Sophie tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. She stretched out a hand to her companion. ‘Forgive me!’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t understand. You have the best of reasons to pursue these men, apart from a wish to serve your country.’
Hatton took her hand in his and kissed it, but whatever he had been about to say was interrupted when Kit rushed into the room.
‘Hatton, Hatton, you are back! The pond is frozen hard. Will you teach me to skate? You promised…’
Laughing, Hatton took the child upon his knee. ‘I don’t skate in the dark…but tomorrow… Shall we say at ten o’clock?’
‘If it rains the ice will melt.’ Kit looked crestfallen.
‘We’ll face that dreadful calamity when it happens. Meantime, you might like to try your skates. Do you see that parcel in the corner? Open it and see what you can find.’
As Kit flew across the room and tore at the wrapping of his parcel, Sophie shook her head.
‘You spoil him, sir. You are too indulgent.’ Her smile left him in no doubt that she was pleased.
He shrugged her thanks aside. The expression on the child’s face was reward enough.
Kit came towards them, carrying a pair of sturdy leather boots with long blades screwed into the soles. He might have been carrying the Holy Grail.
Sophie knelt beside him to help him lace them up. She was unsurprised to find that they were a perfect fit. Now she knew the reason for the sudden disappearance of a pair of Kit’s old boots.
Hatton held out his hands to help the child to his feet.
‘Comfortable?’ he asked.
Kit nodded. ‘I’m a bit wobbly, sir.’
‘You will be so at first, until you find your balance, and the boots may be a little stiff. Try them for a while, but don’t wear them for too long today, or you may get a blister.’
Both he and Sophie hid their amusement as Kit tottered away, doubtless to show Reuben his new treasures.
‘I hope he doesn’t fall and hurt himself,’ she said anxiously.
‘He’ll have worse falls upon the ice. Are you sure that you wish to trust him to my tender care?’
‘Kit has set his heart on it. Besides, Mr Hatton, I have no fear that you will let him come to any harm.’
For the first time in their acquaintance Hatton looked embarrassed, but he made a quick recovery.
‘You mollycoddle him!’ he told her roughly, expecting a furious retort. It did not come.
Sophie rose to her feet. She did not trouble to hide her amusement. ‘And you are worse,’ she told him. ‘Kit has only to express a wish to you, and it is granted. Dear me, what a father you would make!’
The implications of this remark were not lost on either of them, and Sophie hurried away before she could compound her error further.
For the next few hours she was fully occupied in caring for the unfortunate occupants of the overturned coach. One of the gentlemen had suffered a broken arm, whilst the other was nursing various cuts and bruises. Only the woman had escaped with little more than a severe shaking. The experience had done nothing to improve her temper. Demands that their coachman be dismissed without a character were interspersed with bouts of strong hysterics.
Sophie lost all patience. She ordered a hot toddy and added a couple of extra measures of strong rum. With any luck the woman would fall into a drunken stupor and could then be carried to her bed.
‘Why, Mistress Firle, you shock me!’ Hatton was at her elbow, grinning broadly. ‘I thought you despised hard liquor.’
‘I am come to the conclusion that it has its uses,’ she replied with feeling as she thrust the tankard into the woman’s hand. ‘Drink this, ma’am! It is a powerful restorative.’
She heard a choking sound beside her. ‘Powerful indeed!’ Hatton whispered. ‘That potion is enough to fell a horse!’
Sophie did not deign to answer him. She moved away to enquire about the condition of the others. The man with the broken arm was not complaining, but his face was twisted in agony.
‘The surgeon will soon be here,’ she comforted. ‘Then you will be more comfortable.’
‘Ma’am, will you see to my friend?’ he asked. ‘I fear that he is bleeding badly.’
Sophie called for hot water and bandages. Then she set about treating his companion’s wounds. She was still working on them when the surgeon arrived. He set her aside at once.
‘No great harm done,’ he announced. ‘You have stopped the bleeding, ma’am. Now let us see to this gentleman here.’
