by Clee, Adele
Sophie’s hands drifted down the front of the turquoise-blue dress, tingling at the feel of the soft silk. The elegant style, with its full sleeves and low décolletage, flattered her figure and made her feel feminine and rather bold.
She glanced at the white dress hanging on the door of the armoire. It was the more modest of the two and she knew she had made the right choice. If Dane intended to berate her over her expedition into town, she needed to feel confident, to feel his equal.
“You look very pretty, miss, if you don’t mind me saying,” Amy declared, unpacking the leather portmanteau Charlotte Spencer had sent over. “Blue really suits you. I doubt his lordship will have a mind for food when he sees you in that.”
“Amy,” Sophie scolded. Although she could hardly blame the maid for making such an assumption, not after witnessing their amorous interlude by the pool. “As I explained yesterday, the marquess is simply a friend who lent a helping hand when I stumbled.”
Saying it aloud made the whole thing sound even more absurd; a thought echoed by Amy’s snigger.
“I thought you said you had something in your eye?”
Sophie cursed silently. She had been so angry with Dane she could not really remember what she’d said. Besides, what was the point of striving for independence or fighting against conformity when she did not even have the courage to take ownership of her actions?
“Well, yes, perhaps there was a little more to it than that,” she admitted, straightening her back and lifting her chin. “But it will not happen again.”
No. It most certainly could not happen again, especially after such blatant disregard for her feelings. Her side still ached from being picked up and dumped in the carriage.
“Besides, the marquess is used to the seductive skills of a mistress,” Sophie added honestly. “I doubt I would ever be able to compete.”
Amy smiled and arched a brow. “Let me tell you, miss,” she whispered. “I know I babble on, and most of the time no one’s even listening, but I do know a thing or two. I know a man doesn’t kiss a woman the way his lordship kissed you if someone else is warming his bed at home.” She gave a little wink.
Sophie could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks.
“Oh, I nearly forgot. There’s a letter,” Amy continued, rushing over to the dressing table and handing the sealed note to Sophie. “Mrs. Spencer sent it with the wardrobe,” she said, noticing Sophie’s confused expression. “Are you sure you don’t want me to dress your hair for dinner?” Amy continued eagerly. “I could arrange it for you while you read your letter.”
“Thank you, Amy, but that won’t be necessary,” Sophie replied trying her best to keep up with Amy’s chatter.
“But it’s been ages since I’ve done anyone’s hair,” she said looking a little forlorn. “I promise I won’t do anything too fancy. Mr. Haines said he once saw a lady with a whole bunch of grapes stuck on her head.” Amy gave another snigger at that. “I’ll just do a simple chignon with a few curls framing your face. Mrs. Spencer sent over a pretty little pearl comb that would look —”
“Very well,” Sophie sighed, raising a hand in resignation. She sat carefully on the stool so as not to crease her dress, and turned the letter over to examine both sides. “But nothing too elaborate. Perhaps it would have been wise to do this before I dressed for dinner.”
“It won’t take long, what with it being shorter,” Amy replied, her face a picture of pure joy. “You go ahead and read your letter and don’t mind me.”
The letter, written in a delicate feminine flourish, began with an informal introduction and conveyed an almost childlike eagerness to become acquainted. Charlotte Spencer went on to explain that the garments were new and as Sophie was in such dire need, she could keep them.
Sophie found herself smiling as she refolded the letter. It was remarkable how a few simple words could convey much of a person’s character. She would look forward to thanking Charlotte in person, as she had a feeling she would like her immensely.
“There we are, miss, all finished,” Amy said, placing the unused pins into the glass dish on the table.
Sophie looked up into the oval mirror, angling her head to study Amy’s work. She had done a good job and the overall effect was one of … Sophie struggled to find the right words … one of rustic simplicity.
Amy had attempted to tame the unruly curls, but with Sophie’s hair being much shorter, they refused to comply. Sophie admired the few straggling locks that had already sprung loose at the nape and decided she loved it. Although the style lacked the finesse required for a more formal occasion, Sophie felt it reflected her character perfectly: downright stubborn and wildly unruly.
“It’s lovely, Amy. Thank you.”
“Those curls have a mind all of their own,” she chuckled. “It’s a good job you didn’t fancy the fruit. It would never have stayed in there.” She waited for Sophie to stand and then helped to smooth out her dress. “You’re to meet his lordship in the drawing room.” Amy leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Mr. Haines said his lordship always takes his meals in his study, says he can’t remember the last time he sat down to dinner.”
Was she supposed to be impressed by the effort? Or did he plan to hide behind formality when he berated her for her conduct? No doubt he planned to use his debaucher’s repartee to unnerve her.
“Well, I had better not keep his lordship waiting.”
Sebastian stood at the window, his arms folded as he stared out across the street. He was not looking at anything in particular. In fact, had there been a mugging outside his own front door he would not have even noticed.
He was too busy contemplating Miss Beaufort’s reaction to being thrown into his carriage. He was too busy trying to calm the heat flooding his body at the thought of seeing her again.
The door creaked open and he heard the patter of slippered feet coming to a stop in the middle of the room. His heart thumped loudly in his chest.
