by Barbara Mack
But she wasn’t.
Sophie got up and paced. If she were truthful with herself, she would admit that the idea intrigued her. She wondered what it would be like to be his mistress, how it would feel to have those strong hands strip the clothes from her body and lay her down naked in his soft feather bed. She blushed to the roots of her hair with the thought, wondering where it came from. A hot flush rushed through her and made parts of her ache in a way that she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Her pulse thumped, she felt weak, and yet she couldn’t be still. She paced some more, her mind working furiously.
When she’d arrived home, the first thing she’d heard was Delia screeching at the cook yet again. When Sophie went in to see what the problem was, the poor woman was sobbing piteously, her apron over her face. She’d led her sister away, throwing the crying woman a sympathetic look over her shoulder. Delia fell asleep on her bed just a few minutes later, and Sophie went back to work with a sigh of relief. She had taken a tray of food up to her sister later, and Delia had only grunted at her and told her to get out, her face glum. Sophie put it on the massive chest of drawers and scurried away like the mouse she’d become, despising both herself and her sister.
Sophie looked around now at her room. At the time, she’d been so grateful for someplace to stay that it had never occurred to her that Delia wanted to hide her from the rest of the world. If she’d been thinking clearly, she would have known that it was a servant’s room, and a sparse one at that. Delia had stuck her in a corner room no bigger than a closet, and it was so bare that it looked as if no one lived here. The mattress on the rope bed was lumpy and thin, and it squeaked every time she moved. It was uncomfortable, too: She woke up in the mornings with an ache in her lower back that didn’t go away until midday. The only other furniture was a small dresser to hold her meager collection of things, and a bedside table that held a pitcher of water and a bowl to wash in.
“But you aren’t any man’s doxie,” she thought to herself. “You don’t have to pay for your upkeep by sleeping in some man’s bed.”
But it was a hollow thought; didn’t she pay for her upkeep with all this drudgery, anyway? And what good did that do her, when Delia was sure to run out of money and then throw her into the streets? She’d end up being some man’s doxie anyway if she couldn’t find a job…if she was lucky. Getting a job didn’t seem likely, since she had no references and Delia surely wouldn’t give her one. Sophie didn’t even want to think about what might happen if Delia threw her out in the middle of winter.
And Mr. Henry was attractive.
Reluctantly, Sophie admitted to herself that she found Mr. Henry’s person compelling. He was tall and well built, his dark hair flopped over his forehead so endearingly that she had nearly reached to push it back more than once, and the eye that wasn’t covered up with a patch was good-natured and kind. She could see it in him, behind the gruffness. He was fun, too, when he wasn’t being so serious, and she wished she’d met him before his accident. Sophie thought that she could see pain in his face, and not just physical pain. Someone had hurt him, and very badly. Why else would a handsome man come all this way to find a mistress? Were the women in Geddes blind, deaf, and dumb?
She didn’t mind his scar and the eye patch; it made him look quite dashing, she thought. Added a hint of danger to him, and somehow that made him even more appealing.
Was she really considering this? Was she really thinking about going off with a strange man to his far away home and becoming his mistress? Perhaps her father was right and she was a strumpet, just like Delia.
What if Mr. Henry was like him? A voice in her head murmured to her, and Sophie pushed the memories away firmly. They haunted her in the night, those memories, and she often dreamed about the things that had happened to her, but she would not let them haunt her during the daytime, too.
No matter how kind he looks, she told herself, not all men can be trusted. Even the ones who seem kind can turn out to be monsters, and she had found that out, much to her sorrow. She must make sure that he was completely trustworthy if she agreed to his proposal. But just how was she going to do that?
Sophie sat down and fell backward onto the rough bed with a sigh. She felt muscles relax that she had not known were tensed. She’d think about all this tomorrow, she thought resolutely. There was no solution to be found tonight, so best just to leave it. Her days began early, and she was more tired even than usual so she had better go to sleep. No telling when Delia would wake her, especially since she’d not been out of her room since her nap, even to bring the tray down. She might decide in the middle of the night that she wanted it out, right now, and ring the bell for Sophie to come get it.
