Behind the Courtesan

by Bronwyn Stuart

  “Cease your taunting and help me up.”

  Had she no use for manners in London? She hadn’t said please once since he’d glimpsed her fine carriage through the tavern’s window. He had thought, since she had fled one black night without a word, that she would slink back with her tail between her legs to beg forgiveness and acceptance. But then she had probably forgotten all about him the second she stepped into her new life as a prostitute.

  Blake’s laughter died as he looked at her—really looked at the woman the girl had become. Night black hair still framed a familiar face, but that’s where the distinctive marks she used to have stopped. The handful of freckles Blake had teased her about mercilessly were gone, no laugh lines creased her eyes, no dimples marked cheeks so pale the skin was nearly transparent.

  Well, that’s what happens when you laze abed all day and indulge only in night-time activities.

  The sour thought brought him up short and instantly brought with it anger. This wasn’t the Sophie Martin he used to fish with as ten-year-olds. The girl he had known would have laughed in the mud until she couldn’t breathe. She certainly wasn’t the same young girl he’d fallen in love with, only to be betrayed and left without a word or thought. Now she was a woman whose choices made her a pariah.

  “Since you have already soiled your gown with my mud, help yourself.”

  She attempted to wrestle herself free but sagged back into the mire awkwardly. “Blake, why are you doing this to me?” she whispered.

  Damn it. Were those tears she worked so hard to disguise? Even now, as hate warred with the familiar sound of her voice, he still couldn’t bear to see her upset. Cursing under his breath, he hauled himself to his feet and offered her his hand.

  “No tricks?” she asked, her voice low, her eyelashes glittering with moisture.

  “You have my word.”

  Hesitantly, Sophie placed her hand in his, and for a moment, shame washed through him. The shock of seeing her again had obviously muddled his senses.

  Blake scooped her into his arms and juggled her against his chest, both of them dripping with foul mud. He carried her inside, ignoring the men crowded in the doorway making suggestions about what he could do with “Her Highness.” He tried to ignore her feeling of insult that hardened her like pine in his hold, though he knew he was to blame.

  “I’m sorry, Sophie.” He set her on her feet outside the private dining room.

  “Do you think coming back is easy for me, Blake?” The naked emotion in her voice and downcast eyes only made him feel worse. He was despicable.

  He’d waited in tense anticipation from the moment Matthew had announced she might return, and now he’d made a right mess of it all.

  His apology was lost as she forged on. “When I left here, I promised I would never, ever return.”

  She made it sound as though the village was plagued. “Why did you come then? If it’s so hard, why didn’t you stay in London?”

  “I came because Matthew asked.”

  “You’ve never answered his summonses before.” The accusation was out before he could catch it. It was none of his business.

  Her face fell and she turned away from him, hand on the door. “Things are different now.”

  “You could at least appear happy when he arrives.” He didn’t want to know how things were different. They were still the same for him. Same tavern, same work, same existence, same everything. Blake turned to leave and send word to her brother, but then she spoke again.

  “I was nervous. Worried, if you must know. Perhaps even scared.”

  “Oh?” he said, her admission paling in the light of years of being ignored. Now she wanted to pour her heart out? Now she wanted to confide in him? Pent-up anger spurred him to say yet more things he didn’t mean. “Were you scared of me? Of facing your brother? Or returning to the country without your maids and footmen?”

  A sharp intake of breath made her shoulders rise in outrage. “Have you forgotten where I came from? I am perfectly capable without servants, thank you very much.”

  As if he could ever forget. There were only two women in his life he had loved unconditionally and they had both abandoned him without word or regret. That kind of betrayal wasn’t likely to ever be forgotten. Or forgiven. “You were a girl then. What happened to her?”

  “The same thing that happened to the bastard son of a duke. We grew up.”

  He gritted his teeth hard, the pain easing the urge to hold his hand over her mouth so she wouldn’t utter another word. “I grew into what my life should have been. I was born a nobody and I will die a nobody just as the circumstance of my birth decreed.”

  “And my birth?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “What did my first breath mean to the world? Was it written on Destiny’s tablet that I would become a courtesan?”

  “No.” Sadness weighed him down. The kind of sadness he’d only ever known in connection with her. “You made your decisions. No one else.”

  “Yes, I did. Regardless of what you think you know, my life is full and happy. I learned to accept my lot a long time ago.”

  If she looked him in the eye and told him she was happy again then he would know she had become a liar as well as a nobleman’s plaything.

  Fury reddened his vision until he saw only the woman she could have been. The wife she would have made. The love they could have shared. He blinked and his dream Sophie vanished into Sophia. He didn’t have to be nice to Sophia. He didn’t have to respect or like her so she could break his heart again when she left. Let her go to her brother’s. “Is that what you call lying on your back for pretty things?”

  The crack of her palm across his face echoed off the walls. Then she opened the door at her back and fled into the warmth and safety of the parlor.

