Behind the Courtesan

by Bronwyn Stuart

  This time when she pulled free, she didn’t turn and stomp away. She didn’t slap him or shout abuse. She raised her hands and placed them on his cheeks and whispered, “Thank you for being so nice to me.”

  “You’re welcome,” he whispered back.

  And then the damndest thing happened. He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe or blink or have time to react before Sophie pressed her lips to his. If it was comfort she sought, he would ensure she received it.

  When she melted against him, smooth, liquid honey in his hands, Blake put his arms back around her and pressed his body to hers. When she angled her head, he deepened the kiss, and coaxed her lips apart so he could truly taste her. With the gentlest of pressure, he walked her back a step until the dining room wall brushed his forearms. She threaded her hands into his hair and moved against him until all he could think of was her. He could smell her, taste her, feel her and he wanted more. So much more.

  His lids were only half closed when the darkened room around them lit with the power of lightning and thunder shook the walls a scant second after. The booming sound of it made Sophia jump with a gasp, stealing the air from his lungs, her blue eyes wide, her breathing heavy.

  He looked from those sparkling eyes to her swollen lips and back again, his hands running the lengths of her arms from her fingers to her shoulders as though he could calm her sudden skittishness.

  She stared at him for half a second longer and then with a muttered, “Oh my God,” stepped from his embrace and turned her back.

  “Sophia?”

  “That shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry.”

  Of course it should have happened. “Why not?”

  “I... I’m so sorry, I can’t do this.”

  Blake didn’t say a word. He let her run up the stairs, her door slamming just before thunder once again shook the inn.

  He shook his head and looked heavenward. What had he done?

  Chapter Twelve

  All night Sophia castigated and tossed and turned and called herself ten different kinds of fool. Why had she kissed him? Why did he have to be nice to her right when all she wanted to do was fight? At least if they were fighting, she wouldn’t think of his strength and safety. His half-naked chest, his comfort when she’d needed it the most, his cheeky grin and smug shrugs.

  Damn her traitorous body! It really wasn’t her fault that she craved human contact once in a while. It had been months since she’d been held intimately. When Blake had wrapped her in his arms, the feeling was so much like coming home. Then the events of the past few days had caught up to her and she couldn’t stem the flow of emotion. What had started as her needing comfort had ended with her hands in his hair and her back against the wall.

  In the early hours of the morning, when she beat the stuffing around in her pillow in an attempt to get comfortable, she blamed her vulnerability on him. It was all Blake’s fault that he made her feel. Why couldn’t he tease and taunt and fire her fury? It was a better alternative to this!

  Sophia had learned very early in her career as a courtesan that feelings were simply not the done thing in London. If she was happy she had to look nonchalant. If she was sad or angry or homesick, she had to appear nonchalant, bored even. Overeagerness would lessen her value and seeming not eager enough would cast her as coy. Even here, a place she should be able to express her emotions, she could not. She wondered if perhaps all the years of switching them off had somehow broken them. Perhaps that was why she couldn’t decipher her own mind?

  By breakfast her eyes were scratchy and swollen. She’d slept barely a wink. She’d given up and risen early to see to the animals in the barn, gather the eggs and cut enough bacon for the morning meal and the pie she had to prepare for lunch.

  After returning the rest of the bacon to the icebox, she chopped wood for twenty minutes until her muscles burned and her breath came in short pants. But even looking over her shoulder constantly, even with the distraction of waiting for someone like Roger to amble along, she still couldn’t get the taste of Blake from her mouth. She couldn’t forget how he’d filled her senses and scrambled her thoughts. How could she face him over coffee? How would she work when he sat there in the corner of the kitchen watching her every move? It was impossibly complicated. She thought about hiding. A headache or some other feminine malady would help her avoid the whole damned situation. But she had meals to make and at some stage over the day, she would have to get close enough to check his wounds and change his dressings since the doctor had been called away.

  With a deep sigh, she dropped the axe, picked up the poorly hacked timber and carried it to the kitchens through the washroom door.

  Surprise filled her when she finally gathered the courage to look toward the chair perched in the corner. It was empty. All day yesterday, Blake had sat in that chair and stared at her. His gaze had drilled into her shoulder blades until she’d wanted to scream and send him to bed.

  Her cheeks warmed at the vision of Blake in bed.

  Sophia pinched the skin on the inside of her wrist to snap herself out of the sudden breathlessness that claimed her. To blame it on anxiety would be lying to herself.

  Taking the wood through to the taproom, she stopped and nearly dropped the load at the sight that greeted her. If she hadn’t been so lost in thought, she might have heard the sounds of twenty or so women milling about in the common room. Some were seated, some stood and while she stared, the main door opened to admit another two, huge baskets hanging from their elbows.

  It took fewer than five thumps of her heart against her ribs for the room to fall completely silent. Fewer than four more for them all to look in her direction.

  “I beg your pardon,” she said, recovering quickly, but not quite quickly enough. “I didn’t know anyone was in here.” She sounded as if she lied, her voice wavered so.

