He stood, seized her hands, pulled her to her feet, and embraced her with such fervour that she gasped for mercy. "You are the very dearest girl," he proclaimed. "But—what of you and Stephen?"
She assured him they would be perfectly comfortable, for she still had the emerald, she thought, if things became really grim. "If nothing else, this visit has paved the way to several invitations. Stephen and I are asked to visit Vaille House, to say nothing of spending a week or so with Miss Hilby. And I have an open invitation to Feather's Viewpark, besides—"
Mrs. Hatters came into the room with an agitated expression on her narrow features. Sophia's thought that she had heard Horatio in action was confirmed.
"It's your valet, sir. Rid all through the rain he done. Something very urgent, he says, Major."
Clay cast a scared glance at Sophia, excused himself, and strode out. Begging Mrs. Hatters to remain, Sophia waited. Clay returned in a few minutes, looking pale, and she went to him with considerable apprehension. "Not—Esther?"
"No. It's Douglas. That idiotic Nanny let him play in the rain, although he had a cold. You know how frail the little fellow is! Sophia—I'm most devilish sorry, but I must go at once!"
"Oh, Marcus! Do they know what it is?"
"No. But it don't sound too good," he said distractedly. "What a beast of a coil! You alone here! Ain't proper at all! Shall I send word for Feather to return?"
"I wish you will not. She doesn't like this place above half. Besides, Stephen is looking much better. Tomorrow, if Lord Phineas sends the big coach for us, as you said he would, we shall doubtless be able to join him."
"He'll be in transports," Clay nodded. "And Damon's gone out on business, thank God! He won't be back tonight and,— Oh, excuse me, Mrs. Hatters! I only meant… cousin… unchaperoned, y'know."
"Yes, Major," said the housekeeper, nodding at his flushed face. "Which is why his lordship went to Pudding Park."
Sophia shot a startled glance at her, then urged her cousin to leave at once. "And do not worry. Mrs. Hatters will bear me very proper company."
When Clay had gone, and Mrs. Hatters was preparing a room for herself across the hall, Sophia went over to the windows. The sky was black as pitch, rain lashing the glass. She thought she heard a shout and swung the lattice wide. The wind blew out the candles at once; in the sudden darkness, she saw a glow approaching around the corner of the house. She thought at first it must be Clay but doubted he'd yet had sufficient time to be outside. Puzzled, she watched. A man's dark shape hove into view. A man wearing a long, many-caped coat that blew in the wind. He was tall, and even in the bulky coat, she could see that he was slender and walked with a pronounced limp. He turned away, raising the lantern and, as Clay's voice was raised in a shout to his groom somewhere, drew back swiftly, as if afraid to be seen. Sophia gave a gasp of terror. The lantern was extinguished, but just before it died, she saw a steely blue glint in the man's other hand. The long, deadly barrel of a pistol!
Chapter 14
Sophia's mind seemed so beset with troubles she was sure she would get very little sleep that night, but she slept deeply, her slumbers undisturbed by dreams, and awoke shortly after eight o'clock, feeling refreshed and able to cope with whatever might befall her. She had left the connecting door open so as to hear Stephen in case he called and, glancing that way, was surprised to find it shut tight. Perhaps Mrs. Gaffney had returned. She pulled on her dressing gown and hurried to the door. It was locked! How could anyone have been so stupid? She rattled the handle, but the sound was lost as the Marquis thundered, "You will damned well do no such thing!" Sophia's mouth fell open a little. The monster had come home very early and was losing no time in berating Stephen—even when he was so very ill! With her fist upraised to pound on the door, she paused as Whitthurst's voice rang out, equally angry. "I shall, by God! What the devil d'you take me for? A damned dog in the manger? You gave me your word, Cam! Of all the cork-brained starts!"
Delighted to hear her brother in such a fine fettle, Sophia gave a contemptuous snort. The word of the Marquis of Damon was likely as worthless as the rest of his treacherous person. Stephen should have known him better than to rely on any promise he made!
"Keep your blasted voice down," snarled Damon. "D'you want her to hear?"