  He sagged there in the dim light as he rubbed a hand over his stinging cheek and cursed his tongue. He as good as called her a whore. Despite what he told himself in his mind, she was still Sophie. Little Sophie he’d carried on his back when the walk was too far or the river too deep. He’d wiped blood off her skinned knees, held her up so she could pick the sweetest apple from the highest branch, had his first kiss with her in a field of spring flowers, but he could never forgive her for leaving without a word. He couldn’t forgive the fourteen years of silence that followed or the rudeness now.

  And to be honest, he didn’t want to.

  Chapter Two

  Sophia still sat in her filthy dress an hour later—although now at least she was dry—and cursed her rash behavior. She really should have sent word that she was returning to the village, perhaps then she could have continued directly to her brother’s home instead of waiting for him at the only inn in town. But the events of the past few weeks had seemed to happen so quickly and Matthew’s letter had arrived at a time when her future and direction were uncertain.

  She had thought time in the country, away from the pressures demanded of her particular type of lifestyle, would help to return some form of balance even though the prospect terrified her. She should have followed her initial instincts and traveled to the coast or Bath, somewhere she didn’t have a history, somewhere a stranger with a made-up past could find her place.

  Her former protector had offered her a little house in Dover, a place to rest and recuperate, but buried deep in sorrow, she had turned him down. She did not need charity. She yearned for safety, comfort and, most of all, security. The only option she had was to return to her first home, to the family and village she had fled.

  Her turbulent thoughts drifted back to Blake. She had known their first meeting wasn’t going to go well, but she hadn’t envisioned it would go as badly as it had. Once upon a time they had been the best of friends, more. If only he knew the truth about why she had run away in the first place, he might have understood her anxiety. But she’d promised herself not to tell a soul. Not her brother and certainly not Blake. She could not handle the revulsion she knew would surge before any sympathetic emotion.

&nbs
p; Where was he anyway? He hadn’t even offered refreshments. Perhaps he would ride out to her brother and deliver the message himself just to be rid of her all the quicker.

  She smoothed her skirts, giving them a shake which loosened dirt all over the floor before the fire. A small smile of satisfaction lifted her lips.

  Before she could have any more thoughts of how much dirt she could be rid of by jumping up and down, the door flew open, slamming against the wall behind it with a bang.

  “Sophia?”

  The tall man staring at her through eyes the color of her own didn’t wait for an answer to his question. He rushed forward and drew her into his arms as though fourteen years was only a number and not half a lifetime.

  “Matthew, it’s so good to see you.” She tried to disguise the involuntary flinch that came whenever she was touched, but soon hugged him back.

  “I can’t believe you came,” he said quietly, his voice muffled by her hair.

  Was that relief or hesitation she heard? She pulled back, but he wouldn’t let her go.

  “I’ve missed you,” he said when finally he released her.

  She turned away from her brother. Deep emotion was not something Sophia could handle in that moment so when Blake entered the room, she was almost relieved.

  Looking back to Matthew, she asked, “Is Violet with you?”

  Now it was Matthew’s turn to look away. “I left her at the house. She is not feeling well today.”

  Blake stepped farther into the room with what looked like panic written on his face. “She was well enough this morning. Should she be alone?”

  Matthew glared at him before he turned back to Sophia, who watched the exchange with growing apprehension, although she tried to hide it. “She is not so happy that I am here, is she?”

  “It’s not that. We hadn’t heard from you and the only spare room we have has been turned into the baby’s room. Violet, that is, we, thought you might be more comfortable here.”

  The only sound to penetrate the sudden tension was the crackle of the fire. It was Blake who recovered first.

  “What?” he said. “She can’t stay here.”

  Matthew glared at him again. “This is an inn, is it not?”

  Sophia shook her head and interrupted the argument. “I think it would be best for Violet if I return to London.” She gathered her skirts in her hands and turned toward the door. “I shouldn’t have come.”

  “But I want you to stay,” Matthew said, blocking the doorway.

  Just not in your house. That much was abundantly clear. So she couldn’t stay but neither could she go. Her back ached from the jarring carriage ride she had already endured and she was tired beyond reason. Then there was the fact that she didn’t have a house to return to in London. Her previous residence had belonged to the Duke of St. Ives, and they had since parted ways.

  She looked to Blake to gauge his reaction. He hadn’t said a word, but the set of his mouth and his crossed arms said he didn’t like the situation any more than she did.

  “There must be somewhere else I can stay? A hotel or boarding house?” She didn’t mean for it to sound as though the inn was beneath her, but the thought of the laughing men in the tap and Blake’s hostility was enough to almost make her ask if she could sleep in Matthew’s barn.

  “Not for miles,” Matthew shook his head and looked to Blake. “Can you make up a room?”

  “If she says please.”

  Sophia gritted her teeth until her head pounded. Seems there was little choice for any of them. She released her breath and forced a smile. “Please?”

  “There.” Matthew grinned. “I knew we could work it out.”

  * * *

  As the afternoon waned, Sophia bathed and dressed in a wrinkled but clean gown and still she fumed.

  She ran a silver-backed brush through her hair again and again in front of the banked fire, as her stomach growled. Refreshments hadn’t been offered and Blake hadn’t come to apologize. It was the latter that had her on her feet in front of the looking glass, pinning the hair from her face with quick, angry movements.

