“True, you sent Lord Ramsdell in your stead.” He winked. “Very clever move.”
Pleasurable heat swept through her. “You think I am responsible, my lord? Octavia—the one who always wears pink? She is the culprit.”
“Never trust a lady in a pink gown.” His smile threatened to scorch her to cinders. “Quite right, Margrave. Do file that knowledge away. It might come in useful someday.”
She wet her lips, contemplating whether to bring the conversation back to Lady Van Middleburg or simply bask in his pleasant mood and attention.
Crispin cleared his throat. She barreled on before she lost her nerve.
“Why have you been questioning the Duke of Stanhurst’s servants?”
“Hmm... It seems Ramsdell overheard more of the conversation than he led me to believe.”
“Then it is true? I had hoped the earl was mistaken.” She lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “You should heed the baroness’s warning. The old duke was a horrible man. I told you how he treated Miss Bellerose. I can only imagine such cruelty ran in his blood. His heir might be as corrupt as he was, and I would hate for you to come to any harm.”
Crispin’s strong brows rose toward his hairline. “Are you worried for me?”
The wonder present in his question irked her. How could he doubt her regard? She was not a wanton who kissed gentlemen willy-nilly. He was her first love—her only, for that matter.
“I wish to throttle you most of the time,” she said, “but yes, I care about your safety.”
“We have that in common.” Slight pressure from his hand on her back lessened the distance between them. Her chest was scandalously near his. His mouth lowered toward her ear. “I would sacrifice everything to protect you.”
His breath whispered across her skin. She turned her face toward his; their lips were so close. If she leaned slightly, they would touch. His eyes devoured her, as powerful as if he caressed her with his hands. Her body pulsed with awareness of him, of how glorious it must feel to be touched by him.
“You would give up everything,” she murmured. “Your reputation, your happiness—your beloved horse?”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “Even Atlas.” He drew away, erecting a blasted wall between them again. “Do you question my devotion to you and your family? Regina charged me with watching over you and—”
“Yes, yes,” she said impatiently. “You promised Regina, et cetera, et cetera.”
Crispin had been spouting the same nonsense ever since Regina and her new husband left for Athens with Evangeline in tow. This elevated sense of duty he claimed to owe Sophia’s family seemed like an excuse to keep her close while simultaneously pushing her away. It was maddening.
“You should worry less about me,” she said, “and watch out for yourself. The Stanhursts are an influential family. They could make trouble for you if they wished.”
Crispin grinned. A lock of golden blond hair slipped onto his forehead; her fingers itched to smooth it back into place. “I am capable of protecting myself and you, Miss Darlington.”
Law! He was the most unpredictable, infuriating man in the world. One moment, he was much too dire when the situation did not call for it, and the next, he laughed in the face of a serious threat.
She lowered her voice to a near whisper. “If you’ve set your mind to finding out what happened to the duke and Lord Geoffrey, maybe I can help.”
“Are you implying your actress friend is involved after all?”
Sophia sighed; frustration seeped into her voice. “How many times must I defend her? Claudine is innocent.”
“Then I cannot fathom what assistance you might offer.”
She nibbled her bottom lip, torn on whether to confide in him. The actress might be blameless, but her new protector was no saint. Benny wasn’t a ruthless murderer, but he’d held Sophia’s brother-in-law hostage at one time. The poor man’s brother had threatened to kill him if he allowed Xavier to go free.
Most men of Crispin’s class would not view Benny’s actions in a good light, but to Sophia and her family, he was a hero. He had saved Regina’s and Xavier’s lives. If all of Crispin’s poking around was for sport, Sophia couldn’t chance any harm coming to the sweet, simple man.
“Are you a member of Lord Seabrook’s secret society?” she blurted. “The group that fancies themselves amateur sleuthhounds? Octavia told me all about it.”
Crispin chuckled. “It’s not a well-kept secret if you and Lady Octavia are aware of its existence.”
“Answer the question.”
