A Gentleman by Moonlight

by Bethany M. Sefchick

  However, once more, knowing and doing were two very different things. And Sophia had yet to figure out how she could tolerate the touch of a man without screaming like a banshee at the top of her lungs.

  It was the same argument they had endured numerous times before. It was simply a different day. And each time, the argument ended without resolution and with a long period of quiet stretching between mother and daughter. Sophia wasn't certain when - or even if - they could reach an agreement upon the matter. Even though Sophia knew deep in her heart that her mother was correct. She had to wed. She just wasn't quite certain how to go about it. Or whom she might wed. Not now anyway.

  For a moment, a deep, almost unbreakable silence settled over the room and Sophia feared that this afternoon would be much like those that had come before, one that spiraled into an endless silence between her and her mother. However, when Thompson entered the room to announce a visitor, Sophia was immediately shaken from her melancholy. No one called upon Lady Reynolds and her daughter these days. Moreover, Thompson knew better than to even bring a calling card to either of them.

  "I thought we said no visitors," Sophia said gently as Thompson approached her, much to her surprise. The butler should have gone directly to her mother. Not Sophia.

  The old man cleared his throat, obviously a bit uncomfortable. "This man is...different. When he gave his name and said the call was absolutely necessary, I believed him. I do not doubt that you will feel the same in a moment."

  "His word over those of me and my mother?" Sophia was trying very hard not to be incredulous and failing miserably. She was also doing her best to ignore the look of intrigue that had settled on her mother's face. Sophia was also grateful that her mother had not insisted that Thompson bring her the card. Whoever the caller was had obviously asked for her and her alone. That did not bode well.

  The butler bowed as he offered Sophia the tray with the offending calling card. "Yes, miss. As I said, this man is different."

  When Sophia took the card the butler offered her on the silver salver, she found that instantly more than her mood was shaken. Her hand all but trembled as she read the name on the card. It was a name she had not thought she would see again. Ever.

  As much as she wished she could send this caller away too, Sophia knew she could not. She would have to see him. There was no other choice.

  Chapter Two

  Lord Lewis Blackmore, once of the 12th Light Dragoons - also known as The Supple Twelfth - and now usually of Bow Street when he was not forced into Society for night or two, looked up at the townhouse door and grunted in frustration. He did not relish this part of his job, and it would be a relief when he never had to do this again.

  However, even if calls such as these were not a requirement of his current employment, he would still be here at this particular door anyway. Because he owed this visit to the lady on the other side of that door. She needed to know that her nightmare was over and that she could more on with her life. If that was even possible. Given what Lewis had heard regarding her state as of late, he wasn't certain that it was. She was doing "well," or so he had been told the last time he had visited his own family's Mayfair town home. Whatever "well" actually meant. It was the same term he heard used to describe her over and over, and that one word still didn't tell him anything about her current state of mind. Just that she was "well," which was as foolish of a word as was ever invented in his opinion.

  Having met her, however briefly, in the time before that fateful June night, Lewis knew that Lady Sophia Reynolds deserved more out of life than to be simply doing "well." She needed to sparkle once again, though sadly, he wasn't certain if that was even possible. He had no idea how badly she had been wounded by her experience that night that now seemed so long ago, but, even if she had not been completely broken, Lewis knew Sophia would never be the same. No person who suffered as she had would be.

  For a moment, his hand strayed absently to the scar that covered most of one side of his face. Lewis himself knew the horrors of war - and of life in general. He knew better than most how horrible events changed good people into something - or someone - unrecognizable by their family and friends. And he knew that, like it or not, Sophia had been changed as well. Even if she tried to pretend she hadn't been.

  Was she even close to the same woman she had been before? Or was she far too broken to go on with her life? Or was she even now forging her own way forward in some fashion, determined to move beyond the pain as he had?

  The word "well" did not answer any of those questions, at least not in his mind.

