Vane nodded his head. “That’s exactly what I told her. But she insisted she care for you special, and when Mrs. Dalton came here―”
“Who?” Nathan interrupted. If he was going to momentarily be a participant in this travesty he preferred to know all the details.
“The town’s biggest gossip,” Vane said.
“Naturally,” Nathan replied, the twitch in his jaw increasing in speed. “And the town gossip was here because...?”
“Sophia fetched her,” Vane said matter-of-factly.
“Indeed. That makes perfect sense for your daughter to insist the town gossip be fetched to witness her ruination.” The man was a liar through and through.
Vane leaned in. “Do ye really think so? I told her I didn’t think it was wise. Especially seein’ as how, after Mrs. Dalton got here, she told Sophia no decent lady would have removed yer shirt to care for ye and been standin’ in the room alone with ye.”
Nathan clenched his teeth together to stop his twitch before he could speak. “How much money do you require to repair your daughter’s reputation?”
The man had quite the acting skills. He actually perfected looking offended. Nathan didn’t know whether to laugh or commend him.
“I cannot take yer money.”
“That’s surprising,” Nathan said dully.
Vane frowned momentarily before his eyes widened. “What I mean is money cannot repair the silly girl’s reputation. I give ye that she should have known better, but she has a huge heart and didn’t care enough about herself while ye was hurt. The only thing that will help my girl is yer marryin’ her.”
“I’m afraid I cannot do that.” He allowed the cold fury building inside of him to clip each word.
Vane scowled. “No man with any honor would knowingly allow a lady’s reputation to be ruined.”
“I’m afraid you’ve grossly misjudged me, Vane. I may be a duke, but I’m no fool. And if you think to try to force me to marry your daughter with talk of honor, you are mistaken. I’m not that honorable.” The words, and the consequences to Sophia if what Vane said about the townsfolk thinking she was ruined was true, pricked at him.
“Ye’ve got to marry her,” Vane demanded, spittle once again flying from his mouth.
Nathan stared at the man until he started to squirm. “Point in fact, Mr. Vane, I do not have to marry your daughter. There is no law that compels me to do so, and I cannot think of a person that would try to force my hand, unless...” He smiled slowly, baring his lip away from his teeth bit by bit. He knew it made him look ferocious and rather evil. Aversley had told him so, and Aversley wasn’t one to lie. “If you are trying to tell me you wish to demand retribution on the field of honor, I’ll be happy to oblige. I prefer the pistol; it’s the weapon I use most frequently, but I am adept with the rapier, too, though something about sliding the metal into flesh makes my teeth grind. Or at least it has on the occasions I’ve been compelled to do so.”
Vane’s eyes bulged. “How many duels have ye fought?”
Nathan smiled lazily. “How long do you have to stand here while I list them?”
A bead of sweat trickled down Vane’s left temple. The man wiped it away with shaking hands. The tremor was probably a result of too much drink. Nathan pounced on the weakness with glee. A man who thought to unrightfully force another’s hand deserved no quarter. “I’ve been trained by the best marksman in the country, as well as the best swordsman, but I do believe it’s the dozens of duels I’ve been compelled to participate in that have truly honed my skills. Tell me, Vane, what training do you have?”
“None,” the man muttered.
Nathan did not hold back the smile that crooked his lips this time. “None?”
Vane shook his head.
Nathan frowned. “How many duels have you fought?”
The man moved his jaw back and forth before answering. “None.”
“Oooh.” Nathan allowed the word to drag out long and slow. “That’s unfortunate.” He tapped his fingers against his thigh for a moment. “I’ll tell you what, since you were so generous as to allow me to recover in your guest bedchamber and to fetch the physician when I needed him, I will give you a two-second advantage when we duel.”
“When we duel?” the man practically bellowed. “I never agreed to no duel. This here conversation has got all flummoxed.”
“Has it?” Nathan raised his eyebrows. “It must be my misunderstanding. What is it you said you wanted from me?”