  If he thought she was going to hide away and be ignored until her sister-in-law had her baby, then Blake had better think again.

  Sliding the last pin into place to secure one errant black curl, Sophia drew a deep breath against her worries of pitchforks and cruel laughter and opened the door. She expected to do battle in the hall, yet there was not a soul around. Her steps were slow but sure as she made her way down the stairs and into the taproom.

  With an hour until supper, the tap was relatively empty, the laughing group from earlier nowhere to be seen. Heads lifted, bored faces stared for a moment, curiosity quickly replacing tedium. She met their gazes one by one with what she hoped looked like confidence, inclined her head and started for a table in the farthest, darkest corner of the room. A cold shiver worked its way down her spine, but she ignored it. Even in her own mind she wouldn’t admit fear and dread made her feel more vulnerable than she had in years.

  “You shouldn’t be down here,” Dominic, the young man who had earlier filled her bath, told her from the bar.

  She’d wondered how long it would take for him to notice her presence. “I’m thirsty and hungry, where else would I go?”

  “Blake won’t like it,” he said with a nervous glance in the direction of the other occupants.

  Aware of their audience, she bit her tongue against anger and smiled sweetly. “If he’d offered sustenance in my room, I would have accepted.”

  “I’ll bring a tray up. Please, you can’t be down here.”

  Sophia narrowed her eyes. “And why not?”

  “It’s not for ladies, miss.”

  “Then we shall count ourselves lucky that I’m no lady.”

  Dominic stared at her for a full minute as he fidgeted with a linen towel before rounding the bar toward her.

  “I’ll buy her a drink, lad.” One of the men finally spoke up before Dominic could form a suitable reply to her insult of herself.

  Sophia swiveled in her seat to face him and worked hard to school her features to calm politeness. “No, thank you, good sir, I’ll get my own.”

  “His coin not good enough fer ya?” Another joined in the conversation as he rose to his muddy feet.

  Dominic groaned.

  “Thank you, but I pay my own way.”

  “Was just bein’ nice, lass,” the third man grumbled.

  “And I thank you,” she nodded in their individual directions. “But since I am now a guest here, I believe my food is already paid for.”

  With nods of agreement from the men and only one slight brow rise from Dominic, she went ahead and ordered. “I’ll have watered ale and whatever food you have, and then I’ll leave.”

  “Ale?”

  Sophia rather liked the taste. “Yes please.”

  “We only have cold stew from lunch and dinner won’t be quite ready. I’ll bring a tray up when it is.”

  “Stew will be fine, Dominic, thank you.”

  Cold stew was a better alternative to starving. She hoped. No sooner had she thought the thought then Blake appeared, a thunderous expression on his face. Perhaps he read her mind about his stew. She smiled again.

  “You can’t be down here.”

  “I have already been informed of that fact, but I am hungry and wish to eat.”

  “Dominic can serve you in the private parlor.”

  Sophia shook her head. “No, thank you. I’ll eat right here.” In London she was never obtuse; she didn’t have to be. She was also not usually sarcastic, but Blake was beginning to make her feel it wasn’t the taproom that was at fault so much as her presence in it. “Unless there’s something wrong with the food?”

  “There is nothing wrong with my food.”

  “Excellent.” She linked her fingers on the tabletop and relaxed back in the chair.

  “You still can’t eat in here. You are a single woman with no chaperone and this will soon be a r
oom filled with men.”

  Her sharp smile softened and for a moment she felt real humor. “A chaperone? I am almost thirty years old, Blake. Well past needing someone to watch out for me.”

  “These aren’t the nabobs you’re used to, Duchess, these are working men—rough, uncouth, impolite to say the least. I can’t have you in here with them.”

  “Oy, that’s a bit harsh.” The first man who offered to buy her a drink jumped to his feet and puffed his chest out.

  “Sit down, Peter, this doesn’t concern you.”

  “It does if you’re insulting us, or saying that we’d be anything but perfect gennel-men to the lady. It’s not every day one of her kind comes a callin’.”

  Sophia bristled. What happened to just being nice?

  “This doesn’t concern any of you,” Blake told them again.

  One of the men circled around to the back of her chair and gripped it between her shoulder blades. “If Blake here is going to be rude, you could always come stay wiv us.”

  So the heat from the stranger’s hand wouldn’t penetrate her dress, she leaned forward and shook her head slightly. “Thank you but I’m sure Blake will rediscover his manners at any moment.”

  “Murray, go and sit down.”

  Murray took a menacing step in Blake’s direction. “Are you going to make me?”

  “Do you want to be barred again?”

  Murray thought about it, his bloodshot gaze switching from Sophia and then to Blake. He eyed her again one last time, up and down with a look that turned her stomach, and then finally sat back down.

  “I make the rules here and the rule is, no unescorted females, lady or otherwise, in my bar.”

  “The sooner you bring me something to eat, the sooner I shall return to my room.” This time she meant it. Wounded pride and hunger had fueled her to impulsiveness, but now she longed for the solitary confines of her room.

  Blake’s hands crashed down on the table as he leaned over her. “Have you no use for manners at all?”