by Clee, Adele
He glanced over towards the mantel, but in the subdued candlelight could not quite read the hands of the clock. “I have no idea. At a guess, I would say it’s nearly nine.”
It was a calculated guess for he had heard the church bell chime eight, had heard Mrs. Cox’s hesitant tread as she hovered outside the door. No doubt, she was wondering why no one had gone down for dinner. She had paced back and forth and then returned with a tray, which she’d left outside the door.
Sophie shot up, but then remembered she was naked. Grasping the sheet, she wrapped it around her chest. “But Haines … Mrs. Cox … they’ll know …” She took a deep breath but did not finish the sentence. “Why didn’t you wake me,” she snapped.
“You looked exhausted. I thought you needed the rest.” He winked and flashed her one of his devilish grins as he swung his legs off the edge of the bed and bent down to pick up the breeches lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. “You know, you do say the most wicked things when you’re sleeping,” he continued enjoying the way her face had taken on the resemblance of a beetroot. “I didn’t know you held me in such high regard.”
Sophie looked horrified. “What … what did I say?”
Opening the door to retrieve the silver tray, Sebastian glanced over his shoulder. “It’s not something I feel I could repeat in the presence of a lady,” he teased closing the door with his foot. “But I believe you’re more than satisfied with my performance.”
“I am?” She narrowed her gaze as she studied him, before reaching for a pillow and hurling it at his head. “Oh, you fibber. I never said anything of the sort.”
“Well, no, not exactly,” he replied, steadying the tray as he avoided the flying object with a timely twist of the hip. “But you did do an awful lot of mumbling. You cannot blame a man for concocting his own interpretation.”
He placed the tray on the bed in front of her and noticed her frown as she glanced at the two plates positioned side by side.
“Two plates!” she groaned. “They’re obviously aware I’m in here.” Her distress was evident in her tone. “No doubt they are accustomed to your dissipated habits, but that does not —”
“Mrs. Cox is aware I do not always follow custom, yes,” he interjected before she became overly dramatic. He lifted the cover from the plate, picked up a slice of cold ham and took a bite.
Sophie stared at him, slightly aghast and then pulled the sheet tightly across her body as she said with an element of hauteur. “Do not think for a moment I have anything in common with the other women you have entertained here.”
He tilted his head and considered her, slightly baffled by her train of thought. “Why would you think I’ve had other women in here?” He had intended discussing marriage, not his business ventures. Besides, the women he had sheltered had never been in his private chambers. They had kept to their own quarters and been spirited away as soon as a convenient moment arose.
“Amy said you never let your mistresses stay overnight. She said you always escort them home in the early hours.”
Sebastian tried not to laugh, for he was truly flattered by such a display of jealousy.
“Sophie, I do not have a mistress. Trust me, you are the only woman who has had the pleasure of being in that bed,” he waved his hand casually in the direction of the bed, which was a ridiculous gesture when he came to think of it, for there was nothing casual, nothing temporary about the way he felt about her. Indeed, she was the only woman he would lay with from here on in. “I thought you knew better than to listen to servant’s gossip.”
“Are you saying you’ve never had one of your mistresses at this house, that Amy is mistaken in her belief you’ve escorted women home in the middle of the night?”
He was going to say she’d misunderstood and a jealous ear hears only what it chooses, but thought better of it. He glanced around the room for his shirt and located it on the chair.
“I am saying, you are not informed of all the facts,” he replied, shrugging into the crumpled linen. If they were going to have a serious conversation he would not be distracted by pretty blue eyes roaming over his bare chest. “Perhaps it is time I told you how I have been occupying myself these last few years.”
He dropped into the chair, stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankles with languid grace.
“You do not have to explain yourself to me, my lord,” she huffed.
“My lord?” he sneered jerking his head back. “What happened to oh, Dane, please, Dane.” He smiled to himself as her face flushed a pretty shade of pink. “Surely, after all that has passed between us, you must feel a little curious. Surely, you must be eager to learn more about the character of the man you have taken to your bed.” He had said the words purely to shock, but there was a glimpse of some unnamed emotion in her eyes. Was it pain or resentment? He certainly did not mean to cheapen their union or imply she was only concerned with the more base of needs.
“Perhaps it is best I don’t know,” she replied turning her head away from him to stare at some invisible object on the wall.
He sat up straight and narrowed his gaze as he contemplated her reply. “Ah, I see, Miss Beaufort,” he began, mimicking her use of formal address. Although he took no pleasure in it, for it placed an element of distance between them that he found unnerving. “You believe I’m guilty of the type of licentious pursuits the villagers of Marchampton love to gossip about. What is it that disturbs you? That I squandered my inheritance or that I spent it on women with loose morals?” he mocked. “I had credited you with more sense than to take notice of such tittle-tattle but, obviously, I was mistaken.”
She turned sharply and her eyes locked with his. “I know what I have seen,” she challenged. “John Hodges’ daughter nearly died from the cold, damp conditions they were forced to live in. Where were you when the rain came pouring in through their roof? When their daughter needed medicine and they could not afford to pay for it.”
