by Wendy Vella
“Miss Pette says my rudeness in not recognizing her when she first walked into the ballroom is unforgivable,” Stephen snapped. “Apparently I am unbelievably shallow and not the man she had thought me to be.”
Patrick winced, then nodded in sympathy. “Sophie believed I wanted to marry another, and then when I straightened that out, admittedly after a little teasing on my part, she told me to go to hell.”
“Good lord!” Stephen’s eyebrows shot to his hairline.
“Quite,” Patrick said curtly. “I’m for the club, coming?”
“Yes,” Stephen said, throwing a dark glance at Miss Pette while Patrick did the same in the direction Sophie had taken. The two men stalked from the room.
* * *
“I have no wish to go driving, Letty,” Sophie said, crossing her arms.
“And yet you will,” Letty replied, looking equally determined.
Sophie’s chest felt tight as she walked to the window. They were in Letty’s favorite parlor, which had a view of the gardens behind the house. The weather was indeed beautiful and she had thought to take Timmy to the park for the day, to a nice secluded spot where no one would come upon them. But she would make sure that she did not walk around on her hands, as it would not do for anyone else to see her knickers.
“Please, Letty, I do not wish to go,” Sophie said, still looking out the window. It was easier to win a point with Letty if you did not make eye contact.
“We owe Lord Coulter a huge debt that we can never begin to repay, Sophie. I would beg you to remember that when he calls.”
“Of course I know we owe him a debt, Letty.” Sophie tried to ease some air into her lungs. She, better than anyone, felt the weight of that debt.
“He cares about you, Sophie, it is plain to see if only you would open your eyes and look.”
Sophie heard the door gently click shut behind Letty as she left the room. Of course she was right. Sophie knew that without Patrick they would not have gotten Timmy back. Color heated her cheeks as she remembered her behavior at the Shelton ball. She had behaved badly, and he had every right to tease her. How could she have told him to go to hell and then storm from the room like an actress in a bad play? It was just that sometimes when she was with him she was so afraid, afraid of what he made her feel and do. He had said that it was her that he had wanted to marry and she had thrown it back in his face. Would he have changed his mind now? Was that why he wanted to see her? And if so, could she blame him? Sinking into the nearest chair, Sophie dropped her head into her hands. When had she become such a mess? Nervous tension, fears, and insecurities—she was a churning mass of emotions.
Would he have changed his mind?
“Well, Sophie, there is only one way to find out,” she said, drawing back her shoulders and walking from the room.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“It is indeed a beautiful day for a drive, Lady Carstairs.”
Sophie’s stomach fluttered as the deep voice reached her through the open doorway. The more she dwelled upon her behavior the other night, the more mortified she had become. She would have to apologize and hope he accepted it.
“Ah, there you are, my dear,” Letty said, coming forward to take Sophie’s hand firmly in hers as she walked into the room. “I was just commenting on the weather and how lovely it will be for your drive.”
“Lady Monmouth,” Patrick said, bowing deeply.
“Lord Coulter.” Sophie curtsied in reply.
Letty and Patrick conversed for several minutes. Sophie, he noted, said nothing and proceeded to chew her lip until it was rosy. It was, however, the only sign she was on edge; she had the ice maiden shield firmly in place today. Dressed in pale sky blue with a military style over-jacket in deeper blue, she looked worlds away from the sultry lady he had escorted into that tavern the other night. She stood so still he almost wanted to pinch her to make her squeak. Her curls were hidden from him, tucked up inside a bonnet, allowing Patrick a glimpse of the vulnerable line of her neck.
“If you are ready, my lady,” Patrick said.
Nodding regally, Sophie gave Letty a kiss on one cheek and preceded him from the room.
Patrick climbed up into the driver’s seat of his curricle after he had assisted Sophie into hers. His man jumped on the back, and then taking up the reins, Patrick began to direct his horses into the traffic. He kept the conversation light at first and she replied in kind, discussing small inconsequential things such as the weather, and slowly she began to drop the façade and his Sophie began to emerge.
“What is happening there?”
He followed her finger to where a small group of people had gathered.
“Do you see the man standing on the box?” Patrick asked.
“Yes,” she said, lifting herself up in her seat to see over the people.
“He’s talking and the other people are listening,” said Patrick.
“About what?”
“About whatever he wants. Usually religion or politics or something dire, like the end of the world.”
“Stephen would be good at that, don’t you think?” Sophie said, laughing.
Patrick loved the sound of Sophie’s laughter, especially when it was unguarded and spontaneous.
“Preaching to people? Without a doubt,” he added as she nodded. “I’ll make sure to tell him when next I see him that you have found him a new vocation.”
“And you, my lord, I believe you would do quite well standing up there also.”
He wanted to close the distance between them and kiss her right on her smart mouth, but that would keep until they were alone.
“Are you saying I like to preach to people, my lady?”
Sophie knew there was much unsaid between her and Patrick, and she knew that in time they would need to speak of those things, but here and now she was just enjoying being alone with him while they shared some lighthearted banter.
“Well, you do like to lecture people, my lord, even you must admit to that much. Why just the other day, Lady Sumner told me upon her first meeting with you as a child, you had told her that her son had no manners.”
