Memories of another time a messy appearance had saved her came to mind. She had only been accosted on the streets of London a handful of times and had actually been thankful that she had been at the infirmary tending a head wound earlier in the evening.
When the much bigger man had approached her on the street, he suddenly dragged her into an alley and threw her on the ground. All the kicking and screaming in the world hadn’t helped her. Fear held her immobile as he’d torn the front of her coat open, buttons popping and fabric tearing. Here was another man who wanted to take what she hadn’t freely given. When he reached her bloody gown he’d paused, his own hands now tinged pink. It was long enough for her to retain her wits as he stared. Long enough for her to grope around until she found a solid lump next to her hip. She still wasn’t sure what she’d hit her attacker with as she ran away as fast as her legs could carry her. But whatever it was had at least temporarily laid him low. From that day, she spent the coin on hacks and didn’t wander the streets. Perhaps she would arm herself with a heavy object next time she had to collect firewood?
Or perhaps she could hit the duke in the head with a plate if his behavior stepped over any lines.
Satisfied with her appearance, and that Blakiston would be suitably horrified that she looked more like a scullery maid than a courtesan, she left the safety of the kitchen and approached the dining room.
“Sophie?” Blake’s voice stopped her when she walked past his office. He was supposed to be resting in his bed. God, she hoped Dominic hadn’t already told him about Roger. He was like a mother hen when he thought any man got too close.
She considered pretending she hadn’t heard Blake speak, but their truce was still fragile. “Yes?” she replied as she stopped in the doorway but made no move to enter.
“How are things in the kitchen?”
“Things are just fine, you needn’t worry.”
He began to chuckle, but then hissed in a breath through clenched teeth, and muttered something that sounded like a curse.
“Can I bring you something?”
“New ribs?”
Now it was her turn to chuckle. “I’m afraid that is not on the list of my talents.”
His gaze narrowed but not with anger or suspicion, more curiosity. “I have to admit your list of talents is growing.” So Dominic hadn’t told him anything? She breathed a sigh of relief.
“No, it isn’t. When I told you I could do it, I wasn’t talking with my ego. I truly thought I could.”
“And you have.”
“A few days hardly counts.”
“All the same, I owe you my thanks.”
Her cheeks warmed as she broke eye contact and stared down at the tray in her hands. What could she say to that? His praise wasn’t unfounded, she had done a good job tonight, but all the same, it was unexpected and he shocked her with his open honesty.
“Is that my supper?” he pointed to the tray.
“Blakiston is here to check on my welfare.”
All was silent for a long moment forcing Sophia to look into Blake’s stormy gray eyes. She didn’t like what she saw.
“He will see I am fine, I shall do my duty and share a meal with him and then he’ll leave.”
“And then he’ll come back again and again.”
“No he won’t. I’ll make it clear that he can’t.”
Blake snorted. “You can try but I’ll wager this inn he won’t listen.”
“Careful, Blake, you seem to be in danger of paying me another compliment.”
“A fool would have to be blind to miss your beauty, Sophie, and the duke may be an ass, but he is no fool.”
When her cheeks warmed this time it had nothing to do with the compliment, more to do with embarrassment that they would speak so openly. “What will it take for you to believe that I can look after myself when it comes to men?” She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt.
His lips pressed together in a thin line, but he didn’t answer.
“If that is all, I’ll take His Grace his dinner and then get back to the kitchen to tidy up.”
“Be careful.”
“I always am,” she replied before turning from the threshold. What she should have said was that she always would be from then on.
“Sophie?”
She stopped. “Yes?”
“I know you can look after yourself, but if you do need assistance, scream.”
“I will.”
She didn’t have to look back to know he would be happy with her answer, but she had no intention of screaming for help. She’d done that before, for three long days until her voice was hoarse. It hadn’t helped her then.
Outside the dining room, Sophia paused and shook her head free of thoughts of the past. It took some effort to lift the edges of her lips into a smile, but she did so before knocking softly and entering.
“Sophia.” He rose from his chair. “You look... Well, you look...”
“Filthy, Your Grace? I am sorry to have to greet you thus, but I didn’t have time to freshen up.” Only half a lie but the duke was still fixated on her floury gown.
“What on earth have you been doing?”
“Preparing the evening meal.” She almost smiled when his lip curled with distaste.
He sputtered for a moment before asking, “Why?”
“Blake is on bed rest for the remainder of the week and couldn’t do it himself.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to.”
“Someone must and he is my friend.”
“I thought you said you weren’t close.” His expression was full of suspicion, of disgust.
Hmm, she had said exactly that. “It is my fault that we were on the road yesterday and my conscience was rather loud about making some recompense.”
“But making supper?”
Sophia shrugged and placed both plates on the table. “The pie only needed heating and the bread didn’t turn out, so what I did do, I did poorly.”
“You shouldn’t have been forced to do it in the first place. I shall send one of my cooks over so you don’t have to do it again. A woman with your delicate nature shouldn’t be reduced to kitchen work.”