“Good evening, my lord.”
Her warm voice brimmed with arrogance, as though she commanded the opposite side of the battlefield and intended to use every tactic possible to demean his position. She would be disappointed. His new approach to her unconventional manner placed him one step ahead. Or so he thought until he turned around.
“Miss Beaufort.”
He greeted her with a slight bow, which afforded him the opportunity to mask his initial surprise, to mask the rush of desire that gripped him around the throat determined to rid him of his breath. He’d expected her to wear the breeches: to annoy him, to prove a point. He’d not expected her to wear a gown or for the neckline to be cut quite so low. Nor had he thought to see her hair piled on top of her head in such a wild and wanton display.
“I wasn’t sure you’d join me.”
“I believe we have a lot to discuss,” she shrugged, revealing a little more of the pure creamy-white flesh he found so appealing.
He made a mental note to find some way of thanking Charlotte Spencer for her trouble. “Then let us not waste another moment.” Sebastian offered his arm, though his gaze followed the line of her jaw, wandered down the elegant column of her neck. “Shall we?”
She placed her hand in the crook of his arm and he had to suppress the urge to drag her to his eager body, to plunder her mouth like a man possessed. He stifled a groan.
They walked the short distance to the dining room in companionable silence. He kept a small staff and so Mrs. Cox and her niece were to serve dinner. They took their seats at opposite ends of the table, which suited Sebastian as the distance served to temper his racing pulse.
“I’m afraid Mrs. Cox’s culinary expertise is rather limited,” he said, straining his neck to see past the tall gilt fruit bowl. Where on earth had the woman found such a monstrosity? Sebastian stood, removed the elaborate display and placed in on the side table.
They passed pleasantries, like strangers seated next to one another at a dinner party.
“The soup’s goo
d,” Sophie replied, dabbing the sides of her mouth with her napkin.
It all appeared rather amiable, yet he could feel the tension brimming beneath the surface. She was still annoyed with him and he could hardly blame her. If they were going to work together, she would need to trust him. He had handled things badly, telling himself he’d acted out of a sense of responsibility. In truth, his only motivation had been self-preservation.
“I assume you went to inspect your brother’s residence,” Sebastian said in a matter-of-fact tone. Although he hoped he was wrong and she’d simply gone for a stroll. He walked over to the sideboard and picked up a bottle. “Would you like wine?” he asked. “If we wait for Mrs. Cox, I fear we shall both die of thirst. You may keep your glass at the table.”
She looked at the deep-red liquid and then to the pristine white tablecloth.
“I’m not one for formality, as you know,” he added.
Sophie nodded and he filled her glass, careful not to spill any for his gaze was caught by a wayward curl caressing the side of her neck. He resisted the urge to touch it, to run it between his fingers and marvel at the softness.
She raised the glass to her lips and took a large sip. “I thought it best not to waste time,” she admitted.
“And?” Sebastian asked, returning to his seat. He held his frustration at bay despite the urge to tell her she’d made a foolish mistake. “What did you discover?”
She held the glass in her hand, twirling it back and forth in a nervous ritual. “You’re not angry with me?” she asked, revealing her surprise.
No, he was not angry — he was bloody furious.
“Should I be?”
She eyed him suspiciously. “You should know I will not tolerate your constant disregard for my feelings. Nor will I tolerate being manhandled by you out of some antiquated sense of duty.”
His antiquated sense of duty was the only thing stopping him from dragging her off the chair, hiking her pretty dress up around her thighs and settling himself between them.
“I understand,” he nodded, offering his most sincere smile. He was no John Edwin, but he could grace the stage with this performance. “You see, I have come to accept that we have the same goal,” he continued. “One is not Oxford and the other Cambridge. You want to find your brother and return to Marchampton. You want to understand the reasons for Dampierre’s interest in the necklace.” He raised his glass in salute. “As do I.”
She was staring at him as though he had grown a carrot for a nose.
“Now,” he continued. “You were telling me you went to your brother’s house.”
“To his lodgings,” she corrected a little stiffly. “He no longer owns a townhouse.”
“Forgive me,” he said with an inclination of the head. “I meant the house he had hired for the duration of his visit.”
Her cheeks flushed. “James has not been seen there, officially, for over a week.”
Sebastian arched a brow. “Officially?”
“The house came complete with a cook, a maid, and a butler. Although they’ve not seen James, the maid believes items belonging to him have been removed from the house without their knowledge.”
There was a gentle knock at the door. Mrs. Cox entered and began clearing the plates, trying her utmost to remain focused on the task.
As a selection of rather mouth-watering dishes were brought in, including venison pie, baked salmon and a roast chicken, Sebastian realised he had underestimated Mrs. Cox’s talents in the kitchen.
He waited until they were alone again before pointing out Miss Beaufort’s grave error.
“Of course, you must know that if your situation were a game of chess, you would have just placed yourself in check.” If she insisted on acting independently, then she must accept responsibility for her mistakes. “I must say the pie is delicious.”
She narrowed her gaze and wrinkled her nose. “What on earth are you talking about?”
