on the table. Granted, wages as a companion paid little, but she saved nearly everything she made. Already she had a modest amount set aside.
Elliott could change the countess’s mind if he tried. While he’d said a few words of discouragement, for the most part, he’d ignored the plans.
Sophia wanted to bring the situation to his attention, along with her worry that it was all too much for his grandmother. She was becoming more and more active, but hosting a party was different from merely attending a ball for a few hours. The worrying and fussing over all the details it required would risk a setback.
Having heard him return earlier, she knocked on his library door, surprised a footman wasn’t standing there. Muffled voices could be heard, but nothing she could understand. She knocked again, harder this time.
“Come.” While still difficult to hear, she had no doubt of the word. She opened the door only to stop short at the sight of a shirtless Elliott before his desk, Codwell standing at his side.
Elliott’s brow raised in surprise at her entrance. At least, she thought it did. She couldn’t take her eyes off his body. Broad shoulders. Golden skin. Dark hair swirling over his sculpted chest. While she’d caught a glimpse of it when she unbuttoned his clothes, she hadn’t seen this.
All thought stopped as she processed the sight before her.
Then she saw the blood.
A deep slice along his ribs oozed with it.
With a gasp, she hurried forward, not thinking of the inappropriateness of her presence, only worrying about Elliott. “What happened?”
“I thought you were the footman.” Elliott reached for his shirt.
Sophia ignored him and looked at Codwell. “What happened?”
“His lordship was on the wrong end of a knife fight with no knife.”
The limited answer was not nearly enough of an explanation. “Where?”
“Yes, where is the footman with the bandages?” Elliott asked, deliberately turning her question as he shifted in the chair, obviously in pain, holding his shirt awkwardly before him.
“I will see what is taking him so long.” Codwell hurried out of the room. It was the fastest Sophia had ever seen the butler move.
“No, I—” Elliott shook his head at the closed door.
“How on earth did you end up in a knife fight?” Sophia took his shirt and set it aside then used his handkerchief to dab the blood so she could better see the injury.
“Luck, I suppose.”
“You have a terrible habit of never giving a straight answer.”
“Do I?”
She glared at him from where she knelt at his side. “Yes, you do.”
He only closed his eyes with a grimace. No doubt his injury hurt terribly.
“Scissors?” she asked. Apparently Codwell and the footman hadn’t located any bandages as they had yet to return. “I assume this shirt is already ruined, and you won’t mind if I cut it for bandages.”
“Top left drawer.”
She retrieved them and cut his shirt into strips. Then she took the decanter of brandy from the sideboard.
“Thirsty?” She ignored the dry note in Elliott’s tone.
She created strips of bandages from the shirt, splashed some of the liquor on one of the folded strips, and pressed it against his side. Though it must’ve hurt terribly, his only reaction was a quiver of his flat stomach. She did her best to focus on the injury and not his bare chest. She poured a healthy dose of brandy in a glass and handed it to him.
He drank deeply before setting the glass on his desk. “Can’t imagine where Codwell went.” His gaze met hers. “Bandaged many knife wounds?”
“No, but I often assisted our cook in aiding villagers and farmers with injuries.” She gestured for him to hold the bandage against his side then tied several strips together.
“Humph.”
She examined the wound one more time then reached around him to bind the makeshift pad around his middle. “I don’t think you’ll need to be stitched, but no doubt Codwell is sending for the doctor.”
Though she berated herself for noticing, especially when he was wounded, her gaze lingered on his muscled chest and broad shoulders. The heat of his skin beneath her hands surprised her as she reached around him several times, smoothing the strips into place.
“You are a conundrum, Sophia.”
She glanced up in surprise. “Because I can bind a wound? I hardly think so.”
“I don’t know what to do about you.” He reached out to touch her cheek.
Longing flooded her, heat rising through her entire body. “I don’t know what to do about you either.” She bit her lip, realizing she shouldn’t have said such a thing.
“May I kiss you?” He moved his finger to lift her chin.
His green eyes held hers. She couldn’t deny him anything in that moment. Instead, she lifted to meet his lips, anxious for the taste of him and the glorious way he made her feel. She didn’t pretend to understand what this was.
Passion? Affection? Love?
Her heart squeezed at the last word, as though answering her own question. No, she couldn’t be falling for a scoundrel. She’d promised herself never to repeat her mother’s mistake. Not after watching her grieve for her father, leaving her a shell of her former self.
Sophia wanted more than that. But she also wanted Elliott. The two seemed miles apart.
Was it so wrong to grab these few moments of pleasure? Surely she was strong enough not to lose herself, wasn’t she?
