Sophie sucked in a breath through her teeth. If Lady Eleanor found out about that particular escapade, there would be the devil to pay for both Sophie and the servants who had escorted her that night. She prayed Mr. Watley had the sense to keep what he saw to himself.
“Charmed, I’m sure,” intoned Lady Eleanor, obviously not charmed in the least.
Lady Randolph turned back to Sophie. “I do hope you are feeling better today, Miss Stanton. How unfortunate that Simon had to take you home last night. He was greatly missed, I can assure you.”
“I’m fine, your ladyship. Thank you for inquiring,” she ground out.
Mr. Watley didn’t bother to hide his knowing smirk.
“My nephew knows his responsibility when he sees it,” Lady Eleanor intoned. “He has been taking care of my god-child since she was a girl.”
Sophie refused to let her eyeballs roll up to the ceiling. Is that how everyone saw her relationship to Simon—simply as one of responsibility?
The malicious gleam returned to Lady Randolph’s eyes. “I’ve always thought Simon was very good with children. He’s so noble and self-sacrificing to all his family.”
“You needn’t tell me my nephew’s good qualities, Bathsheba. I know them very well,” snapped Lady Eleanor as she struggled to her feet. “Sophia, give me your arm. I’d like to stroll around the room a bit.”
Sophie dropped a short curtsy, casting a glance at the countess and her escort. Their expressions were rigid in the face of Lady Eleanor’s blatant snub, but Mr. Watley quickly recovered and executed a faultless bow. The old woman ignored him as she moved away with stately grace.
Sophie choked back a laugh. “Ma’am, that was splendidly done,” she murmured in her godmother’s ear.
“Never could abide the woman, even if she is supposedly good ton. I swear, her antics sent her husband to an early grave, even if he did accidentally kill himself in a carriage race.”
Sophie frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Randolph was mad for her, from the very beginning. She didn’t give a stitch for him—married him for his money. Oh, the girl was always discreet. Never embarrassed him in public, although she often cut very close to the line. But there were rumors that quite a few men besides Randolph shared her bed. Poor silly fellow couldn’t stand it. If he hadn’t cracked his curricle on the road to Brighton, he would have drowned himself in a barrel of brandy.”
Sophie’s jaw went slack. Lady Eleanor had never spoken so frankly to her before—at least not about something so scandalous.
The old woman cast an impatient glance. “Don’t give me that look, miss. I know you understand me. You’re not a simpering schoolgirl anymore, not that you ever were. I want you to stay far away from that woman. For all her fine airs she is a bad piece of business, and for some reason she seems to have taken an extreme dislike to you.”
Sophie gave her head a small shake. It never ceased to amaze her that her godmother, who rarely left the house, observed a great deal more than one could ever imagine.
Lady Eleanor expelled a sigh. “I never could understand Simon’s fascination with Bathsheba. Madness to go anywhere near the viperous creature. I do hope he has learned his lesson.”
Sophie caught her foot on the ruffled trim of her hem, but managed to catch herself.
“Pay attention, Sophia,” rapped out Lady Eleanor. “We’ll both end up in a heap on the floor thanks to your clumsiness.”
Muttering an apology, Sophie took a firm grip of Lady Eleanor’s arm and walked slowly on.
Did everyone know Simon and Lady Randolph had been lovers? And did everyone think they still were? He had assured her last night that he and the widow were now merely friends, but why did Sophie find that so difficult to accept? All her instincts clamored that Simon was holding something back. She would find out what it was if she had to tie him to a chair and pummel it out of him.
“Ah, and there’s the great man himself,” grumped Lady Eleanor, gazing toward the front of the Pump Room. “I wondered when he would make an appearance.”
Sophie’s heart banged against her ribs. All the dark magic of last night’s memories came rushing back as she watched Simon prowl toward them through the company. She tried to swallow, but her mouth and throat were suddenly parched. The potent combination of longing and frustration that flooded through her every time she saw him would surely drive her to Bedlam, in short order.