He took a sip of wine. “Let me explain,” he said, trying not to sound too condescending, too arrogant. “Let us suppose I am searching for someone who has disappeared. The first thing I would do is hire a man to watch the person’s house, their last known address.”
“What, for a week?” she scoffed.
“For as long as it takes.” He paused to let her digest the information. “You understand that you would have been followed back to this address and now this house will be under observation. You will be under observation.”
She sat back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest as if contemplating his logic.
Sebastian groaned inwardly.
It was hard enough to remain focused on the task. Her face glowed, her cheeks rosy from the wine. Stray curls caressed her jaw and neck, giving the appearance of having been recently ravished. Now, she presented him with an ample display of her bosom.
“Assuming the person knows the location of James’ residence, of course,” she countered.
“You mean the one in Bloomsbury Square?” He could not help but find her look of utter amazement satisfying. “Like you, I’ve also had quite a busy afternoon,” he shrugged. “In fact, I still have another call to make tonight.”
“Tonight? You’re going out?” she snapped.
“I need to pay a visit to Labelles.” He pushed the last morsel of food onto his fork, popped it into his mouth and chewed slowly before putting down his cutlery. “In case you’re wondering, it’s a brothel catering to the higher end of the market.”
Miss Beaufort stood, pushing back the chair as she threw her napkin down on the table. “While I appreciate your honesty, this is hardly an appropriate conversation to have during dinner.”
“You surprise me. I had not taken you for a prude,” he said, not bothering to disguise his amusement.
“I am not a prude,” she retorted. “I have no interest in what you desire or which one of the Covent Garden ladies will be servicing your needs tonight.”
He stared at her face, all twisted in bitter resentment, a perfect picture of feminine jealousy and he couldn’t help but laugh.
“What is so funny?”
“It’s the look on your face. Besides, you’re wrong about Labelles. It isn’t in Covent Garden,” he said catching his breath. “It’s in Marylebone.” When he noticed she was not amused, he paused for a moment in order to regain his composure. “I need to visit Labelles to make some inquiries. That is all.”
“What sort of inquiries?” she asked as she sat back down in her chair.
“Well, while you were checking your brother’s house to see if he had packed his smalls,” he said with a hint of sarcasm, “I called in at my club. While there, I discovered that James met with friends who dragged him off to Labelles. One of them, a Mr. Benjamin Fordham, remembered James being involved in an argument. Apparently, it had something to do with one of the girls, but they had all drank copious amounts of wine and brandy and Fordham’s memory was rather hazy. The last time they saw James, he was going upstairs to one of the rooms.”
“What, James went upstairs with one of those girls?” she said shaking her head. “I can hardly believe it.”
Sebastian was going to say that’s what some men do, but he did not believe it of James either. It took a certain type of man to lie with a prostitute. If James had come to London to raise the capital needed to develop his estate, then whatever steered him from the path would have been extremely important. Perhaps the Comte de Dampierre was also a patron of Labelles.
“I agree,” he said. “Which is why I must visit the premises.”
“Very well,” she said as though he needed her permission. “I’m coming with you.”
This time, it was Sebastian who stood abruptly and threw his napkin on the table. “The hell you will.” The words were out before he could reconsider and he pushed his hand through his hair in a bid to control his temper.
The corners of her mouth turned upwards into a feigned smile. It was the sort of smile that gave the impression she
was about to move her queen against him, and in a few simple moves he would be in checkmate.
“If the house is being observed, as you suggested, then you cannot leave me here alone.”
“You will not be alone,” he retorted. “Haines will be here.”
“Of course,” she nodded. “Haines was also here this afternoon when I opened the front door and walked out onto the street.”
Check
“A mistake he will not make again,” Sebastian warned.
“Are you so certain? Do you know how helpful people can be when they know you are new to town? How do you think I found my way to Bloomsbury Square? I’m sure there are no end of dissolute rakes roaming the streets, only too willing to show a young buck the way to Labelles,” she arched a brow, “in Marylebone.”
Mate.
She lifted her glass to her lips and took a sip of wine before casting him a satisfied smile.
Sebastian sighed as he slumped back into his chair. “You are not a young buck, Miss Beaufort,” he said with some resignation as his eyes drifted over her impressive cleavage. “What would your brother say if he knew I had allowed you to visit a house of ill repute?”
“Under the circumstances, he can hardly say a thing,” she shrugged. “Besides, I’m not completely naive. I do know what goes on in those sorts of places.” She stared him straight in the eye and lifted her chin. “I know what it is like to feel desire at the hands of a man,” she purred. “I know how it feels to be so drunk with it, you can think of nothing else. As I’m sure you remember.”
Sebastian almost choked on his wine at the last remark.
The thought that he had roused such a passion in her made him so hard he could not think straight. All he could feel was the blood rushing through his veins. All he could hear was his heart pumping in his chest. All he could see was her mussed up hair and heaving bosom.
God, how he wanted her. He wanted to bury himself inside her until nothing else mattered.
“Are you feeling well?” Her voice drifted over him, soft and musical to his ears and before he knew what was happening she walked around the table to stand at his side. “Surely you’re not shocked at such a declaration?” she continued. “I was merely stating a fact.” Her hand moved towards the lock of hair over his brow and froze.