He opened and closed his mouth as if he considered lobbing another witty retort and decided against it. “I am not one of Lord Seabrook’s sleuthhounds. Now, it is your turn to answer. What can you tell me about Claudine Bellerose?”
“There is nothing more to tell.” Loyalty compelled her to discuss the matter with Claudine before revealing what happened the night Stanhurst and his son were murdered.
“I know one of the current duke’s sisters well,” she lied to steer him away from Claudine. “If I write to Lady Emmeline, she might extend an invitation to visit her in the country.”
“Stop.” Crispin gripped Sophia’s hand tightly, his hold commanding but not painful. “I do not want you involved. The Stanhursts pose little danger, but I am equipped to handle any risk.”
Once, her sister Regina had believed she was invincible—all because Uncle Charles had taught her Wing Chun, a method of combat created by an abbess after she observed a crane and snake embroiled in battle. A fable, Sophia was sure. Just like the one Regina and Crispin told themselves. No one could hurt them. They could protect themselves.
“There will always be someone bigger or more skilled than you,” she said. “You would be wise to remember you are but flesh and bone.”
“As are you, Sophia. Promise you will forget about this business with Stanhurst.”
She notched her chin. “I will promise if you do the same.”
“Sophia…” The music faded. The dance was at an end, and so was their opportunity to speak without others overhearing. “I wish to continue our discussion at a later time.”
As did she, before too many days passed. If she visited Claudine at the Drayton Theatre in the morning, she could be back home in plenty of time to receive Crispin in the afternoon. “Call at Wedmore House tomorrow.”
He inclined his head, signaling his agreement.
“In the meantime,” she said, “try not to harass anyone.”
“Now, Miss Darlington.” His hazel eyes sparked with devilment. “How can I make a promise I might need to break?”
She pursed her lips, attempting to suppress a smile. “At least try to limit your harassment to my suitors and leave the matrons alone.”
“A promise easily granted.”
“My gentlemen admirers will be thrilled to hear it.”
His smile was soft, bordering on affectionate. “I hope not.”
Seven
Midmorning the next day Sophia arrived at the Drayton Theatre in Marylebone. Her friend Claudine would be occupied with play rehearsal and unable to converse with her until the stage manager dismissed the players, but Sophia had time to wait.
If Crispin learned she had defied his wishes by visiting the theatre again, his hazel eyes would light with a dangerous blaze that would set her on fire in the most delicious manner. How tempting and wicked it would be to allow her secret to slip when he called that afternoon. A marvelous tremor of anticipation raced through her as she climbed from the carriage.
Trevor, a young footman newly hired at Wedmore House, hurried up the stairs ahead of her to open the theatre door while the coach circled the block.
“Please remind John Coachman to collect me in an hour,” she said. “I am receiving callers this afternoon.”
The footman nodded, his slicked auburn hair catching the light. “Aye miss, I will carry your reminder post haste, that I will.”
She smiled; Trevor’s eagerness to please was sweet. �
��You may leave me at the door. I know the way to the auditorium.”
“Yes, miss.”
She entered the theatre alone and paused to get her bearings in the dim light as the door closed behind her, muting the noise from the streets. Only one wall-mounted lamp burned on low wick in the lobby, but the Drayton would be transformed and lit up like a ballroom when the patrons arrived this evening.
Claudine spotted Sophia as soon as she walked into the auditorium and lifted a hand to wave. Sophia’s timing appeared to be perfect. The stage manager was dismissing the players for a short recess.
“Good morning,” Sophia said in her most cheerful voice.
Natalia and Rachel, two of the actresses in Claudine’s troupe, greeted Sophia by name before excusing themselves to take refreshment in their dressing rooms. The stage manager acknowledged her presence with a grunt, which might have been insulting if Sophia hadn’t grown accustomed to his gruff manners.
“What an unexpected surprise.” Claudine’s beautiful eyes lit with pleasure, more than making up for Mr. Jonas’s reticence. “May I beg your pardon for one moment?”
“Of course.”