  Therefore, "well" was a foolish and stupid word created by people who did not know or understand a single blasted thing about life. About the sorts of horrors that people like he and Sophia had suffered.

  That was why Lewis was here, at least in part. To make certain Sophia was something other than "well." Why he felt this need, he could not say. Only that he felt it deeply, likely because he was bound to her in that oddly inexplicable way that only people who shared tragedy could be. For the moment anyway, that was reason enough for his presence at her family's front door.

  Drawing himself up to his full height, Lewis knocked on the door, certain to make sure he held his military bearing as well as he could. When rain or snow was falling, as it was this dark and miserable afternoon, it was not always easy to present a proper form, as his injured leg often pained him. Not that he would tell anyone, of course. That was his secret to keep, along with so many others

  When the butler answered the door, Lewis handed the man his card and accepted his offer to step inside the much warmer and drier foyer. At first, the butler, a man named Thompson if Lewis remembered correctly, seemed suspicious of the towering and intimidating presence Lewis presented, but then a light seemed to dawn in his eyes and he scurried off to do Lewis' bidding. Not that getting action from staff required much effort on his part. One glimpse at Lewis' scarred face was often enough to cajole even the most recalcitrant of servants into motion.

  As he waited, Lewis took in the interior of the Reynolds home, or at least what he could see of it. It was not much different than his own family's house, really. It featured the same, or at the very least similar, opulent furnishings and similar gold brocade wallpaper, which was all the rage this year. The setting whispered of wealth and taste, just as Blackmore House did, and for a moment, Lewis wondered if, when Sophia had seen this house again for the first time after that night, she saw it through different eyes. The way he had seen Blackmore House after he had returned from the peninsula, his body ravaged from the war and his spirit so weak that he didn't want to go on with his life, praying for death instead.

  Then, the butler returned and Lewis halted his thinking, knowing that he was treading down a dangerous path with those thoughts. Instead he concentrated on the straight line of the butler's back and the tasteful landscape paintings on the walls, the smell of polish and beeswax, likely used to keep the entire place at a high shine. He could appreciate that, being a military man where often times, a man was judged by the shine on his boots.

  Finally, Lewis was ushered into a rose hued parlor where a tea service was already waiting, as he expected it would be. That was one of the niceties he had anticipated from a Society chit like Sophia Reynolds, but he could also admit to a slight sting of disappointment as well. For as much as he wished for her to be whole after her ordeal, there was a small part of him that wanted her to be just a bit damaged as well. He couldn't say why, but he wanted there to be a depth to her that most other debutantes he knew lacked. He couldn't say why he felt that way, and he knew it was terribly heartless of him. However there was also nothing he could do to change that realization either.

  In his mind, something as simple as a tea tray meant that she had moved on with her life and once more, his tentative, fragile connection to another was broken before it ever really began.

  Then he heard the rustle of fabric at the doorway and caught a whiff of a faint floral scent. Lady
Sophia. So. She had come to greet him in person after all and not sent a servant in her stead. She had more backbone than he had given her credit for, then. Most proper ladies of Society would not receive him, no matter that he was the son of a marquess. He was considered far too disfigured to be received in most London drawing rooms and he knew it well. So did the people he called upon, even if he was there on matters of business. Usually, he dealt with servants. Not today it seemed.

  Turning slowly so that he didn't further aggravate his injured leg, Lewis was wholly unprepared for the punch he felt in his gut when he first laid eyes upon Lady Sophia again. Oh, she was still beautiful, perhaps even more so than she had been that night with her honey-colored, flaxen hair done up in a pile of curls and a few more inches sitting upon her waist and at her breasts to give her a more womanly figure than she had enjoyed six months ago. She had also lost the pale colors of a debutante, instead dressed in a mossy green sprigged muslin gown that set off her peaches and cream skin.