Patrick snorted. “Actually, I remember that. Going to Stephen’s estate had been a revelation to me after my own family life,” he said slowly. “I had not believed a family could actually love each other as they did, and that parents shared both meals and time with their children.”
“Was your life so … so horrid then?” Sophie whispered.
She thought he wouldn’t answer.
“Not horrid, just without love and laughter. Simply put, I was the heir that needed to be molded into an earl.”
He was trying to keep his words light, yet she heard the pain and her heart ached for the little boy who had obviously only wanted love. For Sophie, seeing this other side to the formidable earl merely made her feelings for him stronger. Placing one of her hands on his, she held it there.
“I was lucky, my mother loved me as best she could,” Sophie said.
Patrick felt the comfort of Sophie’s hand on his as they drove out of London. He wondered why he had chosen now to speak of his past, and with her, when he had never told anyone the whole of it, not even Stephen.
“I’m glad you had one parent to love you.”
“Was your mother not kind to you at all?”
Patrick’s snort of laughter held no humor. “My mother’s method of child rearing included lecturing me on how to become an earl from sunrise to sunset.” Why the hell had he told her that?
“I am not offering an excuse for her behavior, my lord. However, I’m sure that she raised you exactly as she was raised and therefore knew no better.”
“With the benefit of age comes wisdom, my sweet, and over the past few years I, too, have come to that conclusion.”
“Still, that does not excuse her entirely. She was your mother and as such should have offered you more than just a roof over your head.”
The sincerity in Sophie’s eyes told Patrick she meant every word
, and it humbled him knowing it was all for him. Something warm took up residence in his chest.
“Ah, sweetheart, you have no idea how good that makes me feel.”
“ ’Tis my belief, Patrick, that there is a special place in hell for parents who do not love their children, and I am sure both your parents are now firmly in residence.”
“It is my fondest wish.”
“How did they die?”
“They were driving home from a neighbor’s party and their horses took fright and bolted. The carriage collided with a tree and they were both killed instantly.”
“How old were you?”
“Fourteen.”
They drove in silence for a short time, and then Sophie said what had been plaguing her since the beginning of the journey.
“I am sorry for my behavior at the Shelton ball. I was wrong to speak to you in that way, my lord, and in such a public place. I have no excuse for my actions, so please forgive me.”
“I am as much to blame, I had no right to tease you, Sophie. I would ask you to also accept my apology.”
She nodded but said nothing further. Something hung in the air between them, but it remained unsaid … for now.
“Has there been any further contact from Spode?”
“Not as yet.” Sophie silently prayed it would stay that way, yet doubted it would.
“You will tell me instantly if he contacts you, in any form, Sophie. I will have your word on this,” Patrick said in the voice that meant he was deadly serious.
“I promise.”
Patrick laughed at Sophie’s grudging acceptance, but remained otherwise silent, content to drive with his beautiful companion at his side.
“I can never thank you enough for what you did that night, my lord. My brother is very special to me and I love him very much.”
“We will keep him safe, sweetheart, I promise.”
One of Sophie’s hands was briefly covered by his and she felt the contact as though it were a caress. Placing his hand back on the reins, he once again concentrated on driving his horses, which left her time to study him.
His dress was never flamboyant like some, but it was right for him. The deep blue jacket stretched across his shoulders, the buff of his breeches molded his muscular thighs, and dark curls ruffled in the wind under the brim of his hat. I love him! Dear lord I love him, she thought, clutching her chest as a lump formed. It hit her like a physical pain, and Sophie tried to ease a breath past the sudden restriction blocking her throat.
“What’s wrong?” Patrick noticed her hands were suddenly clenched against her body.
“A small discomfort, my lord, perhaps the toast I had for breakfast.” Sophie turned away to watch the passing scenery. How was it possible to feel this fierce uncontrollable emotion in such a short time?
She was lying. Patrick had watched her enough to know that particular expression, but he kept quiet and concentrated on driving.
They had been traveling for some time now and as Sophie had been deep in thought, she did not instantly realize they were not entering any of the usual parks.
“Where are we going, my lord?”
“You’ll see, Sophie,” he said, then smiled at her. “Relax, my sweet,” he added as she gripped her hands together.
“I should not have left Timmy again so soon.” She turned to face him and Patrick could see the worry in her eyes.
“He is safe, Sophie. I still have men stationed outside your house keeping watch.”
Sophie relaxed at his words; Timmy would be safe with so many people watching him. Looking around with interest as Patrick pulled the horses to a walk some thirty minutes later, she noticed they were outside a small neat cottage, behind which stood several large outbuildings.
Maneuvering the carriage to a halt out front, Patrick handed the reins to a young man who came to meet them. Jumping down, he came around to lift Sophie down. Her eyes were filled with questions, but he remained silent as he led her down the side of the house.
“My lord?” Sophie said in a questioning tone as they followed a tiny path between neat rows of flowers and a well-tended vegetable garden.
“Soon, Sophie.” Patrick took one of her gloved hands and led her into the first of the outbuildings.
