Crispin rose from her uncle’s favorite chair. “Good morning, Sophia.”
She scooped Cupid into her arms, evaded the dog’s tongue, and scratched behind his ears. The rambunctious poodle melted beneath her touch, his large black eyes glazing over almost instantly. She inclined her head in greeting, her gaze wary. “Good morning, Crispin.”
His heart beat a little faster when she spoke his name—not Lord Margrave, the too impersonal designation of viscount, or the myriad of monikers she had bestowed on him this Season, but his given name.
She paused in scratching the pooch to tentatively pat a hand over her pale gold spun hair. The silky locks were piled on top of her head and adorned with a strip of muslin that was secured into place with a light blue ribbon. “I am afraid I was not expecting callers.”
He should hope not at this hour, but Sophia seemed to be full of surprises. He smiled, hoping to disarm her. “Forgive me. I should have sent a note. I did not intend to catch you unawares.”
It was untrue. An unprepared Sophia was more likely to be honest when he questioned her.
She wrinkled her nose. “You needn’t apologize. We do not expect forewarning before you call. Any written communication from you would come as a shock, frankly.”
In all of their arguing, she had never broached the topic of her unanswered letter. This was the closest she had come.
“Have you eaten breakfast?” she asked, changing the topic. “Should I ring for refreshment?”
Her thoughtful offer and attempt to avoid an argument warmed him inside. Nothing had been easy between them since she arrived in London, and he was to blame. She guarded her heart with harsh words and a hardened exterior, but she allowed him a glimpse of the sensitive girl he had known since they were children. He was hesitant to spoil the moment.
“Do not trouble anyone. I broke my fast earlier,” he said, and following her lead, he directed the conversation even further away from the unanswered letter. “I barely recognize you in ordinary attire.”
The white morning dress she wore, probably a discarded frock from one of her sisters, was the tiniest bit too long; only the tips of her black slippers peeked beneath the hem. In the ballrooms, she wore her lovely silk gowns. She commanded every eye and charmed every gentleman who stood up with her. Yet, to Crispin, she had never looked more beautiful than she did now.
“Lud, Margrave. Did you suffer a knock on the head? You are staring as if you’ve never seen me before.”
He blinked, realizing he had been ogling. “Your gown needs hemming.” Gads. One would think he was dull in the head with his lack of social graces, but she had that effect on him. “Nevertheless, it suits you.”
Sophia sighed. “Surely you haven’t come to Wedmore House to comment on my ensemble, and it is too early to begin chasing away my gentleman suitors. Get on with it then.”
“If I’ve frightened a few men into giving up their pursuit, you should thank me. A coward makes a poor husband.”
She snorted. “I did not ask for your assistance, Lord Matchmaker.”
An unrestrained grin spread across his face. Sophia was a spirited young woman, although she rarely showed that side of herself to anyone but him.
Despite her lack of appreciation for his efforts, he would continue to protect her from the undesirables. He’d had years to take the measures of the men courting her this Season. They had been fellow classmates at Eton and Oxford, and later, his opponents at the gaming hells. He knew their temperaments, the state of their family coffers, and the scandals that could ruin them if they were discovered.
“No need to ask for my help,” he said. “I give it freely.”
She raised one elegantly shaped eyebrow. “Hurrah for me.”
He laughed. Matching wits with her only made him crave more—to crave her—but he seemed incapable of ignoring the traps she set. “You have ruled out two reasons for my visit, Miss Darlington, and I can assure you I did not come to Wedmore House to verbally spar with you.”
He met her in the middle of the room and offered his hand. “Will you sit with me, please? I would like to discuss a matter with you.”
“Can it wait until later at the ball?”
He had forgotten about the Hillarys’ ball. Splendid. Another dreaded evening of watching her flirt with other men... He was beginning to suspect she enjoyed torturing him. “I am afraid it cannot wait.”
She hesitated before placing her hand in his and allowing him to draw her toward the ivory settee. The faint scent of her soap reminded him of that brief moment following a summer rain shower, when mist rose from the sunbaked earth and the air held promise. It was her signature scent, camellias.