  Her face had thinned over the last few months, taking on a more womanly look, the girl of the past gone forever. Sophia's high cheekbones were now well defined and though Lewis didn't suspect that she used cosmetics of any sort, a soft, rosy hue suffused her skin, making her appear as if she had just been tumbled. Not that he should be thinking such thoughts about her. Her pink-hued lips were still just as lush and delightful looking as they had been that night. Not that Lewis had any right to look at her thus, either, since he was merely a third son of a marquess and she was the daughter and sister of a duke. Still, he was a man. A fully functioning man, despite rumors to the contrary. He had looked anyway. His cock had responded as well. He could not help himself.

  However, it was her eyes that held him captivated. They were a deep fathomless teal, a blue as rich as the vast Caribbean seas he so loved. Her eyes now were just as they had been that long-ago June night. However in this moment, there was a tinge of darkness in their depths as well, something that spoke of raw pain and anger, a flash of some dark, icy fire that was burning just below the surface, waiting to explode out of her and into the world where her full wrath might be felt. Especially by those who had hurt her. No, Sophia's face might be placid and calm, though her eyes were anything but.

  No tea tray or polite demeanor could change what Lewis saw with his own eyes in that very moment.

  Lady Sophia Reynolds was not "well." In fact, she was anything but well.

  She was damaged. Just like him. And immediately something inside of him roared to life at the siren's song her eyes sang - even though she likely did not know of her effect upon him. The depth of her called to the damaged part of his soul and he fought every bit of his nature to control himself. This was not like him. He never unleashed this part of himself, instead playing the jovial, joking man who made light of his own injuries, never allowing anyone to see through him and into the darkness beyond. It was how he lived, how he managed to survive now that he was back among civilians who had never witnessed the horrors of war. It was his method of coping, this forced leashing of his darker nature. And with a mere look, this woman threatened to shatter all of his hard-won control.

  This would not do. It would not do at all.

  "My lady." Lewis was grateful that he could manage those few words at least without sounding the fool or growling at her. Then he bowed as low as he could, the pain lancing through his knee preventing him from giving her the true courtly bow a lady of her station deserved.

  However, when she gazed at him with those magnificent teal eyes, she seemed to understand somehow that his stilted movements were not of his choosing. Instead, she inclined her head, unwittingly showing him the long, slim column of her throat and once more, he commanded his body to behave.

  "Please, Lord Blackmore. We do not stand on ceremony around here. You do not need to bow to me. Especially not you." Her voice was soft and melodious, yet he also knew she could bellow like a harridan if she was provoked. He had heard her before at the Fairhaven house party, much to his amusement. Now, her voice flowed over him like a hot gust of wind inflaming an already growing inferno. This was not good. He needed to deliver his information and be gone before he did something foolish - like kiss her breathless.

  So in order to preserve his sanity - and her reputation - Lewis slipped back into his role of the jovial ex-military man as quickly as he could. "Please, Lady Sophia. No one has referred to me as Lord Blackmore in an age, though I do appreciate it."

  "Still, it is who you are at your core, even if you do work for Bow Street now." She gestured to the pair of chairs around the small table where the tea tray still rested, untouched. "Please. Be seated. For I somehow have a feeling that Bow Street business is what has brought you to my family's door."

  "It is." Briefly Lewis looked around for the dowager duchess, but she was nowhere to be found. Then again, he reasoned that, having been alone with this woman once at The Bull And Toad without having taken advantage of her likely granted him some level of trust. Not to mention that most people assumed that, given his injuries, he was incapable of anything so vulgar.

  Oh, he was completely capable of so very many things that much of Society suspected he could no longer enjoy. Especially when it came to women. Though he would not tell any of them that secret, certainly.

  Sophia obviously saw his roaming gaze, for she waved a hand in his direction as she took her seat. "My mother is across the hall in the green parlor," she said without preamble. "If I scream, she will come running, though I doubt that will be necessary."

  "Because she does not believe me capable of harming you." The words were out before Lewis could stop them, and he cringed the moment they left his mouth.

