The Scoundrel Takes a Bride: A Regency Rogues Novel

by Stefanie Sloane

  15

  June 3

  PETWORTH MANOR

  The Afton traveling coach rolled along the bumpy lane leading to Petworth Manor, and with each revolution of the wheels, Sophia grew increasingly apprehensive.

  She’d been able to dismiss her nerves up until the coachman turned the four gray horses down the Petworth high street. Long rides in a carriage on country roads were notorious for causing fatigue. Nights spent in posting inns could hardly be considered restful. And eating at odd times wreaked havoc with one’s system. It was all perfectly understandable.

  And perfectly false.

  She stared out the window at the familiar grounds. It looked exactly as she remembered from childhood. Ancient chestnut trees dotted the land, their trunks so thick that even her father’s land steward could not stretch his long, brawny arms around their girth and make his hands meet. Nonetheless, Sophia had never tired of begging him to try.

  The Afton estate’s renowned herd of red deer was grazing on the grassy expanse just in front of the classic Greek folly. Their numbers seemed to have grown since she’d last seen them, their distinctive reddish-brown coats and delicate features duplicated until she could hardly distinguish one from the other.

  As a child, Sophia had tried time and time again to befriend the deer. She’d even managed to coax a doe into the house with carrots pulled from cook’s kitchen garden, only to have Mr. Reynolds, their horrid butler, shoo the animal away.

  The boys would have been so impressed with her pet, as would her mother.

  Sophia now watched the deer feed. A mature stag looked up and turned its head toward the carriage. Sophia felt as if the big male was looking straight at her, though she could not decide if he was welcoming her home or warning her away.

  The carriage dipped slightly as the wheels jolted over a rut, and Sophia jerked with surprise.

  “Are you all right?” Lettie inquired, reaching across the coach to steady her.

  Sophia wished she could tell her companion yes. That she continued to feel convinced their trip was necessary.

  To do so would be lying. “Lettie, I believe I will walk from here.”

  “We’re still some distance from the house, my lady. And it looks as if we’ll have rain soon enough. I don’t know that setting out on foot to the manor house would be wise.”

  Sophia tapped the roof of the carriage and called to the driver to stop. The horses slowed to a walk then came to a full halt. “It would be entirely unwise if I did not. I need to stretch my legs and work the uneasiness from my bones.”

  Lettie dropped the book that she’d been reading onto her lap and fixed her gaze on the younger woman. “Apprehension is to be expected. Still, in light of the long journey, wouldn’t a bath and a properly cooked meal do more good than a walk?”

  “I cannot go inside the house—not yet,” Sophia whispered, fearful that she would start to cry. “I need a bit more time.”

  After a moment, Lettie nodded with wordless understanding and gestured for the coachman to open the door. “I will be waiting for you at the house, my lady. Whenever you’re ready. I’ll be waiting,” she repeated.

  “Thank you, Lettie,” Sophia managed to say to the dear woman before taking the coachman’s hand and stepping down from the carriage. “Go on, John. Take Mrs. Kirk up to the house. I’ll be along in a bit.”

  To his credit, the coachman only nodded, uttered “Yes, Lady Sophia” with unflappable calm, then resumed his post and urged the horses into motion.

  Sophia watched the carriage roll forward and lumber down the sunlit drive until it swayed around a bend in the lane and disappeared from sight.

  The lake was visible just to the east and Sophia set out for its banks, relieved to have her feet moving and her mind less engaged.

  She concentrated on the beauty of the land around her and the quiet calm of the lake ahead. She’d forgotten how peaceful Sussex was. Even in the relatively quiet part of London where she resided, there were still city sounds to be heard at nearly every hour.

  Petworth was vastly different from the hustle and bustle of the capital city.

  A murder of crows broke the silence. Their raucous cawing was deafening as, without warning, they swooped low in formation then shot up suddenly and dispersed.