When Elliott deepened the kiss, her worries fell away and sensation took over. Nothing mattered except this moment.
He eased back to kiss her cheek. “Sophia.”
A knock on the door saved her from responding. She rose and eased back as Codwell and the footman entered.
Sophia walked quickly toward the door, only half listening as the butler suggested calling for the doctor while Elliott insisted he was fine.
Heart pounding, she realized she’d been wrong. Indulging in those moments of pleasure with El
liott was a mistake. For each time, he took a piece of her heart. Soon she wouldn’t have any left.
Chapter Nine
“Is it true?” Dalia asked in lieu of greeting Sophia at the Stanford’s party two nights later.
“What?”
“That the earl was injured in a knife fight at a brothel?” Her bright eyes were lit with curiosity.
Sophia’s heart fell. “A brothel?” Why would he kiss her when he’d just been to a brothel? But wait. He’d arrived home in the middle of the day. Wasn’t a brothel a place men visited in the evening?
Dalia held her arm, her gaze riveted on Sophia. “You seem more surprised by the brothel information than the knife wound. Does that mean you knew he was injured?”
Sophia glanced at the countess, wanting to make certain she hadn’t heard Dalia’s comments. The elderly woman sat in a nearby chair, a cane at her side. Several of her friends visited with her. Hopefully this information wouldn’t reach her ears.
“I hope you’re not spreading such a rumor,” Sophia said at last, unable to keep a note of censure from her tone.
“Of course not. I only heard it a few moments ago and came directly to you.”
“From who?”
“Viscount Grover, though I don’t believe he meant anyone other than Viscount Rutland to hear.” At Sophia’s frown, Dalia lifted a shoulder. “I happened to be passing behind them on my way to see my mother. It’s interesting what one learns when one is invisible.”
“What does that mean?”
Dalia waved her hand in the air. “A topic for another time. But is it true? Is the earl well?”
Aware of Dalia’s continued regard, Sophia wasn’t certain how to respond. She adored Dalia, but in truth she didn’t want to share any information about Elliott. Besides, Sophia knew nothing other than that Elliott had been stabbed.
“Trust you to be unwilling to gossip.” Dalia gave a beleaguered sigh. “I suppose it will be one more unconfirmed rumor regarding the earl.”
“I suppose so.”
Sophia couldn’t release her suspicion about the rumors. Were any of them true? Was there a way to discover where and how he spent his days? If she could either confirm or deny his reputation, then perhaps she would know what to do about her feelings for him.
If he was truly a rogue then she had to find a way to harden her heart toward him. Before it was too late. If it wasn’t too late already.
“I can see the wheels turning in your mind. Whatever are you thinking?”
“Something I probably shouldn’t.” And certainly nothing she was willing to share with her cousin.
But now that the idea had taken hold, she couldn’t release it. Tomorrow was going to be an enlightening day, one way or another.
~*~
Late the next morning, Sophia lingered in the hall upstairs, listening closely for Elliott’s departure. She’d overheard him tell Codwell he’d soon be leaving. Guilt for eavesdropping already made her grimace, as had her request to the countess for a few hours to herself to run errands.
What might she feel like by the time she completed her mission this day? But once the idea of following Elliott had come to her, she’d felt certain this was the answer to her dilemma.
There was no harm in her going out.
By herself.
Behind Elliott.
If he caught her, she would simply say— She had no idea what she’d say. She hoped she wouldn’t be caught. With a sigh, she smoothed the skirt of the grey gown she’d donned with the hope of blending in.
“Shall we expect you for the evening meal, my lord?” Codwell’s voice echoed up the stairs.
Sophia leaned over the bannister, hoping to hear Elliott’s reply.
“I suppose not.” Was there a note of disappointment in his voice? “I shall see if I can manage it tomorrow evening.”
The rest of their brief conversation was muffled, so Sophia retrieved her cloak from her room and rushed down the back stairs. She gave a quick wave at the cook and maids in the kitchen as she passed through and hurried out the back door.
Now if only a hansom cab was waiting down the street, she might be able to follow him. Heart racing, she hurried down the alleyway, clutching her purse. She kept to the alley until she was near the cab stand then ventured onto the street. She nearly cheered with relief when she caught sight of the hansom.
“Will you please follow that carriage?” she breathlessly asked the driver, pointing to Elliott’s carriage, still visible in the distance.
“I reckon so,” he agreed.
“Don’t follow too closely. I would prefer to be discreet.” She hopped in and settled on the seat, nerves fluttering.