Claudine retreated to the wings briefly, and Benny popped out from behind the curtain. The near giant of a man wore a wide grin, his rust-red hair damp at the temples. “Morning, Miss Sophia.”
“Good morning, sir. How goes the world of theatrical performance?”
He swiped the back of his hand across his forehead and shrugged. “Don’t know much about that sort of thing, miss, but Miss Claudine says I been pulling my weight real good.”
“Benny is a godsend.” The petite actress patted his forearm affectionately. They made quite the pair standing side-by-side. “The Drayton Theatre and A Lady’s Fate would not be the same without him.”
The debut play Claudine had authored and starred in was doing very well. It appeared the theatre doors were in little danger of closing now.
“I cannot imagine the play without Benny,” Sophia said as she drew close to the stage. “You are magnificent, sir. I would venture that Aunt Beatrice and I would be lost without both of you joining us for weekly dinners at Wedmore House.”
The dear man blushed to the roots of his hair.
Claudine descended the stage stairs to take Sophia’s hands and place kisses on her cheeks. “We are honored to be your guests.”
Dining with theatre folk was unconventional, to say the least, but Aunt Beatrice was the first to point out the family had been eccentric for generations. The ton no longer pretended shock. This family trait troubled Sophia at one time, but after her exposure to Society, she realized everyone had foibles. Some simply hid them better.
“Will your betrothed be back in time to join us tomorrow evening?” she asked.
Aunt Beatrice insisted anyone marrying an honorary family member was granted the same status, so Mr. Hawke, the theatre owner, attended the weekly dinners whenever his scheduled allowed.
Claudine frowned. “I am afraid estate affairs have extended Russell’s stay in the country. We expect him next week.”
Sophia had hoped Mr. Hawke was back in London by now. The actress would likely desire his counsel on what to do about Benny, but the conversation shouldn’t be postponed.
“Unfortunately, this is not a social call,” Sophia said. “Is there someplace we could speak privately? Benny, too.”
Claudine’s eyebrows arched high on her forehead. “Oliver’s office is vacant.” She informed the stage manager that she required the use of his quarters and an extended recess.
Mr. Jonas clapped his hands to gain the remaining players’ attention. “Everyone worked hard this morning. We are adjourning for the day.”
“He is in an unusually jovial mood,” Sophia said under her breath.
Benny nodded. “He likes to be in charge, but he isn’t really. Mr. Hawke is the boss.”
Claudine playfully shushed him.
When they reached the stage manager’s office, Sophia did not waste time coming to the point. She reported on Crispin’s snooping and explained she was worried for him, given what she knew about Claudine’s former benefactor, the late Duke of Stanhurst.
“I want to tell Lord Margrave what I know about the men’s deaths,” Sophia said. “Perhaps that will satisfy whatever curiosity has been roused. However, I cannot do so with a clear conscience unless I have your blessing.”
Claudine slanted a troubled glance toward Benny. “Do you believe Lord Margrave means to harm him?”
“No,” Sophia said, “he will be grateful when he learns Benny saved Regina’s life.”
“And what about Benny’s other crime? Will he overlook your brother-in-law’s kidnapping?”
“I do not understand Margrave’s interest in what happened to Stanhurst and Lord Geoffrey, but I believe his inquiry is limited to their deaths. Nevertheless, it might be prudent to send Benny away for a time.” Sophia smiled ruefully at the dear, sweet man who had been toiling to redeem himself. “Please understand, I do not blame you for Xavier’s incarceration. You did so under duress.”
A blistering blush covered Benny’s face. “I was wrong for what I done, Miss Sophia. If I am to be punished, I will accept it, but I cannot leave the theatre with Mr. Hawke away. I watch out for Miss Claudine and the others.”
“And a fine job you do,” Claudine said, smiling with a mix of affection and sadness.
“Tell your fellow about the duke and Farrin before he gets himself into trouble,” Benny said. “You have to watch out for him, too.”
Sophia took the man’s hand in hers and squeezed. “Thank you, Benny. If only Lord Margrave possessed your good sense...”
