by Rebecca King
Wait a minute, a small voice reasoned. She has just returned them. Not taken them. Just what was she up to?
“Well, I must be getting back,” Sophia announced, horrifyingly aware of his shimmering anger.
Before he could stop her, she hurried out of the room as though the hounds of Hell were nipping at her heels. She didn’t stop rushing until she had taken her leave of a rather startled host, and disappeared out of the end of the driveway.
Tears gathered on her lashes as she walked more slowly back to Delilah’s house. There could be little doubt now that she had just pointed the finger of suspicion over the thefts at herself. Although she hoped Jeb hadn’t seen her, she knew he was intelligent enough, and suspicious enough, to put two and two together. Thankfully, he had not followed her, but was that because he had gone to fetch the magistrate?
Whatever he was doing now, one thing was most abundantly clear, she had just lost her reputation in the eyes of the one of only two men in her life whose opinions mattered.
Jeb studied the trinket boxes and shook his head in dismay.
“I thought there was someone in here,” the Squire suddenly declared from the doorway. Jeb looked over his shoulder at him and nodded to the contents of the table. “Come and take a look at these.”
“Good Lord, those are my trinket boxes.”
“Are they all here?”
The Squire frowned at them and shook his head. “No, two of them stolen at the start of the thieving aren’t here. Where are they?”
“I don’t know,” Jeb sighed. “But I think I have an idea where to find out what happened to them.”
“Who is it? Who took the blasted things? Tell me who it is and I shall have them in front of the magistrate within the hour,” the Squire blustered.
Jeb looked at the militant look in the portly man’s eye and mentally sighed. The last thing he needed was for him to get involved. Jeb was the one who needed to find answers and uncover the truth. Although he was angry with Sophia for lying to him by declaring she knew nothing about the thefts, he just couldn’t bring himself to brandish her a liar until he had the facts. He had, after all, just witnessed her putting the items back not taking them.
Aware that the Squire was still waiting for answers, Jeb threw him a dark look.
“I don’t know. I just came in and they were sitting here on this table. These are my father’s trinket boxes,” he replied honestly. “I remember you mentioned the snuff boxes at the Harvell’s tea. I wondered if these were yours. I don’t know what the heck is going on, but I damned well intend to find out.”
“I hear you work for the War Office?” the Squire said having lost some of his bluster.
“That’s right. I work for one of their investigative branches so can, and will, get to the bottom of this little charade. I am sure you will agree that the thief needs to be caught, and quickly before they steal something that might be of considerable worth.”
“Have you heard that the Harvell’s hairbrushes have been returned as well?” the Squire asked with a frown.
“Are they missing any other items?”
The Squire thought about that for a moment. “I don't believe so. I don’t think they have all that much of value worth stealing.”
“Do you think that whoever is taking these items is aware of their monetary value, or do you think that it might be more of the thrill of taking them right under everybody’s noses that appeals to them?” Jeb asked thoughtfully.
If it was the latter, and the stolen items were going to be returned, then it was more of a game of cat and mouse than stealing to make money. However, given that some of the items were still missing, it was looking like the thief knew what they were worth and had sold them on for as much as he – or she – could make.
“I think the damned thief knows exactly what they are taking. The things that have gone missing are all pocket sized and can be hidden well. There has been enough stolen for them to make themselves a tidy sum of money they haven’t had to earn, and they aren’t averse to taking family heirlooms either. It’s a damned disgrace if you ask me.”
Before the Squire could launch into a tirade of how thieves should be treated, Jeb pushed the snuff boxes toward him.
“Well, they have been taken but now returned so are not likely to be stolen again. For now, I strongly recommend you put these somewhere out of sight. The less they are out in the open the more chance you have of keeping them.”
“It’s a damned disgrace that a man can’t keep his personal items around him in his own bloody house,” the Squire grumbled, echoing Algernon’s sentiments almost to the letter.
“Which is why my father called me in to look into it,” Jeb soothed. “Believe me when I tell you that the thief shall be brought to justice.”
Jeb only prayed to God that Sophia wasn’t stealing because he was fairly sure that he just couldn’t bring himself to drag her in front of the magistrate.
Once back at Delilah’s, Sophia dug around in the bottom of her cloak for her key and let herself into the house. She made her way to the bureau and quickly poured herself a shot of brandy before she refilled her glass and took a seat before the fireplace.
Thankfully she had the house to herself for a while, and savoured the silence while she gathered her thoughts. She needed to try to decide what to do next, but all she could focus on was Jeb, and what he might think of her now.
Physically shaking with nerves and worry, she swiped at the tears on her lashes. She couldn’t risk returning the rest of the stolen items now. Should she just hand everything over to Jeb, tell him what she knew, and then leave? She could then catch the next post-chaise out of the village and talk to Hooky face-to-face what Delilah was up to from the relative safety of home. If the magistrate wanted to talk to her then he could find her in Bentley. Unfortunately, she was horribly aware that by leaving, she would just make herself look guilty, especially to Jeb.