“The matter sounds important.” Sophia gracefully lowered to the settee, perching straight-backed on the edge of the cushion. She regarded him with shrewd topaz blue eyes. “Auntie is still in her chambers, but I could send for her if you are at leisure to wait.”
“Do not disturb Beatrice. I wish to speak with you alone.”
A pink blush swept across the apples of her cheeks, and the shimmer of her eyes filled him with an unexplainable disquiet. “I see. Has Uncle Charles written to you? Is he expected home soon?”
Crispin swallowed to ease the dryness of his throat. “I’ve received no word from your uncle. As far as I am aware, he has only written to your sister and aunt.”
As a fellow Regent’s Consul member, Crispin was one of a small number of people his godfather could confide in without risk. Yet, Wedmore had mentioned nothing about his plans to travel when they dined together the night before his departure. The secretive nature of his godfather’s affairs gnawed at him. Something was wrong.
Shaking off his suspicions, Crispin claimed a chair adjacent to Sophia. Her smile faded, and she hugged the dog against her chest. He inhaled sharply as it dawned on him she might have mistaken his early morning visit for courtship, and furthermore, she might still welcome his attentions.
His chest puffed up, and the urge to abandon his good sense and join her on the settee was strong. He kept his seat. At Christmas, his behavior had been rash. He would not mislead her again.
Sophia recovered her smile, but her eyes had lost their sparkle. “I do hope this will not take long. I have plans to join Lady Octavia and her mother on an excursion to Bond Street.”
He sank against the chair cushion as his warring emotions battled for domination. “Is Lady Octavia the girl that always wears pink?”
She snorted. “Octavia is no more a girl than I am, and she looks lovely in pink. Why shouldn’t she wear it if she pleases?”
Even idle chitchat landed him in hot water.
He cleared his throat. “I was not passing judgment on your friend’s choice of attire. I am trying to recall which one she is.” It was difficult keeping Sophia’s companions sorted when he only had eyes for her. “I have no objections to Lady Octavia, pink, or your friendship with her.”
“I cannot recall asking for your approval, Lord Almighty,” she said sweetly and nuzzled the little dog’s head.
“I did not come here to quarrel, Sophia. I am here as a friend.”
“A friend?” She shook her head and chuckled as if she couldn’t believe the tripe spilling from his lips. “Tell me, Lord Margrave. Does Ben Hillary welcome your friendly overtures, or am I the only chum you kiss?”
Tension seeped into his muscles, making them rigid. “I will not be goaded today. I’ve come to Wedmore House out of concern; I care for you.”
“Of course you do, as a friend.” Cupid crawled from her arms, turned a circle, and plopped beside her on the settee cushion. She casually toyed with the pooch’s ears, gazing at Crispin from beneath her lashes. “I wonder if I will ever be allowed to define our relationship.”
“Sophia.” He pushed his fingers through his hair and sighed. This conversation was overdue, but another must take precedence. “Could we please postpone this conversation for another day?”
“When—tomorrow? Next week? When we
are in our dotage?”
“I do not know. Soon.”
What was there to say? He had taken liberties that did not belong to him and recovered his senses too late. A small indiscretion on his part should not condemn her to a lifetime of being tied to him. She would be miserable. His work called him away for months at a time. He would be forced to lie about his destination and purpose. One day, he might not return from his travels, and she would never learn his fate. Perhaps she would believe he had abandoned her. That was no way for a lady to live, especially one who longed for a close marriage like her parents had.
Smoothing a wrinkle from his trousers, he took a deep breath and reclaimed control of the conversation. “As I relayed earlier, I am here on an important matter, and you have an appointment to keep. I would prefer to stay on task.”
Sophia narrowed her eyes. He rushed on before she concocted a new strategy to knock him off kilter. “It has come to my attention you have been frequenting a playhouse in Marylebone and befriended an actress.”