Sophie’s eyes drifted closed and a yawn split her face, and she rolled over to cuddle her flat pillow. The last thought she had just before sleep claimed her was the way her heart had pounded in her chest when Mr. Henry clasped her hand in his.
******
Sophie tilted her head back and let the wind blow across her face. Her ragged bonnet dangled by its strings down her back, and she thought absently that she should put it back on before she freckled, but it was only a moment’s thought. It went right out of her head when the gig hit a bump and bounced her all over the seat, making her grasp Mr. Henry’s arm with a gasp. Her knee pressed against his, and he turned his head to smile at her, teeth flashing whitely in his tanned face.
“Am I going too fast?” he asked. “I know you are getting bumped around a bit.”
“No, don’t!” she cried out, laughing. “This is too much fun!” Tendrils of her hair slipped out of the tight bun and blew around her face, and Jackson felt desire hit the pit of his stomach with the force of a blow. “I’m so glad you rented the gig and took us for a ride in the country. I haven’t been out of the city in ages.”
Sophie slipped sideways on the seat when the gig hit another rut in the terrible road, laughing. Jackson stared at her greedily and slowed the horses despite her pleas. He couldn’t take his eyes from her; they’d met every day at the same time for a week, and each time he saw her it seemed that she was more beautiful. Her face had a healthy pink flush, and she seemed vibrantly alive and far from the sad, downtrodden woman he’d first met. Wherever they went, men stared at her. Sophie never seemed to notice, and Jackson thought that a good sign. She wouldn’t make a very good mistress if she was always preening under other men’s gazes and looking for their approval. He wanted her to notice only him.
He didn’t know what she was doing with him; did she want to be his mistress, or had she just been so starved for company that anyone would do? Sophie smiled at him often, and she touched him just as much. He couldn’t count the number of times her shy fingers had crept onto his sleeve or squeezed his hand and each time it happened, he felt a little thrill go up his spine. Did she really want him, or was she playing some sort of woman’s game? Until the accident, he’d had no lack of female companionship, but women were ever a mystery. More than once, come-hither eyes and flirtatious ways had turned into no ring, no loving.
Since that first day in the park, he’d never mentioned mistresses or leaving St. Louis again, and she’d never brought it up, either. He wanted to ask her, he ached to ask her, the question trembled on the edge of his tongue a dozen times when he was in her company – oh, he wanted so many things when he was with her. He wanted her to touch more than his hand. He wanted her naked in his bed, her hair spread over the pillow and her face twisted in ecstasy.
He wanted Sophie to go home with him.
He missed the farm, and he missed his house. As empty and hollow as it had seemed sometimes, it was his home. He belonged there. He ached to ride the land and survey what was his, and he wanted Sophie beside him when he did it. Soon, he was going to have to ask her what she intended to do and run the risk of scaring her off. He was running out of time. The farm needed his attention, and he couldn’t be away much longer.
“There’s an inn right up ahead that sells a wonderful
picnic basket,” he said abruptly. It was time to throw off this indecision. He’d ask her over lunch, while they were alone.
“That sounds lovely.”
Sophie smiled at him, and his heart turned over in his chest. She was so beautiful.
The public room of the inn was bustling and noisy, and Jackson held Sophie’s arm protectively as he guided her through the crowd. Sophie looked around dubiously. Rough tables were crowded in together, and the clientele was many and varied. Farmers and tradesmen sat cheek-to-jowl with finely dressed ladies and gentlemen.
“The food is good here, and reasonably priced,” Jackson said in her ear. “It’s close to the city, and right on the main road. I stop here every time I’m through this way, and I’ve never had a bad meal.”
Jackson led her to the crowded bar, and a harried woman took their order. They stood at the counter to wait, Jackson drinking a glass of beer and Sophie lemonade. They were jostled several times, but Jackson frowned at each interloper so fiercely that they all backed off with quick apologies. Sophie was unruffled, however.