Sophie fled. She could cope with bleeding, but she could not face the thought of standing by whilst the broken arm was set.
‘Squeamish?’ a deep voice enquired.
Sophie turned to find Hatton looking down at her.
‘I suppose so,’ she admitted with some reluctance. ‘It will hurt quite dreadfully.’
Hatton threw his arm about her shoulders. ‘You have done enough,’ he announced. ‘Those travellers need rest. Leave them to their slumbers and come and dine with me.’
‘No!’ she told him firmly. ‘There is too much to do, I have not yet enquired about the groom—’
‘Thrown clear, and quite unharmed,’ he assured her.
‘Well, the damaged coach will need repair. I must send for the wheelwright—’
‘Already done! Anything else?’ She saw the challenge in his eyes and thought she knew the reason for it. ‘Perhaps you do not care to be alone with me. Could that be the motive for your unwillingness to give me the pleasure of your company.’
‘Of course not!’ Sophie stiffened. As usual he seemed to have this curious ability to read her mind, but she would not admit to the truth. ‘I am not aware that you found pleasure in my company,’ she told him coldly.
‘No? Then I must be slipping, ma’am. I thought I had made it clear.’
Sophie backed away from him, suspecting that he intended to kiss her again, but he laughed and held out his hand to her.
‘May we not be friends for this one evening at least? Let us forget our problems for these next few hours and dine like civilised people. You shall tell me of your life before you married Firle and I will entertain you with the gossip from Brighton.’
Sophie looked at him uncertainly, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. He was a disturbing being, dangerous to her peace of mind. In his company she felt fully alive, piqued on some occasions and furious on others, but always excited for some reason she could not fathom.
And then there was his kindness to Kit. That she could not forget. It would be churlish to refuse this simple request to dine with him.
At last she held out her hand. ‘Very well,’ she demurred. ‘But on one condition, sir…’
‘And what is that, Mistress Firle?’
‘My servants need no further convincing that you…I mean…they all believe by now that you are come to…to offer me your hand.’
‘Do they, ma’am? I must take leave to doubt it. Matthew and his wife both know full well that I have another purpose here. That is unfortunate, but once we entered the cellars it was inevitable. Let us hope that they did not share that knowledge with the others.’
‘Matthew is no fool,’ she told him quickly. ‘He would not tell Abby. Nor will Bess speak of it to her brother and his son…’
‘Good! I trust that you are right. It means, of course, that I must continue to pursue you.’ Hatton’s eyes were dancing.
‘From a distance, sir. I must have your word on that.’
‘Agreed!’ He gave her a solemn bow. ‘I must not kiss you, nor may I hold you in my arms, unless, of course, Abby should chance to enter the room.’
‘Even then,’ she told him solemnly. ‘It is unseemly.’
‘Suppose you trip or faint?’ he teased. ‘Am I to let you fall to the ground?’
‘I shall not faint, Mr Hatton. And if you continue to annoy me, you may be the person who falls to the ground.’
‘Threats, my dear?’ Hatton shuddered in mock terror. ‘You ar
e a modern Boudicca…’
‘Then you would do well to remember that the Queen of the Iceni was said to have scythes upon her chariot wheels. They cut away the legs from her opponents.’
‘Touché.’ He grinned. ‘A truce then, ma’am?’
‘A truce!’ Sophie gave him her hand. ‘Now, sir, I must change my gown. Bess does not care to have her cooking spoiled by laggardly diners.’
Hatton let her go, well satisfied with her complaisance. He’d determined not to allow her to dine alone, knowing that, if she were left to her own thoughts, Sophie would continue to reflect upon the dangers of her situation.
Was that why he had kissed her? If so, it had served its purpose in diverting her attention from the ugly scene she’d witnessed. She could no longer be in any doubt as to the ruthless nature of the men he sought.