Vane rubbed the back of his neck as he darted his gaze around the room and then let out a disgruntled sigh. “Amends for Sophia’s ruined reputation. No decent man will want her now that the town thinks she’s soiled by ye.”
Not that a decent man would have wanted her in the first place, given her family, Nathan thought. Pity stirred in him again, which was irritating as hell. Pity would be his downfall if he wasn’t careful. His instinct was to go before he got more embroiled in this ridiculousness, but he couldn’t go without seeing her, talking to her, and ensuring she would indeed be all right. Her father might be a snake, but it was clear she hadn’t condoned his plan.
Why, damn it? Why not just go?
You like her. The thought rankled and shock made him momentarily speechless. He did like her. She was a funny, sharp-witted, bright-eyed slip of a thing, and she deserved better than the life she had. He would find her, make sure she was going to be fine, and then he would give her a monetary reward for helping him.
He glanced around the room, located his breeches, overcoat, and hessians by a chair, and then he eyed Vane, who was staring at him expectantly. “For your daughter’s efforts in saving my life I’ll give you twenty pounds, but that is all you will get from me.” Without waiting for a response, he continued. “You can either graciously accept the money or argue, which will get you nothing. What you will never possess is my name for your daughter. Am I understood?”
The man nodded with a scowl.
“Excellent. I require a shirt and the location of your daughter.”
“What for?” Vane demanded with a furrowed brow.
“Because I am departing this deplorable place today and I cannot go about shirtless.” Damn the physician’s advice that he rest awhile longer. It would be impossible to relax enough to recuperate here.
“I don’t have no fancy shirts.”
“Any shirt will do,” Nathan replied.
“All right,” Vane grumbled. “I’ll be back shortly.”
“Knock before you enter.” Nathan intended to be dressed when the man returned. He didn’t care to continue remaining virtually unclothed while speaking with Vane.
After the door shut, Nathan swung his legs over the bed and stood. He’d been out of bed to use the chamber pot several times, so he felt relatively steady, especially since the laudanum was now out of his body, but as he struggled into his clothes, his shoulder started to throb and sweat dampened his brow. By the time he had his breeches and boots on, he was clenching his teeth so hard against the pain that his jaw felt numb. If only his shoulder felt similarly. It ached as if someone had poured liquid fire on it. Driving his curricle was going to be painful and difficult, but he didn’t damn well care. At the loud knock on the door, he bade Vane to enter.
“Yer shirt, Yer Grace.”
Nathan eyed the darkly stained shirt and assumed it had once been white. He took the garment, as repulsive as it was, and struggled into it, just barely resisting the urge to rip it from his body when he got a whiff of the foul stench of body odor that had seeped into the material. Going without a shirt in public, especially to locate and privately talk to Sophia, was not an option. He refused to contribute in any way to helping Vane’s scheme along. If it was as Nathan suspected, the man was greatly exaggerating Sophia’s predicament, so there was no need to turn that lie to fact.
“Now, where is your daughter?” Nathan demanded as he pulled the shirt over his head and put himself in some semblance of order. His shoulder seemed to pulsate
with every move he made, and it took a great amount of concentration not to groan in agony. Showing weakness was not an option, either. It never was.
“I don’t suppose I can say for certain. She’s a strong-willed chit.”
“Take your best guess,” Nathan snapped, his irritation and the pain getting the better of his tongue.
“In town at the Beckford General Store, then likely to the chimney sweep, Mr. Exington’s, headquarters.”
“Excellent. I’ll need directions,” Nathan ordered as he withdrew a full coin purse. “I’ll see that the money we agreed upon is here within a fortnight. For now, take this as representative of my word.”
“This money extra?” Vane asked as he took the coin purse and juggled it back and forth between his grubby hands.
“It is, but I highly suggest you use some of it to buy your daughter a new cape. One made for the winter.”
“’Course I will,” Vane replied, not meeting Nathan’s eye. The man was lying, which didn’t sit well. More disturbing than that, though, was that Vane clearly didn’t give a damn about Sophia. It reminded Nathan of his own mother, and he didn’t care for the reminder one bit. So much so that after retrieving his pistol and securing his coach, he departed without a backward glance.