“It’s all right, sir,” she told one older gentleman as she moved in closer to Jackson to give the man more room. “It’s hardly your fault that the room is so crowded.” The man bobbed his head and smiled back, revealing his lone tooth. The old man took a big swig from his beer glass, leaving foam on his face that he didn’t bother to wipe off, but Sophie didn’t seem to mind; she chatted with him gaily until he finished his glass and took his leave.
The man who took his place looked like trouble, and Jackson picked up his glass and rested an elbow on the counter, eyeing him grimly. The man was tall and handsome, and he swaggered up to the counter as he came in, calling loudly for service. He was dressed fashionably; in Jackson’s opinion, he looked like a fool, but perhaps ladies liked that kind of thing. Jackson idly considered having such an outfit made up, then laughed silently to himself; he’d be the laughingstock of the county if he showed up in Geddes in that rig. Where he was from, clothing was meant to be practical as well as attractive, and he’d look a right idiot trying to plow fields in that.
The harried woman appeared and handed the man a glass of beer, then disappeared into the kitchens again. The man turned and leaned back against the counter. His eyes raked Sophie up and down, greedily running over her person and lingering on her neckline. Jackson bristled.
“Precious,” he said softly, leaning in closer. “May I buy you another glass of lemonade? Even better, join me at a table and I will buy us a meal fit for a king. This inn may not look like much, but they lay an excellent table. The food is exquisite, and it will be made even better by your company.”
Jackson straightened slowly, his eyes narrowing. He sat his beer down with a clank. Sophie moved closer to him yet again, until she was nearly against his chest. The man paid Jackson absolutely no heed – perhaps he considered him of no account.
He was about to be disabused of that notion. Couldn’t he see that Sophie was not interested, or did he just not care?
“The lady isn’t interested,” he said gruffly.
The man’s eyes rose from Sophie’s bosom to survey Jackson. He didn’t seem alarmed. He laughed lightly, his face amused.
“Lady? Is the lady with you? If so, I question her judgment…and her taste in men.” He turned his eyes back to Sophie. “Sweetheart, you would do better to join me at that table. “
Sophie stared at him coldly, looking him up and down without saying a word. She moved closer to Jackson yet again, and his arm went around her.
“Like that, is it?” the man asked.
“Are you deaf, sir?” Jackson demanded, turning fully to face the dandy. “The lady is with me, and she deserves to be treated with respect. Apologize.”
The dandy gave a short laugh. He sketched a light, mocking bow in Sophie’s direction, a smile on his lips. Jackson’s fist curled at his sides, and the dandy noticed, his eyebrows rising. Sophie clutched Jackson’s arm to keep him in place, and the man lifted his glass in a sardonic salute.
“If you insist,” he said mildly. “I still say she would have a much better time in my company, but perhaps I misjudge the situation. I apologize most sincerely, lady, and beg your pardon.” He swiveled his eyes back to Jackson. “That good enough for you, sir?”
“It will be enough when you pay for your drink and leave the premises,” he said coldly. “Don’t distress the lady any further with your presence.”
The man slammed a coin on the counter and jammed his hat back on his head. “I’ll just resume my tedious journey and bid you a good day then,” he said.
Jackson inclined his head coldly. “Good day to you, as well.”
The dandy stalked away, shutting the door to the inn with a bang. The harried woman, who had been watching silently from the kitchens, brought them their picnic basket. Jackson paid up and included a generous tip. The woman gave him a smile that lit her plain face and pocketed the coin.
“Watch yourself when you leave, sir. It wouldn’t surprise me if he were lying in wait for you down the road a bit. I’ll have m’husband watch for him if you’d like. This is a respectable place, this is, and I don’t like that sort in here.”
“Don’t concern yourself,” Jackson said. “I can handle the likes of him. I thank you for the warning, though.”