He swallowed deeply in the hope it would ease the pain of regret. Why did she have to mention Mary Hodges? He had been forced to make a choice. If he had stayed at Westlands, the lives of all his tenants would have been at risk. Not a day had gone by when he had not thanked the lord for Mary’s recovery.
“It is not what you think,” he replied solemnly.
“Well, please feel free to enlighten me,” she said in the tone of a stern governess but did not wait for an answer. “If you were not carousing around the Continent with a courtesan, what were you doing?”
He stood, walked over to the bed and leaned against the wooden post. “I was working,” he answered humbly.
There was a moment of silence where she simply stared at him, a frown marring her brow, and he could almost hear her repeating his words for fear she had misheard.
“Working? What do you mean?”
“May I sit,” he said gesturing to the end of the bed.
She snorted. “It is your bed. You may do as you please.”
He ignored the sharp edge to her tone. Perhaps it was her way of preparing herself for whatever unpleasant revelation she believed he was about to make.
He perched himself on the end of the bed. “You should eat something,” he said in response to the deep growl rumbling from her stomach. He nodded towards the plate. “Eat and I will tell you.”
With a sigh, she removed the plate cover and studied the selection of cold meats. Casting a wary glance at the sheet tucked under her arms, she asked, “Would you mind buttering my bread roll?”
“Of course not,” he replied.
Picking up a knife, he cut and buttered her roll then gave it to her and watched her take a bite. There was something comfortable, something intimate in so informal a gesture and he longed to hold on to it, to nurture it into something deeper, something more profound.
“You must understand, I would never have left Westlands if there had been any other alternative. It is something I deeply regret.”
That was not entirely true. He was sorry his
tenants were forced to endure the effects of his father’s cavalier attitude towards money. But the experience of working alongside Dudley, of righting some of society’s wrongs, well, it had been life changing.
“Tell me, honestly,” he continued, “what was your opinion of my father?”
She narrowed her gaze as though intrigued by the question. “I believed him to be a good man, a family man, a man who was diligent in the running of his estate.” She paused, bit down on her lip and then took a deep breath. “He looked after his tenants and they respected him for it.”
“Unlike me,” he snorted.
“Well, …” she shrugged.
“My father had been dead a mere five days when I discovered there were sizable debts written against the estate. The creditors were quick to bang on the door to demand their money. My father’s man of business, a Mr. William Farrow, had kept them at bay by promising a rather inflated rate of interest, which, unfortunately was well documented.” He sighed. “Unlike the small amounts Mr. Farrow had embezzled.” He shook his head as he remembered the crippling feeling of disbelief, of desperation. “I have spent the last six years paying for it.”
Sophie looked aghast. “I do not know what to say. What had your father done with all the money?” she asked before taking another small bite of bread.
Sebastian shrugged. “He spent it on everything and anything. He had a weakness for horse racing, for diamond-encrusted pocket watches, for widows with expensive tastes, on anything to dull the pain, anything to fill the hole left by my mother.”
Sebastian could not be angry with his father. Angry at himself, yes, for not noticing the torment his father was going through. If only he had known, then they could have consoled each other. Perhaps things would have been different.
But then he would not be sitting in his private chamber with Sophie.
“I see,” she said, her eyes awash with sympathy. “And so you were not on the Continent living in lavish surroundings while your tenants struggled to survive.” There was a hint of shame in her tone.
“No, I was working with Dudley. After selling off all that was not nailed down, there was still a deficit. I dismissed Mr. Farrow and employed Dudley Spencer. Which turned into more of a partnership and then a friendship, but that is an extremely long story which I will save for another time.”
“But why did you not say something?” she said with a sigh of exasperation. “You let all but a handful of servants go and so everyone thought you had no interest in Westlands, when really you were trying desperately to save it.”
He looked down into his lap. “I could not bear for others to think badly of my father,” he began, his voice reflecting his anguish. “He was weak. It was not his fault.”
Sophie leaned forward and placed her hand on his. It was smaller and softer, yet it gave him strength. “But you let others think the worst of you,” she said. There was a moment of silence and then she chuckled. “I cannot imagine you working as a man of business. How on earth did you keep it a secret?”
He shook his head. “You misunderstand. The work with Dudley… well, it was of a sensitive nature.”
She absorbed his words and then with wide eyes asked, “You are not working for the government, are you?”
“No, I am not working for the government. But with our connections in Society—” He stopped abruptly and then added, “You know Dudley is the illegitimate son of the Duke of Morton.”
“Is he really? Then why is he working as a man of business?”
“There was some disagreement over whom he should wed. Dudley would prefer to make his own living than to bow down to the demands of a father who has little regard for his personal welfare. Besides, we have done extremely well helping those members of the ton who found themselves in a pickle. Dudley still takes on the odd job here and there. But nothing that would take him away from home.”
She appeared highly amused. “And what possible pickles do the elite of Society find themselves in?”
