Sophia cringed at the rudeness of Octavia’s response, but the duke’s mouth twitched with the hint of a smile. “You are direct, Lady Octavia. I appreciate a lady who does not mince words.”
“I assume you accept the challenge.”
Stanhurst inclined his head. “With pleasure.”
“Very well, you require a second.” Octavia spun on her heel, tossing her mahogany hair, and marched away, leaving Sophia alone with the duke.
He smiled. “Did the lady challenge me to a duel or a game of lawn bowls?”
Despite her best intentions, Sophia returned his smile. He seemed unaccountably tolerant of her friend’s cheekiness. “It is often difficult to discern Lady Octavia’s intentions, but rest assured, her father keeps the blades and firearms locked away.”
Stanhurst chuckled. He was friendlier than she had imagined when catching glimpses of him across the ballrooms, but she would not draw conclusions about his character based on one exchange.
“An enigmatic debutante. How intriguing.” The duke studied Octavia speaking to a servant at the edge of the bowling green. His smile widened. “If you will excuse me, Miss Darlington, it appears I must enlist a second.”
While the Duke of Stanhurst searched for a partner, Sophia joined Octavia. Her friend accepted a bowl from a footman and tested its weight. “This size will do.”
“Yes, milady.”
“The duke seems to find your surliness appealing,” Sophia said.
Octavia snapped her head toward her, her face a mask of horror. “Are you teasing? You must be.”
“I am not. He called you intriguing.”
“Intriguing? I was a shrew.” Octavia shook her head. “Good heavens, do you think he fancies taming me?”
“I cannot say—”Sophia approached the footman to select her own bowls for the game—“but you might change your tack when he joins us, as a precaution. Lord Ramsdell will not welcome competition for your affections.”
Octavia scoffed. “The Duke of Stanhurst is not a contender. I am already promised to my kind, honest, and gentle Ram.”
“That does seem for the best.”
In general, Sophia did not judge a man by his father’s actions, but an association with Stanhurst warranted prudence. There was a reason the saying ‘like father, like son’ came into existence.
“I only wished to prepare the duke for candid questions if he chose to join us,” Octavia said.
“I cannot imagine he is under any delusions now.”
“Perfect.” Sophia’s friend playfully wrinkled her nose. “It appears I did not frighten him away, and he has recruited Lord Leo.”
Stanhurst and a lanky young man walked toward them, closing the distance with equally long strides.
“His sister married Marcus Fletcher recently,” Octavia said. “I read the announcement in the Morning Times.”
“I heard about Mr. Fletcher and Lady Adele from my friends at the Drayton Theatre.”
Octavia pushed out her bottom lip. “Your life is much more exciting than mine.”
Sophia had no chance to comment before the men reached them. Her friend welcomed Lord Leo and suggested they begin the game. The men encouraged Octavia to be the first to roll the jack, but she deferred to Sophia.
Taking the small white ball from her friend, Sophia approached the mark and threw the jack underhand. It rolled approximately one hundred feet before drawing to a stop.
“Excellent form, Miss Darlington,” Lord Leo said. “I might be out of my element.”
“As am I,” the duke agreed.
Octavia spared Stanhurst a brief glance before tossing the first bowl and trying to come closest to the jack. Everyone else followed suit. Stanhurst was reticent throughout the match, concentrating on each shot before he took it, despite Octavia’s prying questions about his search for a wife. Sophia abandoned her plan to interrogate the duke about Lady Van Middleburg. The idea had been silly and ill considered.
Where the duke was quiet, Lord Leo was the opposite. He was a gregarious young man who threw himself into the competition with gusto and made everyone laugh with his antics. Eventually, Octavia seemed to give up her mission to loosen the duke’s tongue and began to enjoy the game.
“Watch this,” Lord Leo said before tossing a bowl underneath one leg. When it rolled up to the jack and gave it a kiss, Octavia cried foul. He and Stanhurst were too occupied with celebrating to give her complaint credence.