Contrary to the barmaid’s expectations, the dandy was long gone when they went outside. Jackson gripped Sophie’s waist and swung her into the gig, tossing a coin to the young man who’d watered the horse. The boy’s face lit up with glee as he clutched the coin, and Sophie’s heart stuttered anew. Jackson was a kind man, and she liked him. She liked the feel of his big, strong hands on her. She liked the way he made her feel delicate and womanly. She liked being in his company. She bit her lip. But did she like him enough to go away with him?
“Where are we going?” she asked as they tooled along. “Did you have someplace in mind?”
“There’s a small stream up here, with a nice shaded area. I thought we’d eat there.”
In no time at all, they were, and Jackson unhitched the horse and tethered him to the sturdy branch of a nearby tree. Sophie stood waiting, drinking in the sight of him while he pulled out a small blanket and their picnic basket. She laughed merrily when he spread the blanket on a soft tuft of grass and swept her a bow. She curtsied back, bending low and laughing up at him.
“Do have a seat, m’dear,” he said silkily.
“Oh, this was such a good idea!” Sophie turned around and around. The little clearing was just the right spot for a picnic, she thought admiringly. Just enough shade to keep them cool, and the sound of the shallow water running over stones was soothing. Jackson put the basket down in the middle of the blanket and began to unpack, exclaiming as he pulled out each item.
“Cheese, fresh bread, peaches, and cold fried chicken.” He quirked an eyebrow at her. “And what’s this?” He held up a bottle of wine, so cold that the warm air had made it drip condensation, then pulled two glasses from the depths of the seemingly endless basket. “A bottle of the best sweet German wine to be had? How did that get in there?”
“I wonder,” Sophie said dryly. “It’s awfully early in the day …”
“We may need fortification. Bad weather could strike at any moment, and we will need this wine to stay warm.”
Sophie put her hands on her hips. “It’s a warm day, sir, and the sun is shining brightly.”
“Ah, yes, but it’s Missouri and that could change any moment. Sit down, sit down, and drink up.”
Sophie laughed yet again and seated herself beside him. Jackson draped a linen napkin carefully over her lap, and she dug into the food, suddenly famished. She drank the wine he handed her thirstily, forgetting her reservations. She ate with abandon, not worrying about what he might think, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed her food more. She ate greedily until she was satiated, with his approving eyes on her.
“I think this is the best meal I’
ve had in years,” she sighed as she popped one last morsel of chicken into her mouth. She wanted more, but her stomach was full. “I can’t remember anything tasting as good as the food at this picnic.”
“it’s the company,” Jackson said and wiggled his eyebrows at her. His eye patch moved up and down, and Sophie giggled again. She took another sip of wine, feeling the liquid slide down her throat and leave a trail of warmth behind it. She took another, healthier sip, and felt even warmer and more relaxed. Jackson smiled lazily at her and topped her wineglass yet again. Sophie took another sip and made an appreciative noise.
“Good wine,” she said. “Better than the chicken, even, and that was mighty fine.”
Sophie stretched out and leaned back on her arms, totally content.
“I haven’t been on a picnic in years, not since I was a child.” She smiled dreamily, and Jackson felt a surge of lust run through him. Her position thrust her breasts into prominence, and his hands fairly ached to cup them. He started to reach out to her, and thought better of it when she began to speak again.
“When I was a little girl, Delia and I used to take picnics together. Papa hardly knew we existed, so we ran wild. We both had ponies, and we rode together every day, and we always wheedled a lunch from our housekeeper. We had so much fun. We were so happy then.” She looked down, her good mood suddenly disappearing. Her chest felt heavy with grief. “I don’t know what happened to us. I don’t know why Delia changed. I hadn’t seen her for years until I came to live with her. Now we’re hardly more than strangers.”
Jackson stretched his body out and propped himself on one elbow. Her eyes were drawn to his strong, masculine shoulders and the way his muscles strained against his shirt. Sophie felt her mouth go dry. From this angle, she couldn’t see the eye patch, couldn’t even tell that he’d been so horribly maimed. He was so beautiful…
“Things happen, and people change,” he said solemnly. “You were children then. Children are supposed to be happy. “