He moved with a long, easy stride, nodding to friends but never pausing until he stood before them. His eyes gleamed as he openly—and thoroughly—inspected Sophie from tip to toe. A hot rush of blood seemed to flush every part of her skin in response. She couldn’t help scowling at her own ridiculous reaction to his possessive gaze.
Her forbidding expression apparently failed to deter him, because his eyes sparkled with laughter. He smiled as he bent over his aunt’s gloved hand.
“Good afternoon, my lady. I’m pleased to see you looking so well.”
Although clearly irritated with her nephew, Lady Eleanor couldn’t keep her lips from twitching into an answering grin. As usual, Simon’s smile could charm the devil out of the doldrums.
“Well, my boy, how are you? I had thought to see you before this, but I suppose you had business this morning, as you always do.”
“Alas, yes. Believe me, I would much rather spend the morning with you and Sophie than in the company of two ill-tempered bankers and my slave-driver of a secretary.”
“Simon, you spend too much time with those vulgar city men,” said his aunt. “You know how your grandfather felt about such things. Family and land—those are what matter, not these newfangled schemes that occupy all your time. I’ve hardly seen you since you’ve come to Bath.”
Simon’s face grew remote as he listened to the familiar and aggravating family refrain. Sophie had heard those disapproving remarks often enough over the years when visiting the St. James’s estate, and had seen the tight-lipped bitterness on Simon’s face when the old earl had lectured him about his determination to seek a life of study at Cambridge. She had felt the pain he experienced as her own every time his grandfather pulled him further away from the life he truly desired.
But Simon had buried his disappointment years ago beneath a mask of careful indifference. At least Sophie thought it was a mask, although she had to admit she sometimes didn’t recognize the boy she had loved in the man he had become.
“Forgive me, dear aunt.” Simon’s voice was level and polite. “My business should be concluded in a few days, and then I promise to spend more time with you.”
Sophie frowned. Why was Simon lying again? He had every intention of returning to London as soon as possible.
She opened her mouth to question him, but he smoothly cut her off.
“Aunt Eleanor, would you mind if I stole Sophie away for a few minutes? I have something most particular I wish to say to her.”
Sophie almost choked when the old woman winked at her nephew. Simon looked startled, but then sudden laughter eased the hard set of his features.
“By all means, my dear,” Lady Eleanor said affably. “I see Davinia Lethbridge sitting by the musicians. I haven’t spoken to her in an age. Take all the time you want.”
Before Sophie could object, Simon tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and began to lead her away.
“Simon, did you say something to your aunts about our engagement?” Sophie hissed from behind the false smile she plastered on her lips.
“Of course I haven’t, Goose. I gave you my word. But you know what the old gal is like—she has desired marriage between us ever since you put up your hair and let down your skirts. She’ll take any opportunity to throw us together.”
“Really, Simon. Don’t call Lady Eleanor an old gal—it’s very rude.”
He laughed and steered her to one of the inset windows on the opposite side of the room. Although still in full view of the crowd, the alcove provided some privacy. It was, Sophie realized, the perfect setting to d
eliver her sure-to-be-unwelcome message. All could see, but none could overhear. Simon wouldn’t dare lose his temper in front of half of Bath.
She ordered the butterflies in her stomach to cease their fluttering, took a deep breath, and turned to face him.
The speech she’d practiced so carefully withered under Simon’s hot gaze. The cheerful chaos of the Pump Room faded as she tumbled into the dark well of his eyes, returning to that place of magic and sensation that had ensnared them both last night.
His big hand brushed the fine velvet of the pelisse covering her back, sending a hard, wracking shudder down her spine. Dear Lord. How was she ever to say what she must say? Even a roomful of gossips—many of whom were eyeing them with great interest—couldn’t keep her from melting into a pool of honey under the warmth of his touch.