To delay her next words, to choose those words carefully, Sophia sat and made a show of organizing her floury skirts about her tired ankles. “You are very kind, Your Grace, but you needn’t bother yourself or your cook. We will get along, I’m sure.”
“That blackguard is probably just fine. He uses you to do his work.”
“His injuries speak clearly enough and I am happy to do it. After all, I was born in this village, I suppose that makes me a villager.” What she really wanted to do was take his snide attitude and choke him with it, but for the moment she would have to settle for reminding His High and Mightiness that she was a commoner. Even though she also hated to remind him of her ties to the town, perhaps that would be enough to keep him from returning to plague her with his presence.
The duke’s responding words told her she fought a losing battle. “Don’t be silly, you could never be compared to the likes of peasants.”
Biting her tongue on a sharp retort, she inclined her head and lifted a forkful of pie to her mouth. She needed to eat and then leave.
The duke had other plans. “How long ago did you leave this godforsaken place?”
“I have been away fourteen years.”
“So you knew my uncle then?”
Sophia almost choked. Knew him? God, how she wish she didn’t. How differently her life would have turned out. “Only in passing, Your Grace.”
“I asked you to call me Blakiston.”
“Of course.” Sophia couldn’t eat fast enough. She had to get out of there. Blakiston had barely touched his dinner. Instead he leaned back in his chair and regarded her with an interest that made her skin crawl.
“What made you leave?”
A change of subject was required. Yet swallowing was almost impossible as terror seized her limbs and heart.
&nb
sp; “Would you live in this tiny village? Anyway, it’s a long and boring story and I would rather hear more about you. When did you take the title?”
A sigh of relief escaped her as he launched into a monologue about his life before inheriting and how mean his uncle had been before his death, but Sophia barely heard any of it. Her heart raced and her fingers grew so clammy, she nearly couldn’t hold her fork up any longer. It was bound to come up again, but the real story was only known by two other people and they were both dead.
And the truth would never come from her mouth.
* * *
Within hours of Blake’s forced convalescence, he was bored out of his mind. Within twenty-four hours, he was more than ready to end his own life rather than be still for one more minute. Forced to endure the sight of Sophia doing his chores from the corner of the kitchen where he sat. Forced to watch her carry water for the dishes and firewood to heat the water. It made his arms ache to relieve her burden. Sure, she protested that she was up to the task, but when her brow creased and she had to bite her lip from exertion, he would stand to help and she would stop him in his tracks with one raised-brow glare.
There was a difference between being stubborn and being stupid, and she didn’t seem to know where the line was drawn. He couldn’t even get away from her by spending time outdoors, since a thunderstorm raged around them.
“Damn pot,” she mumbled beneath her breath while scrubbing vigorously, delicate sleeves pulled past her tiny elbows as lightning lit the room through the open back door.
He’d had much time to study her over the course of the day. He’d never before noticed just how fragile she appeared. Her fingers and hands were dainty and elegant to the point where he was surprised she didn’t break bones doing the most menial chores. She may adamantly insist upon being up to the responsibility and in her mind she probably was, but physically, there were jobs she would have trouble doing.
“Did you muck out the pig pen today, Sophia?”
She must have forgotten he was there; her head snapped up and she pinned him with a glare. “Of course I did.”
“And the chicken coop?”
“Yes, Blake.” She puffed a lock of hair from in front of her eyes. “I did everything on the list.”
He smiled. There was no way she could have done everything. “What about greasing the wagon wheel? Did the rain make the job harder?” It was partly her fault that he couldn’t get about since she had sided with the doctor and he planned to make her squirm.
“All done. The rain was no hindrance. It did stop for a spell today.” She turned back to the large pot and continued to scrub.
Blake rose from his chair in the corner of the kitchen and hobbled over to her. “How did you do it?”
Her hands stilled for a moment, but then the scrubbing became more furious. “I had help.”
“Oh?” The flush on her cheeks betrayed that there was more to the story. “Who helped you?”
“Ah... Mr. McFarlane, Matthew, some lads from the village and Dominic. It was easier than I thought with so many hands.”
Blake gritted his teeth. “What were all of those men doing hanging around?”
“You underestimate the strength of your friendship with the villagers. I don’t think there’s one person who hasn’t raised their hand to help you. It’s one of the aspects of village life I’d forgotten.”
When she’d finished scrubbing almost clear through the bottom of the pot, she placed it upside down to drain and then reached for the next one, but Blake caught her hand mid-air. “And the firewood you chopped in record time?” He pulled her closer and turned her wet hand palm up to inspect her skin. “With nary a callus or blister or splinter?”
She went pink again and snatched her hand from his grip.
“What about the vegetables you pulled for the meal? Your hands or someone else’s?”
“Someone else’s.”
“I don’t want them hanging around you.”
She hung her head for a moment and sighed. “I thought we established that I can take care of myself, though you flatter me if you think they only stay for my presence.”
“You haven’t seen the way they look at you.”