Then he cursed softly under his breath. He was deluding himself. He’d kissed her because his passion for her could no longer be denied, and it was madness to fall into this easiest of traps. What was happening to him? Every instinct warned him to stay away from her…to keep her at a distance…but it needed only the sight of her to set his blood afire. Such folly was unlike him.
In the past he’d felt contempt for those who’d been so easily led astray by a pair of fine eyes or a charming smile, combined with a winning disposition. Now he was caught in the same toils. Perhaps it was not too late to extricate himself.
He grimaced in some amusement. Sophie’s disposition most certainly could not be described as winning. She’d fought him every step of the way since the moment of their meeting. She was no milk-and-water miss, fierce as a tigress in defence of her young so he could do no other than admire her.
And that had led to…what? There had been no need to make a parade of his devotion. An arm flung carelessly across the back of a lady’s chair was enough to cause a scandal in his circles. He’d kissed her to annoy her, as he now admitted to himself. Well, he had been hoist with his own petard. Her response had startled him.
At first he’d thought that he must have been mistaken, but when he had repeated the experiment he could no longer be in any doubt. This was a woman worthy of capture. At another time, and in another place, he would not have hesitated, but now his hands were tied.
Nothing of this showed in his manner as he rose to greet her later in the evening. Gravely, he led her to a chair and offered her a glass of Madeira.
Sophie shook her head. She had no intention of lowering her guard. Long reflection had persuaded her that, in agreeing to dine alone with Hatton, she was playing with fire. Long months as belle of the county before her marriage had given her a certain insight into gentlemen’s intentions. Now she knew that Hatton wanted her, in spite of his protestations that he was playing a part.
Strangely, the knowledge pleased her. It gave her a degree of power over him, but she could not guess at its extent. That she would only learn by trial and error.
As they sat down to dine the tension in the room was palpable. Hatton addressed himself to a dish of turbot in sauce with every appearance of enjoyment, but Sophie seemed to have lost her appetite.
‘Do try this macaroni a` la napolitaine,’ he coaxed. ‘The Prince’s chef could not better it.’
Sophie took a bite or two to please him.
He bent a critical gaze upon her. ‘Let me ask you something, ma’am. Have you ever seen a racehorse?’
‘Why, yes, of course.’
‘Then you will have noticed their fine condition, with gleaming coats, and every muscle in perfect harmony?’
Sophie stared at him. She could not imagine where the conversation was leading.
‘That is so,’ she agreed.
‘And are we any different, Mistress Firle? Racehorses are fed with care, and that is the reason for their success. Human beings are no different.’
‘Quite possibly. I cannot think why this should concern you.’
‘It should concern you…’ he said with meaning. ‘You don’t eat enough. It will tell on you in time, believe me. We humans have survived across the centuries because of our willingness to eat a varied diet.’
‘You would have me make my way through seven courses?’
‘No, ma’am, there is a happy medium. Now try these collops…’ He helped her to a couple of chops, neatly trimmed of fat. ‘You will find them light enough to leave room for the next course.’
Sophie was tempted to remonstrate. Instead she changed the subject. ‘You promised to tell me all the Brighton gossip,’ she reminded him.
‘You sound like your son, ma’am.’ Hatton chuckled.
‘I must suppose I do, but I have always longed to hear of the doings of the great and good—’
‘Or even the doings of the great and not so good?’
‘Even that.’ Sophie could not hide her curiosity. ‘My father spoke often of the Prince and what a pleasure it was to see him strolling about the town, so popular and so much at ease with the common folk.’
‘That, I fear, is somewhat changed since your father’s day, though Prince George is still more popular in Brighton than he is in London.’
‘Have you met him?’ she asked eagerly. ‘One hears so many rumours that it is difficult to judge of his character with any truth.’
‘He is a curious mixture, much more so than other men. Obstinate, vain, highly strung and over-emotional, he is quick to take offence, sometimes where none is intended. He never forgives a slight to his person…’
‘Then it is easy to dislike him?’