  "No, because she is so desperate to see me wed that she would all but leap for joy if she thought you had compromised me." Sophia said the words so matter of factly that Lewis was momentarily taken aback. There was no censure in her tone, nor pity or fear or any of the other emotions he was accustomed to experiencing from Society women. Rather, it was as if she was stating a fact, treating him as if he was the same as any other gentleman she knew. That was...novel. And wholly appreciated, much to his utter surprise.

  He blew out a long breath as he attempted to regain his mental balance. No one had shocked him as of late, especially not the way this slip of a woman seemed to be able to do with so few words. "I...ah..don't know what to say."

  Sophia poured them both some tea, though he could see her hands shake a bit as she did so. She was a curious mix of strength and fear, this woman he had rescued months before. "Say nothing, Lord Blackmore. I am merely stating a fact." Then she looked up and those lovely teal eyes captured him in place again. "I also know that you are the singular person in all the world outside of my family who knows my secret. If you had wished to harm me, either physically or socially, you would have done so by now."

  Once more, her words stuck Lewis like a physical blow. Without even knowing him, she had granted him her trust based on that one black and moonless night on the Great North Road. She had likely not intended her words to be so powerful, but they were, especially for a man like him who worked so hard to keep his true self hidden from the world. Which made her all the more dangerous to him. He would need to deliver his news and depart before she had him so tied up in knots that he could not think.

  "I would not harm you, Lady Sophia," he assured her as he accepted the teacup from her hands. "It is not my way." There was a flash of something dark in her eyes, but he ignored it, instead pressing on. "Though I am here about the matter of Lord Selby."

  Lewis watched her freeze, her hand stopping over a biscuit, unable to move further. He hated this part most of all. However it had to be done.

  "He has returned?" she asked, her hands now shaking so hard that Lewis reached out and clasped them in his.

  "In a manner of speaking." He closed his eyes, not wishing to see her reaction when he delivered the news. "Lord Selby is dead."

  He felt her stiffen, her hands now cl
enching his tightly in return. He felt the air rush from her body before he heard the gasp as she sucked more air into her lungs again so that she might continue to breathe.

  Lewis had known this would be difficult for her. It was why he had insisted to his higher ups at Bow Street that he be the one to tell her. He had history with her. He was the one who had pulled her from Selby's carriage, her pretty dress torn and her eyes red from crying. The others suspected, but Lewis knew. In his mind, that made all of the difference.

  "When? Where?" As he opened his eyes, he could see that she still held herself stiffly, but there was something else in her posture now as well. A slumping of the shoulders, as if perhaps in relief. Were it him, he knew he would likely feel the same.

  "Two months ago in France," he said, clearing his throat, the words strangely sticking there. "Paris, to be precise. I do not have all of the details of his death as of yet. I was simply in the office when the message arrived and took it upon myself to investigate further. Given our history, I assumed..." He trailed off then, not knowing if she would be upset that he had entered into what she might likely consider her private affairs without her consent. Even if he was with Bow Street.

  She wasn't. Instead, Sophia squeezed his hands as if in thanks. "I appreciate that, Lord Blackmore. More than I can say at the moment."

  Lewis understood her relief all too well. If news of what Selby had done to her leaked out, she would be utterly ruined. It was bad enough that people suspected her purity as it was. Even the chief inspector at Bow Street didn't know the entirety of the story, and Lewis had worked very hard to keep matters that way. He wasn't even certain why. He didn't owe this woman sitting in front of him anything. Though he supposed that it was because they came from the same world, the world of the aristocracy. If anyone, save for him and her family, discovered that she was no longer chaste, doors everywhere would be slammed shut in her face, no matter that she was the sister of a powerful duke. She didn't deserve that. She didn't deserve to pay for a crime she did not commit, and Lewis had seen far too much of that sort of thing over his years in service to his country. He would not allow that same sort of disgrace to happen to Sophia Reynolds, at least not if he could help it.