“How are you feeling today, my sweet?” His husky voice rumbled through every limb of her body. It was all she could do not to close her eyes and lean into the hand that lingered at the base of her spine. “I hope you have recovered from last night. You seemed a tad out of sorts when you so graciously bowed me out of the room.”
She snapped her head back and glared at him. Trust Simon to ruin the moment—again. The teasing light in his eyes stiffened her resolve.
“Whatever can you be talking about? I had a perfectly pleasant evening last night, and I feel most well today.”
He snorted. “Sophie, you had more than a pleasant evening last night, if you recall. It’s now time to pay the piper. Although there’s no doubt I took advantage of you in my aunt’s drawing room, of all places, I have no intention of apologizing. In fact, I would do it again. You belong to me now, sweetheart, and you may as well admit it. The sooner we announce our betrothal and set a date for our wedding, the better.”
She did her best to appear both innocent and bewildered—a challenging task, since his blunt words had set the butterflies pinwheeling in her stomach once again.
“Simon, I’ve already told you that I have no intention of announcing our betrothal. At least not yet. You promised you would give me time to adjust to the change in circumstances, and I intend to hold you to that promise.”
His brows arched up in exaggerated surprise. “Let me remind you, Puck, there’s been quite a substantial change in the circumstances, as you so delicately put it. You gave yourself to me last night—rather enthusiastically as I recall—and that changes everything. It’s now imperative we get married with no delay.”
Sophie took a deep breath and stepped off the cliff.
“Simon,” she gasped with feigned outrage. “Have you lost your mind? There has been nothing in my behavior that would modify our agreement one whit.”
For a harrowing moment he seemed slack-jawed with shock. But that didn’t last. The lines of his face set like stone with an alarming rapidity that made her question the sanity of her plan.
“Sophie,” he ground out, “what are you playing at? You slept with me last night. You came apart in my arms. I know you didn’t imbibe enough champagne to forget that very interesting event.”
She drew herself up to her full height. Just level with his chin, she forced herself to ignore the unmistakable warning signaled by the compression of his lips.
“After you brought me home last night, I went straight to bed,” she said primly. “I don’t know how you could say otherwise.”
He closed his eyes. Now he looked like a basilisk. A very angry basilisk. She let her gaze dart around the room, wanting to look anywhere but at Simon’s furious countenance.
Her eyes suddenly fell upon Lady Randolph. The countess was observing them, a canny smile playing around the edges of her crimson-tinted lips.
Sophie jerked her attention back to Simon. His eyes were open now. As hard as flint, they regarded her with suspicion.
“Why are you doing this, Sophie? What do you want from me?”
“I want you to respect our agreement, Simon. I have no desire to leave Bath at this time, nor am I ready to announce our betrothal to the world.”
His voice rumbled down to a low growl. “So you hope to gain my compliance by pretending that nothing happened in the drawing room last night? That your naked body didn’t shiver in climax beneath mine?”
She gasped, his rough language sending a quivering thrill straight to the still-tender flesh between her thighs. Sophie mentally grabbed for the slipping traces of her resolve, blurting out the first thing that came into her head.
“You must be thinking of someone else, my lord. Your former mistress, perhaps?”
His sudden stillness was so alarming that her stomach pitched to her knees with the awful conviction that not even a crowd of gossips in the Pump Room could prevent him from exploding with anger.
But Simon had formidable self-control. Even as unnerved as she was, Sophie couldn’t help but admire his restraint. God only knew she didn’t deserve it.
He blinked a few times, looked quickly around the room, then settled his features into a mask of polite boredom. Only the coal furnace smoldering in his dark eyes indicated the magnitude of his struggle within.
“My dear girl.” His quiet voice warned of impending doom. “I will not be manipulated. I suggest you learn that lesson immediately. Things will go poorly for you if you don’t.”
Her own temper, repressed until now by her agitation, flared at his threat.
“I’ve had enough of this insulting conversation, my lord. Please take me back to Lady Eleanor. I’m quite sure she’s ready to return home.”