‘It is almost impossible, Mistress Firle. You have not studied the other side of the coin. I think I never met a man with so much charm, when he chooses to exert it. He can be witty and entertaining, with an affability which disarms his enemies. I have seen them change their opinion of him in the course of a few moments.’
‘You sound as if you admire him.’
‘I do. He is greatly gifted. Did you know that he speaks four languages as fluently as English? He is fond of music, as are all the Hanoverians, and we have not had such a patron of the arts since the first King Charles.’
‘But?’ Sophie had sensed a certain reservation in his tone.
‘But he is his own worst enemy. The people have no quarrel with his fondness for the ladies, to put the matter delicately. What they won’t forgive is his treatment of his wife…his second wife, I mean.’
‘Oh!’ Sophie’s cheeks were pink. ‘You cannot mean that this story of a marriage to Mrs Fitzherbert can be true?’
‘I’m afraid it is beyond doubt.’
‘But that would make him a bigamist. I did not hear of a divorce before he married Caroline of Brunswick.’
‘There was none. He never admitted to that first marriage.’
‘But the child…the heiress to the throne? Surely that would make the Princess Charlotte illegitimate?’
‘It is not spoken of. Now let us end this treasonable talk. You have told me nothing of yourself.’
‘I think I should not like the Prince,’ Sophie said with great finality. ‘That is a pity. I always longed to see him. As a child, you know, I always imagined Brighton to be a golden city, floating in the air, with Prince George at its heart, beloved by everyone.’
‘Don’t give up your dreams so easily,’ he teased. ‘The Prince would most certainly be beloved by you. He has one great quality which would cause you to forgive all else.’
‘And what is that?’ Sophie looked doubtful.
‘He loves children, and he is adored by them. There seems to be a mutual and instant understanding. With the young, one sees him at his best. One cannot fail to think him a kindly and good-hearted man.’
‘You are generous, Mr Hatton.’
‘No, I speak merely as I find. Did your father know the Prince?’
‘He didn’t aspire to such heights,’ Sophie told him in amusement. ‘Even so, he had plans for me, that is, before Sir William Curtis was widowed and he saw the opportunity to join his lands to ours.’
/>
‘You were never tempted by the offer?’
‘I was not!’ Sophie’s reply was curt and did not invite further questioning on the subject. Then she softened. ‘Even so, I should like to have come to Brighton for the season. I’d heard of the balls, the concerts, the parties and the picnics, as well as the racing on the Downs.’
‘But you married Firle instead?’
‘Yes!’
Her wistful expression tugged at Hatton’s heartstrings. That ill-advised match had robbed her of a large part of her girlhood. Far from leading the life to which she had been bred she’d found herself in this isolated spot, bereft of friends and family and tied to a man unworthy of her, with only her son for consolation.
Sophie saw his expression. She could not bear to be pitied.
‘You must not think that I regretted my decision,’ she told him stiffly.
‘I did not think it for a moment. Kit, after all, is not to be regretted…’
Her smile transfigured her face and Hatton’s heart turned over. The temptation to take her in his arms was overwhelming, and it took all his self-control to resist it. He tried to give the conversation a lighter turn.
‘I think we must be thankful that you did not arrive in Brighton some six years ago,’ he said. ‘You would have broken many a heart among the 10th Dragoons.’
‘The Prince’s regiment?’ Sophie dimpled. ‘Mr Hatton, are you trying to flatter me?’
‘Not in the least. Those susceptible young men would have been swooning at your feet.’
‘Do spare my blushes, sir. You are talking nonsense.’
Hatton tried to pour her another glass of wine, delighted to see her restored to some remembrance of her girlhood, but she covered the glass with her hand.
‘No!’ she said. ‘You shall not persuade me into further foolish chatter.’ She glanced at the clock and rose with a sharp exclamation. ‘Great heavens, how the time has flown! I had no idea that it was so late. You must excuse me, sir.’
He didn’t attempt to detain her. Silently he held out his hand, and when she took it he raised her fingers to his lips.
Meg Alexander Page 14