Her frown turned into an amused smirk. “Spying again, Margrave?”
“Perhaps you’ve read one too many books of intrigue, Miss Darlington.”
In fact, he had been spying, but not on Sophia.
The head of the Regent’s Consul was missing, and Crispin had been charged with investigating the commander’s disappearance. The Marquess of Hertford, Lord Chamberlain of the Household, had summoned him to the royal palace last week. Hertford kept abreast of Regent’s Consul operations since the King had lost interest in his elite emissaries after Waterloo, and the Lord Chamberlain had never been pleased with Farrin’s renegade leadership. Hertford wanted to know Farrin’s fate and what pots he had been dipping his fingers into.
Everything Crispin had uncovered so far pointed to foul play. Farrin had last been seen in the company of two gentlemen hours before they were murdered at the London docks. In all likelihood, Farrin had been another victim, and his body became lost in the river. The commander was too meticulous at covering his tracks to have killed the gentlemen and left them to be discovered.
“London is smaller than it appears,” he said. “A theatre is no place for a lady of good reputation to frequent, and an actress is not a suitable companion. Anyone could witness you entering the Drayton Theatre at off hours and believe the worst.”
She sat up straighter and notched her chin. “Aunt Beatrice approves of Claudine Bellerose; I had her blessing to visit the Drayton. You will not decide whom I may and may not befriend, and you certainly have no say on where I choose to go.”
Faith! Her place was in Mayfair; she had no business venturing outside the boundaries of safety. Why must anyone need to remind her?
His smile was tight. “If you are not mistaken about your aunt’s approval, her judgment is circumspect. Are you aware there have been assaults in the area?”
“Of course I am aware. That was my reason for calling at the theatre. Claudine thought the other actresses would feel safer if they learned to defend themselves, so I taught a class on Wing Chun.”
“You?” Crispin laughed in surprise. “You hated attending your uncle’s lessons. Wedmore had to bribe you with the promise of a trinket to entice you to step one foot into the gymnasium.”
She flicked a hand dismissively. “I would have attended lessons without a reward, but I was very fond of ribbons and sweets.”
He chuckled and shook his head in disbelief. “A clever minx is a dangerous creature.”
“I was a girl,” she said with a defensive edge to her voice. “It was important to Uncle Charles, so ultimately that was my reason for learning to fight. He wanted my sisters and me to be capable of defending ourselves when he is away.”
“Can you, Sophia?” He scooted to the edge of the chair. “Defend yourself?”
“I can.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, and her eyes lost their glimmer of certainty. “At least, I think I can.”
Her answer was inadequate. She needed his protection whether or not she wanted it, and he would risk anything to shelter her from the type of men he encountered in pursuit of his duty to the King. There was a darker side to London than she could ever imagine, and she was venturing too close.
“I am concerned about the company Miss Bellerose keeps.” He leaned toward her and said gently, “Her benefactor was murdered.”
“I heard.”
“How?” Her lack of surprise caught him off guard. “How did you hear the Duke of Stanhurst and his son were murdered?”
The Stanhurst family managed to keep any mention of murder out of the newssheets, deeming the duke’s and his son’s deaths the result of accidental shootings. Conveniently, the magistrate who discovered their bodies had come into money and left for America with his wife and children before the account could be challenged. The entire affair reeked of deceit.
“The late Duke of Stanhurst was her former benefactor,” Sophia said, ignoring his question. “Claudine left him, and she was fortunate to escape with her life. You should have seen what he did to her. It was deplorable.”
Perhaps Sophia knew more than Crispin had credited her with knowing. “Are you implying Miss Bellerose is responsible for her benefactor’s death?”
“Of course not, and I do not care for this line of questioning.”
“She was a woman scorned, Sophia. How do you know Miss Bellerose wasn’t involved?” It seemed unlikely the woman could have killed the men alone, but she’d had a protector when Crispin interviewed her at her town house last week—a large fellow that appeared capable of carrying out the deed at her behest.