  The crowd parted at her words and Violet stepped forward. “Good morning, Sophia.” Her gaze took in Sophia’s filthy dress, the wood she still held in her arms and eventually returned to her face. “How is Blake faring this morning?”

  “Blake?” she repeated dumbly.

  “Matthew told me he had been injured, is he all right?”

  She nodded. What were all of these women doing here? Surely they weren’t there to check on Blake’s welfare. Perhaps they were going to help her run the inn? She almost snorted.

  Violet took another step forward. “Are you all right?”

  Sophia nodded again.

  “She doesn’t look all right,” a shrill voice spoke from the back of the room.

  The almost sneering way it was said snapped her back to the present, back to the splinters pushing deeper into her skin and the ache in her muscles. “I am perfectly fine, startled perhaps, but fine nonetheless. Would someone kindly tell me what you are all doing here?”

  “That’s none of your business,” an elderly lady said, stepping forward until she stood by Violet’s side.

  “Annie, don’t be so unkind,” another lady admonished before pointing to Sophia. “You might want to put all of that down before you drop it on your feet.”

  Sophia bobbed her head in the lady’s direction and tried to appear nonchalant as she walked down the middle of the assembled gaggle. She felt rather like Moses parting the red sea. She did feel as though the edges would fall in on her at any moment.

  Silently she unloaded her burden by the hearth, dusted the front of her gown of dirt and bark, pushed her damp hair from her forehead and turned to face everyone. “Will you be staying for long?” She truly didn’t mean the question to emerge the way it did, but her nerves once again threatened to destroy her. What were they all doing there?

  The one called Annie puffed her chest out. “We’ll stay for as long as we do every month, maybe longer.”

  Every month? Why hadn’t Blake warned her? From the corner of her eye Sophia noticed Violet shake her head, her flushed face downcast, wringing her hands in front of her large belly.

  “What do you do
here every month?”

  “None of your business,” Annie told her.

  “We sew,” a fair-haired woman offered from the back of the room.

  She didn’t bother asking any more questions after that. “I will leave you to it, then.”

  “Best you do,” came Annie’s acid reply.

  Violet sighed and a number of women shook their heads, but not one stopped her from leaving the room.

  Hot tears pricked her eyes as she strode down the corridor past Blake’s office, through the kitchen and out into the yard where the rain still fell in sheets of freezing droplets. She heaved huge breaths of frigid air until her lungs burned but nothing stopped the tears.

  This is what came from emotions. It’s what happened when she was made to feel. Then all the thoughts she had pushed away for so many years were able to creep over the wall she had erected. Women hated her. What more could she expect from gently bred females taught to despise what she was.

  “Sophia?” The very last thing she expected was for Blake to choose that moment to appear.

  She didn’t turn. Her latest humiliation didn’t require yet another witness. “What do you want?”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I am fine. Perfectly fine.” Maybe if she repeated the words enough times she may start to believe them.

  “I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you they were coming.”

  “Forgot?” She knew what she implied with the question. Did he leave out the information to hurt her?

  “The ladies use the tap on this one morning a month to make quilts and talk nonsense. With the accident and all...”

  Should she believe him?

  Then the realization dawned. “You heard all of that, didn’t you?”

  “I heard enough. I’m sorry, Sophie.”

  “You’ve nothing to be sorry for and neither do they. Everyone has an opinion and I predicted that theirs would be like this. It’s one of the reasons I wasn’t going to come at all. In London my lifestyle is accepted in some circles, but here...” She sighed. “Here I may as well have leprosy for all anyone will give me a chance.”

  “I gave you a chance.”

  She finally turned to look him in the eye. Is that what he thought this was? This was her chance? “You gave me a chance to prove my mettle only after losing your temper.”

  “That might be so, but it’s a chance nonetheless.”

  “Why, how magnanimous of you to bestow this great honor upon me.”

  “Don’t twist my words. You are doing a fine job here, Sophie. Not a one would argue that.”

  “That entire room full of women would beg to differ.”

  “This is where you show them what you have shown me. Show them that you are a woman and not a leper. Since when did their opinions become so important anyway?”

  He was right. She did not need the approval of her sex. She did not need their disapproval to make her regret her life either. She wasn’t proud to be a courtesan though she did take pride in her handling of the situation. She had arrived in London with barely more than the clothes on her back and a child of rape growing in her womb and now she had means. She was really quite wealthy, and until she had returned to Blakiston, she had been content if not happy.

  How could a few remarks from an old biddy reduce her to tears? She was Sophia Martin. She straightened and lifted her chin.

  “There you are,” Blake murmured.

  “Here I am,” was her reply.

  * * *

  Sophia had only met Dominic’s sister, Maria, the day before and already she liked the girl. At thirteen she was young enough to have not been informed about the inner workings of London’s demimonde and old enough to form her own opinions. It gave Sophia hope, having just one ally. Two if she counted the fact that Maria’s mother knew Sophia worked at the inn and still let her only daughter go to work.