“Very well then.” With a snap of the reins, they were off.
They travelled through the neighborhood, then to Regent Street, where she lost sight of the carriage several times in the snarled traffic. Luckily, the driver’s higher perch provided him a better view.
The farther they went, the more Sophia worried that she’d made a terrible mistake with this venture. The risk was too great. If Elliott discovered she was spying on him, everything would be ruined.
At last they drew to a halt along Whitehall near an impressive three-story building. It had to be some sort of government office as all the buildings in this area were. She watched as Elliott alighted and entered.
“What building is that?” she asked the driver.
“The Foreign Office.”
Sophia had no idea what to think. What business could Elliott have there?
“What would ye like me to do?”
Sophia pondered her options, indecisiveness filling her. “Would you mind waiting a few minutes?”
Though worried she wouldn’t be able to find another hansom when Elliott left, she couldn’t afford to pay the driver to wait long.
Thus far, her mission was not a success.
Minutes passed slowly as doubt trickled in, threatening to overwhelm her plan. What had she been thinking? This was an awful idea. Yet she’d already started down this path. She might as well see it through.
As though a reward for her patience, or perhaps her determination, Elliott emerged from the building, striding toward his carriage with a grim expression.
“Shall I follow him again?” The hopeful note in the driver’s voice made Sophia wonder if he was enjoying this game of pursuit.
“Yes, if you please.” Sophia settled back into her seat, curious as to where Elliott might be going next. Visiting someone at the Foreign Office was hardly the act of a scoundrel.
It was far too soon to jump to such a conclusion she reminded herself. Yet relief filled her all the same.
In her heart, she didn’t want Elliott to be a rogue. While she held little hope they might have a future, she needed to know the truth, before her feelings grew any deeper.
Lost in thought, she glanced out the window, realizing they’d passed into an unfamiliar neighborhood, not that she knew London well. This neighborhood held a worn appearance, as though better days had come and gone.
Grand houses lined the quiet streets but a few of the roofs drooped. Shingles were missing here and there, and many of the wrought iron gates sagged on their hinges like drunken old men propped against a wall.
The cab slowed to a halt and the driver leaned down. “The carriage stopped ahead, and the gentleman is walking toward one of the houses.”
Following her instincts, Sophia quickly alighted and handed the driver his fee, all while keeping an eye on Elliott’s progress. The chance of him not spotting the hansom seemed slim, and she would soon run out of money. “That will be all.”
“Are you certain you don’t want me to wait?” The driver frowned between her and the money she’d given him, as though disappointed to end the quest.
Quelling her doubt, Sophia gave a decisive nod. “I will follow on foot from here.”
She hurried toward the house where he’d disappeared. Had he gone inside? The squeak of a gate had her walking
around the side of the house to follow the sound. She proceeded cautiously, glancing up at the four-story house, wondering who lived here.
Why would Elliott go to the rear entrance? It suggested a familiarity that concerned her. Was this his mistress’s home? She bit her lip, hoping she was wrong. She pressed on, more determined to find out what he was doing here.
The murmur of voices reached her from the rear entrance, followed by the sound of the door closing. She continued through the side garden until she could see the empty back step.
Now what? She could hardly knock on the door and inquire as to who lived there.
Or could she? Did she dare do something so bold? Surely, Elliott was no longer anywhere near the door. If an unsuspecting servant answered, perhaps she could pry information from him or her.
Front or back door? Back, she decided, moving before her nerves sent her running. She checked the narrow veil of her hat to make certain it was pulled down, hiding most of her face.
A footman answered the door, at least she thought he was a footman, though he didn’t wear a uniform, only a suit coat. “Yes?” he asked.
“I am here to see Mrs. Smith.” Sophia looked behind him, hoping to glimpse something that would give her a hint as to who lived here. But all she could see was a bit of the kitchen and the hall, which told her nothing.
“There is no Mrs. Smith here. You have the wrong house.” The man stepped to the side, blocking her scrutiny.
“I am certain she told me this address. Who lives here?” Sophia eased to the opposite side, hoping to improve her view.
“You need to leave, madam.”
“Are you certain there’s no Mrs. Smith?” At the man’s nod, she tried again. “Is this a private residence?”
The annoyed servant shut the door in her face.
All the air left her lungs in defeat. What else could she have said to gain more information? Silly of her to think she might’ve been allowed to enter. And what would have happened if she had? Looking around the house wouldn’t have told her anything. She needed to know who Elliott was meeting with and why.
Tempting the Scoundrel (The Seven Curses of London Book 5) Page 9