"She might as well! She'll hear the whole curst thing as soon as she wakens at all events!"
"The hell she will! I want you out of here, Whitt! And I want that shrewish termagant of a sister of yours out! God knows my life has been hell on earth since she arrived!"
Sophia's eyes glazed. 'Shrewish! Termagant? Hell on earth?' Well, Stephen would wipe the floor with him now— arm or no arm! Waiting smugly for the sound of a blow or, better yet, a shot, she gasped as her brother gave a smothered shout of laughter. "Ran into that fiery temper of hers, did you? Gad, but I'd love to have seen it!"
"You would! So far—nephew—she's put my staff into a state of shock by taking over my kitchen. I've had exploding chickens, cheese souffle with custard— Stop laughing, blast you! To say nothing of a trifle topped with white sauce and so damned laced with cognac—yes, cognac! that Ridgley was in his cups before the meal was done!" Here, despite herself, memory and the sound of Stephen's hilarity conspired to bring a smile to Sophia. "On top of all that," the Marquis continued aggrievedly, "your confounded sister informed me in no uncertain terms that I'm the blackest villain since Lucifer and slapped me so damned hard I've two loose teeth, I vow!"
Sophia tensed. Stephen would challenge him for that! Instead, Whitthurst sounded reduced to a state of near imbecility. It was quite a few seconds before he was sufficiently recovered to gasp out something comparatively mild, to which Damon replied, "Never! Take her out of here, Whitt. In truth, I count the minutes!"
Counted the minutes, did he? Well, wait until he had his confounded investors meeting! She'd give him some minutes to count!
The conversation became calmer and harder to follow. With her ear pressed to the door, she heard Stephen say something about a "filthy damned mess" and Damon respond hotly that he didn't need to be taken to task by a maggot-witted young loose screw! Stephen, his temper obviously warming, started to retaliate, only to burst into a siege of coughing. Fear seized Sophia, and she pounded on the door; receiving no instant response, she kicked at it angrily, succeeding only in stubbing her toe. She was bent over, clutching at her foot when the door opened and the Marquis enquired, "Morning exercises, ma'am?"
She cast him a glance that should have scorched those raised eyebrows and swept past to her brother, who looked pale but gave her a loving smile. "Dearest," she said, bending to kiss him. "Thank heaven you're better. I am so sorry you had to be"—and here she glared at Damon—"so upset!"
"What the deuce," demanded Whitthurst, "are you doing here?"
"I followed you, of course," she replied, more than a little put out by this attitude after all she had endured for his sake. "And might," she added, "ask you the very same thing. Really, Steve, of all the foolishness, to go rushing off like that! You know you are not strong enough to undertake so long and arduous a journey."
Damon strolled to the window and gazed out in silence. The Viscount slanted an uncomfortable look at those broad shoulders and muttered, "I'm sorry if you were put about, Chicky, I had no—" He stopped, seeing the shocked roundness of his sister's eyes. "Oh," he said unhappily. "Egad!"
Damon, turning from the window, quizzing glass raised, scanned the furiously embarrassed Sophia with amused eyes, then excused himself and left them. The door had scarcely closed, and Sophia's mouth was just opening to chastise her brother for his use of that childish nickname, when the Marquis stuck his head back in again. He levelled a meaningful glare at Whitthurst. "Have a care, nephew! You will regret it if you cross me in this—I warn you!"
"That villain!" cried Sophia as the door closed. "How dare he threaten you?" Her brother offered nothing more substantial than a frown, and, a thought striking her, she asked a dismayed "Stephen—you
're not—?"
"Afraid of him?" he finished with a faint smile. "No. But— I never missed my arm so badly! By God! I'd give all I have to have it back!"
"Of course, you would, love," she said sadly.
Still glaring at the door, Whitthurst went on as if she'd not spoken, "So I could knock that top lofty devil down!"
Mrs. Gaffney returned, pronounced the Viscount much improved, and gave her sanction for the journey to Bodwin Hall, so long as they did not depart until afternoon, and Lord Whitthurst rest after the drive. Sophia was urged to go downstairs, have a decent breakfast, and then get some sunshine. "For in truth, my lady, you look positively hagged!" To the accompaniment of a hoot of laughter from Whitthurst, she took this kind advice and made her way downstairs.