  Sophia instinctively lifted her arms to shield herself from them, panic pricking her skin. Distracted, she stepped in a hole and pitched forward. Unable to keep herself from falling, she threw her hands out to break her impact, wincing at the sting of rocks against her palms.

  The crows resumed their loud cawing and Sophia looked up. She saw them behind her, gathered in one of the chestnut trees, their sleek black bodies bobbing as the branches swayed.

  She shuddered with renewed apprehension and a deep sense of foreboding. The birds’ repetitive cawing pulsed in her ears and the grass and dirt beneath her felt as if it were bruising her bones.

  A single crow flew low over her, nearly brushing the top of her head with its wings.

  Sophia cried out, terrified, her gaze fastened on the bird as it flew high and picked up momentum. When it circled back, she staggered to her feet and bolted, tearing off across the field. She didn’t bother to look up to assess the crow’s progress, catching her skirt in both hands to run faster, harder, than she could remember ever doing before.

  Her lungs burned and every muscle in her legs ached with fatigue, but she pressed on, dropping her hem and pumping her arms in an effort to put as much distance as possible between herself and the crow.

  The shores of the lake, ringed in chestnut trees, drew nearer. Sophia ignored her dizzying tiredness and pushed on, not slowing until she reached the coolness of the lake’s edge. Her breathing rasped as she struggled to draw oxygen into her starved lungs.

  She looked up from the safety of the tree cover and searched the sky for the crow, knowing that it was a foolish act. Still, relief flooded her when she saw only gray clouds and not the darting black bird.

  Her heart pounded and she drew in deep, gasping breaths in an effort to slow her pulse. She walked closer to the lake’s edge and stared into the clear water, waiting for even a small measure of the comfort that the placid waters had always granted her when she was a child.

  Now even the lake felt threatening in some way. Sophia dropped onto the soft, mossy grass and drew her knees up, wrapping her arms about her legs tightly, shivering in reaction.

  “Sophia?”

  She closed her eyes. Even her imagination was taunting her.

  “Sophia, what the hell are you doing?”

  Nicholas’s familiar voice reached her ears a second time and she began to cry hot, angry tears. How she wished he were really there.

  She rubbed her temples hard in an effort to banish the illusion, but when strong fingers closed over the curve of her shoulder, she looked behind her—and saw Nicholas.

  He was crouched down, his head level with hers, a concerned, if irritated, look on his face. “Oh God, you’re crying. I hate it when women cry.”

  His honest admission struck Sophia as terribly funny and she began to giggle.

  “Have you gone mad?” he asked warily. “Because the only situation worse than a woman crying is a woman gone mad.”

  She could not help herself. She’d never been happier to see him—anyone, really. The giggles took on a life of their own and Sophia simply threw her head back and let the laughter rule until her sides ached.

  Nicholas sat down on the grass beside her, his confusion over her current state clear as he watched her warily.

  When Sophia felt the last of her laughter bubble up and escape, she let go of her knees and wiped at her tearstained cheeks.

  “Are you finished?”

  “I am,” Sophia replied, taking a long, cleansing breath and folding her legs daintily beneath her. “And I am sorry if I frightened you.”

  “Well, I don’t know that ‘frightened’ is the precise word I would use,” Nicholas replied, planting his hands on the gra
ss behind him and leaning back on his braced arms. “Actually, come to think of it, yes, it is. What did you think you were doing hiking about the grounds when you’ve only just arrived? And clearly in an unstable condition, to boot.”

  Sophia felt the pressure of tears building behind her eyes as she suddenly realized Nicholas’s presence had frightened her. “My letter requested that you not follow me to Petworth. Why did you come against my express wishes?”

  “God Almighty,” Nicholas muttered. “Do you think I wanted to come back here? I simply could not leave you to face returning all on your own.”

  His nearness only serving to upset her further, Sophia scrambled inelegantly away until an expanse of ground separated them. “I don’t think it is wise for you to be here.”

  “I am trying to do the right thing, Sophia. Do not make it harder than it already is,” Nicholas replied, his own rancor growing to match hers.