The duke appeared to grow more comfortable with the company after Octavia stopped hounding him. His guard relaxed and a playful side emerged. Sophia’s wariness of him began to fade. Crispin would put no stock in her intuition, but she trusted it without fail. Stanhurst was not the type of man to conspire to harm another person.
Octavia and Sophia lost the first match by a point and challenged the men to another game. They were nearing the end of the second match when a tingle began at the back of Sophia’s neck; the wispy hairs there stood on end. She turned, looking for the source of her disquiet but found nothing out of the ordinary. A small group of ladies played battledore and shuttlecock in the open grass, swinging their rackets and squealing, whether they missed or not.
Couples strolled with arms linked through the gardens while the ladies’ parasols lent shade and a false sense of privacy. Even the older men had found an activity to occupy them—sipping brandy and playing cards in one of the smaller tents.
“It is your turn, Miss Darlington,” Lord Leo said.
Shaking off the sense she was being watched, she grabbed one of her bowls. She misjudged her strength and tossed it too hard. The bowl flew past the jack to land in the shallow ditch.
Lord Leo clucked his tongue in mock sympathy before strutting toward the mark to take his turn. As he took aim, Octavia sidled up beside her and whispered, “Look who has arrived at last.”
Sophia arched her neck to look behind her. Crispin was striding across the emerald lawn, his gaze fixed on Sophia. A pleasurable heat engulfed her, and she lost some of her appetite for scolding him for missing their appointment yesterday.
He looked amazing.
His hat sat at a jaunty angle that made her fingers itch to sweep it from his head and muss his golden blond hair. A demure waistcoat of cream hugged his lean torso, and a dark blue jacket stretched across his broad shoulders. Bronze trousers skimmed his long, sculpted thighs and encased his narrow hips in a way that caused her to blush.
“Gads,” Octavia mumbled. “Is he always ill tempered?”
“What?” Sophia blinked. She had become too spellbound by the sight of his muscled form to recognize the bulging muscles in his jaw. “Oh, dear.”
Stanhurst sighed. “That murderous glower is directed at me, Miss Darlington. The viscount and I exchanged words the other night.”
When Sophia’s eyes flared in surprise, the duke offered a reassuring smile.
“Allow me to handle Margrave.” He stepped in front of her, shielding her with his body. “Good afternoon, Lord Margrave. We are in the middle of a match. You will need to enlist a partner if you wish to compete in the next game.”
In the brief silence that ensued, Sophia thought she heard the sound of Crispin’s teeth grinding. “Miss Darlington,” he said with exaggerated politeness while pointedly giving the duke the cut direct, “might I request an audience with you?”
Sophia peeked around the duke. Law! She had never seen his face that particular shade of red. “Now, my lord?”
“Yes, Miss Darlington.” Crispin extended his hand. “If it pleases you...”
His smile was tight and dangerous; butterflies stirred in her belly. She had seen him truly angry only once—behind the alley. Moments before he had returned her kiss with a hunger that had ignited a passion inside of her she didn’t know how to extinguish. She would follow him anywhere.
“I would be delighted—”she placed her hand in his and allowed him to draw her away—“if Lady Octavia, His Grace, and Lord Leo do not mind a delay in our game, of cour
se.”
All three gave their blessings, although they appeared perplexed by Crispin’s brazen request to steal her away. Sophia was not. She expected to receive another lecture about leaving the investigation into Stanhurst to him.
They would quarrel.
She would point out her obvious advantage at gaining access to the duke, her being of marriageable age and Stanhurst being in the market for a wife.
Crispin would bluster.
She would challenge him.
And if she was lucky, he would kiss her again.
Crispin was already escorting her away.
“I will return momentarily,” she called over her shoulder.
“You will not,” he ground out.
She bristled at his cocksure attitude. “We are in the middle of a match.”
“Lady Octavia will find another partner.”
Sophia deemed the matter unworthy of an argument. She would do as she pleased, just as she always did.