He shifted further onto the bed, making himself more comfortable. “We were hired by Lord … well, by a certain person who shall remain nameless, to track down his runaway daughter. We found her on the way to Gretna and she was brought back here until we could sneak her home without anyone noticing.” He gave her a smug grin. “Which happened to be in the middle of the night,” he added. “The gentleman put it about that his daughter had been ill with a fever and the rogue in question did not dare to contradict for fear of being shipped off to Calcutta in a crate.”
“How fascinating,” she said, her eyes wide with delight. “Oh, do tell me more, I …” She stopped abruptly. “Do you mean the ladies you escorted home in the middle of the night were clients?”
He turned his hand over so he could hold hers. “Sophie, the only women who have been in this house are the ones associated with our business. I am not saying I have always been a saint in such matters. But the stories you have heard from the gossips in Marchampton or from Amy or from Mrs. Cox, well, they are simply not true.”
“You mean you’re not a reckless rogue?”
“Only where you’re concerned.”
She looked down into her lap. “You must think me naïve and rather foolish.”
“Not at all. I find your jealousy rather endearing,” he replied attempting to lighten the mood.
“Jealousy!” she exclaimed lifting her head to meet his gaze, but then seeing his teasing expression she grinned. “If you believe I’m jealous, then conceit must surely be your middle name.”
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it softly. “While we are in the mood for disclosing secrets, isn’t there something you need to tell me?”
“I am not sure what you mean,” she answered looking a little wary.
Intrigued by such a guarded response, Sebastian wondered if there were other secrets he was not aware of.
“Do not look so frightened,” he said. “I am talking about the reason Madame Labelle insisted on meeting with you. I was convinced Dampierre would make some move to kidnap you and ransom you for the necklace.”
“Would you have paid?” she replied coyly with an exaggerated flutter of her eyelashes.
Sebastian shrugged. “That all depends on how grateful you would have been.” His hungry gaze roamed over her bare shoulders. “Are you going to tell me what was so important that Madame Labelle insisted on meeting with you in public? Did she remember something about James?”
“Well, not exactly.” She paused and breathed deeply. “You were right. The Comte de Dampierre owns Labelles, amongst other things. Dampierre insists I attend Lord Delmont’s masquerade. I’m to wear the necklace and he has even provided me with a costume. Madame Labelle has left it in your carriage. That reminds me, I must check to see if Amy has hung it up to air.”
Sebastian stared at her, his expression hard and unforgiving. “You’re not going,” he said sharply. It was not a question, it was an order he was determined she would follow.
“I told Madame Labelle that is exactly what you would say,” she replied with a weak smile. “Particularly, once you had learned that Dampierre will also be in attendance and he expects me to hand over the necklace.”
“You’re not going,” he repeated, stressing the words with patriarchal authority, as she appeared completely unconcerned about the danger she would be placing herself in. Thank God she didn’t know where he’d put the necklace. It would not surprise him to wake and find them both missing.
“Dampierre has agreed you may accompany me,” she added pressing her case.
He stood abruptly and walked over to the window, just to place some distance between them, for he had been an arms-reach away from shaking her to her senses.
She opened her mouth to speak, but he interjected. “Do you know what a crush it will be? I would struggle to find you even if your face wasn’t covered. At a blasted masquerade, it will be nigh on impossible.” He pushed his hands through his hair in frustration. “Why on earth have you waited
until now to tell me?”
Sophie blushed. “I … I was thinking of something else at the time, if you remember. I did not wish to spoil the moment.” She shook her head. “And because I knew you would act like this.” She gestured to his pacing with an element of censure. “Can you not see there is some logic in accepting the offer?”
He sighed. “Not when I find it difficult to believe he only wants the necklace. What if he is simply looking for a replacement for Annabel?” The thought of losing her, of her ending up in such a situation, well, he could not bear to contemplate it. “What do you expect me to say when you seem content with serving yourself up as the prized pig?”
“I beg your pardon.”
He stopped pacing. “It is just a turn of phrase. You know what I meant by it.” He dropped into the chair and took a deep breath. “Did Madame Labelle mention Dampierre’s interest in Annabel?”
Sophie swallowed. “Not at all. Madame Labelle simply assured me that Victor … that Dampierre wants some form of recompense and is, therefore, willing to accept the necklace.” She looked him keenly in the eye and said with earnest. “What choice do we have? I cannot return to Marchampton until the matter is closed. Dampierre could call on me at any time. You cannot camp on the doorstep. You cannot always be there to offer your protection.”
I can and I will, once you accept a proposal of marriage.
He stood and walked over to her, took her hand in his. “There is something I have been meaning to ask you,” he began but was interrupted by a discreet tap on the door. He tried to ignore it, tried to focus on asking the question that plagued him, but Sophie kept glancing towards the door and the person knocking was persistent.
“Are you going to answer it?” she asked with a nervous edge to her voice.
Reluctantly, Sebastian dropped her hand, walked over to the door and opened it just wide enough to peer out, using his body to prevent the caller from looking in. “What is it?” he asked with some impatience.
Haines was standing at the door, looking like a little boy who had just put a hole in his best breeches. “Forgive me, my lord, I did not mean to disturb you. But there is someone waiting to see you downstairs.”