A small elderly man with hunched shoulders and tufts of soft gray hair behind each ear came to greet them.
“Mr. Eroll,” Patrick said, shaking the man’s hand.
“Lord Coulter,” Mr. Eroll returned, bobbing his head several times in acknowledgment.
“This is the Countess of Monmouth,” Patrick said, introducing Sophie.
“My lady, it is a pleasure to have you here.” Mr. Eroll’s deep bow had Sophie worrying that he might topple over.
“It is a pleasure to be here, Mr. Eroll,” Sophie said quickly, so he would straighten up. She looked at Patrick for clarification of just where here was. He, however, just smiled that wicked smile and winked at her but remained silent.
“Please take the countess through, Lord Coulter, and if you need any assistance do not hesitate to call for me.” Mr. Eroll indicated a door at the end of the room.
Bemused, Sophie allowed Patrick to lead her to the door and then through it. Once inside she started to question him further, but the words fell from her lips as she looked around the room.
“Dear lord!” Doll’s houses were everywhere—rows and rows of them. And dolls—blond, brunette, and red-haired, boys and girls. It was a wonderland, and Sophie could not take it all in.
“I … why are we here?”
She was trying to look at him, but her eyes kept straying to the collection before her. Sophie made a valiant attempt to hide her excitement, but Patrick could see it in her eyes.
“Sophie, go and look at the dolls.”
She looked at him and then the dolls. Immediately, she hurried to the first table.
Patrick leaned against the wall and watched Sophie as she walked and touched and smiled her way around the room. She picked up each doll and studied every detail before moving to the next. It was a glimpse into the child Sophie could have been, and the woman she would become when she was free to laugh and enjoy life. Patrick wanted to be the one to give her that joy. He wanted her for his wife, wanted to take her to bed each night and hold her till dawn broke, then brush all those glorious curls aside and kiss her awake. He wanted to sit with her and have conversations and enjoy her teasing and humor. Christ, he just wanted her. When he lost sight of her, Patrick moved away from the wall to walk down one of the aisles. She was headfirst in a box, her bonnet and gloves lying beside her, and he was presented with a lovely view of her sweet little bottom.
“Found something interesting, Countess?”
Startled, Sophie banged her head standing up, then fell backward into a pair of strong familiar arms. A deep chuckle rumbled in her ear as the arms righted and then turned her.
She could not help her response, it was honest and impulsive. Rising to her toes, Sophie threw her arms around Patrick’s neck and kissed him.
“Patrick, this is the most wonderful place I have ever seen!”
“It has its merits,” Patrick said, pulling her close again and taking control of the kiss. He kissed her thoroughly, like a marauder he possessed her mouth, stroking the inside with his tongue, ravishing her lips until she was limp against his chest. Only then did he soften the kiss.
“Oh my,” Sophie sighed as she slumped against him.
“Marry me, Sophie,” Patrick said into her hair as he ran his hands slowly down her back. “Come live with me and be my wife,” he added. “So I can kiss your delectable body whenever I want, swallow your little cries, and hold you while you sleep.”
Sophie stiffened as his words finally penetrated the sensual fog he had wrapped her in. Pulling from his arms, she held his gaze.
“How can you want to marry me, a servant who has lied to everyone?” Sophie whispered, taking a step back as Patrick reached for her again.
“I care nothin
g for your birth and your past is just that, Sophie, history,” Patrick said, mirroring her movements with his own.
“B-but what if they find out?” Sophie said as she backed into a table.
“By they, I assume you mean society?”
Sophie nodded.
“You are a countess, I am an earl. I think it would take a brave person to come up against us, sweetheart.”
“Why?” Sophie questioned as Patrick pinned her to the table with his thighs.
He lifted one hand and cupped her cheek; then he looked into her eyes for several seconds, holding the soft green depths, willing her to see what he had not said.
“I want you, Sophie, Countess of Monmouth, more than any who came before you.” He lowered his head until their eyes were level. “There will be no other for me, love, just you,” he said, closing the gap to brush her lips in a brief kiss.
“Say yes, Sophie,” Patrick said, with another brush of his lips.
“T-Timmy?”
“He lives with us,” Patrick stated as he kissed her again.
“I … I …”
Lifting her onto the bench, he stepped between her thighs.
“Patrick! Mr. Errol?”
“Will not step foot inside that door until I call him,” Patrick said with his lips pressed to her neck.
“We … dear lord.”
He smiled against her neck as she sighed. Opening her jacket, he lavished hot openmouthed kisses on the tops of her breasts.
“We will have this, my sweet siren, whenever we want it.”
“Yes,” Sophie said, running her fingers through his hair.
“Yes, Patrick, I will marry you,” he said returning to her lips. “Say it Sophie.”
“Yes, Patrick, I will marry you.”
* * *
Sophie sat in the carriage with her new doll on her lap and a smart blue doll’s house with white trim sitting at her feet. Her head reeled as she acknowledged what she had just done. She had agreed to marry the Earl of Coulter.
“Don’t think, Sophie.” Patrick could see the small crease between her eyes as she frowned.
“How did you know about my … ah …,” Sophie said, wanting to ask but feeling silly.