He beamed at her.
“Before I reveal anything, however,” she said, “I will insist on Lord Margrave’s promise that no harm will come to you. Is that acceptable, Claudine?”
The actress sighed. “It is Benny’s choice. His theatre friends and I will stand beside him come what may.”
A knock interrupted their conversation. The stage manager stepped inside his office. “Wait here,” he barked to someone in the corridor.
The door swung open. “I will not be kept waiting like a—” Crispin stopped abruptly inside the threshold. His eyes flared before narrowing. “Miss Darlington, how unexpected to find you at the theatre.”
An undercurrent of fury simmered beneath the surface of his calm facade. Her mouth grew dry as her heart took off at a terrific gallop.
“Good morning, Lord Margrave. Did we not agree to meet at Wedmore House this afternoon?”
“It is far from a good morning, miss.”
He strolled toward her. The air became heavy with the threat of an impending storm. His fiery gaze seared into Sophia. A light sheen swept over her body, causing her undergarments to cling to her skin.
When Benny shifted to the edge of his chair, Sophia gestured for him to stay. She did not require protection from Crispin.
“It is far, far from good.” The viscount bit out each word and stopped in front of her. His jaw bulged as he ground his teeth repeatedly. “If the morning was a good one, I would not be stumbling across you at the one place I specifically forbade you to go.”
His gaze ran over her from head to toe as if he were sizing her up in preparation of tossing her over his shoulder and toting her home. Her stomach quivered with unexpected excitement. Sophia allowed herself a fleeting triumphant smile before lifting her chin defiantly.
“Must I remind you once again, sir, you have no claim on me?”
“Oh, my dear Miss Darlington,” he ground out. “You are sadly mistaken. I am your family’s champion.”
“My family’s—not mine.”
His eyes blazed. Any hotter, and he might set the room afire. She did not protest when he assisted her from the chair and informed her friends he would call another day. She offered a hurried good-bye as he led her from the manager’s office. They strode toward the stairwell at the end of the corridor with Crispin’s fingers lightly
wrapped around her upper arm. She could break free of his hold, but she craved his touch too much. It was never enough to sustain her after they parted.
In silence, they descended the stairs, and neither uttered a word as he marched her past the guard stationed at the stage door and into the alley behind the theatre.
“Where are we going?” she asked as he urged her along the alley.
“I am returning you to Wedmore House.”
She dug in her heels, forcing him to stop unless he wished to drag her by the arm. “Claiming to be my family’s champion does not permit you to command me. I am an independent-minded lady. I wish to stay.”
In a blink, he pressed her against the brick wall. His hands on her shoulders were gentle tethers, but she didn’t dare move. How many nights had she longed to feel his lips cover hers again? She had lost count.
“You lied to me,” he said with a slight growl to his voice. “You said she was innocent.”
“She is.”
His face lowered toward Sophia’s, stopping only inches away. A wonderful hum swept over her, filling her ears and vibrating through her body. “How can I believe you now? The evidence is clear. You came to warn the woman.”
“I-I am not a liar.” Her tongue swept across her lips and stoked the flames in his nearly black eyes. His response emboldened her. “How can you ignore the evidence at your fingertips? How can you not see me?”
“I see you, Sophia. You’ve ensnared me in a spell, and I cannot look away.” The husky rasp of his voice elicited a shocking pulse between her legs. She couldn’t catch her breath. “I watch you with other men, charming them as surely as you have charmed me. Your cruel reminders that you are not mine are burned into my memory, to be viewed a thousand times when I am alone.”
The admission stunned her. Her lips parted. If he felt as strongly as she did, why did he push her away?
“I could be yours, Crispin. I want it, too. All you must do is accept me.”
His eyes dulled, and his smile was more like a grimace. “How can I make you understand? You are out of my reach.”
The grip on her shoulders eased. He was retreating.
Lord Margrave's Secret Desire (Gentlemen of Intrigue Book 4) Page 7