The angled planes of his handsome face turned hard as quartz, but he nodded his head in acquiescence. She suspected he didn’t trust himself to keep his temper under control much longer. Thank God his abhorrence of scenes spared her the need to play out her ridiculous but necessary charade one second more.
As Simon escorted her back to his aunt, Sophie’s eyes were once more irresistibly drawn to Lady Randolph, standing only a short distance away with Mr. Watley. An exultant smile shaped the edges of the widow’s beautiful mouth, and her crystalline gaze glittered with a malignant triumph she made no effort to contain.
Chapter Fourteen
What the hell had just happened?
Simon stared at his fiancée’s slim figure, rigid with indignation, as she escorted Aunt Eleanor from the Pump Room. If he didn’t know better he could have sworn someone had just yanked his brains from his skull, shaken them about like a terrier shakes a rat, and then reinserted them upside down. His teeth were so tightly clenched it just might take a chisel to pry them apart.
He had been absolutely certain of her last night, assuming her anxious reaction to their lovemaking—and his insistence they set a date for their marriage—had been due to the unusual amount of champagne she had consumed earlier at the ball. She was an innocent, and their physical intimacies were bound to upset her, even though she had clearly enjoyed them in the moment. Hell, the spectacular sex had stunned him, and he had lost any pretensions to innocence long ago.
In fact, he had been so sure of her that after he met with his bankers this morning, he instructed Soames to draw up the contracts for the new mills in Yorkshire. Simon had planned on leaving Bath this afternoon to meet with Jedediah Russell at his offices in Bristol, and complete negotiations before the canny factory owner could be tempted by any other offers.
But, as usual, Sophie had thrown a spanner into the works. Russell would never agree to anything unless he knew his potential partner had unrestricted access to a sufficient coal supply. In his latest missive to Soames, Russell had made it clear that he wanted proof, not promises. The announcement in the Bath Chronicle of the betrothal of Miss Sophia Stanton to the Earl of Trask had been intended to provide that assurance.
Jerking to awareness of the sideways glances and curious stares of the other patrons in the Pump Room, Simon repressed a groan. More than a few scandalmongers had witnessed his argument with Sophie, but he had been so amazed by her lunatic attempts to manipulate him that he had been hard put to
control his anger. Every ounce of his willpower had been press-ganged into fighting the urge to shake the little baggage. Well, if Sophie thought she could outmaneuver him, she would soon learn a surprising lesson.
He spun on his heel, barely avoiding a crash into a lush little package wrapped in burgundy silk. Simon bit back the foul curse that sprang to his lips.
“Good day, my lord.”
The scent of Bathsheba’s expensive French perfume wafted up his nostrils. He suppressed the impulse to sneeze.
Odd. That seductive scent, and Bathsheba’s practiced sexuality, had always made his cock twitch with lust. But for the first time it occurred to him that his former mistress seemed…unwholesome.
“Lady Randolph.”
“You seem in a great hurry, Simon.” Bathsheba’s voice dropped to a low, amused tone. “Are you charging off to play nursemaid to Sophie again? I understand how loyal you are to anyone you consider family, but that impertinent child is a scandal waiting to happen. She is apparently unable to go about in public without causing a scene.”
The back of his neck prickled. Bathsheba might sound amused, but his instincts—finely honed by years of fighting with ruthless men of trade—had suddenly run up a battle ensign.
“I wasn’t aware that Sophie had caused any scenes,” he said in a cool voice.
Bathsheba’s charming smile vanished, her impeccable self-control slipping as her expression turned petulant.
“Really, I wonder how you can be so tolerant of that dreary little bluestocking. You spend so much time with her, one would suppose you were courting the girl.”
He fixed her with a steady gaze until she flinched. Her cheeks paled as she stared at him with a look of growing horror.
“Simon…”
“Good day, my lady.” He gave her a short bow, but ignored her grasping hand as he turned and strode to the door of the Pump Room.
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