She now had to decide whether to write Jeb a note and, if she did that, what on earth she could say to him? If she told him what was going on, and Jeb searched the house, Delilah could point the finger at Sophia, or claim not to know anything about any stolen goods that were found. Sophia had no doubt that her aunt would point the blame at her just to get herself out of trouble. Because of that, and the fact that she couldn’t live with that weight of guilt she would feel if she didn’t do something about them, she was now stuck in Framley Meadow until they had left the house.
What do I do now? She thought desperately as she stared blankly at the goblet in her hand.
She didn’t see it, or its contents, as she contemplated the fraught moments in the study. Jeb had been so handsome in his evening attire that it had been a miracle she had been able to say anything to him at all.
Before she could make any decisions on, well, anything, a series of rapid knocks on the front door shattered the silence. At first, she contemplated whether to answer it or not. Thankfully, the curtains were closed and she hadn’t lit any candles, but when another series of knocks sounded again, she knew she wouldn’t rest until she opened the door and talked to him.
Jeb didn’t bother to wait to be invited in.
“Do you mind telling me what the hell is going on?” Jeb snapped without preamble as he kicked the door closed behind him.
He grabbed her shoulders to hold her still when she tried to back away from him. She was going nowhere until she told him everything. Blanking out the fragility of her thin frame beneath his fingers, he kept his hold firm as he waited for her reply.
“I take it you saw me then?” she whispered battling a fresh wave of tears.
It was wonderful to be so close to him again. If only it could be in better circumstances.
“Tell me you were putting them back,” he pleaded in a voice no less ferocious than his demand.
“Of course, I was,” she protested. “How could you think I would take them?”
Tears gathered on her lashes. The fact that there was someone there,
especially someone as strong and capable as Jeb, meant that for the first time since she had found the stolen items in her aunt’s drawer she could confide in someone, and it was a blessed relief.
“Did you take them?” Jeb growled.
“Of course, I didn’t,” she whispered. “Delilah is the thief, Jeb, not me.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
She closed her eyes when she said it and just couldn’t keep the tears back a moment longer. A sob escaped her.
“She has been stealing from everyone, Jeb,” she whispered. “It is not me, I swear it. Delilah is the thief.”
Jeb, completely lost for words, hauled her into his arms. He was quietly horrified, angry at Delilah, angry at Sophia for not trusting him in the first place but overall, stupendously relieved that she had finally confided in him.
He held her against him while she wept into his shoulder, and suspected from the way she was sobbing her heart out that she had been worried sick about what to do. Almost certainly, this was the reason for the ill-feeling between her and her aunt. He had just gotten the truth. He had no doubt in the world that it had been her who had, somehow, returned the hairbrushes to the Harvells the other day.
He just had to find out what the hell Delilah was stealing for, and where the rest of the stolen items were now.
“It will be alright, Sophia. I will help you with this,” he promised.
“I just don’t know what to do anymore. She won’t listen to me. I told her to put them back but she won’t. I found your father’s trinket boxes when we got back from your father’s dinner the other day. I refused to let her keep them and wanted to get them back to you but couldn’t knock on the door and hand them over, so I decided to leave them in the study tonight. I tried to get Delilah to return the Harvell’s hairbrushes as well, but she refused.”
More touched than ever at her honesty, Jeb began to place random kisses in her hair as he listened. Each word reiterated that he was right about the kind of woman she was, and that theirs was a future that must be together. It felt entirely natural to stand there murmuring endearments to her while she wept. It didn’t occur to him to stop, even when her sobbing eventually subsided and silence settled around them.
“I am sorry, I have gotten your shirt all wet,” she whispered, making no attempt to pull away. She wasn’t sure why she had just unloaded everything onto him. He was just so solid, so reassuringly masculine and dependable, that she couldn’t help herself. Throughout it all, he hadn’t once said anything to condemn her in any way. He had just listened to her tirade and offered her comfort.
“I hadn’t noticed,” he murmured. Even tears made her look beautiful. “Sophia.”
She shivered at the sound of her name on his lips. The husky timbre of his voice was far deeper than she had heard from him before, and rumbled a shiver down her spine that raised her awareness of the molten warmth that started to unfurl deep within. She knew she should step away and put some decorous distance between them, but couldn’t bear to move. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t; she just couldn’t. She needed him there, right where he was, and it had nothing to do with her need of his help in how to deal with the thefts. This was more a feminine need; a call to something she knew only he could offer her.
It was with a sense of inevitability that she watched his head lower slowly towards hers. Her heart thundered rapidly in her ears, but she was oblivious to everything other than the sensations swirling through her. She was hot, then cold, but couldn’t think beyond anything other than the fact that they were as close as it was possible to get. Whenever he took a breath, his chest pressed against hers. Whenever she sighed, she felt the muscles in his chest jump. But she didn’t care about any of that.
This was what she wanted. He was what she wanted.
His lips shivered over hers with the finest feather-light touch. They swept one way and then another while he waited to see what she would do. Her sigh teased him, tempted him with a softness he couldn’t ignore. When she relaxed against him, he took advantage of her compliance and swept his lips across hers before he settled them more fully over hers.