Sophia crossed her arms and jutted her chin. “Claudine is a gentle soul who would not hurt anyone. That is how I know.”
He opened his mouth to argue that appearances could be deceiving, but she cut him off.
“She was a guest at Wedmore House the night in question. The entire night.” Sophia bolted from the settee, startling the dog. “You should go. I do not want to keep Ladies Seabrook and Octavia waiting, and I must change my gown before they arrive.”
She swept toward the door, but Crispin shot out of the chair before she was halfway there. He captured her wrist, pulling her close before realizing his mistake. The warmth of her body crossed the sliver of space between them, heating his blood.
“She has a servant,” he said softly. “Perhaps you have met him.”
Sophia’s breath quickened; her pulse fluttered at her collarbone. “Benny did nothing wrong either.”
She knew the man’s name. She definitely knew more than Crispin had expected. “How do you know this man is innocent?”
His fingers tightened around her soft bare skin, touching, memorizing the feel of her. God, he was hungry for more. The thrumming of his heartbeat in his ears wreaked havoc with his ability to reason.
“I give you my word,” she murmured. “Benny is good and kind.”
Her tongue dashed over her lips, leaving them moist and glistening in the morning sunlight. She drew Crispin toward her with an invisible force he halfheartedly fought to resist.
If he kissed her now, there would be no turning back. She could be his, forever. He only needed to accept her offer and claim her mouth.
And doom her to a life of isolation?
For that would be the only means of protecting her from enemies he had made in his service to his King—men that would strike at him by taking the one treasure he valued above all others.
He released her arm and blinked, breaking free from the fantasy of having Sophia for his wife. When she reached for him, he stepped back. She persisted, placing her hand against his cheek.
“Why do you withdraw from me?” The tender concern in her voice nearly broke his will. She stroked his cheek; his eyes drifted shut. “Do you fear I no longer love you?”
Gads. He brushed her hand away, the spell shattered. He smiled to hide the unexpected agitation her words had stirred up inside him. “You are a champion at distraction, and you almost succeeded. Tell
me what you know about Stanhurst’s death, so I may be on my way and you can keep your appointment.”
He was being harsh, but it was easier to keep his wits about him when they were arguing.
Her jaw hardened. “I have nothing to tell you.”
He took another step away from her, still not trusting his power to resist her with her close. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Sophia?”
Fire flared in her blue eyes. “I don’t have to lie to you. You do well enough on your own.”
“Is that supposed to make sense?”
She sighed. “We are more than friends, Crispin. And when you are ready to be honest about me, perhaps I will feel free to confide in you. Now please, see yourself out.”
She turned on her heel and marched toward the drawing room door.
“Sophia, wait.”
“Your escort will not be required this evening,” she called over her shoulder. “Good day, sir.”
Her quick footsteps sounded on the stairs a moment later. She was running from him. Crispin formed fists at his sides. The instinct to chase her up the staircase shook him. He wanted to grab her and kiss her until she had no more angry words to hurl at him. His body screamed for it. The need to taste her and stroke her soft skin rushed through his veins, pounding like horses’ hooves in his ears. In five long strides, he was at the landing, his foot on the first step.
He froze.
Devil take it! What has come over me?
Cursing his foolishness, he turned and stalked from Wedmore House before he did something that could never be undone.
Four
“Sophia Darlington!” Lady Octavia’s scandalized tone snapped Sophia out of her pensive state of mind. “Where are you this afternoon? You are not listening to a word I am saying.”
“I am listening.” Warmth washed over Sophia’s cheeks at the lie. “You said the color of the ribbon matches your new gown.”
“That was several ribbons ago.” Octavia’s smoky brown eyes, which perfectly complimented the spool of magenta ribbon in her hand, crinkled with amusement. Octavia’s mother had left them alone to browse the fripperies while she shopped for a new pair of gloves. Sophia and Octavia were the only patrons in this part of the shop, leaving them to speak freely without censorship.
Lord Margrave's Secret Desire (Gentlemen of Intrigue Book 4) Page 4