He led her toward the hedge maze, and they walked along the outside, remaining in sight of the other guests. He effortlessly matched her brisk pace. “Where is your aunt? She should be watching over you.”
“Aunt Beatrice remained in London. Lady Seabrook is my chaperone, and there is nothing inappropriate about playing a game of lawn bowls.”
He aimed a censorious glower in her direction. “I am more concerned by the company you are keeping.”
She ignored his disapproval and commented on the pleasant breeze. Blue cornflowers and white daisies swayed in the meadow ahead, while large beech trees oversaw the dance from their perch on a hill.
“I warned you to stay out of this business with the duke and his kin,” he said.
“True, we’ve had this conversation a few times, but we never seem to reach the part where you explain your interest in the duke’s business. Do you hold a vendetta against him? Does he owe you a debt?” She aimed a teasing smile at him. “Did he look cross-eyed at you at the club?”
Crispin grunted, apparently not appreciating her attempt at levity. “You cannot believe I care how anyone looks at me.”
“I do not know what to think, Crispin. You are guarded about everything. I have questions, and if I am unable to elicit answers from you, my options are limited. I could hazard wild guesses or attempt to learn what I can when an opportunity is presented, which is what I did today.”
“While I appreciate the gesture, I am capable of managing on my own,” he said. “I always have.”
Her throat grew thick with emotion. When would he realize he wasn’t alone in the world? He never had been. Even when he had despaired over the loss of his father, her family was there to welcome him into their fold. He would always have her.
She drew to a stop and turned to face him. “I could be an asset if you would allow it. You’ve known me most of my life. You are aware of my talents, and you must realize how I long to be your confidant. Please, allow me to be your helpmate. Did we not get on well yesterday in Van Middleburg’s study?”
Crispin’s jaw softened; he wrapped her hand in his strong warm ones, cradling her fingers between his palms. “I recognize your gifts, Sophia, and under different circumstances, I would be a fool to decline your offer. However, you are more hindrance than help in this situation.”
His words slammed into her; her breath stuck in her lungs. He was still talking, but she couldn’t focus as his revelation echoed in her ears. She was a hindrance. While she had been attempting to make herself indispensable, he’d found her to be a nuisance.
“It is best for you and your aunt to return to the country,” he said. “You will be safe, and I will be free to fulfill my duties without worry. Once this matter is settled, I will join you at Hartland Manor to hear your answer.”
“An answer?”
“As to whether you wish to become my wife. The separation will be a test—”
“Stop!” Sophia jerked her hand free. “Stop talking, you blathering addle pate.”
He gaped. Splendid! She had shocked him into silence.
Anger welled inside her, expanding her chest. “Must you spoil every moment of intimacy? I offer my heart to you, and you respond with insults? I am a hindrance, a nuisance?”
“I didn’t say nuis—”
“Crispin!”
He sighed and crossed his hands at his waist. “Please, continue.”
She blinked to prevent the prickling at the backs of her eyes from transforming into furious tears. He was sorely trampling on her patience.
“I will not be sent away. Ever. You—”she jabbed a finger in his direction—“should consider if you want a wife capable of forming her own thoughts, because that is what is in store for you if we marry.”
Spinning on her heel, she marched toward the meadow.
“Where are you going?”
“We need a separation now, before either of us say something we cannot retract.”
“Your great-aunt and uncle have overindulged you,” he called to her back. “Most gentlemen would find it disagreeable.”
What was wrong with the blasted man? It was as if he put effort into being abrasive. She growled in frustration and walked faster.
Fourteen
Crispin was not like most men. He found nothing disagreeable about Sophia. She recognized her value. She commanded respect. She spoke her mind without diffidence. It was arousing as hell.
Unfortunately, these admirable qualities also made protecting her more difficult than necessary. Her independence was a hindrance under the circumstances, and he was a bloody fool for speaking the truth.