Sophia stomped along the road as she walked toward Mr. Exington’s, her mother’s letter rubbing against the inside of her right ankle. She was afraid to part with it now that Frank had taken the money, even though she didn’t plan to go back to Frank’s. She’d taken the only thing she could not live without before she was to make her escape with her brother. She still couldn’t believe that Frank had sold Harry. When she’d gone downstairs to leave to get the bread, Mary Ellen had told her it had been done.
She sniffed loudly and paused long enough to kick a rock she passed, imagining that it was Frank’s head. He was a despicable lout. She had no money, but somehow, someway she would leave Mr. Exington’s today with Harry in tow.
As she passed the Beckford General Store, Mrs. Dalton stepped out with a sack clutched in her hands and glared at her. Normally, Sophia would ignore the wretched woman, but this morning she didn’t have it in her to be the bigger person. She glared in return, and Mrs. Dalton descended the steps into the street and pointed at Sophia. “Turn your eyes, ladies,” she crowed. “Sophia Vane is a fallen woman. She is not pure!”
Sophia’s steps faltered as several women standing around Mrs. Dalton gawked at Sophia.
“How do you know?” one of them asked.
Mrs. Dalton puffed up. “I saw her with a naked man with my own eyes. And not a trifle embarrassed was she.”
“That’s not true!” Sophia seethed. “I was helping him. He was shot.”
Mrs. Dalton didn’t acknowledge her words. “She demanded I leave, so she could be alone in the bedroom with the man.”
“Sinner,” an older lady with silver hair hissed.
Sophia curled her fists at her side. “We are all sinners, you old bag.”
The plump woman standing by Mrs. Dalton pointed her fat finger at Sophia. “You should hang your head in shame.”
Sophia notched her chin higher, though angry tears clogged her throat. “I’ve nothing to be ashamed of.”
Mrs. Dalton reached into the sack she was holding and stepping toward Sophia, threw a handful of flour at her before she could back away. Sophia gasped in outrage as Mrs. Dalton shouted, “You’re not welcome in this store.”
That was it! She refused to take any more. She strode toward Mrs. Dalton and yanked the sack out of the woman’s hands then tipped the entire thing over Mrs. Dalton’s head. “I wouldn’t visit your store ever again even if you paid me. I’m going to London, where the possibilities are endless!” With that, she turned on her heel and stomped off toward Mr. Exington’s.
Sinner indeed, she fumed as she passed the shoe shop, tears blurring her eyes and flour still tickling her nose. She’d never even kissed a man, but the town wouldn’t care. Mrs. Dalton had seen to that. They’d condemned her as a whore based on a rumor that Frank had set in motion. Truthfully, they’d condemned her the day she was born.
On top of it all, Frank deserved to be skinned for selling his own flesh and blood. She’d anxiously been watching Nathan, waiting for a sign that his mind was clearing from the laudanum. When it had, she’d been on the verge of begging Nathan for money so she could flee with Harry, but Frank had appeared at the door and now here she was. Stuck again.
Up ahead, she could see Mr. Exington’s office. She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and charged on.
Nathan muttered to himself as he maneuvered his curricle down the narrow, crowded street and studied the businesses he passed, looking for the chimney sweep’s shop. He’d already stopped at the general store and been told in a shrill, hysterical voice by a woman covered in flour that Sophia had been there and had left after pouring a bag of flour on the woman. Nathan could well imagine what had led to Sophia’s actions, if the harridan had called Sophia a lightskirt. Grimness settled over him. His conscience over Sophia’s clearly destroyed reputation was screaming at him and wouldn’t stop.
He clenched his jaw as he continued at a slow, annoying pace down High Street. Why the devil were the streets so busy today? As he drove his curricle, he viewed the buildings, large and small, new and old, crammed together in solid, soldier-like rows on both sides of the street. He drove past the Black Bull Inn, the White Horse Café, a cock yard, and the Crown Inn while sweeping his gaze up and down the street for a glistening, cropped-haired, dark-headed whisper of a woman.