She dropped the pot in the suds and turned on him. “You think I am blind? Deaf? Stupid? I know that the deWinter wife came here last night looking for her husband. I know she spat in the portion of pie he hadn’t yet finished and dragged him from the room by his ear. I know how the men look at me. I also know how the wives see me. Words do not hurt me anymore, Blake. If they did, I would be a bedlamite.”
He didn’t have a response for that. Words did hurt her. Or at least his had.
She must have taken his silence for anger as she forged on. “You have to understand that I just didn’t have time to do this without help. I did the pig pen first, gathered the eggs and fed the animals and then it was almost noon. I had to start the meals. Without their help, you would be starving as well as ornery.”
He shook his head and chuckled. “I am not ornery, but I am thankful not to be starving. I don’t blame you for asking for help.” He did blame the ones doing the helping.
She sighed and reached for the last pot, but Blake stopped her again. “Leave that one to soak. You’re tired and you need to rest.”
“I’m fine, really.” But then her stomach growled loudly in the quiet space.
Blake’s brows rose as he stared at her. “Did you eat?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t have time.”
“I don’t believe that. You could have sat for a moment. I would have.”
When she turned from him and crossed the expanse of the kitchen to replace a ladle on its hook on the wall, Blake worried. Why hadn’t she risen to his jibe? He’d deliberately put it out there to test the strength of her bite, but all she did was walk away?
“What is it? If you’ve had enough, we can end this. I won’t hold it against you.”
“It’s not that. I wasn’t even thinking of your silly challenge.”
“What were you thinking about?” He wanted to ask what had suddenly put the sadness in her eyes and made her shoulders droop, yet he didn’t think she’d appreciate him voicing his concerns aloud. Even if his concern was for her.
“Blakiston.”
Anger rose pure and swift at the mention of his enemy. “You seemed quite taken with him last night after dinner.”
“Did I? Appearances don’t always tell the full story. You should know that.”
“Are you saying you didn’t enjoy his company? He is a powerful and wealthy duke.”
“Wealth does not buy you manners,” she snapped.
“Did he say something bad? Sophie, did the duke do something to upset you?” He waited to the tune of his own thumping heart while his hands curled into fists. He’d always known the current duke was a blackguard. Thunder shook the walls as though it agreed with his thoughts.
“It’s nothing he did.”
He calmed a fraction but even with his ribs still hurting like the devil, he wouldn’t hesitate showing Charles what he really thought of him. He schooled his face to a gentler emotion and followed Sophie from the kitchen back into the now empty common room.
He watched as she fidgeted with chairs and cleaned imaginary crumbs from the tops of already clean tables before he spoke again. “What is really worrying you?”
“I told you, it’s nothing.”
“Another thing I won’t understand?” He said the words softly but couldn’t keep the hurt from them. “There was a time when we could tell each other anything.”
“Those days are long past.”
“They don’t have to be.” He stepped to her side, caught her wrist in his hand when she made to walk away. “I hate this distance between us, Sophie. You can tell me what’s on your mind. I promise I won’t judge.”
She shook her head, her gaze on the floor.
Blake crowded her against the wall until she was forced to look up at him. Her blue eyes sp
arkled with tears and she bit her lip until the normally pink bow turned pale.
“What is it?”
“Yesterday...”
God, she was trembling. He let go of her wrist so he could pull her close and wrap his arms around her. The shock from their accident must only just be settling in and because of his injury and his convalescence, she hadn’t had even a moment to herself all day. “I’m sorry. You’re working so hard and caring about everyone else, but no one is caring for you.”
“It’s not that,” she sobbed.
He tightened his embrace and tried to swallow past the unfamiliar lump in his throat. Did he push her too hard? Let her do too much? In the back of his mind he knew he still punished her for leaving. He would never say it out loud, but he wouldn’t let her continue to do his work if she was going to fall apart. He wouldn’t be held responsible for that.
She pushed against his chest and met his eyes with her own. “You could have died.”
Thump-thump went his heart against his ribs again. What?
“You could have died and the last words we shared were nasty and hateful and I would never have had the chance to take them back.” By the time the words were out, she cried in earnest.
“Died? It was just a little accident, Sophie.”
“It was not,” she cried.
“Sshhh. I’m right here.” He gathered her back into his arms.
“I know.” She sniffed against his collarbone. “But what if you weren’t?”
“You don’t even like me.”
She leaned back again, shock written all over her beautiful face. “I never said I didn’t like you.”
He could understand that. “Could we start again? Could you forget that I’m a pigheaded oaf and just be my friend again?”
“Can you forget who I am?”
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her once again who she really was, but it wasn’t the time. “I’ll never forget who you are.” When she made as if to wrench herself from his grip, he softened his tone, pulled her closer again so they were nose to nose. “You’re the woman who saved my life, who gathered firewood and kept me warm. You fixed me when you should have kicked me and left me on the road to die. I know who you are and I’ll never forget that. Neither should you.”
Behind the Courtesan Page 11