She found the Marquis alone in the breakfast room. He was slumped back in his chair, coffee cup in one hand, the newspaper folded beside his plate. It was a small fold, and she thought it should take him only a few seconds to digest the information it contained, but he was either a very slow reader or not reading at all because he made no movement, continuing to stare downward, head bowed.
Sophia had donned her prettiest morning dress. Of white India muslin, it had a low-cut bodice laced with violet ribands over a pale-lilac placket. Puff sleeves were also laced from the shoulder, and a straight skirt fell softly from beneath the high bustline. Damon looked up as she entered, and she received a momentary impression of unutterable weariness before he sprang to his feet, ushering her to a chair.
"I have come—" she began as she sat down.
"Obviously," he said dryly. "Shall Whitthurst be joining us, ma'am?"
At once irritated, she was thrown off stride and blinked up into his cold eyes. "Of course not! Mrs. Gaffney says he must rest this morning."
"A thousand pardons." He waited as she rejected the eggs, cold beef, or haddock Thompson came in to offer and, when the butler had poured her coffee and left the room, said, "I imagine you are anxious to make your announcement."
Guilt caused Sophia to buckle her toast and spread jam on her thumb. "A-announcement?" she gasped, whitening.
He shrugged. "Your engagement to Hartwell."
At first inexpressibly relieved and then just as annoyed, she stabbed butter onto her second piece of toast and said a frigid "I am betrothed to no man, my lord."
"Really?" He had the gall to look astonished. "But—surely he's a good catch for you, ma'am? Very flush in the pockets, I understand." His thick lashes dropped after this insult, but the infuriated Sophia knew somehow that he was still watching her and realized suddenly that the provocation was deliberate. Shocked by that knowledge, she then felt a new power and, smiling sadly, admitted, "True. But I am, you see, a very foolish fool. I mean to wait until I meet the man I can… love." The last word was very hard to speak. Especially looking straight at him.
In an offhand fashion, he enquired, "And what if your— love—has no funds?"
Before, she would have lusted to scratch him for that. Now she merely said meekly, "Why, then I must needs learn to sew and mend and clean. And"—she darted a glance at him and finished with a dimple—"and cook."
Damon stooped hurriedly to retrieve the serviette he contrived to drop. When he straightened, he said a wooden "What a dismal prospect."
"Less dismal than being so vastly rich it is necessary to employ armed guards."
The hand that had been reaching toward a muffin checked briefly. The eyes that were turned upon her were totally blank. "Ma'am?"
"You have no need to dissemble. I saw one of your men last evening. I must allow I was startled until Mrs. Hatters explained that you have been bothered by thieves and vandals. Horrid. And you have quite spoiled your muffin, sir."
Damon's gaze lowered to the wreckage of the muffin. "Dry. I cannot recommend them, ma'am. Unlike some of my objets d'art, which are quite fabulous."
"Which is why you discourage visitors? Alas—I must have been a great trial. But you shall not have to strain your manners beyond this afternoon. Lord Bodwin is sending his carriage for us."
"So I understand. I trust it will not inconvenience you to wait until after the investors meeting. It should be over in time for Whitt to—"
"Whitthurst is much too ill to attend your silly meeting!" Sophia flashed, her poise vanishing. "I should not really allow him to journey to the Hall."
"Spoken like a true martyr," he said with his twisted smile. "No wonder poor Whitt found it necessary to escape to Cancrizans."
"Escape? Oh! Oh! You most—most odious—"
"Viper?" He leaned forward. "Whitthurst is a fine fellow and I know you love him. But he's blue-devilled just now and if you continue your overprotective coddling, he may never regain his spirits."
Infuriated, she hissed savagely, "He near died—if you care!"
"I do. And it was admirable that you pulled him back to life—"
"And unspeakable that you almost pushed him to his death!"