  “Why must you do anything?” she countered with frustration, pulling at the grass until she felt the cool dirt beneath her fingertips. “Especially what is right. Isn’t that best left to—”

  Sophia regretted the careless, hurtful words the moment they left her lips. “Nicholas, I am so sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” He emitted a low, mirthless chuckle, then stood. “You are absolutely right. Such noble acts are best left to my brother. Langdon and I are nothing alike. He is the responsible one, the man who can be counted on to keep a level head and act in an honorable manner. I, on the other hand, know nothing of such things. I’ve worked my entire life to be his polar opposite. Your words, and their weight, are precisely what I deserve. And it is Langdon who should be here with you, not me.”

  He looked down at her and gave a practiced smile, only his eyes betraying the pain she’d caused. “I’ll go.”

  “Please,” Sophia begged, her voice no more than a whisper.

  Nicholas turned back toward the house and strode away, his strong shoulders slumped, his capable hands curled into fists at his sides.

  “No, please don’t,” Sophia commanded, her voice growing with need. “Don’t go.”

  She struggled to stand, her boots tangling within the drape of her skirts. Finally gaining purchase, she leapt up and rushed after him, running ahead before turning to block his path.

  “Don’t leave. I was wrong—I’ve been wrong all along.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, lacing her fingers together and pulling down until his head was level with hers. “Please, do not deny me.”

  Sophia closed her eyes as she leaned in and pressed her lips to his—afraid he might refuse her, but more afraid not to try.

  At the time, Nicholas could not have explained precisely why he’d been exceedingly enraged at the thought of Sophia wandering about Petworth lands, other than he feared she might feel as he did about returning to Sussex.

  Frightened. Confused. Even angry. And terribly alone.

  And he had been right.

  He unclasped her hands from about his neck and gently pushed her away. “You’re upset, Sophia. Confused. You do not know what you’re saying,” Nicholas responded, stepping around her and walking on. “Only a moment ago you wished me gone.”

  “I was being stupid—and cowardly,” she called out, running to obstruct his route once more. She planted herself firmly in front of him and reached up to cradle his face in her small palms. “You are as different from Langdon as two brothers could ever be, that much is true. Still, you’ve something in common with him.”

  He watched as her feathered brows veed with earnestness, and for a moment he let himself pretend she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He let himself grasp her lightly about the waist and pull until she fit snugly against his chest.

  “Neither of you are a matter of black and white—none of us are. I see the good in you, Nicholas. You try so hard to cover it up. But it’s there.”

  Goddammit, he was a scoundrel, he thought with self-loathing. A poor brother to Langdon. And a worthless friend to Sophia.

  The realization was not new to Nicholas. It had never been more painful than now, though, with her in his arms.

  He brushed his lips against the soft silk of her hair. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” he said bleakly.

  Tension eased from her body and she settled more fully against him. “That is just it; I wasn’t certain before. I didn’t want to be, if you must know. But I am now. There is no going back.”

  Nicholas wanted nothing more than for the world to stop, right there and then, to hold Sophia close with her sweet words still lingering in his ears. And thank her for having some faith in him, no matter how minute.

  Menacing clouds rolled in from the west, a thunderclap parting the skies. Guinevere, tethered loosely to a chestnut tree nearby, nickered wildly.

  “I would be a selfish coward were I to take you for my own,” Nicholas said even while he tightened his hold about her waist.

  “We would both be selfish cowards if we allowed Langdon to believe in something that was doomed from the beginning,” Sophia countered, lifting her head from his chest and gazing into his eyes. “I do not claim to understand love, Nicholas. But now, with you here, I can recognize its presence. I want the same for Langdon, just not with me; my heart belongs to you.”

  The rain began to fall in earnest and Nicholas thought he heard Guinevere nicker a second time. Yet there was nothing more than Sophia in his arms. “Am I dreaming?”

  “Kiss me.”

  He lowered his head to hers and kissed her left cheek and then the right, the tangle of words, “Don’t wake me,” ricocheting against reason in his mind as he turned to her mouth and captured her with a deep, soulful kiss.