Minutes could have turned into hours for all Sophia knew, or cared. Nothing mattered except them and what they were sharing. She couldn’t have stopped him if her life depended on upon it. She revelled in the new found sensations he created so very easily within her, and was immensely relieved she had unburdened herself to him. There was now nothing to fear; no barriers, fears, doubts, or worries to stand between them. It was liberating in a way, and a little awe inspiring to see the need she felt for him reflected back at her in his eyes. To her amazement she found she wanted to know what happened next; where this would lead them, and tipped her lips up to his in a silent plea for more.
“Sophia,” he growled as he pressed tiny kisses along her cheek. He rested his cheek against hers for a moment while he willed his body to cool, but the passion built steadily the more he tried to deny them. Having the luscious temptation of her lips so close was too much to resist. When she instinctively turned her face toward him, he couldn’t deny either of them.
This time, the kiss was different. The onslaught of passion assaulted them both and pummelled the tight control they attempted to keep. While lips plundered, hands roved in a quest to learn every dip and hollow while their bodies yearned for fulfilment.
“Sophia, we have to stop,” he whispered reluctantly when her hands swept over the thick muscles of his chest, and threatened to drive him over the edge.
For the first time in his life, he had been teetering on the brink of losing complete control, and it was so uncharacteristic of him that he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or not. He was just as stunned by that as he was about the fiery passion between them that had risen out of nowhere. He suddenly found that he wanted more from her. He wanted to know what she thought, felt, and expected of him. At some point over the last several moments, his fingers had tangled in the hair. Several pins had fallen out, and her long tresses had tumbled loose. They now lay in tousled abandon over her slender shoulders, and gave her a sultry look that was just as tempting as her rosebud mouth and lambent eyes.
“I know,” she whispered but made no attempt to move.
“Let’s go into the sitting room,” he suggested.
Rather than allow her to lead the way, he captured her hand in his and led her toward the warmth of the room he suspected she had just left. Sure enough, there was a goblet of brandy on the table beside one of the chairs situated in front of the roaring fireplace. Once they were seated as close as possible on the chaise, Jeb kissed her fingers and rested their entwined hands on his knee while he considered his words carefully.
“I saw you in the study earlier, Sophia. You were putting the stolen goods back.” It wasn’t a question.
Sophia nodded anyway. “There is acrimony between my aunt and me because she refuses to return them herself.”
This made Jeb’s brows lift in astonishment. “You tried to make her?”
“Yes. When I found out what she had been doing, I had to try to get her to return them. They aren’t hers. She has no right to keep them. I had to return the Harvell’s hairbrushes. They are impoverished enough as it is. It is cruel to let them suffer by stealing such necessities.” She made a quick decision and stood up. “Let me show you.”
She lit a candle and led the way upstairs to the spare room where she threw the door open and lifted the candle so Jeb could see the vast array of clothing inside.
“Good Lord,” he whispered. “There is enough here to fill a modiste’s shop.”
“I know, yet Delilah wants more. She need never shop for another dress for the rest of her life. Yet to her, every time she goes out she needs something new to wear. She is living beyond her means, I don’t mind telling you. It is why I am here.”
“How so?” Jeb took one look at the room, relieved Sophia of the candle and led the way back down the stairs, privately eager to get away from the temptation of the bedroom.
“
My father, Hooky, is a, well, sort of executor of an inheritance she received a long time ago from their mother. Hooky is her brother. Because he is the male of the family, he received an inheritance from my grandmother with the proviso that he looks after this trust for Delilah, which he has done for a very long time. The money was set aside and a reasonable amount handed over to her each month. However, over the last several years, Delilah has demanded more and more additional money. Of late, she has accepted her stipend, but then sent Hooky numerous bills for all sorts of things like clothing, food, new shoes, and so on, and even a lavish trip to London.”
“I am sorry,” Jeb interrupted. “Hooky?”
“My father. It is his nick-name. Everybody calls him Hooky, even me. His name is Horatio, but he won’t speak to you if you call him that.” She smiled when he grinned at her and slid an arm around her shoulders to hold her by his side.
“Go on,” he prompted, intrigued by her revelations.
“Hooky told her that she had to stop spending and use the stipend only, but he received no reply. He wrote to her again, and even got the solicitor to send a note, but she ignored them. He called in person a month or so ago.” She threw him a rueful look. “Although he didn’t go into too much detail, I think he was told to leave. She refuses to curb her lavish ways. She prefers to live the high life but won’t stop to consider that she doesn’t have the means to support it. Unfortunately, she is going to be destitute in a few years if she continues.”
“So your father sent you to speak to her?” Jeb asked.
He was glad she was here, but couldn’t see why Sophia should be sent to sort out the family’s problems. It was something the head of the family should do. If Hooky couldn’t get her to listen, then he should stop her stipend and just pay the bills she sent him until the account ran dry. As far as he was concerned, there were ways and means of dealing with someone of Delilah’s ignorance, and it didn’t include putting Sophia at risk.