He met her flashing eyes, then drew back and began to toy with the salt cellar. "For some men, perhaps. But you should not lose sight of the fact that I am… beneath contempt."
His lazy grin mocked her, but she noted the shadows under his eyes and, remembering her earlier impression of weariness, said in a gentler voice, "If I love my brother so deeply, it is because he is kind and honourable and thoroughly decent. I admire him for those qualities. And for his gallantry."
She had spoken with unconscious pride and now blushed as he sneered, '"And will seek those same traits in a husband, no doubt?"
"I would not settle for less!"
His eyes fell. He was undoubtedly aware of his shortcomings, and Sophia could not help but be sorry for him. "I suppose every gentleman has some doting lady in his life who tends to smother him with affection," she said. "Even you, uncle."
"Assurement!" he said cynically. "My mistress. For which she was extreme well paid."
"Of course he wants us out of here," said the Viscount, talking softly so as not to start himself coughing again. "He cannot have the workmen pounding away while I'm lying here like a curst, grizzling girl."
"Grizzled might be a better term," smiled Sophia.
He felt his chin. "Lord! Regular gooseberry bush! You might ask Thompson if he could spare the time to shave me. I cannot seem to manage it myself yet. But I'm improving, only took off half my ear lobe last time!"
She concealed the pang that went through her and said,
"Dearest, I know you don't like me to mention it, but—does it still hurt very much?"
"No," he said brusquely. Then, relenting, sighed, "The worst thing, Chicky, is the dreadful time some people have trying not to notice. Don't know what to do with their eyes. Drives me wild!"
"Oh, and I thought—when St. Clair asked you how you were getting along with one wing to fly with it was dreadful of him. I suppose—it wasn't?"
"Well—he was there, you see. Any of the old sportsmen who went through it understand. It's the men who didn't go… and the women. Gad!"
"I see," she said in a very small voice.
"Oh, I didn't mean you, little Chick. You've been not half bad…" His fond grin negated the begrudging nature of the praise. "But the girls I've met the few times I've gone out try so wildly not to stare. They struggle frenziedly to make conversation…" His fist clenched. "But they can't wait to get away from me, they're so nervous and embarrassed. That's what I've become, you see—an embarrassment… One poor girl almost fainted, I think, because she was honest enough to say she was 'up in arms' about something!"
He stared at the ceiling, his face very strained, and Sophia, remembering how many times she had cautioned friends against "noticing" his injury, could have wept. Damon had said she was overprotective. But Whitthurst had been so horribly close to death… "Stephen," her voice trembled, "I'm sure they don't mean to be unkind. They're just so afraid of hurting you…"
"I know." He took a breath and smiled brightly. "Don't pay no attention to me. This is my '
be sorry for Stephen hour'. It's… it's only…" He stared at her little slipper and ground out, "If just once—just once a girl would look at me and say, 'Oh—you lost an arm, I see!' By God, I think I'd marry her on the spot!"
She gave a shaken little laugh in which he joined, and some of the strain went out of his face.
"You're much too young to be thinking of marriage," she chided.
"I'm only four years younger than the old Nunks—or Hartwell. And I hear he's been dangling after you again. Get another offer from the fellow?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact." He hadn't sounded pleased—as Clay had implied. Curious, she asked, "Would it displease you if I accepted Sir Amory? Don't you like him?"
He hesitated, then said reluctantly, "No."
"Why? He's one of the most popular young bachelors in Town. And a real catch—as your gracious uncle has already informed me."
Stephen looked at her sharply, then grinned. "He would! Cam thinks Hartwell's a bang-up sportsman. Blind spot. They grew up together, y'know. Hartwell was from a very impoverished house."
"He was? But I thought he was extreme wealthy?"
"Is now. Inherited it—some distant relation in America, I believe, who had the kindness to pass to his reward a few years ago. When they were children, Hartwell practically lived here. And they spent a lot of time together in Europe. But—I don't think Cam really sees him these days."
"And you do?" Her brother was frowningly silent, and she said, "Stephen, I wish you would tell me. If you really disapprove…"
Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 04] - Love's Duet Page 16