  16

  Mrs. Kirk had taken one look at Sophia when she stepped over the threshold of Petworth Manor and taken charge, her efforts more fierce and accomplished than those of a seasoned general.

  Sophia barely had time to greet the servants before Lettie bustled her up the grand staircase and down the hall of the south wing, stopping in front of the last door on the left. “We thought it best for you to sleep here,” the older woman explained, failing to add the reason.

  Sophia knew exactly why they’d chosen the room. It was the farthest from her parents’ adjoined suites. Lettie opened the door and ushered Sophia inside, closing it behind them.

  “Let’s get you out of that dress,” she urged, crossing the room to where Sophia’s travel trunks sat. “And into a gown more …”

  Sophia looked around her, trying to remember the rose-accented suite. “Dry? Less bedraggled?” she suggested absently as she frowned at the lovely tea-rose wall covering and attempted to harness her emotions.

  “I did not want to comment, my lady,” her companion began, unlocking the first trunk and lifting the lid back to rest on its hinges. “But you look as if you swam to Petworth.”

  Sophia would have laughed at the comment if not for the very thing that had contributed to her current disarray.

  Nicholas.

  She wasn’t even sure where he was, having lost track of him during the dizzying few minutes she’d spent in the foyer.

  Still, she felt him. His hands about her waist. His lips upon her skin. The sensation had not lessened. In fact, it had grown.

  “I’m afraid the rain came on rather quickly. I’d forgotten the distance from the lake to the house. Silly of me, really.”

  Lettie shook out a blue morning gown and folded it over one arm. “Not at all, my lady. It’s a wonder you were able to remember anything, considering all that you’ve before you.”

  “Quite right,” Sophia agreed, thankful that Lettie believed her—and glad for the sympathetic ear.

  “I did not know Mr. Bourne would be joining us,” Lettie continued casually. “If I had, there would have been a room prepared for his arrival.”

  “Nor did I,” Sophia answered, wise to her friend’s ulterior motive. “I swear, Lettie. You know I speak the truth. Though I cannot help but think, if Nicholas had
not followed after us, there is every likelihood I would still be standing by the lake, soaked to the bone and unable to muster the courage to move.”

  And he would not know that I love him.

  If Nicholas had remained in London, would she, as she’d planned, have taken her time at Petworth to examine her feelings for him? Weighed the outcome of hurting Langdon against her own need for Nicholas?

  More than likely, no, though Sophia could not be sure. His arrival had saved her from the elements and her own overly practical mind.

  “Besides,” Sophia continued, sitting on an overstuffed chair near the fireplace, “his mare was certainly useful in the end.”

  Lettie huffed with irritation as Sophia reached down to unlace her kidskin boots and hurried to her. “Well, that might be true, though the sight of you two galloping toward the house—astride, no less—is one I will not soon forget.”

  Sophia finished with the first boot and waved off the woman before setting to work on the other. “No more riding astride. Duly noted, Lettie.”

  The dear woman nodded in approval. “As long as you are open to suggestions, one more piece of advice, my lady; be careful around Mr. Bourne.”

  Sophia dropped the laces and sat upright. “Of course, Lettie. I wonder, though, do you have reason for your concern?”

  Lettie laid the muslin dress carefully over the back of the chair opposite Sophia, then knelt down and finished unlacing the boot. “I’ve suspected for some time that the man harbors certain feelings for you—beyond those of friendship, that is. I worry the time you’ve spent in each other’s company this past week might have encouraged him, you see.”

  Sophia slipped her foot from the boot and struggled to suppress a surge of fear. “Surely you’re mistaken, Lettie.”

  The older woman collected the wet boots and rose from the floor. “My lady, you are a kind, thoughtful person. You’ve always been considerate and understanding of Nicholas Bourne, even when others were not,” she said, turning to deposit the boots on the hearth and retrieve the dress. “And I can see it in his eyes when he looks at you—the man is in love.”