He sighed and watched her storm away without attempting to stop her. He had mucked it up between them—again. For too long, he had relied on tactlessness to encourage others to keep their distance. It had been easier to protect his country’s secrets when no one was interested in sustaining a relationship with him, but for a moment, he forgot he no longer needed to drive Sophia away.
As the distance between them grew, he followed at a sedate pace, respecting her wish to be free of his companionship for a while and mulling over how he could make amends. Her light blue dress matched the wild flowers surrounding her in the meadow. The overgrowth slowed her progress. She seemed to be headed for the trees on the hill. Perhaps she would allow him to sit with her in the shade, and he would share a truth that had been repeating in his heart for days.
I love her.
He had tried to deny it, but the evidence was too plentiful to ignore. She was in his thoughts, continuously—upon waking, during his morning ride through Hyde Park, at various moments throughout the day. He had fallen for Sophia Darlington and could not imagine life without her, nor could he fathom how to give her the marriage she deserved.
Several yards from the foot of the hill, her skirts became snagged on a thistle. Her grumbling carried on the air. He smiled. A lifetime of passionate battles with her would never be long enough.
She bent forward to gingerly pluck the prickles from the muslin; a strand of silky hair slipped from her bonnet. Crispin caught himself before he called out an offer of assistance. Helping one another was a sore subject today.
A movement on the hill caught his eye. A rider and horse appeared from behind the largest tree, the full branches having hidden both from sight. The hair stood up on the back of Crispin’s neck.
“Sophia?”
Perhaps detecting his wariness, she jerked up her head and met his gaze. His heart quickened; his muscles tensed.
The rider extended his arm. Sunlight glinted off metal.
“No!” Crispin lurched toward her as the firearm discharged. A blinding flash and boom ripped through the air. The rider yelped; the pistol plunged to the ground. It had exploded in his hand.
The horse reared, but the shooter kept his seat. Shouts came from the manor house. The rider calmed the horse then spurred it down the hill. Massive hindquarters sent the animal barreling toward Sophia.
Crispin dashed through the field to reach her,
crashing into her before the horse’s hooves ran her into the ground. Twisting midair, they landed hard with him underneath her.
He gulped, trying to regain his breath after having the wind knocked from him. Wide blue eyes stared down at him.
“Are you—hurt?” He gasped between words.
She scrambled off him. “No, are you?”
He didn’t know. The rage thrumming through his veins numbed him to pain.
The rider spun the horse around and kicked its sides. Crispin jumped from the ground and hauled Sophia to her feet. Men from the party were rushing the field, yelling.
He reached for the small pistol tucked in his boot and shouted to Sophia. “Run toward the house.”
She ran, the cumbersome growth slowing her. The rider turned the chestnut gelding to give chase. Crispin raised the flintlock, set the hammer, and fired. The ball slammed into the man’s shoulder. He jerked on impact, losing his grip on the reins and falling to the ground. The brave steed stayed by his side as if he’d been trained for battle. The blackguard struggled to get his feet beneath him.
Dropping the spent pistol, Crispin sprinted across the meadow. The chestnut tossed his mane and flared his nostrils as Crispin gained ground. The man staggered toward the gelding, but the horse danced out of reach. Crispin was nearly on top of them.
The man snagged the bridle and captured the dangling reins. His foot hit the stirrup. Crispin lunged and snatched a handful of the man’s jacket to unseat him. Quick as a snake striking, a blade bit into his forearm. Crispin lost his grip. The rider kicked him in the chest, and Crispin saw his face for the first time.
Garrick.
Another well-placed boot caught Crispin in the jaw. His head snapped back and he crumpled on the ground. Farrin’s henchman spurred the horse into a gallop as a shot zinged overhead. Man and horse had become a shadow on the horizon by the time Lord Seabrook reached him. The Duke of Stanhurst accompanied him and was carrying a rifle.
“Was that you?” Crispin asked Stanhurst, assessing if a second assailant might have fired the shot. Farrin’s men often worked in tandem.
The duke inclined his head.
Lord Margrave's Secret Desire (Gentlemen of Intrigue Book 4) Page 14