  After waiting for Maria to arrive and take over the lunch preparation, Sophia went back in to the tap to try to make peace and show the women for that day, she was in charge.

  “Ladies, can I have your attention please?”

  It wasn’t entirely necessary for her to raise her voice, since they had all fallen silent again within moments of her arrival, but it made her feel better. As though she had rediscovered control in a situation that needed it.

  “I’m afraid Blake is indisposed at the moment. Would you like refreshments? Morning tea?”

  When Sophia met Annie’s eyes, the woman paled. “Annie, would you care for tea?”

  “I am Mrs. Simpkins to you, gel.”

  “Since we weren’t properly introduced, I wasn’t sure. Tea then?”

  Sophia didn’t wait for a reply as her gaze moved from one woman to the next.

  “I would like tea,” Violet spoke up.

  The poor woman was likely famished. It must have taken a great deal of courage (or discomfort) to respond. “Something to eat as well?” While she was pushing her luck, she may as well see how far she could go.

  “Yes, please.”

  She could have hugged her sister-in-law in that moment, but had to settle for a smile in her direction. She wasn’t sure why Violet was treating her less like she was diseased than she had at their dinner on her first night, but she didn’t care. It was progress. “Excellent. I will only be offering once, Ladies. I have many things to do and Blake is quite ill, so I don’t have time to spare.”

  “Ill?” came a voice from her right.

  “You said he was all right,” came another.

  “He has some injuries, but nothing rest won’t cure. For the moment he is unable to run the inn.”

  “So you’re doing it?” This question came from a young girl. Sophia would guess her to be around sixteen.

  “I am.”

  A murmur rippled through the women and Sophia had to bite her lip to stop her smile. This was how to win over a room full of Blakiston women. She couldn’t hope to impress them all, but perhaps showing her strengths and that she wasn’t there to steal husbands would do for a beginning.

  Once the tea was served and the general atmosphere less hostile, she retrieved her basket of medical supplies and went in search of Blake. Regardless of how she felt about being close to him, his health had to take precedence over her embarrassment. Perhaps after their moment in the yard, he would have forgotten the previous night’s lack of self-control on her part.

  Raised voices from his office indicated he wasn’t alone.

  “You have to do something about that bridge,” a male voice complained.

  Sophia paused in the corridor, eager to hear what Blake’s reply would be.

  “There’s nothing I can do about the bridge and you know it. We had this conversation last summer and the autumn before that and still the bridge stands.”

  “It’s different this time. The creek turns into a river with every passing hour and the footings are under pressure from debris from farther up stream. If something happens, half the town would be cut off.”

  “Only four properties line that side of the river and I’m sure they’re all more than prepared for a few weeks without access to the village. The ground’s higher over there than it is here, Fred. We should be more worried about the river bursting the banks and taking out our crops and us with it.”

  “The duke will be furious if we can’t provide him with his vegetables.”

  “Fuck the duke,” came Blake’s reply. “He should have had that bridge rebuilt. If we lose, then so should he.”

  “A couple of the men have been talking about digging a few extra trenches for runoff in case, you know...”

  Blake’s sigh reached her ears. Whoever the man was, he wouldn’t leave without knowing what Blake thought their next move should be.

  “If the rain keeps falling, we’d all be better off moving valuables to higher ground. If that river goes, nothing will stop it, not trenches, not anything.”

  While the days had been relatively clear since Sophia’s arrival, every evening the ste
ady tattoo against the tavern’s roof sounded well into the night.

  Thank the Lord the night they’d spent by the side of the road had been only freezing and not miserably wet as well.

  To save Blake another question, Sophia thumped her feet against the floor boards to feign arrival and pushed the door wide.

  “Oh.” She stopped short and forced surprise to her face. “I didn’t realize you were with someone.”

  “Sophie, this is Fred Thurgood. Fred, this is Sophie Martin.”

  Sophia summoned her brightest smile and shook the hand Fred held out for her. “A pleasure to meet you, Fred.” She didn’t bother correcting Blake or telling Fred that her name was Sophia.

  “And you. I’ve heard a lot about you and your skills in the kitchen, little lady. Reckon I might stay on for lunch.”

  The next smile she gave Fred she didn’t have to force at all. “Then stay and eat. But you must tell me what you think of the pie. I tried something new.”

  Blake’s attention snapped to her. “New?”

  She nodded and dropped her basket on his desk, her confidence returned. “You’ll see.”

  “I don’t like surprises, Sophie.”

  “You don’t like anything, Blake.”

  Fred laughed and left the office with no more questions of compromised bridges or rain, but that left Sophia and Blake alone. Alone in a space that suddenly seemed far too small to hold both of their temperaments.

  “You don’t need to check my ribs anymore. I’m feeling much better.”

  “You are not a good liar,” she told him as she laid out a fresh bandage and the salve the doctor had given her for his cuts and grazes. The fact it stung until Blake hissed through his teeth gave her a small measure of satisfaction.

  He harrumphed, but took his shirt off when she gestured. Her breath caught and for a few moments, she forgot to breathe again.