The sounds of bartering, bickering, chattering, and laughing filled the air, along with the solid hum of his curricle wheels against the cobblestone street and the clop of his horses’ hooves as they walked. Maneuvering between two carriages in front of him, he had to pull up sharply on the reins when a small boy with a full head of dark hair darted in front of his curricle. The boy glanced up at him with large, frightened, piercing blue eyes that seemed to glow, surrounded as they were by a soot-covered face. He was filthy, rail thin, and looked as if no one cared for him.
Anger recoiled through Nathan at the plight of unwanted and unloved children. The situation was far too familiar for him. If it hadn’t been his fortune to be born into wealth, he could well have been a chimney sweep like this boy. He didn’t doubt for a second that his mother would have gleefully sold him for the coin he would have brought her, and by the time his father came back around for one of his rare visits, Nathan probably would have been dead.
Nathan reached into his overcoat and took out several coins, never breaking eye contact with the obviously wary child. He motioned the boy to come closer. The child bent down and picked up the brush he had dropped before shuffling with stooped shoulders and a lowered head to the edge of the curricle.
Ignoring the angry shouts of the men forced to stop their carriages behind him, Nathan bent down and held out the gleaming coins to the child. The big blue eyes moved from Nathan’s face to his hand, and back again. Desire and fear swam in the depths of the child’s eyes.
“Go on,” Nathan said softly. “These are for you to buy a treat and some good food to fill your belly.”
The child licked his lips before dashing his hand out and attempting to grasp the coins. Nathan closed his hand around the small one, having been expecting such a maneuver. When the boy cried out and recoiled, Nathan gently increased his hold. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just wanted to say something before you run off with the money. I’ll let you go, but you must promise to stand here and listen.”
The boy hesitated for only a moment before nodding, and Nathan immediately released him, half expecting the child to dash off, but he stayed put, true to his word. Nathan grinned. “You need to be careful when crossing the street. If I didn’t have quicker reflexes, you’d be lying under my horses’ hooves right now and that would not be a pleasant place to be.”
The child swallowed audibly before speaking. “Y-y-yes, milord.”
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“Your Grace,” Nathan corrected gently.
“Yes. Your G-G-Grace.”
Pity for the child welled in his breast. He’d been a stutterer as a young lad, too, and it had been made far worse by his mother’s constant berating. He hadn’t been born such, but living with a mother who was sweet one minute and fearsome the next had made him anxious, until she’d abandoned any pretense of sweetness in the privacy of their home, and he’d set about learning to control his stutter with fierce determination.
“Do you have parents?”
The boy seemed to be contemplating the question. Perhaps he didn’t know, or perhaps he knew them but wished he didn’t.
He shrugged his slender shoulders. “A f-f-father, but he’s no p-p-parent.” The last word was spit out in anger.
“I’m sorry,” Nathan said softly, shooting a glare over his shoulder at the man muttering curses at him.
The boy shrugged again. “I’ve a s-s-sister, too,” he said with a bright smile.
“Well, lucky you,” Nathan responded, sensing the boy’s love for his sister. “I bet she would tell you to hold your spine straight and your head proud.”
The boy’s mouth parted in obvious surprise. “Sh-sh-she would.”
Something about the way the boy cocked his head and quirked his mouth stirred familiarity in Nathan. He frowned, and then a bark of laughter erupted from him. “Is your sister’s name Sophia Vane, perchance?”
The boy nodded.
“Would you tell me where the chimney sweep shop is?”
He nodded his head, again, and as he did so, a screech of pure rage filled the air and floated above the rest of the racket on the street. Nathan whipped his gaze to his right and just ahead, and for a frozen moment, all he could do was stare in amazed wonder at the sight of Sophia, flung much like a sack of the flour that covered her, over the shoulder of a big, burly man. The second passed with the exhalation of Nathan’s breath. Rage filled him, propelling him off his curricle and toward the foray.
My Seductive Innocent Page 8
